⊠ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [completed series]
â you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. â
⊠cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. self-loathing. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. minor descriptions of wounds. mentions of arachnids. withdrawal. pet names. oral (f! receiving). p in v. nipple play. fingering. neck kissing. marking. body worship. size difference. praise. aftercare.
⊠additional tags ; college parties and themes. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6'11".
⊠words ; 12.1k.
main masterlist || series masterlist || next â
You make a point of not judging a book by its cover. So, when paired with the collegeâs resident bad boy for the literal most important project of the year, you just nod to yourself. Of course, youâre aware of his very poor attendance record among other things youâve heard about him. At the end of the day, the rest is all hearsay, so youâll treat him the same as you would any other group project partner.
Searching around the lecture hall until your gaze lands on him, you shoot him a kind smile. You donât expect him to return it, he practically always sports a disinterested or aloof expression and now is one of those times, it would seem. Heâs wearing his usual oversized but fairly stylish shirt, baggy cargo pants and a leather jacket, even though itâs quite warm inside. One airpod sits in his ear, only half paying attention.
The two of you are practically polar opposites. You, who shows up to class ten minutes early, jots down every note you possibly can, and turns in projects a week early, not to mention your fairly preppy style, makes the two of you about as different as it gets. On top of that, there were moments where Sukuna would dip into a room late and you would wonder why he bothers paying for college at all. Does he even want to be here?
Turning back to your laptop, you decide youâll set up some documents for your project to get ahead of everything and stop worrying about someone elseâs life. Youâll just have to make the most of the project. Besides, Sukuna could be the best project partner youâll ever work with.
Upon dismissal, you wait a moment for the room to clear before slinging your pale pink bag over your shoulder, holding your books to your chest and making your way up the lecture hall to where Sukunaâs seated.
âHey, nice to meet you, Iâm-â
âI know who you are,â he sighs. âIâm Sukuna.â
Rude. âRight,â you swallow, blinking twice as you attempt to clear your mind of the less than ideal first impression. âSo, I was thinking since we need to analyze three paintings, I can choose one, you can choose one and we can do the work separately and then work together on the last one-â
âSure, whatever.â
You purse your lips. That was easy. Or does he just not care? Brushing off the thought, you nod slowly. âOkay. Great,â you mumble somewhat nervously, unsure if the reason your voice is wavering is out of fear that youâre doomed from the project, or the fact that Sukuna is hardly giving you the time of day and itâs somewhat imposing.
Finding the nerve to meet his gaze, you find that it seems heâs barely paying attention. His deep near-crimson eyes accented by tattoos are trained off to the side, one hand in his pocket and the other is fiddling with an unlit cigarette. You have half a mind to wonder if heâs heard a damn thing youâve said given the airpod still hanging from his pierced lobe.
âDo you, um,â you worry your lip between your teeth as you mentally reset to stop yourself from stammering. âDo you want to go over anything before we do our parts?â
âNah.â
Nah? Oh my god, youâre doomed.Â
âOkay. No problem. Um, why donât we just meet after class next Friday?â
Sukuna balances the unlit cigarette between his lips, shuffling to pull out his phone and open his calendar. âSure,â he agrees, his words muffled by the cigarette.
âGreat! I think weâll want to start working on the third piece next week so Iâll choose the first painting and get started on it and then we can choose the last painting next week,â you say, putting the date in your calendar as well. âOh! And we should exchange numbers.â
He hums in agreement, not even giving you the time for words now but he does give you his number. Realizing you arenât about to get anywhere else with him, you shoot him a wry smile and make your way out the door.
Oh Shoko is so gonna hear about this.
â
Before you know it, next Friday comes around and when you turn your gaze to where Sukuna usually sits, you realize he just isnât there.
Well thatâs⊠lovely.
Leaning forward on your elbows, you groan with your face in your hands. This project was sure to be a nightmare at this rate. You could already see yourself going to talk to the professor about how Sukuna hadnât done an ounce of work and it was all done by you.
Opening your laptop, you stare at the document youâd put together for Persistence of Memory, which may be an obvious choice but you love the painting too much to choose a different one.
Maybe you should just choose the third one on your own.
Maybe you should just choose the second one on your ownâŠ
Fuck.
You sigh, glancing back at Sukunaâs empty seat once more, and to your surprise just as you begin to give up hope upon seeing his seat empty, he ambles through the door in an oversized hoodie and sweats as though the lecture didnât end fifteen minutes ago.
His gaze meets yours and he tilts his chin upwards at you, a silent message for you to take a seat near him.
Gathering your belongings, you take your laptop over to him, setting it on the table beside him in the mostly-empty lecture hall.
âHey,â you greet him, receiving a grunt in response. âI was starting to think you were gonna flake out on me,â you joke with a somewhat nervous laugh when you meet his striking gaze. His disinterested eyes bore into you as he examines your nervous expression, and itâs then that you notice that- âare you okay?â
He sighs, heavy with exasperation, running a hand over his sharp features. His hair is still damp, not spiked up as usual as it hangs over his forehead, he has dark circles that make him look like he hasnât slept in years, and his leg is shaking up and down like heâs got somewhere else to be.
âIâm fine,â he grumbles, unimpressed that youâve noticed how horribly disheveled he looks, but he brushes it off. âYou got somethinâ to show me?â
âI, um-â you pause, casting him one last uncertain glance at the fact that oh my god, he looks sick? âYeah, so I chose a Salvador DalĂŹ piece,â you tell him, nudging your laptop towards him so that he can see your analysis.
He casts a glance at it, and itâs then that you realize that he doesnât seem to have a laptop on him. Hm.
He seems to have noticed your confusion as he pulls out his phone, fiddling with it for a moment or two before setting it in front of you. âHad to do something before our meeting, so I donât have my computer right now, but hereâs what Iâve got so far.â
You flash him a curious glance before staring at his phone screen, reading through his notes quietly. The Fallen Angel painted by Alexandre Cabanel. You canât say youâre shocked, but itâs a good choice. His analysis is short and needs more detail, but itâs a good start and fairly insightful. Sukuna lacks elegance with his words, but this is just the research phase anyway. Okay, not a bad start.
Maybe this wonât be so bad.
To your surprise, although heâs mostly quiet, he gives you some input on your analysis and hums in agreement when you ask him to write a bit more in certain areas to match your research. He doesnât even seem that bothered by it, only mildly inconvenienced. You would almost argue that he was agreeable if you couldnât feel the side-eye you were receiving from him.
When you finally settle on C. Allan Gilbertâs All is Vanity for your final piece, Sukuna excuses himself quite quickly and makes his way out, grunting in agreement when you ask him to meet you at the same time next week. You had hoped to get some research done with him but this would have to do, and hopefully you would have more time next week.
Only⊠when next week comes, he doesnât show. You lean over the desk where Sukuna usually sits, figuring maybe heâs just late again, but as the clock rolls past the thirty minute mark, you begin to lose hope. Tapping your fingers rhythmically over the desk as you stare at the clock, you resign to texting him.
3:39 PM || You: hey! just wondering if youre on your way
Another twenty minutes of staring at the sent text does you no good and you canât really get much done without Sukunaâs portion, so with a sigh, you push yourself up and call Shoko to go out with you. At least now you can make the most of your Friday night, even if itâs a bit earlier than intended.
â
âHe just completely no-showed, huh?â
âNot even a text,â you confirm with a groan, keeping your attention on the road as you make your way to the bar by Shokoâs house. The afternoon sun glints on the windshield of your car, warming the interior of the vehicle rather comfortably for the early autumn day.
âCanât say Iâm surprised,â Shoko hums at the thought.
âI really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I mean honestly his research wasnât too bad,â you sigh, casting a glance at your best friend.
âCould still be salvageable. Maybe try asking him what works for him?â She suggests with a shrug, leaning back in her seat as she stares blankly out the windshield.
âI donât know. I think if I leave things up to him, he just wonât do it.â
âOh, because heâs been so good at showing up when you organize things?â She chides with a raised brow.
You suppose you canât really argue with that, so you groan in response. âAt least he has a good taste in art.â
âYeah?â
âA little edgy, but yeah. He chose The Fallen Angel, you know the one that-â you pause, moving your arm over your face to mimic the famous painting while keeping your eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel.
âOh yeah, I think I know the one,â she agrees with a chuckle at your description. âI think Iâve seen-â she pauses as your car comes to a slow halt at a stop light. You shoot her a questioning glance when she remains quiet. âSpeak of the devil. Isnât that him?â
âSukuna?â You question, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of whatever Shokoâs looking at.
Sure enough, the pink-haired man in question is on the sidewalk along with two young kids. He seems frustrated, his hand flying in the air in obvious exasperation and you wonder what his relation to them is. Your first thought is that they could be his, but the older of the two kids is just a bit too old to make that assumption.
Still, you didnât take Sukuna as someone enthusiastic at the thought of being a babysitter.
âShit, that is him,â Shoko confirms for herself. When the light turns green, the car jolts forward as you pull through a lane abruptly to turn and grab street parking very suddenly. âWoah, what are you-? You canât be serious.â
âI-â your words die in your throat. Are you serious? What are you doing? Itâs not like youâre friends. Are you here to confront him about not showing up? No, you arenât really even mad, just frustrated at most. Your mind flashes back to how heâd looked the week before, like he could pass out at any moment, and you wonder if youâre here out of concern. âI donât know,â you mumble, parking your car and hopping out.
âYou are serious,â she mutters more to herself than you as she watches you leave the car with a sigh, following a short distance behind you.
The day is relatively warm for the early fall, the sun shining high overhead and providing a comfortable escape from the brisk breeze. Leaves are losing their vibrant green colors overhead, replaced with beautiful hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, and the sound of them rustling in the breeze is refreshing.
From around the corner, you can just barely make out Sukunaâs words. You were right to assume he was frustrated.
âGive it back to your brother,â he instructs, his voice a near-growl, but as the younger of the two kids whines in complaint, you can tell neither kid seems all that intimidated even by the almost seven-foot-tall man made of pure muscle who towers over them.
âNo!â
âCâmon brat, I donât have time for this,â he hisses out, voice rife with irritation. As you round the corner, lightly jogging up to Sukuna, you watch his gaze slowly turn to land on you and Shoko, his eyes widening for a moment as his expression shifts to surprise. For a moment you even think you see horror flash through his eyes, but he masks it all with his usual disinterested expression before you have time to think much about it.
âSukuna?â
âThatâs me,â he grumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair in exasperation.
âHi! Iâm Yuji!â The younger of the two boys bounds up to you, blatantly ignoring Sukuna as he waves to Shoko behind you.
You grin at him, kneeling down to his height as you greet him with your name. His eyes are filled with delight and as you get back to your feet, you put the pieces together. These must be Sukunaâs little brothers. Although the older of the two doesnât particularly look like him, the youngest is a near carbon copy of Sukuna, only lacking his tattoos, piercings, and his signature attitude.
âWhat a cutie,â you coo at the little boy, who canât be any older than five. The older of the two boys doesnât resemble Sukuna in the same way Yuji does, with sunken eyes and unkempt long brown hair, he looks to be about eleven⊠and he also looks like heâs about to burst into tears.
âDonât feed his ego,â Sukuna huffs, watching you interact with Yuji with his hands shoved in his pockets.
âLook! Look!â Yuji excitedly holds his hands out to you. You recognize an old GameBoy in his hands, something youâre sure you have hidden away somewhere in your own apartment from your childhood.
âI had one of those when I was young,â you tell him, glancing up at Sukuna whose left brow slowly raises.
âReally? Do you like Pokemon?â
âYuji, thatâs enough. Leave her alone and give it back to your brother,â Sukuna instructs, his frustration laced within his words.
âNo! Chosoâs playing it wrong,â he argues.
Sukuna looks like heâs about to burst. If he were a balloon, heâd be floating dangerously close to a pin, and itâs in that moment that you finally get a good look at him. If you thought he looked sickly last week, he looks like heâs about to collapse now.
His eyes are sunken, skin pale, and although heâs making an effort to mask it, his focus seems as though itâs drifting while he simply stands there. His hair is disheveled in a way that doesnât look intentional and thereâs a stain on the abdomen of his shirt. Which, to your surprise, is also a uniform for a local food distribution warehouse. Heâs wearing cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a blue polo shirt. Itâs a strange look for him, but youâre more concerned about the fact that he seems to be swaying, heâs so tired.
âI wasnât playing it wrong!â Choso argues back, leaping at his brother as they get into a scuffle, and itâs barely a split second before Yuji is in tears alongside Choso.
âFucking-â Sukuna cuts himself off, taking a step forward.
Instinctively, you step in before Sukuna needs to. âHey, hey!â You coo softly, leaning back down to them. âWhy donât you both play together?â Yujiâs sobs donât stop at your suggestion, although Choso backs away from the younger boy, listening to what you have to say with a heartbreakingly sad expression over something so simple. Life was so much easier at their age.
âHow?â Yuji asks through sobs.
âWhy donât you take turns? Itâs Pokemon, right?â You ask, earning a nod from Yuji as he sniffles and wipes his face, his sleeve absolutely covered in tears and snot already. âWhy donât you pass it over between each battle?â
Yuji stares at you skeptically, as though the little boy cannot possibly fathom sharing. Choso quietly waits for his brother to come to a conclusion as his sniffles subside, all the while Sukuna just watches the entire scene unfold with a furrowed brow.
âOkay,â Yuji finally agrees in a small voice. âBut I go first!â
To your surprise, Choso seems fine with this as they both crowd around the game.
When you stand back up, youâre happy to find that Sukuna looks absolutely relieved.
âFuck, thought Iâd never hear the end of that,â he mumbles, making you wonder if thatâs his begrudging way of thanking you.
You chuckle quietly, crossing your arms over your chest with a small shrug. âIâm good with kids,â you tell him. He eyes you for a moment, humming, but doesnât say anything. After a brief silence, you glance back up at him to find the tall manâs tired gaze still boring into you.
âAsk,â he instructs.
Your brow raises. âAsk?â
âYou wanna ask where I was today, right?â
That obvious, huh? âI did wait for an hour.â
A hint of a smirk graces his lips as he snidely comments, âyâknow, Iâm sure Iâve had other women wait longer.â You arenât sure how he expects you to react, but the way you raise a brow and donât entertain his lewd implications clearly doesnât encourage him to continue. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he clicks his tongue and turns his head away from you. âHad to pick up a shift at work. Was gonna text but the little brat broke my phone yesterday.â
âSorry, Kuna,â Yujiâs voice is small as you realize heâs been listening the whole time now that Choso is holding the GameBoy. His cheeks are puffy and red still from crying, but god he sure is a mini Sukuna.
âKunaaaa?â You coo teasingly at the absolutely adorable nickname.
âHe canât say my name,â Sukuna grumbles, suppressing his irritation as best as he can, given that you did save him from further arguments with his brothers and he did already test his limits with you anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles in distaste at the nickname as he stares at the ground with a huff.
âThatâs so cute!â You practically squeal, eyes bright as you grin at the hulking mass of anger and maybe even embarrassment as his cheeks heat up before your eyes.
