BusyBee

Please note: Sukuna may appear slightly OOC in this oneshot.

This portrayal is specific to my university AU and reflects a deeply established dynamic between him and the main character.

If he seems unusually restrained or respectful, it is intentional and rooted in their shared history, which is explored in the main story.

synopsis: valentine’s day was supposed to be quiet. safe. just you and him, wrapped in late-morning warmth and the kind of domestic intimacy that feels almost unreal on someone like sukuna. breakfast in bed. soft kisses. his oversized shirt against your skin.

then the doorbell rings. two bouquets. one from your boyfriend. one from your ex.

suddenly the air feels heavier. the tension sharper. sukuna says he isn’t angry — and he isn’t. but something territorial wakes up in him, something possessive and proud that refuses to be compared.

by the end of the night, he isn’t asking who you belong to. he’s making sure you remember.

pairing: fratboy!Sukuna × f!Original Character(Vee)

wc: 6.3k

content: mdni, explicit smut, possessive sukuna, jealousy trigger (ex Satoru Gojo sending flowers), heavy dominance, praise + degradation, marking (hickeys, biting), light choking (no restriction), hair pulling, multiple orgasms, repeated creampie, unprotected piv, dacryphilia (crying from pleasure), “who do you belong to” kink, size kink undertones, soft aftercare, valentine’s day domestic fluff at the beginning, territorial behavior, obsessive undertones, consensual power imbalance dynamic

I wake slowly, the way I only ever do when I’m warm enough to forget time exists. The room is dim behind the curtains, that soft late-morning light that turns everything quiet and golden, and for a few seconds I don’t move at all because I’m wrapped in something solid—heat at my back, an arm heavy across my waist, fingers curled loosely against my stomach like they fell there in sleep and never left. Sukuna’s chest rises behind me in a steady rhythm, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and the realization settles in with that familiar, private sense of comfort that still surprises me sometimes: I’m in his bed, in his arms, exactly where I belong.

His hand shifts when I stir, thumb brushing absentmindedly over my side, and then he leans forward just enough to press a slow kiss against my shoulder. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. A second kiss lands higher, near my neck. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my little bunny.”

The nickname pulls a sleepy smile out of me before I’m even fully awake. I turn my head just enough that our noses brush, voice soft and half-mumbled. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I murmur back. Then, with complete honesty, “I’m still sleepy.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh against my skin, the vibration warm and low. “I can tell.” His hand squeezes my side gently before he pulls away, the mattress shifting as he sits up. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you.”

I don’t need convincing. The moment his warmth leaves the bed I curl instinctively into the space he vacated, dragging his pillow closer and inhaling that familiar scent—clean soap, spice, something distinctly him. The last thing I register before drifting off again is the faint sound of movement in the apartment, cabinets opening, metal clinking softly.

What wakes me the second time isn’t noise.

It’s the smell.

Butter first—rich and warm—followed by something savory and aromatic that makes my stomach clench with sudden hunger. Then sweetness: caramelizing sugar, citrus, something baking. My eyes open immediately, brain catching up in fragments. Kitchen. Sukuna. Food.

I push myself upright, hair a mess around my face, and shuffle out toward the kitchen still wrapped in one of his oversized shirts. The sight that greets me stops me for a second.

He’s moving around the stove with that focused efficiency I’ve watched a hundred times before—barefoot, black joggers low on his hips, sleeves pushed up, tattoos visible along his forearms as he flips something in a pan with practiced ease. The counter is already covered: plates warming, fresh fruit cut into careful slices, a small glass pitcher of orange juice, a bowl of whipped mascarpone with honey drizzled over the top.

He glances up when he hears me. His expression softens instantly. “There she is.”

“What did you do?” I ask, voice still raspy with sleep.

“Breakfast,” he says simply, like the spread in front of him isn’t borderline restaurant-level.

And it is. When he sets the plate down in front of me a minute later, it looks almost ridiculous: fluffy soufflé pancakes layered with vanilla cream and macerated strawberries, caramelized brioche French toast dusted with powdered sugar, perfectly folded herb omelette with goat cheese and chives, crispy roasted breakfast potatoes with rosemary, and thick-cut bacon glazed lightly with maple and black pepper. There’s even a small ramekin of house-made berry compote on the side.

I stare at it. “You made all this… today?”

He leans down and kisses me softly. “Good morning.”

I melt into it automatically. “Good morning.”

He grabs his own plate and sits across from me, and for a few minutes we just eat—quiet, comfortable, domestic in a way that still feels almost unreal considering who we are individually. I make small appreciative noises every few bites, which earns me a smug look from him that I pretend not to notice.

The doorbell rings halfway through.

