Softie

“What do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”

[candlelightforsoftmoments]

Masterlist

✨ Cologne and Beads of Sweat ↣ Sukuna x Female Reader (Modern AU)

[candlelightforsoftmoments]

Cologne and Beads of Sweat Chapter 2: A Memento

Warning: Suggestive themes! P.S. We know Sukuna doesn't have gauges canonically, but let's ignore that.

The clock strikes 5:30 when you jolt awake from slumber. Head concealed under the weight of your arms, you roll onto the side, feeling the drenched underwear stick to your skin. You remember him sneaking in your dreams last night. His warm hands. His smell. His weight against you. And your mind feels fuzzier.

Pounding in your head intensifies as you cut across the room barefoot. The floor jolts awake your senses, forcing your mind to ease up on the tension. Scarfing down some leftovers from the fridge, you make your way to the closet, eyeing your usual outfits of choice, but something in your chest tightens. It washes away at your heart, squeezing all that's left and you feel the need to wear that uncomfortable skirt that's been hanging in your closet for weeks. 

Summer is already ending but it feels like it had just begun. It must dread to wait for the participants, always rushing you, always pushing you to the fullest. A line of shine forms against the side of your legs, as you cover them with dark pantyhose and adorn your feet with your favourite pair of heels that have carried your feet through it all. 

Familiar pangs slide up your skull when you push through the sea of people rushing to work alongside you. It comes again when you dust off the pile of books in the bookstore and when you smile at the girls making a joke while you rearrange the shelves.

"Sweets, you really need to take it easy, this place isn't even worth it," Nana yawns and squints her eyes at the computer monitor as she clicks the mouse several times. She's been sitting here glued to the monitor for years, always fussing about some details. At this point, she resembles an antique figurine, so loyal and devoted, so ancient that she might stay on that chair for more years following, perhaps until the store closes for its own good.

"Right. Says the girl who goes to sleep later than me," you snort.

"I'm leading the political party, Sweets. I'm a busy girl." Her wit makes Sasha snort, an inside joke that's neither funny, nor solemn.

"Make fun of me later when I crush your opposition, Sasha."

"Yeah, yeah, you and your cult. We get it," Sasha presses and you both grin.

"Why you-"

Their odd banter dims, as you make your way to back of the store and place the freshly launched notepads near the forgotten ones. It must have slipped Sasha's mind to turn the AC on, because you feel your skin dampen, your irritated nerves making your eyelids droop further until a steady voice makes its way to your ears.

"Excuse me, Do you happen to sell Dostoevsky?" The owner of the voice has a tired look on his face, his cheeks hollowed, eyes hiding behind the glasses. He adjusts his tie, spotted in leopard prints, then smooths his hand on his neatly styled blonde hair. You usually see him picking out various classics, but no wonder, classics must be a fitting choice for a weary-faced man like him. It's just a hunch.

"Yes, here, let me show you," you respond keenly, leading the grey-suited man near the wanted shelf and leaving him to his choice. 

Out the corner of your eye, you spot Nana fidgeting with her phone. Her eyes widen, spotting you.

"Can you take the desk for a second, Sweets, I have to check something real quick," she asks apologetically, rushing to the staff room. 

Quick is one way to put it when it involves you doing her task for another hour.

The store lights up with afternoon sun and you feel yourself skid into the frenzy, your hands automatically placing the books in the paper bags, your fingers organizing the transactions smoothly and your smile beaming at the customers the way you were taught to. Your mind slips. It slips and you move on autopilot, not registering how the temperature in the room seems to rise up, making your hair stick to your skin at the nape. Sharp pain pinches at the side of your skull when you step on your heel too hard and you wince, face twisting.

"I'll pay with cash," a guy seemingly your age walks into the store for the eighth time today, placing the order of one pen.

"Is that your name? really?" His brows lift up oddly.

You really can not do this today.

He stands in front of the desk, his change rolling on the center of his palm. He is not planning to leave.

"Yes, and?" You want to seem cold, busying yourself with other tasks.

"What the fuck?! Why are you so rude, when you are just a staff?!" He huffs, eyes bulging out, scorning. "They should train you better on servicing others!" 

Nit-picking for no particular reason. Watching him without blowing your lid, you think that people like him are privileged. They are privileged to have their brain built by bricks that rebound words, because for him aimless arguing is enough. He can't hear your complains of him halting the queue and being disrespectful, so there is only one thing you can think of.

"Sasha, please, take over!" Making your way to the staff room, you rush past Nana, but the guy's words don't hesitate catching up to you.

"What the fuck?! You are a psycho! Why are psychos even allowed to work here? She should be locked up in the ward!" He gestures the air, nearly shouting with each sentence. 

You press your back against the cold granite which scratches against your back. The alleyway reeks of burnt paper, cigarettes and skewers. That makes your heart swell, your fingers itching to take up the pen and paper and draw familiar lines, drown out the noise.