âShut up,â he hisses, still avoiding your gaze.
âItâs alright, by the way. We can figure out another time to meet.â
âYeah, whatever. Iâll text-â he cuts himself off, blinking at the realization that he has no phone. âIâll email you or some shit.â
âEmail. Right,â you sarcastically tease with a tilt of your head. A muscle in Sukunaâs jaw visibly twitches and he huffs.
âTake it or leave it.â
You raise your hands in the air defensively, unable to help your amused smile. As silence falls over the both of you, interrupted only by Chosoâs quiet commentary to Yuji about their game, you let your expression morph to one of concern again. Your lips part to ask if Sukunaâs alright, but he beats you to it.
âIâm fine.â His voice is low and strained and you both know you donât believe him.
âYou look it,â you challenge him sarcastically.
Sukunaâs jaw tenses as he stares you down as if daring you to challenge him again. Luckily for him, youâre willing to let it go.
âDo you guys need a ride somewhere?â You ask, glancing back in the direction of your car. Shoko is probably itching to get to the bar, though surely she wonât mind your offer given that the man in front of you looks like he could melt into a puddle if it only meant he could sleep.
âNo.â
âYeah!â
Sukuna and Yuji stare at one another as they both respond at the same time.
âNo. Weâre fine,â Sukuna growls, narrowing his eyes at the young boy.
âI donât wanna walk anymooooore,â Yuji complains, shooting Choso a pleading look. Catching on, Choso shoots Sukuna a pair of puppy dog eyes. God the two of them are just adorable.
âNo, both of you. Cut it out. Now.â Sukunaâs voice drops an octave as he hisses the last word.
âI really donât mind,â you say quietly, leaning closer to him in an attempt to keep your words between the two of you.
âI donât need your help,â Sukuna protests, taking a step towards you with massive muscular arms folding over his chest as his polo shirt is pulled taut from the movement.
âSo if I give you a little push, you wonât fall over and pass out?â
âNo.â He scowls defensively as he stares back at his two brothers, not noticing the way you slowly reach your hand out before shoving him lightly. He sways backwards slightly, catching himself before he actually does fall over as he swats at your hand. âFucking- What the fuck is wrong with you?â He grouses, voice dripping with irritation and anger, although it doesnât reach his eyes. He just looks tired.
âLet me drive you where you need to go and Iâll stop,â you taunt, moving your hand forward to shove him again.
Now paying attention, he grabs your wrist before you can push him. âChrist, youâre almost as much of a brat as my brothers,â he huffs, fiery eyes hyper-focused on your cheerful demeanor in spite of the fact that heâs been nothing short of snappy with you since you first showed up. âYouâll stop because I said so, not because Iâm agreeing, got that?â
You shrug, shooting him a smile that says you won. âWhatever you say, Sukuna.â
He drops your wrist with a dramatic sigh before ushering his brothers after you as you turn to make your way back to your car.
âCanât say I know what just happened,â Shoko whispers in your ear as she walks alongside you to your car. âBut Iâm surprised he agreed.â
âIâm not. Heâs barely awake,â you tell her as you both cast a glance back at him. He doesnât seem to notice as he bickers with his brothers, telling them to keep up if they want a ride from you.
âYeah, he looks like shit,â she chuckles with a shake of her head. Never one to beat around the bush, but she is right.
Unlocking your car, you open the back door as Sukuna lifts his youngest brother into the backseat, grumbling about the two boys needing to behave before he climbs in himself, completely blocking your view through your rearview mirror.
He huffs and puffs as he gives you his address, choosing not to say a word throughout the ride as he listens to you chat with Shoko, muttering only the occasional âcut it outâ or âstop that, bratâ to one of his brothers.
Rolling up to what you assume is his apartment, you put the car in park and turn your attention back to the boys, putting on your best radio voice.
âThank you for riding, please exit to your left and have a greeeeeat day!â You earn a sweet laugh from Yuji and a calm smile from Choso for your antics. You can practically feel Sukunaâs exasperation as it comes off of him in waves, clearly done with the world for the day, but you donât miss the silent relief gleaming in his eyes.
âWhat do you say?â Sukuna gruffs, nudging the youngest of his brothers who youâre obviously putting on the show for.
âThank you, miss!â He grins brightly as Sukuna opens the door and lowers him to the ground. He hands Choso a pair of keys, nudging them along to the door of the run-down building. To your surprise, he shuts the door and comes around to your side, knocking on the window.
You tilt your head as you roll down the window.
âThanksâŠâ he trails off as though the word is sour on his tongue, shooting a glance at Shoko in a silent gesture of thank you to her as well.
âNo problem. Go get some sleep,â you tell him softly. Frustration flashes through his eyes as you tell him what to do but heâs not about to lash out at the person responsible for his grade who also gave him a ride home. Even heâs not that much of an asshole.
He sets a hand on your hood, pausing for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up more than it already was. âDo me a favor and donât mention this to anyone, yeah?â
You tilt your head, exchanging a glance with Shoko as he looks between the two of you. âYeah. No problem.â
His hand slides off your car as he rounds the vehicle to follow after his brothers. He pauses to cast a glance at you, before pushing into the front lobby of his apartment building and out of sight.
Silence falls over both you and Shoko as you watch the tattooed man disappear into the building when Choso holds the door open for him.
âThat was fucking weird,â Shoko comments.
âHm?â You hum as you pull out of the apartment, unsure of what she means. Of course Sukuna would have a life Shoko had never thought about, itâs not like they were close, you arenât sure what she was expecting.
âHe wasnât a complete dick.â
Shooting Shoko a confused glance, you purse your lips. âIs he known for that? I thought he was just a bit of a delinquent.â
âYeah, that too, but heâs pretty well-known for being snappy with people and snarky to profs.â
âOh,â you blink twice in thought, keeping your eyes on the road. âI donât know. Heâs pretty quiet in Art History, this project is the first time Iâve ever talked to him. I figured Iâd give him the benefit of the doubt.â
âHuh,â Shoko shrugs, âguess youâre on his good side, then.â She sighs, leaning back in her seat once again. âOh well, you have blackmail on him anyway, so thereâs no way heâs bailing on you now,â she grins with a teasing smirk.
Your eyes widen and you move your elbow to nudge her. âAbsolutely not, and donât you think about it either!â
Shoko chuckles, though you know she wouldnât anyway. Much like you, sheâs too kind to spill Sukunaâs secrets to the school, regardless of her opinions or thoughts on him.
â
As you return home from the bar late that night with a comfortable buzz that had left you needing to keep your car at the bar overnight, you pour yourself a glass of water and open your laptop on your bed, letting it boot up while you change into an oversized cozy beige hoodie with little bows adorning the sleeves.
Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands and throwing on a pair of shorts, you run a hand through your hair and log into your laptop, pulling it onto your lap to browse social media, when something catches your eye.
You donât pay much attention to your email inbox most of the time. Maybe you should, after all the college sends you a fair amount of emails and youâve missed some in the past, but what catches your eye is certainly not from the faculty.
Itâs a response to the document you sent Sukuna via email last week.
Oh shit, he was serious about sending you an email.
Maybe itâs because you're drunk, or maybe itâs because the idea of the nearly seven foot tall tattooed man who youâd watched leave class once just to smoke sending you an email of all things is a truly funny thought, but you snicker to yourself as you open it.
Your snicker turns to a full laugh as you read the message. You canât decide if the message feels like a sad attempt at a booty call, an old man attempting to text via email, or an embarrassing attempt to save his bruised ego since he canât text you.
Youâd learned from Shoko at the bar earlier that Sukuna has quite the reputation. Supposedly heâs known for bringing a woman home at every party, for being able to smooth talk his way into the bedroom in spite of his usually grumpy and ill-mannered demeanor, and for being able to always get what he wants even though he has a reputation for being an asshole. So itâs hard not to laugh when that same man is the one who just sent you the most awkward email. At one in the morning. On a Saturday.
Oh my god.
[email protected] - Saturday, 2:12 AM
Hey Sukuna! Iâm around tomorrow afternoon and all day Sunday. Did you have time to work on the project?
You hit send and shut your laptop, deciding to brush your teeth and begin getting ready to get some rest. Taking off your makeup and brushing your hair, you finish up your nighttime routine and decide on a whim to see if your project partner has responded to you.
Getting under the covers and leaning against the headboard of your bed, you open your laptop again. To your surprise, your inbox has gone up by one.
[email protected] - Saturday, 2:19 AM
cool. come by mine tomorrow whenever
You snicker to yourself as you read the message again. Heâs certainly not fighting either the sad booty call or old man texting via email allegations.
[email protected] - Saturday, 2:23 AM
Had to leave my car at the bar, did you wanna come by my place?
To your surprise, itâs only a couple of minutes later when he replies.
[email protected] - Saturday, 2:25 AM
uhhh i gotta watch over the brats
[email protected] - Saturday, 2:26 AM
Bring them!! Theyâre so cute :)
You can practically feel his irritated grumbles through the screen when not even a minute later he responds.
With a satisfied smile, you let him know to drop by at two in the afternoon and send him your address before shutting your laptop.
As you lay down in bed, you canât help but wonder what a strange little world youâve somehow managed to squeeze your way into. Sukunaâs world. Maybe itâs because heâs easy to tease, maybe itâs the undeniable fact that heâs a good looking guy, or maybe itâs the fact that heâs actually surprised you more than once now and youâre somewhat enjoying the project more than you initially thought you would, but you canât help but find yourself fascinated by him.
Come to think of it, you wonder if maybe Shokoâs comment has something to do with it. You think back to the way that she mentioned that he was oddly agreeable and, well, not a dick, and you wonder if itâs a curiosity to get to know this side of Sukuna that no one seems to know that compels you to be laying in bed at two in the morning thinking about the situation.
Regardless, you fall asleep with a calm little smile.
â
Glancing at the clock, you have half a mind to wonder if Sukuna will actually show up. Sure, he was the one who reached out, but maybe you should have just bussed to your car rather than waiting on Shoko to drive you to it and gone to his place on your own given that you canât text him to ask where he is and itâs almost two thirty in the afternoon.
You could email him.
No⊠no. You arenât about to email him.
You almost laugh to yourself at the thought.
Returning to your coffee, you keep at your work, refining your notes until you have something you think you can confidently write a full thesis about, when finally thereâs a buzz at your door.
Speak of the devil. You buzz him up and there's a knock at your apartment door a few moments later.
âCut that out,â Sukuna hisses practically the moment you open the door. You raise a brow at him and he sighs. âThe brat, not you,â he clarifies, nudging Yuji.
You shoot him a sweet smile, suppressing a chuckle. Sukuna is dressed in a leather jacket, a white V-Neck and a pair of ripped jeans. In comparison to his usual baggy cargo pants and hoodie, he almost seems like heâs dressed up a bit and you canât help but smile at the thought. More importantly though, the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a bit faded in comparison to when you had spotted him yesterday and you can tell he was able to get a bit of rest.
Yuji is excitedly looking up at you and attempting to tug on Sukunaâs hand while Choso stands behind his brother silently, his expression neutral.
âHey guys, câmon in.â You grin as you open the door for them, watching Yuji bound in ahead of his older brothers. He begins looking around with wide eyes, so full of wonder and excitement that you canât help but smile.
âSuch sweet kids,â you comment as Sukuna stands beside you, sighing as both brothers practically run to the sofa, looking around your little apartment excitedly.
âYeah, whatever.â
You giggle at Sukuna, nudging him playfully. The glare he shoots you as he grunts seems to lack the usual malice his expressions hold and he runs a hand through his well-groomed hair, motioning for you to lead the way.
You show him to your little desk at the back of the apartment, pulling up a kitchen chair for yourself as you give him your office chair. He silently obliges, sitting down with his legs spread.
âOne moment,â you mumble, heading into your room briefly before reappearing with none other than your old GameBoy, complete with a copy of Pokemon Ruby. Sukunaâs gaze is tethered to you and although his expression doesnât change, you see surprise flash across his crimson irises as you walk up to the boys, kneeling in front of them.
âChoso, do you want to use my old GameBoy?â You ask the brown-haired young man, holding it out to him. His eyes are wide with surprise as Yujiâs jaw drops open. Choso nods, not saying a word as he flips the device and eyes the game. If itâs even possible, his eyes widen further and he smiles shyly.
âAre you sure?â
âMore than sure. I bet thereâs some neat Pokemon on that file,â you tell him.
The two boys exchange a grin and Choso thanks you profusely as he turns on the system.
âNo problem. Thereâs a TV in my room, why donât you two hang out in there and you donât need to listen to your brother and I talk about boring art, hm?â
Yuji nods excitedly, bounding to his feet and grabbing your hand. Your heart swells at the action as you lead him and Choso to your room and hand them the remote. It takes all of a moment for both of them to begin bickering about what to watch, though you notice their arguments are fairly one-sided, with Choso being much quieter than his younger brother.
Leaving the two of them to their own devices, you make your way back out to Sukuna, whoâs set his laptop on your desk and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. Heâs wearing a white band tee with a deep V-neck for a metal band you arenât familiar with, though the sleeves are torn off. With arms crossed over his chest and tattooed muscular arms on display, itâs undeniable just how attractive he is.
The real surprise is when he turns his head to look at you and his sharp eyes are, strangely, filled with⊠well you arenât quite sure. Uncertainty? Confusion?
You subtly tilt your head when you take a seat on the kitchen chair beside him. His chair spins to face you as he examines you.
âIs something wrong?â
Sukunaâs adam's apple bobs as he swallows, before shaking his head. âNah. Letâs just get this shit over with,â he grumbles, opening his laptop and turning his research document towards you. Heâs clearly taken a look at yours, because his notes are in a similar format and he has about as much written as you, not to mention heâs put some work into research on the third painting you two had chosen.
Your brows raise as you read through it. âWow, this is really good.â
He scoffs. âDonât sound so shocked.â
You chuckle in embarrassment. âI didnât mean to come off that way, I just-â you pause, leaning back in your chair. Aside from the subtle sounds of Pokemon and the TV in the background, the only sound that breaks the silence as you pause is the squeaking of your chair. âI donât know. When you were late and then you just didnât show up, IâŠâ you trail off, not wanting to accuse him of something that clearly isnât true.
âYou assumed the worst.â
Your mouth opens but any words you had in your defense die on your tongue, casting your glance to the side as you search for something, anything, to explain your thought process. No matter what way you try to word it, youâre definitely the bad guy here.
âItâs fine. Everyone does.â
Your brow furrows but before you can ask what he means, Choso is surprising you as he taps on your arm. You turn your attention to the young boy, whoâs looking up at you with gleaming eyes.
âYou have Rayquaza,â he states, arms outstretched to show you a serpentine creature on the GameBoy.
Your curiosity twists to easy mirth as you smile at him. âI guess I do, huh?â
Chosoâs arms fall back down in front of him as he stares down at the Pokemon. His eyes flicker up to you briefly, then back down. âYou have Groudon too.â
You canât help your amused laugh. Heâs such a sweet and shy little boy, but he talks just like Sukuna. Straight to the point, blunt, and rather short. He may not look like Sukuna like Yuji does, but his speech is just like his older brotherâs.