“I’ll get it,” I say, sliding out of my chair.

When I open the door, I freeze.

Two delivery drivers stand there. Both holding enormous bouquets.

One is a striking arrangement built around my tastes so precisely it almost feels like a signature—layers of soft blush lilies and pale pink ranunculus intertwined with deep magenta orchids, the whole bouquet anchored by glossy black wrapping and dark velvet ribbon. The contrast is bold, dramatic, unmistakably Sukuna: romantic without being delicate, luxurious without being soft. Even the greenery is darker—black-tinted eucalyptus and deep plum foliage that makes the pink tones glow brighter against it.

The other bouquet is lighter, almost airy by comparison—clusters of white lilies and pastel pink peonies woven with pale pink tulips, accented by touches of powder-blue delphinium that add a cool shimmer through the arrangement. The wrapping is ivory with a satin ribbon in baby pink, the overall effect elegant and luminous, like something meant to feel gentle and reassuring rather than intense.

My stomach drops before I even read the cards.

Behind me, Sukuna walks up to the doorway, towel over his shoulder, completely calm. His eyes flick over both bouquets in one quick assessment.

“You should take them,” he says casually. “Those guys have other deliveries.”

The drivers look relieved when I accept them, mumbling thanks before leaving. The door closes. The apartment goes quiet again.

I stare down at the cards.

One says: Happy Valentine’s Day, bunny. — Sukuna.

The other says: I hope you’re happy. — Satoru.

A small pulse of panic tightens my chest.

Sukuna already knows about Satoru. He always has. He’s never cared about the gifts, never reacted, never made it an issue. Rationally, nothing has changed.

But something in his energy right now feels… different.

He steps closer, takes the bouquet from Satoru out of my hands, comparing it to his own. His jaw tightens slightly.

Then he clicks his tongue.

“…Of course he picked something almost identical,” he mutters, scoffing softly. “That guy really doesn’t want to leave me any room to slack off, does he?”

I blink. “What?”

He gestures lightly with the flowers. “If your ex sends you something better than what your boyfriend got you, what kind of boyfriend would I be?” His tone is annoyed—but not at me. “I’d look like I’m lacking.”

The words land heavier than they should.

He sets both bouquets down and reaches up, cupping my head gently, thumb brushing my cheek. I lean into his palm automatically, nuzzling into the warmth, eyes lifting to his with a faint, guilty softness I don’t even realize I’m showing.

His expression changes instantly.

He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s fine. I’m not angry at you.” A small exhale. “I could never be angry at you.”

I nod, but something tight stays under my ribs.

The rest of the day passes exactly the way I wanted it to—quiet, contained, safe inside the walls of his apartment. We don’t go out. No reservations, no crowds, no performative romance under restaurant lighting. Just the two of us moving through familiar spaces, the television humming in the background while we half-watch movies, sharing dessert from the same plate, his arm draped around my waist whenever I settle against him. It should feel normal. Comfortable. And in many ways it does.

But the tension never fully leaves.

It sits under everything like a second heartbeat.

I notice it in the small things first. The way his hand lingers when he passes behind me, fingers pressing briefly into my hip like he’s grounding himself. The way his gaze flicks, almost unconsciously, toward the flowers whenever he crosses the living room—the pink and black bouquet beside the softer one, both occupying the same space like silent competitors. The way his jaw tightens for half a second when my phone lights up on the coffee table, even though I don’t reach for it.

He isn’t angry at me.

I know that with absolute certainty.

But something inside him has been provoked—something territorial, something proud, something that doesn’t like the idea of comparison even if he would never say it out loud.

By the time night settles in, the apartment feels warmer, dimmer, wrapped in that quiet intimacy that only exists when the world outside stops mattering. I change into one of his shirts without thinking about it, fabric soft and oversized against my skin, and slide into bed beside him like I’ve done a hundred times before.

For a while we just lie there.

His arm around me. My head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing under my ear.

It should feel exactly the same.

But when he tilts my chin up and kisses me, I feel it immediately—the difference.

The kiss is deeper than usual. Slower, but heavier. His mouth moves over mine with an intensity that isn’t rough, isn’t careless, but is undeniably consuming. Like he’s trying to memorize me. Like he’s trying to erase every comparison that might exist in my world with sheer presence alone.

His hand slides into my hair, fingers spreading at the back of my head, and the pressure is firm enough that I feel anchored in place. Not trapped—never trapped—but held with a certainty that leaves no space for doubt about where I belong in that moment.

I exhale against his mouth, breath catching slightly, because the sensation is overwhelming in a way I didn’t expect.

There’s something almost desperate under his control.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. His expression is unreadable—dark, serious, focused.

“Vee,” he says, voice low.