Chilly wind stings your throat and you take out the cigarette that has been placed in the pocket of your coat that you are holding. Maybe you should breathe it in once again, it reminds you of home and the stupid idea, that it will get better.

"Why are you moping around?" Sukuna's voice lacks empathy.

"Heh, how joyous," he continues to snicker as he blows out the cigarette smoke, his eyes forming crows feet near the edges.

"I thought you didn't like to talk," your gaze drills holes into the white box in your clasped fingers.

"Oh, no," his voice drips of mockery, "I do enjoy long and mindful conversations with certain people. I do not have time for everyone's bullshit, though."

Sukuna looks across the narrow street, staring at the pigeon that limps its way trying to save itself from the cat sneaking up. 

"Right." You seem to favour that word.

Not paying attention to his cold demeanor, you slide your earphones on, your phone not halting to play another love song. You don't try to put that romantic melodies in your list, instead, they seem to find you and they always come smelling of sadness to them.

Your eyes follow the anxious pigeon. She tries to fly up one last time but the cat pounces and drags it underneath the parked car. You notice Sukuna's lip dragging up at the corner, smoke coming out in waves from his nose.

You close your eyes as you breathe in the chilly breeze that seems to carry the smoke out of his lungs and into yours... How romantic. Except that he isn't. He is someone who toys and someone who takes pleasure from other's suffering. You seem to read that in his eyes that bore into things without clinging and in his body that oozes self-satisfaction.

How nice must that be. 

Your fingers slip the cigarette box back into the pocket, as you grab the single lollipop instead that your sister jokingly gifted you before. Tearing off the plastic cover, you slide it on your tongue, eyes closing again. The melody switches to something more melancholic and the notes smooth over the aching head of yours. Your fingers twitch, itching to sketch. It's been too long since you've painted something decent that made your heart race.

Your tongue swirls around the lollipop. You take it out and breathe onto it, your head throbbing and throbbing. The melody peaks inside the earphones as you feel the darkness looming over your vision behind your closed eyelids. If only it were possible to freeze the time, teleport into your cozy sheets and sleep for three months straight. Maybe, it'd be better to get a dog and fill those three months with activities instead.

Familiar scent with the hint of frost and smoke fills your nostrils. It pulls you away from your thoughts. You don't open your eyes, basking in it. His fingers caress yours as his tattooed tongue reaches out to curl around the ball of sugar.

"Heedless woman." 

Your eyes snap open as his mouth closes over the lollipop, his eyes staring at your nails painted in black. You don't notice his long fingers popping the earphone from your ear to his, until you hear the roaming sounds of the busy street.

"Yech, too sweet!" Creases form between his eyebrows, the tip of his tongue rubbing against his sharp fang, before it slits into a lopsided grin. "And a love song? Pfft. How generic."

"Is there anything that pleases you at all?" You ask, annoyed.

"Quite a lot of things, actually. I don't bore myself with things that don't please me." He answers with a slight boredom in his speech. Your lack of response encourages him to keep going.

"Especially sneaky things," His eyes glimmer with emptiness.

Your gaze snaps up at his.

"I dare you to keep mocking me," you try to sound intimidating. To that he stares for a second, savoring your insult in his mind before his lips start to move.

"Love doesn't suit you." His gaze turns even emptier, his voice becoming harsher. "Love is a fucking disease."

It's quite endearing seeing him spew so much words in one day, but it's puzzling how odd and bizarre he sounds. As if he doesn't care whether it is you or Maurice or some other passersby in your stead. But at the same time, he seems to love vomiting out his opinions without a care in the world.

"How would you even know that. Love is a beautiful thing..."

The beat turns serene. Notes flick across your vision as his words tug at your brain wrinkles. Painfully so.

"...Though I despise it from time to time too." You end your sentence in a way that makes him scrunch his nose and join your stare across the street. 

"These please me."

His eyes skim on your pantyhose. The pad of his thumb smoothes the fabric on the shine. His blackly painted nail applies a little force with each stroke.

"Ryomen," You start in warning, His nail catches too roughly on the material. The seams come undone, tearing a little.

"Aren't you so sweet?" He nearly purrs, still staring at his digit fingering a little hole created on the fabric.

"So good to everyone, even to me." His laugh is condescending. His hands paw at the jacket in your hands, pushing into the pocket, taking out some cigarettes from the box and leaving an empty gap inside, on which he adds:

"A fitting memento for a sweet woman."

Emptiness.

By the time you  clock out, you find your sister near the shop entrance. Pulling you into a tight hug, she giggles and you both embrace each other's warmth.

"Are you gonna stay today?" You ask, chuckling. 

"Of course, I will! Your lazy ass doesn't even know how to cook some porridge. You'll shrivel like a date at this point!"

"Yeah, then I'll upgrade my constipation to higher level."

"Shitting once a month." She snorts.

"No, once a year, like a saint and I'd be crying too, just like those yaoi men." You snort back.

"Saints poop once a year?"

"I'd be a special one."