âLeave her alone,â Sukuna mumbles gruffly from beside you. Choso smiles up at him before bounding back to your room. You can hear the two of them gearing up to play the games together from across the apartment, the gameâs music heard in mismatched double as they both turn up the volume.
Turning back to Sukuna, your trail of thought is completely gone. âWhat was I saying?â
âYou got any music? The bratâs gameâs been drivinâ me crazy,â Sukuna mutters. âYuji broke my laptopâs speakers,â he sighs.
âHeâs on a hot streak for breaking things, huh?â You giggle.
âDonât get me started.â
You turn in your seat, pointing towards the wall where a table sits with a fairly nice record player on it, and a shelf of records. Theyâre organized by artist and their sleeves range from new-looking to clearly well-loved.
Getting to his feet, Sukuna follows to where you point, curiously staring at the spines of the records. Heâs not exactly shocked by most of the choices, but a few of them do stand out to him, and youâre thankful when you hear him sliding something off the shelf and putting it on the player.
You recognize the melody in the air instantly, and grin when Sukuna sits down beside you again. âThe Eagles?â
Sukuna doesnât move as his eyes slowly trail to you. He hums after a moment. âItâs a good album. You have⊠alright taste.â
In truth, he doesnât mind your taste in music. Sure, he may not be fond of all of your choices, many in fact, but it would seem the two of you are making a habit out of surprising one another as he has his next album choice in mind already.
âIâll take that as a compliment,â you chuckle at his dry attempt at being nice. The corner of Sukunaâs lips twitches up into a hint of a smile. It suits him.
As Hotel California blankets the air in warm strings and simple drum beats, the two of you are able to get a good amount of work done, putting your research together into one well-written and coherent thesis, one to be proud of.
Of course, you still need to put together an actual visual presentation to go with the thesis to be presented, but at least the bulk of the work is over with and you can feel confident in your project without concern anymore.
You have half a mind to get started on the visual portion now as well to get it all finished, but one glance at Sukuna tells you heâs tapped out, and either way youâve gone through three records at this point as the final track on a Pink Floyd album comes to a close.
As silence falls over your project group, Sukuna lets out a sigh. Itâs fairly dark in the room too as the sun sets, and when you check the clock to find itâs already six, you realize thatâs likely why your stomachâs been making noises for the last twenty minutes.
âWhy donât you guys all stay for dinner?â You suggest, mostly out of politeness, but you canât help but feel as though youâre drawn to him. You want to get to know him, know why heâs late so often, why he stays in school just to not show up for classes when itâs his money being blown. After all, it canât just be his brothers or work, he likely only takes care of them while his parents are at work, surely.
Sukuna wearily glances between you and the door where his little brothers are, before shaking his head. âNah, I can just make us somethinâ when we get back.â
âI insist,â you grin at him, watching the way a muscle twitches in jaw. âThere are some great places nearby, we can just grab takeout while they play games, weâll only be gone for a moment.â
He remains silent, arms crossed disdainfully over his chest before grimacing, giving in to your overly kind grin.
You settle on a curry restaurant just down the block and grab the boysâ orders, letting them know youâll be right back. Youâre sure you can trust Choso to look after his younger brother for twenty minutes.
As the chilly evening air hits your face, you let out a content hum, peering curiously back to see Sukuna falling into step with you. The two of you are a sight to behold, your appearance preppy and sweet decorated with autumnal colors fitting for the season, while heâs clad in leather and punk attire, the tones of his clothing purely grayscale.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his mild gaze locked in front of him.
âHow old are they, your brothers?â
âFive and twelve,â Sukuna replies, fighting off a yawn and failing.
Amused, you smile up at him. âIâm glad you got some rest last night. I was worried about you.â
His brow twitches as he meets your kind smile. âWorried? About me?â He shoots you an incredulous look, scoffing. When you pout at him, heâs unable to hold back a smirk. Itâs the first time youâve seen him truly at ease and now that youâre alone with him, you notice that he actually seems to be somewhat relaxed.
âYeah, maybe I was. Shoot me,â you shrug, playfully rolling your eyes.
He snorts, entertained, growing silent although the air that settles over you is comfortable now. Sukunaâs presence is surprisingly calming now that he isnât constantly regarding you with disinterested gazes and irritated huffs. His expressions remain mild, but his brooding is more infrequent and the tension in his gruff voice has dulled. You would almost think he likes being around you.
As you come up to the curry restaurant, you lean into Sukuna with a point of your finger, silently telling him to enter the restaurant to your right. He pulls the door open for you, trailing closely behind. The atmosphere of the restaurant is busy, the employees behind the counter moving quickly to fulfill orders. Sukuna can only imagine how good the food must be given the line waiting to order, though you assure him it wonât take long.
He casts a glance up at the menu and frowns as he takes in the prices. He can afford to pay for himself, Yuji, and Choso, but not you. He has half a mind to say something, but his pride causes him to choke on the words. He inconspicuously pulls out his phone to take a look at his bank app to see if he can swing anything, but catches a glimpse of an employee not paying attention as he moves quickly towards you, all the while youâre not paying attention either, idly staring at the menu.
The employee about to barrel into you is holding a massive steel bucket and while Sukuna canât see whatâs inside, he doesnât love the idea of you covered in water or worse.
With an annoyed click of his tongue, he lowers himself slightly, locking a strong arm around your middle and lifting you off the ground. You yelp in surprise, eyes wide as you latch onto his arm for purchase, head whipping around in confusion until you find the employee now walking past the exact spot you were in with boiling hot oil in a bucket.
Your lips purse, a shiver running from the base of your spine up to your nape just as Sukuna drops you to the ground unceremoniously in front of him. Your heels land with a clack on the ground as you catch your balance, your eyes still trailing after the employee that hadnât been able to see you over the jug of hot oil they carried.
âPay attention,â he scolds you with a frown.
âOh my god,â you mutter mostly to yourself, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally look up at your savior. Your eyes flicker down to his arms. Even covered in leather, the way his muscles ripple beneath the fabric with each movement he makes doesnât go unnoticed by you. âThank you, Sâkuna.â
He shoves his hands in his pocket, nodding. The way you abbreviate his name is painfully close to the nickname he avoids as much as he can, but he canât bring himself to correct you and in all honesty, heâs not sure why. He lets it slide, clearing his throat as he clears his mind of the way the name seems to shake him.
âDonât make a habit of it.â
His words feel like they should be scolding, but his tone doesnât hold the same meaning. As he stares back up at the menu with a stitch in his horribly handsome brow, you canât help but find yourself confused by the meaning of his words.
You donât have much time to think about it as your turn to order comes and you find yourself at the counter, giving the employee your order before glancing back at Sukuna. His mouth parts and he hesitates.
âI- uh-â
Youâve never seen him dither in such a way and you tilt your head, blinking in confusion.
âI canât-â
Frustration flashes through his eyes and you can see his jaw clench as he trips over his words. Flustered isnât the right word, but his pride is certainly hurt as he finally manages to force out the explanation you need.
âI canât afford to- uh-â
Again he pauses, his expression burning with irritation as his cheeks heat up, the admission coming at the cost of his ego.
Your face softens in understanding and your soft fingers wrap around his tattooed wrist, pulling him up to the counter.
âIâve got it. I invited you to stay, itâs on me.â You hold your card out with a kind smile, but Sukuna doesnât share your sentiment, anger flashing across the crimson of his eyes as he grits his teeth at you.
âI donât need help,â he hisses, eyes narrowed as his walls go back up right before you.
âThatâs not-â your eyes widen as you try to salvage the situation when Sukuna recoils suddenly. You hadnât intended for him to take your words so personally, youâd just felt it was the right thing to do given that you had invited not only him, but both of his brothers over as well, and suggested the place to begin with. âYou can get the next one,â you tell him in hopes of mending the bridge between you.
He examines your expression, finding no traces of malice or ill-will in your features. Frowning, he huffs as he turns to give his order to the poor employee whoâd had the displeasure of witnessing Sukunaâs outburst. In his silence, you order for his little brothers as well.
With a dour sigh, the tattooed man moves along to the side to wait for the order, the fact that you paid leaving a sour taste in his mouth. You make your way over to him, leaving a small distance between you.
âIâm really sorry, I didnât mean-â
âItâs fine.â
âReally, I- I-â you stumble over your words as he glares at you. You suppose Shoko had warned you that Sukuna was notoriously an ass, but you hadnât witnessed it first hand until now. Still, you canât help but feel like what youâre witnessing isnât that. At the end of the day he isnât lashing out for no reason, itâs clear you struck a nerve and you canât blame him for being hurt by it, even if itâs not what you intended and you donât fully understand where heâs coming from.
âDrop it,â Sukuna growls, though his anger has subsided somewhat, his gaze cast to the wall.
You blink up at him, hating the way the world seems to hold its breath around you.
You canât deny that the man who towers over you, covered in tattoos and piercings is intimidating. Between his gruff voice, his mild mannerisms and his disinterested demeanor, heâs tough to read and you really canât afford to let a rift come between you when you still have to work on your project.
Your lips part to say something but one striking glance from those crimson eyes has the words dying in your throat. Your mouth goes dry as you wrack your brain for anything to stay, but draw a blank.
Sukunaâs brow knits together at the sight of your anxious expression and he shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing.
It takes him a moment to fully cool off and collect his thoughts, but he can see in your eyes that you genuinely meant no harm and he supposes itâs the right thing to do to give you a break for that. Youâre just naturally kind and he finds that he needs to remind himself of that.
âItâs⊠fine,â he murmurs in a strained voice, nudging you with his elbow. You crack a smile at him, thankful when his body language seems to relax somewhat again.
You donât dare say anything as you wait for your food, fiddling with your phone in your hands as you contemplate his reaction. You obviously hurt his pride unintentionally by offering to pay, but between skipping school for work and the fact that this restaurant isnât by any means expensive, you have a guess as to why he might have been so affected, one that makes Sukunaâs entire demeanor and his exhaustion click into place like a puzzle.
Before you have a chance to ask him, unsure if you even want to, your name is called and Sukuna is grabbing your order. You reach out to grab one of the bags but Sukuna swiftly holds it overhead with a smirk that doesnât quite meet his eyes as you pout playfully. He continues to hold the food overhead as he leads the way outside. Watching you trail closely behind him, standing up on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach the bags, he raises a brow.
âWalk, brat.â
You shoot him a look, brow furrowed, before giving in and falling into step alongside him. He brings his arms down, holding the bags on his arms opposite you.
With your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Sukunaâs earlier outburst, you bring your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you stare at the sidewalk beneath your feet.
Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals, taking note of the way youâre deep in thought. âJust fucking ask your question.â
Much like yesterday, Sukuna easily notices the way you glance at him uncertainly, the question on the tip of your tongue. It catches you off-guard how easily he reads you and you fall out of step with him, taking longer strides to catch up after you falter.
âI- um- do you-â you hesitate, casting a glance at his aloof expression. He seems at ease again and you donât want to burn the bridge youâve only just managed to mend, out of fear that another fire wouldnât be put out so easily.
âYeah.â
You stop in your tracks, blinking in surprise with pursed lips. Sukuna raises a brow at you, only a short distance ahead as he stops too, turning to face you. You canât read his expression as it remains mild, his questioning brow the only sign that gives away any hint of his thoughts. In a few short strides, youâre back at his side.
âYouâre⊠their guardian?â
âYeah.â
âOh.â
Sukuna chews on his tongue piercing mindlessly as he watches the gears turn in your mind, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that had been laid out for you.
Of course Sukunaâs tired if heâs taking care of two young boys, going to college, working, cooking, cleaning, god the list can only go on. You wonder if the reason he seems so at ease right now, so quick to forgive you, is because heâs thankful for the break. You wonder how long itâs been since heâs had time to himself.
âThatâs why you missed yesterday.â
He shrugs. âYou knew that already.â
âI guess, yeah.â Your turn to shrug. âI just thought it was a temporary thing.â
Sukuna lets out a humorless laugh. âWell itâs not.â
Youâre not really sure how to react, in all honesty. You donât want him to think you pity him, you canât offer sympathy, you certainly canât offer help. In your uncertainty, you find yourself continuing to fiddle with your phone, avoiding his gaze.
Sukuna quite simply⊠turns to leave, deciding to spare you of your discomfort, and him of any more blows to his pride. You jog after him, falling into step again. There are questions left unanswered and sympathies you want to extend, but you canât bear the thought of hurting him again, even if itâs unintentional, so you bite your tongue.
The sounds of the city surround you, filling the silence. Sirens blare in the distance, trees rustle above you, and casual chatter comes and goes as you pass other groups of people on the way to your apartment. Itâs all a welcome distraction as you continue to fiddle with your phone, the air between you two neither tense nor comfortable. It lies somewhere in between and you donât dare tip the scales out of fear of making your counterpart uncomfortable.
âYou play a lot of Pokemon growinâ up?â
Your eyes light up as Sukuna starts a conversation, finally tipping the scales back towards being comfortable.
âMy best friend growing up really liked it, we played a lot of Ruby and Sapphire.â
âSame as the brats.â He scoffs playfully.
âAre you gonna pretend that isnât your old GameBoy?â
He tilts his head in your direction, a hint of a smirk on his lips. âAnd if it is?â
âDunno, I might think youâre a bit of a nerd,â you tease, mindlessly chewing on your lip.
Sukunaâs eyes flicker down to your lips. He catches himself immediately, averting his gaze. âTch.â
You giggle when he doesnât refute your claim. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, your takeout bags dangling from his forearm.
As you arrive back at your apartment, Sukuna lets you unlock the door before grabbing and holding it open for you. His eyes trace your figure as you tread ahead of him with a skip in your step. When you turn back to him, realizing he hasnât followed you yet, he blinks in surprise as he realizes exactly what heâs doing, shaking his head to clear it.
Why in the hell was he checking you out anyway? He doesnât make a habit of hooking up with people who know him beyond face value. He mutters a âsorryâ, relieved when you donât seem to notice the way heâd so shamelessly checked you out.
Closing the door behind him, he sets the food on the table, tossing his jacket aside as you call his brothers, setting up a little dinner around your coffee table. Sukuna groans as he slips down onto the floor to eat, remaining quiet as he simply watches the way you cheerfully entertain both of his brothersâ antics.
Shoveling rice into his mouth, Sukuna stares down at his curry, contemplating the strange sense of warmth blooming in his chest. The feeling is so unfamiliar to him that he canât place it. He has half a mind to drown the emotion in nicotine and the need to smoke grows quickly.
Heâs so preoccupied in his thoughts, Sukuna doesnât realize his little brothers have both run off back to your room, leaving the two of you alone.
âSâkuna?â
Striking pupils suddenly meet yours. He straightens from where he sits across from you on the couch, taking notice of the fact that youâve already finished your dinner.