“Yes?”

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. “Tell me.”

The words are quiet, but they carry the weight of an order. “Tell you what?”

“Who do you belong to?”

A slow heat crawls up my throat. It’s not a question he asks often, because he usually doesn’t need to. But tonight, it feels like he does. Like he needs the certainty of hearing it out loud.

My voice comes out softer than I intended. “You.”

His grip on my hair tightens slightly. “Say it again.”

“I belong to you,” I whisper, and the words feel too simple for the way they settle between us, heavy and absolute.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches the corner of his mouth. His thumb presses against my lower lip again, this parting them slightly, and the gesture feels proprietary—possessive in a way that makes heat pool deep in my stomach.

His eyes drop to my mouth, then back to my gaze. “Good girl.”

He kisses me again, and this time it’s different. There’s nothing slow about it. His mouth claims mine with an intensity that borders on punishing, and I open to him immediately, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders. The taste of him is intoxicating—familiar, but heightened by the raw emotion pulsing off him in waves.

He shifts, rolling us until I’m on my back, the sheets tangling around my legs. His body covers mine, not crushing, but present. A solid, heavy weight that pins me in place with unspoken authority. His knee pushes between my thighs, and the pressure is deliberate, a clear indication of what he wants.

I moan into his kiss, the sound swallowed by his dominance. His hands are everywhere—one tangled in my hair, the other sliding down my side, gripping my hip with enough force to leave a memory of his touch. His mouth moves to my jaw, then to my throat, teeth scraping lightly over my pulse point.

“Kuna…”

His name is a breathless plea, and it only seems to spur him on. He sucks at the skin of my neck, hard, and I know there will be a mark there tomorrow. A brand. His. The thought sends a jolt of liquid heat straight to my core.

“Look at me,” he commands, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze.

My eyes flutter open, and I’m lost in the intensity of his. His usual smug confidence is still there, but it’s layered with something else. Something darker. More primal. He’s not just taking what’s his; he’s reminding me that I am his.

“Tell me again, Vee,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I whisper, the word barely audible. “I belong to you.”

His lips crash back down on mine, and this kiss is a claiming. A brand. A promise. His tongue delves into my mouth, tangling with mine in a dance of dominance and submission. I meet his intensity with my own, my hands sliding up his back, nails digging into his skin.

He growls, a low, possessive sound that makes my toes curl. “Mine.”

The word is a declaration, a verdict, a fact.

He pushes the oversized shirt I’m wearing up, his hands finding the bare skin of my stomach. His touch is electric, a current that runs through my entire body. I arch into him, seeking more, wanting more, needing more.

His mouth leaves mine, tracing a path of fire down my neck, my collarbone, my chest. He nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. Each one is a reminder of who I am. Who I belong to.

“You drive me insane,” he says, his voice rough with need. “You and your quiet strength, your sharp mind, your irresistible vulnerability.”

His hands continue their exploration, one sliding up to cup my breast, the other delving lower, between my thighs. I gasp as his fingers find my clit, circling it with a precision that makes my vision blur.

“Kuna…”

“Yes, bunny?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “What do you want?”

“You,” I gasp out. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he says, his voice a dark promise. “Always.”

He slides a finger inside me, and I moan, my hips bucking against his hand. He adds another, curling them just so, hitting that spot inside me that makes me see stars. My mind goes blank, all coherent thought dissolving into a haze of pleasure and possession.

He’s everywhere. His scent, his touch, his taste, his voice. He’s consuming me, and I’m letting him. Wanting it. Craving it.

“Look at me,” he commands again, and I force my eyes open, my gaze locking with his. There’s a fire in his eyes, a burning intensity that makes my breath catch. He’s not just taking what’s his; he’s absorbing me, making me a part of him, and I’m more than willing to let him.

“Mine,” he repeats, the word a low growl that vibrates through my entire being. “Every inch of you.”

My body arching into his touch, my fingers clutching at the sheets as waves of pleasure crash over me. He’s relentless, his fingers working me with a skill and intensity that borders on overwhelming. But I don’t want it to stop. I want more.

He pulls back slightly, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Not yet,” he says, his tone a mixture of command and endearment. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

A whimper escapes my lips, a desperate plea for release. But he’s in control, and we both know it.

He settles between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against me. The anticipation is a living thing, a coiling tension in my stomach, a desperate need for him to fill me, to claim me in the most primal way possible.

“Please,” I whisper, the word a breathless supplication.

He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear. “Please what, bunny?” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I gasp out. “Inside me. Now.”

A satisfied smirk plays on his lips. “As you wish.”