âAre you alright?â
Sukuna nods. ââM fine.â Yet he canât help but to drink in the sight of you, the way you look at him with so much care and he canât understand why, the way your lips move so softly when you speak. The way your figure and curves would feel under his hands, the way you keep biting your lip⊠Sukuna shakes his head suddenly, getting to his feet as he chalks it up to lust. Heâll get over it at the next party he goes to. âBalcony?â He asks suddenly, pointing at the door at the back of your apartment.
You nod, watching in confusion as he rises suddenly and rushes out the door, pulling out a box of cigarettes. You hum to yourself, deciding to give him a moment. Youâre not sure exactly what came over him, he seemed flustered even if only for a moment, but there was something else you noticed in his eyes, something darker you couldnât identify.
Pushing that aside, you put the lid back over his food to keep it warm and check your phone to find Shokoâs been trying to reach you to go pick up your car. You let her know youâll have to pick it up tomorrow since youâre with Sukuna as you wait for him to finish smoking.
After a few messages back and forth, you glance back outside at Sukuna. The way the muscles along his back ripple just from the act of breathing is eye-catching enough, but when he stubs out his cigarette and leans over the railing of your little balcony, your eyes trail to his shoulder blades protruding from the white material of his shirt.
Catching yourself holding your breath, you take a step forward and decide to check on him, closing the balcony door in your stead as you slip onto the small overlook behind him.
He doesnât acknowledge you even as you lean beside him, his tired expression fixated on the street below. You rest a hand on his bicep as you tilt your head quizzically. âAre you sure everythingâs alright?â
Ever aloof, you arenât able to tell what heâs thinking as he turns to look at you. You, completely unaware that your touch has set his skin alight. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes have darkened a shade as his pupils dilate at your touch. Unsure whatâs come over him, he simply hums affirmatively as an answer to your question.
Your brow knits together but you accept his response. He wonders if you know that youâre rubbing circles into the skin of his bicep and itâs driving him crazy. What the hell is it about you thatâs got him horny like itâs his first year of college again? It frustrates him beyond belief, but maybe itâs just been too long since heâs slept with someone. That has to be it. Itâs just lust. He swallows hard, his adamâs apple bobbing with the action when you finally bring your attention out to the road in front of you both, removing your hand from him.
âHey, um, what do you do at the supermarket?â You ask in an effort to create conversation with him.
âStock,â he replies shortly, his tone as stoic as his expression.
âThatâs not too bad,â you murmur thoughtfully, giggling to yourself suddenly. Sukunaâs brow raises. âSorry, I just canât imagine you as, like, a cashier or something.â
âWhy not?â He sneers, standing up straight and facing you, offended.
âCome on,â you giggle, âyouâre not very talkative.â
âI can be,â he insists, taking a step towards you.
âIs that your way of proving it?â You provoke him with a grin.
He scoffs. âI just donât have anythinâ to say,â he grumbles with a tense jaw, staring down at you. ââSides, I work with customers at my other job.â
Another job? You frown at his admission. How the hell is he managing this? How hasnât he flunked out? âWhat other job?â
âMechanic,â he states blandly.
âReally? Are you a big car guy?â You ask, genuinely curious.
Sukunaâs somewhat taken aback by the way you lean in, your full attention directed towards him. You seem to take such a genuine interest in him and he isnât quite sure what to make of it.
A smirk plays at the corners of his lips as he decides to mess with you, loving the idea of keeping you on your toes and pushing your buttons. âNah. âM just good with my hands,â he drawls as you present him the perfect opportunity to tease you back given how much of a hard time youâve been giving him.
Your eyes widen at his euphemism, cheeks heating up as you grip the balcony railing harder. You avert your gaze in an attempt to save face, willing your heart to slow down to no avail.
You clear your throat. âI-I um, th-that makes sense,â you stammer, mentally facepalming at just how nervous your words come out. He has no right to be this hot.
âNot so talkative now, are ya?â He chuckles lowly, sliding from his position leaning on the railing beside you to rest his opposite hand on your other side, effectively trapping you.
You flip over to face him, leaning back against the railing with pursed lips. Sukuna grins at your mousey behavior, thrilling in the way you squirm trapped between him and the railing. âSukuna?â
His heart pounds in his chest at the sound of his name coming from your lips and his smirk falters. Why the hell is his heart beating so fast? He forces his smirk again, moving his face down to your level in an effort to push away the strange feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. âWhat?â
Focusing on anything other than the man in front of you, you can only manage to mumble out a few âumâs and âuhâs. Sukuna chuckles at just how flustered you are, freeing you from the cage of his arms as he rests against the railing beside you again.
You clear your throat, trying to ignore your spiraling thoughts. And boy are they ever spiraling as you stare out at the street beneath you, attempting to focus on the passing cars and not your pounding heart. âWhy are you in Art History?â
Sukunaâs lit another cigarette in the time that youâve used to recover your thoughts. He looks calmer once again as smoke spirals from the glowing embers. âRequired class.â
âR-Right.â You swallow, moving past your stammer. âWhat do you want to do?â
He pauses for a moment, taking a languid drag from the cigarette. A puff of smoke leaves his lips before he replies. âDunno. Iâm a history major.â
You wouldnât have imagined the collegeâs resident bad boy to be a history major, if youâre being honest with yourself, but you remind yourself not to judge a book by its cover.
He runs a hand through his hair as you contemplate the idea of Sukuna as a history major and what he might do with that major given that you canât envision him as a historian or a museum curator, and certainly not as a teacher.
âIâm thinking of swapping majors,â he admits. You examine his expression as he taps the edge of the cigarette with a finger. He shrugs, shifting his gaze to stare at the sidewalk beneath the both of you. âStarting to think history doesnât make sense.â
âWell, what do you want to do, Sukuna?â
He casts you a glance, examining your attentive face. Youâre so wholly invested in his words that it causes a pang in his chest. He subconsciously brings a hand up to his chest, scratching at it as if to cast the strange feeling away.
Setting the feeling aside, he finds himself scowling in thought. When he was considerably younger heâd wanted to pursue graphic design but he hadnât had the luxury of thinking about his future for a while now. In truth, heâs not even sure why heâs in history right now. It interests him enough to keep him attentive but the career options are⊠few and far between and he canât exactly afford to fuck around and swap majors constantly.
His minor in business makes more sense, at least he can do something with it, but⊠in truth, he doesnât know what heâs doing. Itâs another page filed under âuncertaintiesâ in the book that is Sukuna.
You take his silence as an answer and shoot him a wry smile. âYou donât have to answer, Iâm sorry to pry.â
âItâs fine,â he sighs. âI just dunno that either.â
Admitting to it feels shameful, almost, and frankly, Sukuna thinks heâs had enough of making a fool of himself in front of you today. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stands up and makes his way back inside. You follow after him, blinking as he begins packing up.
âI should go,â he mumbles, shutting his laptop and tossing it into his bag. He picks up his keys from your desk, shoving them in his pocket as he zips up his backpack. âOh,â he stops his movements, hesitating for a moment. âI⊠Appreciate dinner.â
Your expression softens and you smile wholeheartedly. âNo problem. You can take your leftovers, too. Theyâre still on the table,â you point over to the box youâd set the cover over. He nods, shutting it and tucking it in his bag as well.
With a tired sigh, he gathers his brothers, ushering them towards the doorway.
âGot anything to say?â Sukuna utters, staring down at both kids expectantly.
âThank you!â
âThank you, miss!â
You grin at both kids, kneeling down. âI hope you two had fun. You know, maybe you can convince your brother to come over again and Iâll pull out my old GameCube.â
With the expressions of jaw-dropping awe youâre getting right now, you would think youâd revealed to them the secret to happiness or something. Yuji leaps into your arms immediately, nearly toppling you over as he shoots a pleading stare at Sukuna.
Sukunaâs expression shifts to one of irritation as Yuji pleads with him, âKuna! Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,â that has you giggling at the way a vein in his forehead seems to pulse.
âBrat. Brat! Shut up, Iâll think about it, alright?â
Yuji nods cheerfully, counting straight to Sukunaâs leg to hug him, and the clear irritation on your classmateâs face immediately falters. Maybe heâs a bit of a softie after all.
Sukuna sighs heavily, reaching a long arm down to ruffle his brotherâs hair. âYeah, alright, kid. If she invites us.â
His voice is tired, albeit strangely soft. Itâs almost like heâs a different person, and suddenly you can see why it is that heâs pulling such a terrible schedule. Despite the clear stress being a twenty two year old parent to two young kids is, he clearly loves them.
But this is Sukuna weâre talking about, so he doesnât always know how to express that.
Itâs sweet, really, and your heart melts at the sight.
âGo wait outside, you two.â Both kids run down the hall to the elevator as they excitedly ponder what games you might have, leaving you and Sukuna alone as he leans on the doorframe.
âYou free next Saturday?â You ask once his attention returns to you.
âI can let you know. Depends on the auto shopâs schedule.â
âWe can always do another day, whatever works best for you, Kuna.â Your voice holds a teasing lilt as you mimic Yujiâs entirely too adorable name for him.
âDonât start with that,â he snarls, mumbling something about the name being annoying. Before turning to walk away, he decides to pay you back for all of your teasing with a jab of his own. âDonât make a habit of getting oil dumped on you, yeah?â
What Sukuna isnât expecting is for you to be able to match his teasing without a second thought. âWhat, I canât email you for help?â
He snorts, smirking at the ground as he pushes himself off of the doorframe and begins to turn away. âSee you around,â he says, raising a hand in farewell as he follows after his two brothers. Your eyes trail curiously after him until heâs out of sight, shutting and locking the door quietly.
In truth, you donât expect to hear from him until maybe next Friday if youâre lucky, but to your surprise when you check your email later that night, your inbox has a new email from Sukuna. Itâs still funny, to think that youâre communicating via email, but at least you arenât giggling to yourself as you open this one.
[email protected] - Sunday, 12:04 AM
brat stole your gameboy. meet at the fountain at noon monday
[email protected] - Sunday, 12:23 AM
Thatâs alright!! He can keep it :)
[email protected] - Sunday, 12:27 AM
no he needs to learn. noon at the fountain
With a sigh, you realize he isnât about to relent and give in.
[email protected] - Sunday, 12:28 AM
Okay Iâll see you then Kuna lol
And oh if you could see the way Sukuna is guffawing and huffing at his screen, slamming his laptop shut as you call him the nickname he doesnât want anyone to know. Yet here you are, barging into his life on all fronts and learning more about him than he wants.
The way his heart stutters, it actually stutters when he sees his inbox go up by a notification because he just knows itâs you and fuck why is it actually cute when you use that nickname?
Sukuna rubs a hand over his face and pulls his comforter up over his shoulder, sinking into the plush of his mattress as he tries to get some rest before his shift the next morning. Heâll deal with his other issues later.
main masterlist || series masterlist || next â
⊠a/n ; hello!! thank you so much for reading i've been having an absolute blast with this. i've been working on this for a long time and it was initially intended to be about 25k, but after working on it for a month straight it hit that pretty quickly and i'm nowhere near done. aaaanyways, thanks for all the love and support and as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3
⊠taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.
You didn't smoke, couldn't stand the taste no matter how hard you tried. House parties, peer pressure, even stress, none of that would force you to take a cigarette between your lips - until recently.
You were strapped for cash and applying for nigh on a hundred jobs when you were offered an interview in a coffee shop - some family owned brand you'd never heard of. You didn't think all too much of the place when inside either; a couple of run down employees, a cramped workspace and too many customers, but when you're offered a job, you take it.Â
Most of the staff members end up being decent, but for some God forsaken reason, your favourite ends up being the biggest piece of shit in the joint. Sukuna, the laziest, most ungrateful guy you know for some reason holds the most charm. His shitty jokes, quick remarks and lack of patience has some how completely encapsulated you.Â
And now, you stand behind the dumpster with a filter to your lips, and a light at the end of that cigarette. Sukuna's light, if you were being specific, and your heart is ever racing when you reel over those words. Sukuna's lighting you up. Just the two of you.Â
"-she can kiss my ass if she thinks I'm doing overtime." You miss the first part of the sentence, entranced by the glowing ember at the end of Sukuna's painted nails, but catch the latter half.Â
"If it's not contracted, you don't hav'ta." You shrug, puffing out that first cloud of smoke. You lean against the brick, unfortunately aware of the time limit you have back here. With just Choso behind the counter, you're pushing your luck taking a break with the only other member of staff in the building.Â
Sukuna doesn't reply, he just watches you through his half lidded eyes, his own cigarette between his teeth. He thinks to himself, a little too long, mulling over the few breaks you've shared together since you'd started, when was it, four months ago?
"When did you start smoking, anyway?" He asks, eyebrow furrowed. You suppress the smile building up behind your straight lip as you shrug once again, another puff.Â
"Dunno, why?" That's always the best way with Sukuna, to meet his question with another. He doesn't like to show he cares, so he'll likely grow silent.Â
The breaks are always too short, but they're worth the taste of tobacco.Â
choso's nails are always painted. black, never any different - you would assume they just grew that way; never a chip in the paint.
you're a friend of yuji's, staying the night. insomnia gets the better of you, and you make your way down the stairs way past midnight, wondering if a glass of cold water would help.
choso's at the kitchen table, a youtube video playing on his phone, and low and behold, a bottle of black nail polish is on the wood tabletop, the brush in his hand. he doesn't hear you come in, and you're not entirely sure what to say, eyes fixed on the tiny pink cap between his fingertips, watching as the glossy polish is spread evenly over his nail.
he looks up silently, and sits back in the chair. his leg's folded, bare foot facing you, pyjama pants hanging loosely at his ankles.
"you ok?" he asks into the silence, and you nod, swallowing.
"yeah, sorry. wanted water." you gesture to the sink, and he lifts a shoulder, resuming his task. the light's low, just a little orange lamp and his phone screen, but you can see how his face softens in concentration, hand tilting to get a better angle. you walk toward the sink, grabbing a glass, gazing down to your own nails. they're short, neat. maybe a little boring.
you take a seat beside him, placing the water down.
"can you do mine?" you ask, meekly. his gaze meets yours again, his head tilting forward, palm opening.
he works in silence, your hand in his, spreading the brush over each nail. the polish is cold, but you barely notice with the way his skin feels against yours, large grasp tilting your hands.
every time you look at your nails, butterflies swarm at the pit of your stomach.
choso's nails are always painted. black, never any different - you would assume they just grew that way; never a chip in the paint.
you're a friend of yuji's, staying the night. insomnia gets the better of you, and you make your way down the stairs way past midnight, wondering if a glass of cold water would help.
choso's at the kitchen table, a youtube video playing on his phone, and low and behold, a bottle of black nail polish is on the wood tabletop, the brush in his hand. he doesn't hear you come in, and you're not entirely sure what to say, eyes fixed on the tiny pink cap between his fingertips, watching as the glossy polish is spread evenly over his nail.
he looks up silently, and sits back in the chair. his leg's folded, bare foot facing you, pyjama pants hanging loosely at his ankles.
"you ok?" he asks into the silence, and you nod, swallowing.
"yeah, sorry. wanted water." you gesture to the sink, and he lifts a shoulder, resuming his task. the light's low, just a little orange lamp and his phone screen, but you can see how his face softens in concentration, hand tilting to get a better angle. you walk toward the sink, grabbing a glass, gazing down to your own nails. they're short, neat. maybe a little boring.
you take a seat beside him, placing the water down.
"can you do mine?" you ask, meekly. his gaze meets yours again, his head tilting forward, palm opening.
he works in silence, your hand in his, spreading the brush over each nail. the polish is cold, but you barely notice with the way his skin feels against yours, large grasp tilting your hands.
every time you look at your nails, butterflies swarm at the pit of your stomach.
synopsis: you always stayed away from the boy in your english class who was always misbehaving and borderline breaking the law. known for his suspensions and his attitude, everyone keeps ten thousand feet away. despite being an outcast he's learned to enjoy his own company but with your curious eye you've realised there's more to him than just the rumours about him and his family.
in your last few weeks of high school he swears that you'll never see him again but four years later you find out that isn't the case.
a lot can happen in four years and now that time has come between you, you can finally figure out who he really is.
tags: childhood friends to lovers, except they were not really friends, strangers to lovers, yearning, one sided pining, soft sukuna despite how rough he seems, fluff, yes based on the ethel cain song, tw: mentions of drugs, mentions of murder, death penalty, suggested gun violence but nothing happens, more tags will be added when i can think...
part one | part two
word count: 4.2k
author's note: i've never really written anything like this before, i hope you like it... i can't stop listening to this song. a lot of the plot is based on my interpretation of the song so pls don't take it literal it is fiction...i'm also really tired rn so i've only looked over this once...pls forgive me...
You watched as they emptied out his locker.
Murmurs and whispers were heard all around you. Rumours being created and dissected right in front of your own eyes. Nothing this interesting ever happened in this school so it wasn't surprising that this was spreading like wildfire. The seniors were watching intensely, the freshmen were standing on their tippy toes trying to get a glance at what was happening. Groups of sophomores attempt to edge closer to the tight circle that surrounded the infamous student just so they can tell their friends that they were near him.
In your years leading up to your current senior year you've quickly learned that there is little one can do to put these conversations to a complete rest. Once a rumour like this starts it's rare that it ever stops. And the timing of this search being at lunch only helps to spread the fire.
A crowd of students create a suffocating circle around him. The security and principal create an even tighter circle around him.
His backpack was turned inside out completely, the unnatural melody of objects clattering to the laminated floor. A few pencils and pens, an eraser, notebooks submitted to graffiti â evident of his boredom in class and the torn cover of a novel that he was supposed to be reading for the english class that you both share together. Scraps of old receipts and tissues float to the laminated ground.
No gun in sight yet.
His locker door has been forced open, a clear refusal of his to give them the original key. And the spare from the office suddenly going missing only adds to their suspicion. The crane bar lies on the floor, its purpose already complete. It took less than a minute, only gathering more eyes to watch this spectacle. As much as the teachers try and move along the students, stating that there is nothing for them to see, the students continue to linger like an ominous shadow, eyes peering with both fear and wonder.
In your mind you can already see the headlines for the upcoming school paper, noâ even in the local town news you can see it. Titled in bold, the question on the tips of everyone's tongues, threatening to spill across their lips: Was the son of a killer really holding guns in his locker? You can imagine now that when these kids go back home fro the day this will be the first piece of news told to their parents and it'll be the news of the town for the next coming weeks.
People will say that they knew it all along. That blood is thicker than water will ever be.
Like father like son.
Hands search his locker without any care, pulling all the contents out, mouths moving to tell people to step back. Endless scraps of paper and old notebooks flop to the ground in a heap. A gym bag and a pair of sneakers come tumbling out without any thought. An old leather jacket falls out and other dishevelled notes join the items on the floor.
The gaping black hole of Sukuna Ryomen's locker meets the irate gaze of the principle.
"See." He mumbles. "I told you idiots I didn't have a fucking gun."
Standing with his arms crossed, his composed act is never dropped. He looks bored. Not even breaking a sweat as they search every dark corner of his locker. The principal lets out a sigh, evidently disappointed that he couldn't find anything to incriminate the boy who has given him a headache over the past academic year.
For months everyone knows that the principal has been subjected to complaints by teachers who have taught the infamous Sukuna Ryomen. There was even the incident leading to a fellow group of teachers who refused to teach him in their class altogether.
Why hasn't he been expelled yet?
Only God knows.
Each and every meeting with his mother only entails any promise that he will be well behaved and keep his head down. But he never does. The only thing holding him back from expulsion is the consideration that this is his final year. Just a few more weeks and he'll be out of the system. He's not heading for college. That's for sure. But everybody hopes that he lives up to his word of leaving this town as soon as possible.
You try to strain your hearing to hear the words of the principal before he walks away. You can't hear the words exactly but reading the lips 'welfare check' you predict that he's suspended for the rest of the day.
The students scatter, the climax is now over. Some are evidently dishearten that their school won't make it on the local news, others are texting their parents that it was a false alarm whilst a small majority of students swear that they saw a glimpse of a firearm.
"I swear I saw it! I'm not kidding."
"Me too!"
You linger a little longer than you should, aware that you'll be late to your next class but you choose to stay. Just a little longer. Watching, Sukuna kneels on the laminated floor.
He doesn't make eye contact with students that are brave enough to walk past him. They don't say anything but their fleeting glances say enough. His hands shove everything back inside his backpack and locker without any care. You study his face tattoos, black markings that imitate his father's own tattoos. It was a huge scandal when he came to school with those. An investigation discovered that he forged parental approval before heading to a tattoo artist that wasn't even licensed.
The topic of his father was a whole other discussion. He's been scheduled for death row for the past decade for multiple killings carried out in the early 90s, a local tragedy in the neighbouring state. It was the whole reason the family moved so that it was easier for visitations. His date isn't upcoming for another nine years.
It's hard to look at Sukuna's twin brother and think that the two have any relation. Sukuna changed his last name to his father's whilst Jin still takes his mother's surname of Itadori. Appearance wise, they look similar. Identical pink hair and a sharp jaw but there are still some outstanding qualities between them.
Sukuna's eyes glare at everyone who dares look at him and it's obvious that the tattoos don't help his reputation. He's a direct foil to his brother, Jin Itadori who is the known golden child and top student of the school. You've heard that he's capable of aiming towards Harvard, Columbia and Stanford, teachers betting on which one will give him an offer first.
You can see it already: Harvard acceptance offer given to the second generation American-Japanese Student from the small town of â yeah, this headline is worthy enough for the school to brag for the next decade of students.
Your thoughts are interrupted when Sukuna, dressed in all black, shuts his locker with a slam before chucking his hoodie over his head.
You don't stop watching until he turns the corner.
/
Your drama club ended a little later than usual.
The squeak of your sneakers on the laminated floors of the hallway accompany you as you make your way outside. Being at school whilst it's empty and deserted as always managed to give you the creeps. The stench of bleach and cleaning products almost makes you think you're at a pool, the cleaners probably working overtime to get rid of the graffiti stains in the toilets.
It's a little late but there is still light outside, a little glimpse of the transition into Spring. At least that's one of the more positive things that you can look forward to after today's events. Pushing the heavy entrance doors open, it doesn't take you long to notice a figure sitting on the curb at the front of the school. Your other drama friends must have already been picked up by their parents leaving one figure waiting.
Approaching, you wonder who the hooded figure could be but it's not until they hear you coming closer that they turn around. All it takes is a glimpse of that pink hair and a black tattoo on his face for you to realise who you've bumped into.
You've never spoken to Sukuna directly. The two of you share the same English class and he sits in the row behind you but you have never made any attempt to have a conversation with him. You can only recall the one time you passed him a book and he said 'thank you' without even making eye contact.
You'reâŠcurious about him. There's always been something about him which keeps you intrigued and on the contrary to everybody else it's not about his family history. Your eyes can't help but fall upon him. You study his facial features, the curve of his nose and the plumpness of his lips. Despite his exterior roughness there's something pretty about him.
But you don't know what.
"Oh sorry." you say immediately when he turns around to look up at you. "I didn't know it wasâŠ" your sentence remains unfinished. There's a breeze in the air and the rustle of leaves fills up the silence. It's a little awkward but you're not panicking coming face to face with him. You thought that he would have stormed off by now or tell you to leave him alone but he does neither. The silence is almost inviting and instead of heading home there's something inside you which makes you sit next to him.
Sukuna doesn't move or shuffle away from you, nor does he question why you're sitting next to him. Weirdly enough, he lets you sit next to him. Sukuna has seen you around before, mostly in his English class, but he's never been face to face with you before. He knows you're not a threat and somehow he knows you're not the type to pester him about what happened today. You're pretty quiet and you keep yourself to yourself â unlike everyone else in this school you don't engage with the gossip and rumours and that's something Sukuna has noticed about you.
"Have you been sitting here this whole time? I thought you got suspended."
"I had to come back for something."
"Right."
The silence intervenes between you guys again but it's less awkward than before. You don't know what it is that makes you stay in this position, that makes you stay and continue this conversation with someone you'd never thought you'd ever speak to.
Maybe it's the fact that after this final year you'll never see Sukuna again. You'll be going your separate ways in a few months and probably never see each other again.
After a few minutes of silence Sukuna speaks up again, this time to ask you a question. "Have you ever tried dope?"
"Dope?" you question.
"The drug?"
You'd only ever heard about dope when you'd secretly stay up and overhear your mom playing her favourite cop and crime show late at night. Or even during that health lesson when the local police came in to do their annual talk about staying away from drugs.
Sukuna turns away slightly and mutters something under his breath. Just from this action it makes you think that you've done something wrong, like you've picked the wrong answer. You wonder what he would have said if you had said yes to him. Regret churns deep in your lower abdomen, cursing yourself.
You don't say anything. Not for a while. The gravel crunches loudly underneath your feet as you shuffle awkwardly. The next question comes from you. Your tone isn't interrogative just curious, and it's clear that there isn't an ounce of judgement coming from you. "What made them think that you had a gun?"
Sukuna shrugs again and you notice that he has a pretty good habit of shrugging all the damn time. "Rumours. You know all that shit though. I'm not stupid enough to shoot up a whole fucking school."
You hum. You know that Sukuna slacks off school from time to time and he doesn't get the best grades in the class but you know that he's smarter than he'll ever let on. Maybe academics isn't his best fit but you know that he's somewhat intelligent enough to trick the school and the cops into getting tattoos. He says all the right things in the end, after all he's done. You've seen how he throws teachers all on edge but then pulls back â it's emotional manipulation but he's so damn good at it.
As soon as you get the idea to leave Sukuna prompts another question. And from his tone you can tell the conversation has dipped into something serious.
"If I show you something do you promise not to tell?"
If the question about the drugs threw you off, you're even more confused by this question. There's a shiver that runs up your spine at the thought of having to be sworn to secrecy.
Sukuna doesn't wait for your reply or for your confirmation of your secrecy before showing you, again there's something that tells him that you're trustworthy. There's something about you which convinces him that you'll never tell anyone even if he gave you permission to go out and tell people.
Sukuna pulls his hand out slightly from his pocket, just enough to show you a glimpse of a handgun. Your brows are raised but your mouth runs dry. You can feel your heart thud in your ears at the sudden realisation.
"Where did you keep it?"
"I hid it somewhere else when I heard that the principal was looking for me. A hole behind the boys toilets."
"Holy shit." you say and you move your gaze away from Sukuna to the road ahead that leads out from the school's car park. You wonder what today's events would have looked like if they did find the gun on him. The school would have been put into lock down and armed police would have arrived, your mother would probably would have left work early to come and get youâŠ
and what would have happened to Sukuna?
well, this would damage his entire record and prove that what everyone in town has been saying about him was right. He'd be local â no, national news at least.
"I'm not even gonna ask how you got that without a license." you mutter, staring down at your shoes.
"Good." he says, bringing his hand back into his pocket for concealment. "I wasn't gonna do anything with it. I just wanted to carry it."
You don't respond back to him. You don't want to talk about it anymore, there's something heavy in the air and it makes you feel a little nauseous, your stomach's been churning too much around him and you don't like it.
You let a beat pass by before changing the subject. "What are your plans for after high school?"
"What are your plans?" he throws back at you.
This time you're the one shrugging. "You know, I have a basic college plan. Get away from here for a bit."
"Holy shit." Sukuna says in a deadpan tone. He pulls out his other hand from a pocket, flicking the cap of a lighter. "Got any offers yet?"
"Not yet. What about you?"
"I'm getting out of here as soon as possible."
"How soon?"
"Once I get enough money to afford some place far, far away from this shithole."
"So by the time I come back from college you'll be gone?"
Sukuna knows, "You can count on itâŠor better yet I'll make you a special promise."
You sit up a little taller, the heaviness of the previous conversation now long gone. "What's the promise?"
"If you come back here once you've graduated and find me still around this hell of a place then I guess you can give me a black eye and two kisses."
"A black eye and two kisses?" You tilt your head to the side. "I've never heard of that, you know, normal people usually do a pinky promise and then call it a day."
Sukuna looks down at the lighter for a moment before he speaks again, his face turning pensive. "It's just something my dad used to say to my mom if he ever broke a promise." He flicks the lighter, a small flame spurting out. "But I guess he broke that by landing in prison."
"Did she give him the black eye?"
"Worse." Sukuna mutters, staring at the ground. "She cried. For days."
The words leave his mouth in a soft tone, almost like a whisper. You've never heard him speak like this before. You have to admit that you don't know the ins and outs of his family life but you know it must be overwhelming for him to grasp.
Again, you're curious about him. You're curious about him because you see past his 'bad' facade that he puts on at school for the teachers and for the rest of the students. You see past his acting out, rudeness and impulsivity. You've noticed that the english class you share with him is the only class where he actually sits down and pays attention. Sure, he's not writing anything down but you've seen him get through an entire book in just an hour.
Once you've said your goodbyes and you're on the way home, you can't help but think over your entire interaction with Sukuna. You reflect on all the things you've said and all the things he's said to you, trying to figure out what to make of what he's trusted to tell you. You wonder why he's trusted you with the secret of the gun or why he made that stupid promise.
Reflecting on everything on your walk home, you've come to another realisation.
You think you like him.
Or worseâŠ
you have a crush on him.
/
After the gun fiasco you saw never Sukuna again at school and the rumours were spreading.
They jumped from him finally landing in Juvie to him being sent out of the country or that he ended up in hospital. Thankfully, your english teacher put these rumours to rest and brought everyone back into reality. Sukuna was just sent to stay with his grandfather in another town for the rest of the school year.
You would be lying if you said that you weren't a little disappointed that Sukuna wouldn't be coming back. Each and every time you came to class you immediately looked towards the empty desk hoping that he would somehow appear for the final time.
But he never did.
He didn't even show up for the high school graduation but you guessed that he probably wasn't allowed to. You think back to the promise you had made with him, 'a black eye and two kisses.'