He enters me in one smooth, deliberate thrust, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed. The sensation is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that courses through my veins. He’s big, stretching me to my limits, and the feeling of being so completely filled, so utterly possessed, is intoxicating.

He starts to move, his hips setting a slow, torturous rhythm. Each withdrawal is a tease, each thrust a claim. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, controlling the pace, controlling my pleasure.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low growl.

I force my eyes open, my gaze locking with his. The intensity in his eyes is staggering, a fire burning bright, consuming me whole. He’s not just fucking me; he’s claiming me, branding me, making me his in the most fundamental way possible.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

I can only nod, my breath hitching as he hits that spot deep inside me, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. My analytical mind, the part of me that tries to make sense of everything, to categorize and understand, has gone completely offline. There’s only sensation, only him, only this overwhelming, all-consuming feeling of being possessed.

His hands slide up my sides, gripping my waist, pulling me closer, deeper. His weight pins me to the bed, a solid, heavy presence that leaves no room for doubt about who’s in control. I’m completely at his mercy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Tell me again, Vee,” he says, his voice a dark caress. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I gasp out, the word a breathless whisper. “I belong to you.”

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The pleasure is a tidal wave, building inside me, threatening to drown me. I’m lost in a haze of sensation, my body moving on instinct, meeting his every thrust with a desperate need for more.

His mouth finds my throat again, and he bites down, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave another mark. Another brand. I cry out, my nails digging into his back, holding on as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm me.

“That’s it, bunny,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Let go. Come for me.”

His words are the final push, the key that unlocks the floodgates. I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping my lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me.

He follows me over the edge, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep inside me, his release hot and forceful. We’re a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, our hearts beating in a frantic, unsteady rhythm.

But he doesn't stop there.

"Do you think I am done with you little bunny?" he says as he grips my hair, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough for me to understand I should not move. "By the time I am done with you, your pretty little head will only have thought of how good it feels to be filled by me." He said as he was kissing one of my breasts and started licking my nipples. The feeling of his tongue sent a shock through me.

I knew how important it was for him to claim me tonight to feel as if he owns me. I'll let him have full control.

"That is good, don't stop until I'm so full of your cum it's leaking out" I said and as soon as the words left my mouth he began moving inside me again. Harder this time. The headboard slammed against the wall with each punishing thrust, the sound a primal beat to our frantic coupling.

His name was a litany on my lips, a desperate prayer. He was everywhere. His scent, his touch, his taste, his voice. He was consuming me from the inside out, and I was more than willing to let him.

"Look at me," he commanded, his grip on my hair tightening, forcing my gaze to meet his. There was a fire in his eyes, a burning intensity that made my breath catch. He was not just taking what's his; he was absorbing me, making me a part of him, and I was more than willing to let him.

"Mine," he repeated, the word a low growl that vibrated through my entire being. "Every inch of you."

I can only nod, my body arching into his touch, my fingers clutching at the sheets as waves of pleasure crash over me. He's relentless, his pace punishing, his thrusts deep and deliberate. My mind has gone blank, all coherent thought dissolving into a haze of pleasure and possession.

He's watching me, his gaze fixed on my face, taking in every flicker of emotion, every gasp, every moan. He's studying me, learning my responses, memorizing the way my body reacts to his. It's an act of possession as much as it is an act of passion, a way of claiming me not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well.

"Say it," he demands, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "Say it again."

"I'm yours," I gasp out, the words a breathless whisper. "I'm all yours."

A satisfied smirk plays on his lips. "Good girl."

His mouth finds my throat again, and he bites down, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave another mark. Another brand. I cry out, my nails digging into his back, holding on as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm me.

He shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he's hitting that spot deep inside me, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. The pleasure is a tidal wave, building inside me, threatening to drown me. I'm lost in a haze of sensation, my body moving on instinct, meeting his every thrust with a desperate need for more.

His hands slide up my sides, gripping my waist, pulling me closer, deeper. His weight pins me to the bed, a solid, heavy presence that leaves no room for doubt about who's in control. I'm completely at his mercy, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Tell me again, Vee," he says, his voice a dark caress. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," I gasp out, the word a breathless whisper. "I belong to you."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The pleasure is a tidal wave, building inside me, threatening to drown me. I'm lost in a haze of sensation, my body moving on instinct, meeting his every thrust with a desperate need for more.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "That's what it feels like to be mine."

My breath hitching as he hits that spot deep inside me, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. He was repeating himself but it felt like he almost lost control of his sanity. He now only wanted to claim me as his. His. His. His. The word echoed in my mind, a possessive chant that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

His hand leaves my hip, sliding up my body to wrap around my throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, a constant, possessive pressure. A reminder. I meet his gaze, and the sheer intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. His usual smug confidence is still there, but it's layered with something else. Something darker. More primal. He's not just taking what's his; he's reminding me that I am his.

"My bunny," he whispers, his thumb stroking the side of my neck. "So beautiful when you're like this."

He leans down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into my mouth, tangling with mine in a dance of dominance and submission. I meet his intensity with my own, my hands sliding up his back, nails digging into his skin.

He growls, a low, possessive sound that makes my toes curl. "Mine."

The word is a declaration, a verdict, a fact. He's claiming me, branding me, making me his in the most fundamental way possible. He's consuming me, and I'm letting him. Wanting it. Craving it.

He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting us for a moment before it breaks. His eyes roam over my face, taking in every detail, every flicker of emotion. He's studying me, learning my responses, memorizing the way my body reacts to his. It's an act of possession as much as it is an act of passion, a way of claiming me not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my entire being. "I love the way you react to my touch. The way your body comes alive for me."

He shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he's hitting that spot deep inside me, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. A choked sob escapes my lips, my back arching off the bed as pleasure shoots through me.

"That's it, bunny," he encourages, his pace relentless. "Let me hear you."

I'm lost in a haze of sensation, my mind gone blank, all coherent thought dissolving into a sea of pleasure and possession. His hands are everywhere, exploring my body, learning its curves and contours, branding me with his touch. His mouth is on my skin, leaving a trail of marks in its wake, each one a possessive brand, a reminder of who I belong to.

"You're so tight," he groans, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "So perfect. Made just for me."

His words are a dark caress, a possessive praise that sends shivers down my spine. I can feel another orgasm building, a coiling tension in my stomach, a desperate need for release.

"Please," I whimper, my hands clutching at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. "Please, Kuna."

"What do you want, bunny?" he asks, his voice a low growl against my ear. "Tell me what you want."

"You," I gasp out. "I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you."

A dark satisfaction fills his eyes. "As you wish."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, a tidal wave that's about to crash over me. I'm teetering on the edge, my body straining, my mind a haze of need and want.

"Look at me," he commands, his grip on my throat tightening slightly, forcing my gaze to meet his. There's a fire in his eyes, a burning intensity that makes my breath catch. "When you come, I want you looking at me. I want to see you fall apart for me."

I nod, my breath hitching as he hits that spot deep inside me again, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. I'm so close, so incredibly close.

"Who do you belong to, Vee?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my entire being.

"You," I gasp out, the word a breathless whisper. "I belong to you."

"Say it again."

"I belong to you," I repeat, the words a desperate plea. "I'm all yours."

A satisfied smirk plays on his lips. "Good girl."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The pleasure is a tidal wave, building inside me, threatening to drown me. I'm lost in a haze of sensation, my body moving on instinct, meeting his every thrust with a desperate need for more.

Then I feel him cumming inside me again, filling me up to the brim with his seed. The thought alone is enough to send me over the edge. I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping my lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me. My mind goes blank, all coherent thought dissolving into a haze of pleasure and possession.

A tear escapes my eye, tracing a path down my temple. It's not a tear of sadness, but of overwhelming pleasure, of complete surrender. I'm crying, not from pain or sorrow, but from the sheer intensity of the emotion, the sheer force of our connection.

He notices, of course he notices. He always notices. He slows his movements, his thrusts becoming gentle, soothing. He leans down, capturing the tear with his tongue, a dark, possessive act that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Shh, bunny," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "I've got you."

His weight is a comforting presence, a solid, heavy blanket that pins me to the bed, that reminds me that I'm safe, that I'm home. His hands are gentle now, caressing my sides, my back, my hair. He's still inside me, a constant, possessive presence, a reminder of our connection.

"You're okay," he says, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "You're okay. Just breathe."

I take a deep, shuddering breath, my body trembling in the aftermath of my orgasm. I can feel him, still hard, still pulsing inside me, a constant, possessive presence. I'm a mess, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and tears, but I've never felt more whole.

He starts to move again, slow, deliberate. The pleasure is a slow burn, a gentle wave that builds inside me, a promise of more to come. He's not just taking what's his; he's worshipping it, cherishing it, claiming it in the most fundamental way possible.

"You're so beautiful when you cry," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. "So vulnerable. So mine."

His words are a possessive praise, a dark declaration that sends a shiver down my spine. I'm completely at his mercy, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Turn over for me, bunny," he commands, his voice a low growl.

I obey without hesitation, shifting onto my stomach, my ass in the air, a silent offering. He lets out a low growl, a possessive sound of approval, and then he's inside me again, deeper this time, a perfect, punishing fit.