You wonder what his lips would feel like on your own. Often before you drifted off to sleep you would hyper fixate on how you would kiss him or maybe even how he would kiss you. Would he be gentle? Or would he be a little rough? Would his lips be soft or suffocating?
You thought about this more than you should ever admit but you'd cross your heart and hope to die before you told another living soul that you fell asleep thinking about kissing Sukuna Ryomen.
You can only hope that somehow he'll still be around in four years. Just so you can put your mind at ease.
/
College was different.
So much had happened in the span of four years.
Heartbreak, friendships, friendship break ups, rejections, internships, 9am lectures, never ending assignments, partying, hangovers, travelling, discovery, arguments, make ups, drunk makeouts and so much more that could never even be put into words.
You never really thought about what kind of world was out there beyond your hometown and you're more than grateful that you had the opportunity to leave and grow. Each and every time that you returned to your hometown for the holidays you always had the idea that you had outgrown everything. And it was true, you've grown more confident in your skills and thinking, your dreams have gotten bigger and you know what you want out of life.
The only thing stopping you from continuing this independence was money.
It's only natural that you have to settle down back with your parents and save some money. It doesn't feel right to continue your academic journey nor does it feel right to jump straight into corporate life. If you were being honest with yourself that kind of life scared you. You weren't ready to jump into adult life so permanently.
So you're returning back home, just for a year or two, until you get your money together and land a graduate job that feels right.
You're not really fixated on the characters that remain from your high school. Sure you see a person from the year above working at the local grocery store or the couple you used to see making out in hallways before your afternoon math class finally settled down and somehow rent a house together. Most people you know have remained in their university cities or decided to travel the world or at least were successful in their attempt to never come back here again.
As you're walking down the road with your suitcase rattling on the cobble behind you, you don't really see anyone sticking out.
Until a figure catches your eye.
And that figure just so happens to have pink hair and unique tattoos drawn all over themselves. If it wasn't for those features, you'd think you would have walked straight past him.
"Sukuna?" you say before you even realise the words have left your mouth.
The tall figure looms over you and stops in his tracks. It's clear he was deep in his thoughts, barely paying attention as he walked by.
He's gottenâŠbigger. In a bulking way as if since the last time you saw him he's been doing nothing but going to the gym everyday. He's no longer the scrawny kid you remember from high school but he moves with a different type of authority and confidence. He looks like he works with his hands and smells like Marlboro reds.
He frowns at you as if trying to place where in his life that you fit. A lot of people don't reach out to him in this town unless absolutely necessary.
There's a sex appeal about him that catches your attention. All of a sudden that little stupid crush you had near the end of high school hits you like a slap to the face. You can feel your face burn up as if someone actually did hit you.
You watch his eyes scan your face for any familiarity, you think he won't remember you until a few seconds pass and you watch his eyebrows release the tension they've been holding in and notice his jaw drop slightly. The recognition hits him, you're the classmate that spoke to him before he left high school for good. He doesn't remember much of the conversation. A lot has happened since then.
For a minute you think that you'll have to introduce yourself again, jog his memory of being the quiet girl from his english class. Your mouth opens to do so but the sound of your name falls from his lips before you even get the chance to.
"You're back." His voice is rough and coarse like he doesn't get the chance to use it much.
A shiver travels across your body in hearing him for the first time. "Yeah." you say and you don't realise how nervous you sound until you croak that word out. You take a moment to cough and gain back your confidence before speaking to him again. "And youâŠstayed."
Sukuna nods. "I did."
All of a sudden it hits you like whiplash. The last remnants of your conversation. You and him made a kind of bet. Or was it a promise?
But it wasn't just any kind of promiseâŠit was a special one that stuck with you. That left you daydreaming about him for longer than you should've been, even when he was long gone. Your eyes fall to focus on his lips, more plumper than you imagined before.
"Is there something on my face?" He frowns again, picking up at your stare.
"Oh no, I was justâ" you trail off. It's stupid, he would never have remembered the promise you guys made as kids. "Never mind."
Sukuna pulls a confused face but he prompts you with another question. "Are you staying for long?"
"Yeah, I'm just moving back home after college. I wanted to stay with my parents for a bit before I â y'know, fly the nest for real."
Sukuna hums, not really having anything more to add. The awkwardness picks up a little. He takes it as his sign to leave you alone, unbeknownst to him that you're dying to speak to him for a little longer. "See you around yeah?"
"YeahâŠ" is all you can say as he begins his pace. "I will."
You begin to move too, continuing your journey. Sukuna's long gone round the corner but you can't help yourself to keep turning back to see if he's still there.
thank you so much for reading! reblogs and comments are much appreciated!!
itâs your first day in a classified lab, youâre here because theyâve supposedly found an ancient language, and youâre one of the best in the country.
the photographs they show you are from ocean depths, an ideographic language painted onto walls of a cave. itâs something you havenât seen before, and youâre beyond intrigued. help is declined, but youâre able to convince the other scientists to give you more context, and thatâs when youâre met with a creature like none youâve seen before - half man, half fish.
thinking about surfer!sukuna with tanned skin and his tattoos as usual and you can't help but spot him on the first day of your vacation.
you made sure to arrive early to the beach, catching a good spot in between the sun and the shade. your towel is all laid out, your sunscreen is applied and you have a good book in hand but a pink haired surfer manages to catch your eye.
you didn't pay him much attention in that skin tight all black surfer suit he had. you side eyed whilst he prepared to surf, not really having watched anyone surf before.
you watched him surf out into the ocean, testing the waters. it's early yet so the waves aren't too strong but it would still be a perfect practice for sukuna. distracted from your pages you watch him move across the waves with perfection and ease.
you almost feel an itch to join him on the waves but you have no idea how to surf yourself. he makes it look so easy you're so envious, watching him shake his damp hair as he runs out of the water.
pulling your book closer to your eyes you feign having ever saw him, acting as if your eyes weren't glued to his figure in the ocean. you certainly don't keep an eye on the way his suit peels from his shoulder,s exposing his tanned skin and tattooed. you definitely don't noticed his muscular body and the way his biceps flex as he lays on the sand. your eyes are most definitely not fixated on his large chest and how water drops drips from his pecs as he pants in and out.
no, you totallyyyy don't notice him meeting your eyes and giving you a glare. a glare that scares you enough to return back to the line in your book that you've re-read over twenty times.
but at least you know what time to come back to the beach tomorrow right?
barista!choso x masters student!reader, total comfort fic, fluffy, coffee lover au... choso is yuji's caregiver, mid-late 20s reader
reposting part 1 cause i didn't have a title before now.......
Your frost bitten cheeks appreciate the shift in temperature when you step into the campus coffee shop, a sigh of relief slipping through your teeth as you join the end of the queue.
Another Monday, another afternoon spent studying within these four walls. An expensive habit, you'll admit, running strong from your first year at Tokyo University, your masters course wearing you thin. In your defence, you don't tend to spend much on nightlife, instead focusing on the home stretch - it's only six months until you're finishing up, for good.Â
The difference between those first few months on campus and now is exceptional, yet one thing remains the same; study sessions in this coffee house. The coffee isnât the only thing youâve appreciated, though.
You peek through the queue to see if he's there (though you know by now, he's always working Mondays), and sure enough, you can see those broad shoulders, and jet black hair.Â
Choso Kamo. A name you didn't hear much around campus, yet here, he reigned. Shift lead, according to his name tag; which also happens to be littered in little stickers from his younger brother, Yuji. This fact, among many others, is the reason you're head over heels for Kamo.Â
"Latte, please." You're happy to be at the front end of the queue, face to face with your half-a-decade long crush. These minute long encounters have somehow kept you going... though now you think about it, it's pretty pathetic. Every time you tell yourself you're finally going to make a move, you just can't stomach it, scraping up any excuse your mind can muster.
For a brief period, heâd dated another barista, and you felt like youâd been shot in the chest every time you saw them work together. They broke up though, youâd learned through an overheard conversation that sheâd moved away for her masters and he wasnât into âlong distanceâ.
Youâve spoken quite a few times, mostly in your freshman year, when heâd lived in the same halls as you. But he had sadly moved after the first semester, and now you were stuck having to spend money to see his face, and on rare occasions, a light conversation.Â
"You spend too much money here." Your total is written in small digits across the card reader and you pay using contactless, quickly putting your phone back into your hoodie pockets. A smile creeps over your face as he hands you the receipt, his painted nails brushing over your open palm.
"Tell that to my overdraft." You giggle, making your way toward the collection counter. Choso moves with you, grabbing a mug and starting up the espresso machine.Â
Small talk is embarrassingly all you've been able to rouse while in his presence. Sometimes, it's asking how he is, and sometimes youâre able to stray from a basic interaction to make a joke. Today seems to be on the latter trajectory, meaning the conversation will have been dead and buried for the day. You're always left wanting more, though you can't muster the words to continue a conversation.Â
Watching Choso move behind the counter never gets old. Black painted fingernails contrast the white ceramic and long, vascular fingers making even the large mugs look small. Days like today, with the heaters on full blast to fight the winter air, he's rolled back his shirt sleeves, revealing pretty tattooed forearms. He pours the espresso, and then textured milk.Â
"You're graduating soon, right?" His continued chitchat catches you a little off guard, breaking your usual routine of conversation. You nod with some apprehension, cautious to give any form of verbal response in fear of embarrassment. He looks into your eye, and you feel the hair on your neck start to stand. You swallow.
"There's a careers event this weekend, you going?" He puts the mug in front of you, turning the handle to face your way. There's a lump in your throat as you watch his hands leave the drink on the side.
"Oh, nah. I've got like, four days to finish this assignment." It's a stupid response - you should absolutely be going if Choso is asking you, yet your idiotic mind flicks into autopilot and leaves the dead braincells to do the talking.Â
"Oh, right. I'll probably be roped into overtime, anyways." His eyes drop to your drink, awaiting your departure from his countertop. The dishwasher needs to go on, and he'll have to grab another carton of milk from the fridge out back. You hesitate, but leave anyway, unable to find the spark of confidence to request his accompaniment.Â
A smaller table toward the back calls your name - your usual spot. Thereâs a charger port nestled in behind the chair, perfect for the unknown amount of time you were going to spend here, and itâs one of the only tables that doesnât wobble.
Pulling out your laptop, you're cringing at the interaction that had just taken place, internally screaming at yourself for denying what was practically an invitation.Â
You pull up the word document you've sold your soul to, a dissertation due in just a few days. Tens of thousands of words deep and you still think it's lackluster, despite the effort you've imbued. This is worth a hefty percentage of your grade, and will reflect years of your life. It's far too difficult to turn in one piece of work and act as though it speaks for all six years of your education, knowledge, and experience. For it to be torn apart and examined like some sort of lab experiment.
It doesn't help that you're completely distracted after speaking with Choso. Today is a flush, even with an empty mug, you're left with a few sentences strung onto that lengthy document.Â
It's nearing five and you're left with an ultimatum: another drink and some sort of miracle, or to just accept defeat and return home. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes closed. The laptop screen is reluctantly closed, and you sit back in your chair for a few more moments.Â
"You're still here?" You think you've finally cracked when you hear Choso's voice from beside you. "It's been like, four hours."Â
You open your eyes slowly, and sure enough you're met with Kamo, a baggy hoodie embracing his wide frame, headphones hanging from his neck. He's got a tote bag slung over his shoulder with his thumb resting over the straps, clearly leaving for the evening. Your gaze flickers over to the counter, and you can see Gojo tying his apron, before fluffing up his own hair in the reflection of the espresso machine. Choso awaits a reply, lips pressed together, gaze boring into yours.Â
"I uh-" You stutter, cursing yourself for the second time today. "I'm heading off now. Gonna have to brew a pot at home." That awkward smile returns across your face.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off."Â
You grit your teeth and cringe, clenching your fists under the table. "No, I know."
The eye contact you usually forced yourself to return is no more as you hang your head in shame. This might be the worst interaction you've ever had.Â
"Uh, I've never asked what you're studying." Choso pipes up again and you almost choke on your own breath as you glance back to him in disbelief. You rub your eyes, convincing yourself he is just a delusion stemming from exhaustion, but sure enough, when you look up he's still there.
"English Lit. What about you?" A sentence left your lips that didn't make you want to scream into a pillow; progress.Â
"Fine Art, part time. Graduating this summer." He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "Hey, you coming?" His hand presses against the glass as heâs glancing over his shoulder, two loose buns moving with his head, stray hairs falling to frame the sides of his face. He opens the door and steps forward, and you gain on him, taking the doorâs weight in your palm. Your hand lands just beneath his, cool glass soothing your burning skin.Â
âYou live near campus?â The cold air hits your cheeks, and you zip your jacket a little higher. He makes his way toward the university by turning right, and you follow. Youâre not quite sure how far apart youâre supposed to stand, choosing to lag behind over getting too close.Â
âYeah, in the apartments behind the dorms.â Choso nods, slowing his steps and looking over his shoulder. He stops until you catch up to his side, and then continues to plod on.Â
With winter in full swing, itâs almost dark out, the sun hidden behind buildings as the moon is sure to rise. Streetlights illuminate your path beneath a grey sky, a sheen over the concrete that youâre sure will turn to frost by tomorrow. Youâll have to dig out your trainers tonight, something grippy to offer support on route to lectures.Â
âWhat about you?â You enquire, glancing up at him. His eyes are on the pavement, brown, and half-lidded. âI donât think Iâve seen you around, since you moved.â
He swallows, and his eyes raise, before he tilts his head toward you, making brief eye contact. You canât read his expression, but the air feels heavy.
âI live in an apartment, I had to take custody of my brother.â His voice is low. âItâs not far from where we used to be, I got a hardship grant from the university to help, so itâs not all bad.â He stops as you near your building, pointing. âI cut through here.â He speaks, and you hide your disappointment.Â
âWell, thanks for walking me back.â You choke out, all too awkwardly. Choso seems a little entertained, with the side of his lip quirking up. You look at the black line painted over the bridge of his nose, then up to his eyes. You wonder if thisâll be the most meaningful interaction youâll have before you graduate.Â
âIâll see you around.â He pushes an earphone into his ear before turning, and youâre left alone as he walks his way home.
barista!choso x masters student!reader, total comfort fic, fluffy, coffee lover au... choso is yuji's caregiver, mid-late 20s reader
reposting part 1 cause i didn't have a title before now.......
Your frost bitten cheeks appreciate the shift in temperature when you step into the campus coffee shop, a sigh of relief slipping through your teeth as you join the end of the queue.
Another Monday, another afternoon spent studying within these four walls. An expensive habit, you'll admit, running strong from your first year at Tokyo University, your masters course wearing you thin. In your defence, you don't tend to spend much on nightlife, instead focusing on the home stretch - it's only six months until you're finishing up, for good.Â
The difference between those first few months on campus and now is exceptional, yet one thing remains the same; study sessions in this coffee house. The coffee isnât the only thing youâve appreciated, though.