The new angle is electrifying, a jolt of pure pleasure that courses through my veins. I bury my face in the pillow, my fingers clutching at the sheets as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

His hands are on my hips, gripping them tight, pulling me back to meet his every thrust. His weight pins me to the bed, a solid, heavy presence that leaves no room for doubt about who's in control.

"You take me so well, Vee," he praises, his breath hot against my ear. "So perfect. Made just for me."

His words are a dark caress, a possessive praise that sends shivers down my spine. I can feel another orgasm building, a coiling tension in my stomach, a desperate need for release.

"Please," I whimper, my face buried in the pillow, my voice muffled by the fabric. "Please, Kuna."

"What do you want, bunny?" he asks, his voice a low growl against my ear. "Tell me what you want."

"I don't know." I gasp out, the words a desperate plea.

He puts one hand on my waist and the other in my hair pulling me towards him while still moving inside me. He grips my chin and pushes my head back until it reaches his chest his other hand trailing down from my waist to grip on my hips. His body is a warm, solid weight against my back, a constant, possessive presence. I am completely at his mercy, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"You do know." He says, "You always know what you want, and you want me to fill you up until you can't think."

He is right. I always know. But I hate admitting it.

He continues moving, the headboard a steady, percussive beat against the wall, each thrust punctuated by a soft gasp from my lips. His hand leaves my hip, sliding up my body to wrap around my throat again. Not squeezing, just resting there, a constant, possessive pressure. A reminder. I tilt my head back, offering him my throat, a silent submission that speaks volumes.

"I want to hear you say it, Vee," he demands, his thumb stroking the side of my neck. "Say what you want."

"I want to be full of you," I gasp out, the words a breathless whisper. "So full it's all I can think about."

A dark satisfaction fills his eyes. "Good girl."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, a tidal wave that's about to crash over me. I'm teetering on the edge, my body straining, my mind a haze of need and want.

"Look at me," he commands, his grip on my throat tightening slightly, forcing my gaze to meet his. There's a fire in his eyes, a burning intensity that makes my breath catch. "I want you looking at me."

I nod, my breath hitching as he hits that spot deep inside me again, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. I'm so close, so incredibly close.

"Who do you belong to, Vee?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my entire being.

"You," I gasp out, the word a breathless whisper. "I belong to you."

"Say it again."

"I belong to you," I repeat, the words a desperate plea. "I'm all yours."

He lets out a low growl, a possessive sound of approval, and then he's moving with a renewed urgency. The pleasure is a slow burn, a gentle wave that builds inside me. He's not just taking what's his; he's worshipping it, cherishing it, claiming it in the most fundamental way possible.

"You're so beautiful when you surrender," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. "So perfect. So mine."

His words are a possessive praise, a dark declaration that sends a shiver down my spine. I'm completely at his mercy, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

He pulls out, turning me over with a firm, deliberate motion. I land on my back, my legs spreading instinctively, a silent invitation. He lets out a low growl, a possessive sound of approval, and then he's inside me again, deeper this time, a perfect, punishing fit.

When I feel him again my orgasm also comes, my legs shaking from the pleasure

He doesn't move for a moment, just lets me feel the fullness, the possessive weight of him inside me. His hands are on my thighs, pushing them back, opening me up to him completely.

"I want to see your face when I fill you up again," he says, his voice a low growl against my ear. "I want to see the pleasure in your eyes."

The new angle is electrifying, a jolt of pure pleasure that courses through my veins. My hands fly to his shoulders, my fingers digging into his skin as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

His hands are gripping my hips, pulling me back to meet his every thrust. His weight pins me to the bed, a solid, heavy presence that leaves no room for doubt about who's in control.

"Who owns this pretty little pussy, Vee?" he demands, his breath hot against my ear. "Tell me who."

"You do," I gasp out, the words a breathless whisper. "It's yours."

A dark satisfaction fills his eyes. "Good girl."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, a tidal wave that's about to crash over me. I'm teetering on the edge, my body straining, my mind a haze of need and want. Tears keep falling over my face from too much pleasure.

"Look at me," he commands, one of his hands cupping the side of my face, gently making me look at him again. "When you come, I want you looking at me. I want to see your tears and know I caused them."

I nod, my breath hitching as he hits that spot deep inside me again, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision blur. I'm so close, so incredibly close.

I gasp out, saying the words I know he wants to hear. "I belong to you."

"Say it again."

"I belong to you," I repeat, the words a desperate plea. "I'm all yours."

"That's right." he says while still thrusting in me

Then I feel him cumming inside me again, filling me up to the brim with his seed. The thought alone is enough to send me over the edge. I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping my lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me.