You peek through the queue to see if he's there (though you know by now, he's always working Mondays), and sure enough, you can see those broad shoulders, and jet black hair.Â
Choso Kamo. A name you didn't hear much around campus, yet here, he reigned. Shift lead, according to his name tag; which also happens to be littered in little stickers from his younger brother, Yuji. This fact, among many others, is the reason you're head over heels for Kamo.Â
"Latte, please." You're happy to be at the front end of the queue, face to face with your half-a-decade long crush. These minute long encounters have somehow kept you going... though now you think about it, it's pretty pathetic. Every time you tell yourself you're finally going to make a move, you just can't stomach it, scraping up any excuse your mind can muster.
For a brief period, heâd dated another barista, and you felt like youâd been shot in the chest every time you saw them work together. They broke up though, youâd learned through an overheard conversation that sheâd moved away for her masters and he wasnât into âlong distanceâ.
Youâve spoken quite a few times, mostly in your freshman year, when heâd lived in the same halls as you. But he had sadly moved after the first semester, and now you were stuck having to spend money to see his face, and on rare occasions, a light conversation.Â
"You spend too much money here." Your total is written in small digits across the card reader and you pay using contactless, quickly putting your phone back into your hoodie pockets. A smile creeps over your face as he hands you the receipt, his painted nails brushing over your open palm.
"Tell that to my overdraft." You giggle, making your way toward the collection counter. Choso moves with you, grabbing a mug and starting up the espresso machine.Â
Small talk is embarrassingly all you've been able to rouse while in his presence. Sometimes, it's asking how he is, and sometimes youâre able to stray from a basic interaction to make a joke. Today seems to be on the latter trajectory, meaning the conversation will have been dead and buried for the day. You're always left wanting more, though you can't muster the words to continue a conversation.Â
Watching Choso move behind the counter never gets old. Black painted fingernails contrast the white ceramic and long, vascular fingers making even the large mugs look small. Days like today, with the heaters on full blast to fight the winter air, he's rolled back his shirt sleeves, revealing pretty tattooed forearms. He pours the espresso, and then textured milk.Â
"You're graduating soon, right?" His continued chitchat catches you a little off guard, breaking your usual routine of conversation. You nod with some apprehension, cautious to give any form of verbal response in fear of embarrassment. He looks into your eye, and you feel the hair on your neck start to stand. You swallow.
"There's a careers event this weekend, you going?" He puts the mug in front of you, turning the handle to face your way. There's a lump in your throat as you watch his hands leave the drink on the side.
"Oh, nah. I've got like, four days to finish this assignment." It's a stupid response - you should absolutely be going if Choso is asking you, yet your idiotic mind flicks into autopilot and leaves the dead braincells to do the talking.Â
"Oh, right. I'll probably be roped into overtime, anyways." His eyes drop to your drink, awaiting your departure from his countertop. The dishwasher needs to go on, and he'll have to grab another carton of milk from the fridge out back. You hesitate, but leave anyway, unable to find the spark of confidence to request his accompaniment.Â
A smaller table toward the back calls your name - your usual spot. Thereâs a charger port nestled in behind the chair, perfect for the unknown amount of time you were going to spend here, and itâs one of the only tables that doesnât wobble.
Pulling out your laptop, you're cringing at the interaction that had just taken place, internally screaming at yourself for denying what was practically an invitation.Â
You pull up the word document you've sold your soul to, a dissertation due in just a few days. Tens of thousands of words deep and you still think it's lackluster, despite the effort you've imbued. This is worth a hefty percentage of your grade, and will reflect years of your life. It's far too difficult to turn in one piece of work and act as though it speaks for all six years of your education, knowledge, and experience. For it to be torn apart and examined like some sort of lab experiment.
It doesn't help that you're completely distracted after speaking with Choso. Today is a flush, even with an empty mug, you're left with a few sentences strung onto that lengthy document.Â
It's nearing five and you're left with an ultimatum: another drink and some sort of miracle, or to just accept defeat and return home. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes closed. The laptop screen is reluctantly closed, and you sit back in your chair for a few more moments.Â
"You're still here?" You think you've finally cracked when you hear Choso's voice from beside you. "It's been like, four hours."Â
You open your eyes slowly, and sure enough you're met with Kamo, a baggy hoodie embracing his wide frame, headphones hanging from his neck. He's got a tote bag slung over his shoulder with his thumb resting over the straps, clearly leaving for the evening. Your gaze flickers over to the counter, and you can see Gojo tying his apron, before fluffing up his own hair in the reflection of the espresso machine. Choso awaits a reply, lips pressed together, gaze boring into yours.Â
"I uh-" You stutter, cursing yourself for the second time today. "I'm heading off now. Gonna have to brew a pot at home." That awkward smile returns across your face.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off."Â
You grit your teeth and cringe, clenching your fists under the table. "No, I know."
The eye contact you usually forced yourself to return is no more as you hang your head in shame. This might be the worst interaction you've ever had.Â
"Uh, I've never asked what you're studying." Choso pipes up again and you almost choke on your own breath as you glance back to him in disbelief. You rub your eyes, convincing yourself he is just a delusion stemming from exhaustion, but sure enough, when you look up he's still there.
"English Lit. What about you?" A sentence left your lips that didn't make you want to scream into a pillow; progress.Â
"Fine Art, part time. Graduating this summer." He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "Hey, you coming?" His hand presses against the glass as heâs glancing over his shoulder, two loose buns moving with his head, stray hairs falling to frame the sides of his face. He opens the door and steps forward, and you gain on him, taking the doorâs weight in your palm. Your hand lands just beneath his, cool glass soothing your burning skin.Â
âYou live near campus?â The cold air hits your cheeks, and you zip your jacket a little higher. He makes his way toward the university by turning right, and you follow. Youâre not quite sure how far apart youâre supposed to stand, choosing to lag behind over getting too close.Â
âYeah, in the apartments behind the dorms.â Choso nods, slowing his steps and looking over his shoulder. He stops until you catch up to his side, and then continues to plod on.Â
With winter in full swing, itâs almost dark out, the sun hidden behind buildings as the moon is sure to rise. Streetlights illuminate your path beneath a grey sky, a sheen over the concrete that youâre sure will turn to frost by tomorrow. Youâll have to dig out your trainers tonight, something grippy to offer support on route to lectures.Â
âWhat about you?â You enquire, glancing up at him. His eyes are on the pavement, brown, and half-lidded. âI donât think Iâve seen you around, since you moved.â
He swallows, and his eyes raise, before he tilts his head toward you, making brief eye contact. You canât read his expression, but the air feels heavy.
âI live in an apartment, I had to take custody of my brother.â His voice is low. âItâs not far from where we used to be, I got a hardship grant from the university to help, so itâs not all bad.â He stops as you near your building, pointing. âI cut through here.â He speaks, and you hide your disappointment.Â
âWell, thanks for walking me back.â You choke out, all too awkwardly. Choso seems a little entertained, with the side of his lip quirking up. You look at the black line painted over the bridge of his nose, then up to his eyes. You wonder if thisâll be the most meaningful interaction youâll have before you graduate.Â
âIâll see you around.â He pushes an earphone into his ear before turning, and youâre left alone as he walks his way home.
as you get older, you realize that youâre not always right and thereâs so many things you couldâve handled better, so many situations where you couldâve been kinder and all you can really do is forgive yourself and let your mistakes make you a better person.
barista!choso x masters student!reader, total comfort fic, fluffy, coffee lover au... choso is yuji's caregiver, mid-late 20s reader
reposting part 1 cause i didn't have a title before now.......
Your frost bitten cheeks appreciate the shift in temperature when you step into the campus coffee shop, a sigh of relief slipping through your teeth as you join the end of the queue.
Another Monday, another afternoon spent studying within these four walls. An expensive habit, you'll admit, running strong from your first year at Tokyo University, your masters course wearing you thin. In your defence, you don't tend to spend much on nightlife, instead focusing on the home stretch - it's only six months until you're finishing up, for good.Â
The difference between those first few months on campus and now is exceptional, yet one thing remains the same; study sessions in this coffee house. The coffee isnât the only thing youâve appreciated, though.
You peek through the queue to see if he's there (though you know by now, he's always working Mondays), and sure enough, you can see those broad shoulders, and jet black hair.Â
Choso Kamo. A name you didn't hear much around campus, yet here, he reigned. Shift lead, according to his name tag; which also happens to be littered in little stickers from his younger brother, Yuji. This fact, among many others, is the reason you're head over heels for Kamo.Â
"Latte, please." You're happy to be at the front end of the queue, face to face with your half-a-decade long crush. These minute long encounters have somehow kept you going... though now you think about it, it's pretty pathetic. Every time you tell yourself you're finally going to make a move, you just can't stomach it, scraping up any excuse your mind can muster.
For a brief period, heâd dated another barista, and you felt like youâd been shot in the chest every time you saw them work together. They broke up though, youâd learned through an overheard conversation that sheâd moved away for her masters and he wasnât into âlong distanceâ.
Youâve spoken quite a few times, mostly in your freshman year, when heâd lived in the same halls as you. But he had sadly moved after the first semester, and now you were stuck having to spend money to see his face, and on rare occasions, a light conversation.Â
"You spend too much money here." Your total is written in small digits across the card reader and you pay using contactless, quickly putting your phone back into your hoodie pockets. A smile creeps over your face as he hands you the receipt, his painted nails brushing over your open palm.
"Tell that to my overdraft." You giggle, making your way toward the collection counter. Choso moves with you, grabbing a mug and starting up the espresso machine.Â
Small talk is embarrassingly all you've been able to rouse while in his presence. Sometimes, it's asking how he is, and sometimes youâre able to stray from a basic interaction to make a joke. Today seems to be on the latter trajectory, meaning the conversation will have been dead and buried for the day. You're always left wanting more, though you can't muster the words to continue a conversation.Â
Watching Choso move behind the counter never gets old. Black painted fingernails contrast the white ceramic and long, vascular fingers making even the large mugs look small. Days like today, with the heaters on full blast to fight the winter air, he's rolled back his shirt sleeves, revealing pretty tattooed forearms. He pours the espresso, and then textured milk.Â
"You're graduating soon, right?" His continued chitchat catches you a little off guard, breaking your usual routine of conversation. You nod with some apprehension, cautious to give any form of verbal response in fear of embarrassment. He looks into your eye, and you feel the hair on your neck start to stand. You swallow.
"There's a careers event this weekend, you going?" He puts the mug in front of you, turning the handle to face your way. There's a lump in your throat as you watch his hands leave the drink on the side.
"Oh, nah. I've got like, four days to finish this assignment." It's a stupid response - you should absolutely be going if Choso is asking you, yet your idiotic mind flicks into autopilot and leaves the dead braincells to do the talking.Â
"Oh, right. I'll probably be roped into overtime, anyways." His eyes drop to your drink, awaiting your departure from his countertop. The dishwasher needs to go on, and he'll have to grab another carton of milk from the fridge out back. You hesitate, but leave anyway, unable to find the spark of confidence to request his accompaniment.Â
A smaller table toward the back calls your name - your usual spot. Thereâs a charger port nestled in behind the chair, perfect for the unknown amount of time you were going to spend here, and itâs one of the only tables that doesnât wobble.
Pulling out your laptop, you're cringing at the interaction that had just taken place, internally screaming at yourself for denying what was practically an invitation.Â
You pull up the word document you've sold your soul to, a dissertation due in just a few days. Tens of thousands of words deep and you still think it's lackluster, despite the effort you've imbued. This is worth a hefty percentage of your grade, and will reflect years of your life. It's far too difficult to turn in one piece of work and act as though it speaks for all six years of your education, knowledge, and experience. For it to be torn apart and examined like some sort of lab experiment.
It doesn't help that you're completely distracted after speaking with Choso. Today is a flush, even with an empty mug, you're left with a few sentences strung onto that lengthy document.Â
It's nearing five and you're left with an ultimatum: another drink and some sort of miracle, or to just accept defeat and return home. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes closed. The laptop screen is reluctantly closed, and you sit back in your chair for a few more moments.Â
"You're still here?" You think you've finally cracked when you hear Choso's voice from beside you. "It's been like, four hours."Â
You open your eyes slowly, and sure enough you're met with Kamo, a baggy hoodie embracing his wide frame, headphones hanging from his neck. He's got a tote bag slung over his shoulder with his thumb resting over the straps, clearly leaving for the evening. Your gaze flickers over to the counter, and you can see Gojo tying his apron, before fluffing up his own hair in the reflection of the espresso machine. Choso awaits a reply, lips pressed together, gaze boring into yours.Â
"I uh-" You stutter, cursing yourself for the second time today. "I'm heading off now. Gonna have to brew a pot at home." That awkward smile returns across your face.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off."Â
You grit your teeth and cringe, clenching your fists under the table. "No, I know."
The eye contact you usually forced yourself to return is no more as you hang your head in shame. This might be the worst interaction you've ever had.Â
"Uh, I've never asked what you're studying." Choso pipes up again and you almost choke on your own breath as you glance back to him in disbelief. You rub your eyes, convincing yourself he is just a delusion stemming from exhaustion, but sure enough, when you look up he's still there.
"English Lit. What about you?" A sentence left your lips that didn't make you want to scream into a pillow; progress.Â
"Fine Art, part time. Graduating this summer." He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "Hey, you coming?" His hand presses against the glass as heâs glancing over his shoulder, two loose buns moving with his head, stray hairs falling to frame the sides of his face. He opens the door and steps forward, and you gain on him, taking the doorâs weight in your palm. Your hand lands just beneath his, cool glass soothing your burning skin.Â
âYou live near campus?â The cold air hits your cheeks, and you zip your jacket a little higher. He makes his way toward the university by turning right, and you follow. Youâre not quite sure how far apart youâre supposed to stand, choosing to lag behind over getting too close.Â
âYeah, in the apartments behind the dorms.â Choso nods, slowing his steps and looking over his shoulder. He stops until you catch up to his side, and then continues to plod on.Â
With winter in full swing, itâs almost dark out, the sun hidden behind buildings as the moon is sure to rise. Streetlights illuminate your path beneath a grey sky, a sheen over the concrete that youâre sure will turn to frost by tomorrow. Youâll have to dig out your trainers tonight, something grippy to offer support on route to lectures.Â
âWhat about you?â You enquire, glancing up at him. His eyes are on the pavement, brown, and half-lidded. âI donât think Iâve seen you around, since you moved.â
He swallows, and his eyes raise, before he tilts his head toward you, making brief eye contact. You canât read his expression, but the air feels heavy.
âI live in an apartment, I had to take custody of my brother.â His voice is low. âItâs not far from where we used to be, I got a hardship grant from the university to help, so itâs not all bad.â He stops as you near your building, pointing. âI cut through here.â He speaks, and you hide your disappointment.Â
âWell, thanks for walking me back.â You choke out, all too awkwardly. Choso seems a little entertained, with the side of his lip quirking up. You look at the black line painted over the bridge of his nose, then up to his eyes. You wonder if thisâll be the most meaningful interaction youâll have before you graduate.Â
âIâll see you around.â He pushes an earphone into his ear before turning, and youâre left alone as he walks his way home.
I've decided I want to resurrect this fic and actually finish it. Essentially this is my take on a thought I had once of 'How would Levi react if he was suddenly transported into current day?' and the story just kind of blossomed from there. Enjoy!
tags: fem!reader, reverse isekai, modern au
Chapter One
Itâs just after midnight when you make it to the metro platform.
The descent underground is quiet. Below the bustling city streets, you go through the process of boarding a train back home in a bit of a mindless daze, having done this cycle of late night shifts at the hospital countless times before.
The carriage is empty when you walk on board, silent except for the pneumatic hiss of the doors that slide closed behind you. You fall into the nearest seat with a heavy sigh.
Itâs the first time in thirteen hours youâve really been able to get off your feet.
Working four 12 hour days can be tiring, but itâs worth it most of the time for the following four days off that youâre able to get. Four days off of freedomâwhich usually means catching up on errands. Laundry, getting groceries, and cleaning.
Itâs just you now, so things tend to pile up much more quickly.
As you feel the rumble of movement beneath you, the momentum causing you to sway a little in your seat, you stare unblinking at the opposite window. Flashes of advertisements and thick concrete tunnel walls speed by in a blur, and you allow your mind to wander.
Maybe you could go to that new cafe in the morning that opened up on College Street. Itâs been a while since youâve taken a moment just for yourself. Or maybe you could take a book to the park after cleaning your apartment. The weather was supposed to be nice, and that used to be your favorite thing to do beforeâŠ
The train slows to a stop before you continue down that line of thinking. With a droning chime, the doors open to signal would-be passengers to either depart or climb aboard.
A pleasant female voice erupts from the intercom system. âThis is Freedom Park Station. Please stand clear of the doors.â
Itâs not unheard of for others to be out so late, particularly on a Friday night, so to see a man walk aboard doesnât immediately surprise you.
What does cause you to do a double take is the state of him.
The first thing you see is the insignia of the wings of freedom, a symbol you immediately recognize on the back of the green cloak covering his upper half from one of your favorite shows, Attack on Titan.
The second thing you notice is that heâs soaked.
Thatâs odd. You donât remember it raining earlier in the day, but there could have been a brief downpour in another part of the city. But heâs clearly coming from an anime convention. Those were usually held at the convention center downtown.
The man heavily slumps forward against the railing. His back is turned toward you, but you watch him thoughtfully, admiring the impressive handiwork of his costume. From under the cloak, you see the intricately wrapped belts of the omni-directional gear, as well as the boxes along his thighs that are used in the show to store blades. When you see a reflection of an advertisement briefly glimmer off of the surface, you realize that theyâre actually metal.
Those must be heavy. Did he make them himself?
The train begins to move again and your thoughts are stopped short when the man stumbles, nearly falling. Thatâs when he turns and you notice the blood.
His face is covered in it.
Youâre on your feet before you even realize it. âExcuse me.â
He turns at the sound of your voice and you see the source: a rough cut just above his right eyebrow.
The man sways unsteadily on his feet against the movement of the train. The look he gives you is immediately distrusting, but he doesnât back away.
You stop a few feet from him. âSir, are you okay?â When his eyes narrow, you point to the badge pinned to your work scrubs. âIâm a nurse, see?â
You wait as his eyes study your hospital badge for a moment.
âWhere the hell am I?â
Okay, thatâs potentially a cause for concern. âUh.â You try to remember what stop he got on from. âFreedom Park.â The look on his face doesnât resemble recognition. âYouâre not from around here?â
For a moment, he seems to think. âNo.â
Thereâs a sharp jolt from the train car and you both sway a little, him more than you.
You gesture to the empty seat next to him. âHere. You should probably sit down.â
He doesnât argue as he takes it.
Looking him over, you consider your options. It isnât too late to take him back to the hospital, but you donât exactly want to after spending the entire day there already. From the looks of it, it doesnât look like heâll need stitches, but it doesnât feel right to leave him alone in the state heâs in either.
âCan you tell me what happened?â you ask.
The man looks around for a moment. The look on his face turns apprehensive. âI donât remember. There was a flash⊠and then I just woke up here.â
You raise your brows. Something about the way he says it feels like he isnât being completely honest, but you suppose the bleeding itself is a more pressing concern right now anyway.
âOkay,â you say. âWell, that cut doesnât look too deep, but you should get it cleaned.â You pause for a moment, debating. âMy apartment is at the next stop.â
You had meant it as a suggestion, but the man doesnât seem to follow.
âI can look at it for you,â you add. âMaybe help you find wherever you were supposed to stay.â
He seems to consider it for a long moment, looking from you to around the empty train car and then back to your badge.
âAlright,â he says as the train begins to slow. When it comes to a stop and the doors open with their loud hydraulic hiss, he follows you back out onto the platform.
Itâs quiet for most of the walk back. You go through the motions of exiting the stationâswiping your pass and leading the way up the winding corridors to street level while the man follows, watching your movements and your surroundings with a puzzled sort of awe.
It isnât until youâre pulling out the keys to your place before you turn to him again.
âSo, whatâs your name?â
He gives you a subdued look. âLevi.â
You smile.
âNo, reallyâŠâ you press, looking over his clothes again. Itâs obvious thatâs what heâs going for now that you see him up closeâthe scout uniform and his undercut. Come to think of it, he has Leviâs frame as well. And his eyes.
Itâs a damn good cosplay actually. If Levi Ackerman were to magically come out of the television screen as a flesh and blood person, heâd look exactly like this guy.
But judging by his expression and the complete lack of response, he isnât interested in giving you any sort of real information.
You turn then, your smile dropping, and lead the way into the apartment building. âO-kay.â
Itâs possible, you guess, that his name really is Levi. Just a very bizarre coincidence that he happens to look and act exactly like your favorite character from an anime and also likes the anime as well. There are billions of people in the world though. Stranger things happen all the time.
Reluctant to piss him off further, the rest of the walk up to the second floor is done in more silence. You unlock your front door and lead the way inside, smiling when you hear the telltale trill of your cat greeting you at the door.
âHello, Luna,â you greet, bending down to run your hand between the shorthairâs ears. She pushes herself up into your hand a little further with a chirp.
Still at the door, the manâLeviâwatches.
âLuna?â he asks in a flat tone.
You straighten back up, noting his hesitancy to walk forward. âYouâre not allergic, are you?â That would be some cosmic bad luck on his part to deal with a head wound and an allergic reaction in one night.
But thankfully, he shakes his head.
âDonât worry about her, sheâs affectionate but sheâs harmless,â you say, sidestepping around your cat to walk further into your living room. When Levi joins you, you gesture to the sofa. âHave a seat there. Iâll be right back with some supplies.â
You donât wait around to see if he does what you say, instead dipping down the hall toward a small office. Itâs mostly just a place for all of your trinketsâa desk filled with a few figures and a computer. Some bookshelves line the walls, collecting dust. Itâs been months since youâve picked up a good book or did much of anything in this room, really. But you know exactly where to look for the supply kits youâve managed to stock up on from the hospital.
After you find some wound wash, you grab a towel from the bathroom next door and return to the living room.
Levi is there, sitting on the edge of the sofa as if heâs afraid to get comfortable. His gaze keeps jumping around the room, taking in the layout and decor, and his fists rest stiffly on his knees. Luna is next to him, tentatively sniffing at his knuckles with a curious stretch of her neck.
You shoo her away gently and take her place on the sofa. The angle of light allows you to see the source of the drying blood on his face a bit better.
Quietly, you look him over. âHow are you feeling?â
He watches as you slip on a pair of gloves. âIâve had worse.â
You snort lightly and begin to prep the fresh towel with wound wash.
âDo you have stuff like this happen to you often?â you ask, now reaching to press the towel to his face.
At your question, he pulls his one uncovered eye from you, surveying the room again. âNothing quite like this.â
âWhat happened?â
Levi is quiet for a moment before he says, âIt was nothing. I fell.â
You pause your movements, frowning. âThis doesnât look like the kind of cut youâd get from a fall.â
âWhy does it matter?â
Judging by his defensive tone, he knows more than heâs letting on, but you canât figure out why he isnât being honest.
But with him already in your apartment, you donât want to do anything to unnecessarily antagonize him. Even in his current state, he looks strong and capable enough to hurt you.
âDid you have somewhere you were staying?â you ask, changing the subject.
You gently dab the towel down the curve of his jaw and watch the muscle tense beneath your touch.
âNo,â he finally says.
âYou came all the way here for a convention and didnât book a hotel?â
âA convention?â
âYeah,â you nod, gesturing to his clothes. âYouâre a scout, right?â
At your words, his expression becomes a bit more relieved. He nods. âYes. I got onto that... train thing because I hoped it might take me to headquarters.â
You blink as you listen to him. Did he hit his head hard enough for him to think that he is Levi Ackerman?
Maybe you should take him to the hospital anyway just to get him checked out. He seems perfectly lucid otherwise though, if a bit confused.
You reach forward and check his head wound again. Just like you thought, itâs too shallow to need stitches and isnât bleeding anymore, so thatâs a good sign. Maybe it could wait until morning.
âDo you feel sick?â you ask, searching his expression for any lack of focus or disorientation but find none. âNauseated? Dizzy?â
âOther than the stabbing pain above my eye?â he deadpans, glaring at you. âNo. I feel fine.â
You sigh, weighing your options.
You could finish cleaning him up and then send him on his way, but heâs already said he has nowhere to go and he isnât from the city. But then the other option is letting him stay in your spare bedroom until tomorrow morning, potentially putting yourself into a dangerous situation with a strangerâŠ
This is insane, considering letting a complete stranger stay in your apartment. Youâd feel guilty if you just let him go and he got into trouble. At the very least, you could make sure he has somewhere to sleep. You could lock your bedroom door. He looks rough around the edges but he also doesnât seem particularly interested in you.
You get to your feet and look over his clothes once more. âYou can stay here tonight if youâd like. Thereâs a spare bedroom and a shower down the hall.â
He gives you a distrustful look. âYouâre putting a lot of faith in a stranger.â
You raise a brow, trying not to look like youâre worried about the exact same thing. âI guess we both are. But if you have another option, then youâre free to leave.â
That seems to give him pause, and he looks around the room once more.
âWhere did you say the shower was?â
âDown the hall, second door on the left,â you tell him. âIâll get you a towel.â
You dispose quickly of the bloodied towel in your kitchen trash along with your gloves and turn back down the hall again. When you return, Levi is standing awkwardly next to your sofa. He seems to be pointedly ignoring Luna, who is still curiously sniffing him from the armrest.
âThese should fit,â you tell him, patting a folded up pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt tucked beneath your arm. âJust leave your things in the bathroom and Iâll make sure your clothes are washed in the morning.â
He takes the items from you with another skeptical glance. âYou donât have to do that.â
âI have to do laundry anyway,â you wave him off. âItâs no trouble.â Quickly, you point at him. âJust donât scrub at that cut. Youâll just make it bleed again.â
He doesnât move immediately when you back away to let him pass by, but the promise of a hot shower seems to eventually override whatever keeps him fixed in place. Without another word, he retreats down the hall, right to the second door on the left like you told him.
What a strange man.
It takes fifteen minutes before you hear the shower turn on.
In that time, you busy yourself with finding a spare blanket and a pillow and leave them on the sofa. You tidy up a little next, grabbing leftover drinking glasses off the table and discarded socks that had been pushed under the coffee table. It isnât much, but youâre left feeling slightly less anxious about the state of your place by the time youâre finished. You like to keep things tidy to begin with, but the place certainly looks lived in right now.
Curious, you sink into a chair and pull out your phone while youâre waiting and click on the search engine, quickly typing in a few keywords to check on any local anime conventions happening in the area.
There are no ongoing events, and the next one isnât happening until six months from now.
Well, that eliminates your theory. So then what the hell was he doing cosplaying on the street on a random Friday? If he was with someone, he wouldnât have been wandering around alone and he said he wasnât staying anywhere in the area.
The thought occurs to you that maybe this is some sort of trap to lure unsuspecting women into vulnerable positions, preying on a personâs compassion. But then, that was very real blood on his face and a very real wound, and he has had ample opportunities to attack and rob you if that was truly what he was after. He might look intimidating, but thereâs nothing about him that screams that youâre in any sort of immediate danger either.
Maybe you can get some real answers out of him in the morning when heâs less grumpy.
Youâre feeding Luna in the kitchen when Levi reappears.
With silent relief, you note that his wound seems to still be fine. He looks healthier in general after cleaning off, but he also looks⊠well, even more like Levi Ackerman. Itâs kind of uncanny.
âWhat?â
You jump when you hear his voice. Heâs watching you from the living room, looking about as confused as you feel.
Shit, have you been staring? âNothing.â You sigh and rub at your eyes. Itâs been too long of a day to start questioning your sanity. âAre you hungry or anything? I have some leftovers I can heat up really quick.â
âIâm fine.â
He glances at the television on the other side of the room before looking around again, lingering at times on things like the lamps in the corners and over to the open kitchen.
His hands fidget in his lap.
âIâll be out of here first thing in the morning.â
The sound of his voice surprises you.
âWhere are you going to go?â
He shrugs. âIâll figure it out.â
You chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. Heâs a grown man, so it shouldnât concern you what he does. But his comments about not being from here, and the whole thing about him trying to find âheadquartersâ? Youâd feel better knowing there isnât anything youâve missed.
âAt least let me take you to the hospital to get that cut checked out,â you suggest. âWe can go first thing while your clothes are drying.â
He scoffs but the sound is entirely devoid of humor. âI told you Iâm fine.â
âSo itâll be a quick visit and you can be on your way in no time,â you reply. âOne of the doctors I work with can look you over before his first patient. He wonât mind.â
âOr I could just leave in the middle of the night.â
âI guess.â You shrug. âI wouldnât be able to stop you, but thatâs your choice. My conscience can be clear as long as Iâve offered to help you. I canât make you take it, but I think itâs a good idea.â
He glares at you from the sofa, but doesnât reply.
You get the sense that he doesnât want to be bothered anymore. With the night heâs had, he probably just wants some rest, and youâre more than willing to get some sleep yourself.
Now that the shock of the night has worn off a bit, your body feels heavy as you get to your feet.
Levi stays quiet as you move around the room, shutting off lights and locking your front door.
âThe room youâll be staying in is the last door on the right. Iâll get you up in the morning,â you tell him. This prompts him to get to his feet, following you down the hall with his blanket and pillow. âGet some sleep.â
That earns you little more than a grunt of acknowledgement.
When you get into your room, you make sure to lock the door and find a baseball bat from the depths of your closet to sit by your bed. Youâve always been a light sleeper, so you hope that youâll be able to hear if he decides to try anything.
You go through your nightly routine and climb into bed, then send off a text before closing your eyesâa message to one of your friends and fellow co-workers at the hospital.
Hey, could you do me a huge favor tomorrow morning? Itâll be quick.
Hopefully, when you wake up, Levi will still be there.