"My bunny" he says showering my tear stained face with kisses "my pretty little bunny" he continues. He slowly moves out of me and moves my hair out of my face. I'm still shaking and can't speak properly, all I can do is lean into his touch. The possessive gentleness of the gesture is just as overwhelming as the roughness before it.

He continues to kiss my face, my lips, my eyelids. Each touch is a brand, a mark, a declaration of ownership. He's not just soothing me; he's claiming me all over again, in a different way. A quieter way, but just as intense.

"You were so good for me," he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek. "So perfect."

I can only make a small, weak sound in response, my mind still a hazy blur of sensation and emotion. I'm a mess, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and tears and him, but I've never felt more whole, more cherished, more utterly possessed.

List for oneshots from my slowburn FratKuna! Fanfic.

Please note: Sukuna may appear slightly OOC in this oneshot.

This portrayal is specific to my university AU and reflects a deeply established dynamic between him and the main character.

If he seems unusually restrained or respectful, it is intentional and rooted in their shared history, which is explored in the main story.

Second year was supposed to be predictable.

I study psychiatry. I understand patterns. Attachment styles. Defense mechanisms. I can dissect a personality in under ten minutes and rarely miss. People are algorithms with trauma responses. If you pay attention, they tell you exactly who they are.

Then I run into him at a frat party.

It isn’t cinematic. There’s no dramatic spark. Just impact — shoulder to shoulder — and a smirk that feels like a challenge. While my best friend is busy making out with Choso in some dim hallway, I’m stuck trading insults with the campus menace everyone calls Sukuna.

He’s arrogant. Provocative. Irritatingly perceptive.

And worse — he doesn’t perform for me.

What starts as banter sharpens into something dangerously precise. Our conversations feel like sparring matches. Our hostility feels rehearsed. The tension stretches thin enough to hum.

We don’t like each other.

That’s the story I stick to.

Meanwhile, there’s KunaIdle — my anonymous online constant. He knows me as BusyBee. No faces. No real names. No real-world bleed-through. Just carefully curated honesty behind a screen where I remain in control.

Offline, things are messier.

The more Sukuna pushes, the more my composure fractures. Dissociation. Impulsive decisions. Strategic hookups meant to prove I’m unaffected. Detached. Rational. In control.

I understand psychology.

So why does he feel like the one variable I can’t predict?

This is a slow burn in its purest form. Nothing happens quickly. Nothing is handed to you. But every glance, every insult, every almost-moment feeds you in increments.

Slowburn loading… very slowly.

Hello everyone, this is the official character list for my JJK University Au. For everyone who does not know this yet, this is a slowburn with my OC x FratKuna!. This slowburn is made alongside with 2 of my friends in a shared universe, they will write the stories from their own OC's perspectives.

I want to add that details about any of the characters may change as the story progresses.

Vivianna Howard (Vee)

(might change her surname)

Her fave colour is pink

Psychiatry major

She has a really nice voice and she can sing pretty well

Is bitchy unapologetically

Has an abusive mother and she made sure to move away for college to get rid of her

INTP

Likes giving a lot of gifts

A bit minimalistic 

Argues with men for fun

Very vengeful (initially she wanted to do law, but out of spite, she moved to psychology to out-do Maria)

Is very sapphic about Val

Very very very smart in any subject

Likes expensive stuff

Likes bobba and gyoza and sushi a lot

Was in a relationship with Gojo Satoru

Does a lot of skin care and looks really organised (she is not but only Val knows)

Used to be a theatre kid

Has a high-tolerance to alcohol

Smells like vanilla 

Maria used to tell her she was ‘too needy’ when she was emotional so now she has problems expressing her feelings 

Looks like a cinnamon roll, she could kill you

Vapes a lot (vanilla, coffee and caramel)

Looks very ‘fairy-like’

Learned chinese just because.

Likes rabbits, foxes and leopards 

Used to be a lover-girl until her ex and Maria

Likes Vivienne Westwood but her style is very Dior-codded

Works at a casino part time

She likes Twilight a lot, but her favourite is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Thinks Sukuna is a dick, for the moment

Thinks Val deserves more than Choso and that he is a "wimpy coward"

Sukuna Ryomen (FratKuna!)

He is rich and flaunts his wealth a lot

Has a twin brother, Itadori Yuuji, but they are not usually seen together

The leader of the fraternity

Studies culinary arts

He is a very very very good cook

He’s had his way with every girl he wanted (until now)

People are a bit scared of him because he is a bully but he doesn’t get in trouble for being violent cause he can throw money at the dean every time

Is very nonchalant and mean

He respects Gojo Satoru but also hates his guts as they got in fights often in the campus because ‘people praise him too much’

At the top of every class

Surprisingly involved in the university’s student council

Listens to a bunch of old stuff because ‘music nowadays is not as good’

Sometimes speaks like an old man

Really cocky 

ENTJ

Thinks Maria talks too much, but he would fuck her if that stops her from talking

Thinks Vee is a bitch for talking back at him and not offering him ‘the respect he deserves’ 

Organises a lot of frat parties

Looks like he is immune to alcohol

Goes to the gym a lot 

Smells like wine with a woody tent

Valentine/Valentina Mrakov (Val)

Studying plastic arts

Doing tattoos part-time 

Likes Vivienne Westwood

Smokes a lot (weed and cigs)

Likes HIM a lot

Has an accent

Drinks a lot of coffee/energy drinks

Likes deers, moths/butterflies, crows and cheetahs

Estranged family (calls her parents only for money) 

A ‘kind’ asshole to almost everyone but the ones she considers friends

INFJ

Dated Geto until he ‘ghosted’ her when he changed highschools

Been friends with Maria since the first grade until she found out Maria was a two-faced cunt

Maria used to shame her for doing drugs so she is more secretive over this now

Likes margaritas and vodka-cranberries

Smells like cherries

Very outspoken about the problems of the world

Makes a lot of references (movies, songs, musicals, etc.)

Has an y2k digital camera she takes photos with

Goes to the gym often

Her favourite movie is Black Swan

She is the blue to ‘Vee’s’ pink

Looks very ‘siren-like’

Knows how to cook but she is too lazy to do it

Disliked Gojo from the beginning (“he’s too arrogant”)

Dislikes Sukuna also, but she tries to not get involved this time because she has her own shit going on

Choso Kamo (PlugChoso!)

Middle class

Generic stoner, only smokes weed although he sells other stuff too

Started selling to support his younger brothers 

Is very sleep deprived 

ISFP

Doesn’t really get social queues and can’t maintain a conversation for too long 

Can get really emotional if someone actually gets to him

Studies biology with a full-scholarship and knows too many things about blood 

Looks like he could kill, actually is a cinammon roll

Got really close to Yuuji and calls him his ‘brother’, and he is also his only friend

Smells like blood oranges, but also weed

Has a wallpaper of him and his brothers and one of him and Yuuji

Has a really good aim 

Goes to the gym a lot and practices a lot of sparing with Yuuji

Knows how to first-aid someone

Listens to basically anything that plays but he likes trap and metal mostly

Kind of an social outcast

Val is his favourite customer

Can be smart if he wants to, but he doesn’t

Thinks Vee is also cool

He doesn’t dislike anyone, but neither likes someone besides Yuuji and maybe (?) Val

A bit shy with new customers 

He is rolling his own cigarettes because ‘is cheaper’

Paints his nails

Sofia Petrova

Teacher Nanami’s favourite student

Literature Student

INTJ/INFJ

Strong sense of justice

Loves peonies 

Burgundy as her favourite color

Obsessed with Lana Del Rey

Classic music enthusiast (Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, anything from the ‘50s to ‘90s really)

Reads comic books and literature books

Comes off as shy and quiet, but really she’s just reserved

Has daddy issues and AuDHD

Hobbies: drawing, chess, baking

Fashion Style: Light/Dark Academia, Morute

Favours mint tea over coffee anytime

Nanami Kento (TeacherNanami!)

Sofia Petrova is his favourite student

Calm, restrained and blunt when necessary

Protective and responsible

Soft but dominant

ISTJ

More of a doer than talker

He doesn’t understand Gen Z slangs

Likes his coffee dark and bitter

Can get territorial

Maria Sherperd (the bitch)

Looks rlly innocent but actually isn’t 

Her favourite colour is yellow and she likes sunflowers

She is kinda popular because she is a social butterfly

Middle-upper class 

A bit nerdy 

Has a crush on teacher Nanami (who doesn’t notice her because he’s professional

An one-night-stands addict

Judges Val a lot for her ‘messy’ life, for doing drugs, for ‘not wanting more’ for her life

Really tech-smart, wanted to study AI at first 

Doesn’t care if she makes you feel uncomfortable but she will pretend she doesn’t

Studies psychology 

Talks a lot about “protecting her peace” 

Judges Vee for ‘being too intense and possessive’, for ‘having a sad life’, for ‘having a toxic relationship with Gojo’

Told Val that Vee thinks she is ‘too much’ and told Vee that Val said ‘Vee is an attention-seeker’, basically two-timing them so they never become friends, a whole mess

Tries to open ‘deep talks’ with anyone

Is a narcissist 

Gossips a lot but pretends to not like gossip 

Also goes to the gym

Thinks Choso is a loser

Thinks Sukuna is hot tho

Lowkey wanted Gojo for herself when Vee was dating him