"You are so gross. I'm definitely cooking the porridge, though." She hits your arm playfully as you chatter nonsense and plop down into the right side of the tea house. Herbal scent reaches your nostrils. You watch your sister's hair glowing under the setting sun.

"You look worn out." She comments nervously. "Has something happened?"

"I'm just tired. I always look like this when I'm tired, it's fine."

You have always pushed through, so stopping now sounds impossible even in your head.

"Shall we get some green tea?" She taps her freshly painted nails against the skillfully carved table. 

"Hmmm and sandwiches?"

"Uuuuugh, you and your sandwiches. Sounds good- Girl, your tights!" Her squeak makes you flinch.

"Ah, this?" Your brain plays Sukuna's tantrum over, contemplating whether you should tell her the truth, until you sigh and point your finger at Sukuna approaching the table.

"He did that."

His eyes glue on your finger before his face darkens.

"What the fuck! He looks so scary! Did he do something to you?!" Your sister's hands shake as she whispers. Her frown deepens. 

"That guy?" Your voice rises, "That guy is harmless, all looks, or all bark, or whatever they call that. Childish man. He doesn't do anything except himself. Don't worry. I know him."

Your voice makes his crimson eyes darken further like black holes. You want to get under his skin, but he seems as professional as ice, when he's taking and returning with your order, turning his attention to another table. 

Spotting you, Maurice almost stumbles across the floor, his face lighting up. His palms find their usual place on the shoulder of your seated figure. 

"Is the grumpy old man bothering you, ladies?" He makes a face, making your sister laugh.

His charm seeps into her, making her laugh harder. Anne, who seems to have changed out of her apron, joins in the conversation. Maurice cracks another joke that makes Anne blush and the table cracks into laughter and grins. 

"Did you restock the items I ordered you?" Sukuna's gruff voice makes Anne jump.

"Did you?" He repeats, tone turning icier.

"I clocked out, I told Mr. Abe that I'm in a hurr-"

"Did you? Abe put me in charge of maintaining the order and how the fuck am I supposed to do that while you two laze around!" His voice doesn't raise but it becomes stricter.

"Hey, man, don't be mean-" Maurice reaches out to pat Sukuna's back, his hand still on your shoulder.

"Did you organise the VIP room?

"I-"

"I clearly told you to organise it as soon as you started your shift." Sukuna crosses his arms on his chest, his body dripping of impatience. 

"You won't be clocking out until you do so." He grins, his eyes empty of humor. 

"Do you think this is a child's play? Half-assing everyday," He laughs, "He should just fire you, money-hungry pests, good for nothing."

Maurice's grip hurts. He talks back. You try to join in to listen, but your mind escapes, two hours of sleep seems to be catching up to you. 

Someone causes your body to jerk, your sister's curious eyes flash to the people arguing. You bite the delicious piece of sandwich, flavours melting on your tongue, as you reach for the hot tea, weirdly wanting it to burn the tip of your tongue, but the table jerks and the liquid splatters on your clothes, heat biting into your skin.

Your sister reaches for napkins in a fussy manner. You are too sleepy for this. Trio seems to break up as Maurice forces you up, hurriedly guiding you towards the staff room, offering you his spare T-shirt.

He is a sweetheart. But Sukuna doesn't share that opinion, because he gifts him another scorn.

"Get the room ready, if you wanna leave here today." 

At that Maurice can't seem to argue, rushing up to the second floor, as he leaves you standing near the staff room entrance.

The room is clean and small with a huge space to store things. You look at the black T-shirt hanging on the back of the chair, too big for your size and just like that, as if your body has noticed it, you hold it in your hands. 

Snaky fragrance. 

Icy. 

A little salty.

Your nose buries in the fabric as Sukuna's scent hits your lungs. You hug the shirt, taking in another whiff of familiarity. And another. And another. And another.

Not like a creep.

No, maybe you are a creep. Because you feel his chest hug yours in a protective manner. 

A safe blanket. You open your eyes and place the shirt on it's original place. You grab napkins, drying off the moisture from your clothes, when the click of the door pierces your eardrums.

"I'll wash it and bring it back tomorrow." You don't look back as you grin.  

There is no answer. Only the sound that your busy hands are making. That's when you feel a heavy palm at the center of your back, heavy digits spreading apart and making their way towards your nape. They dig into your damp flesh there, holding your head unmoving.

"Every single one of you brats are getting on my nerves." The tip of his fingers squeeze there.

"Ryomen." You state sternly. "Take your hand off."

Instead he shifts, his hand leaving your nape, sliding underneath your face until he cups your chin. He spins you sideways to his massive chest. His maroon irises hood in tension. Your eyes hold his before they slide to his facial tattoos and to his Adam's apple.

God, you must be a scent freak, because wrapped in Sukuna's arms, you can only feel yourself drown in his fragrance. Your eyelids droop, drowsy overtaking your senses and for a second you wish you were cat, not worrying about anything, making home in his shoulder slope and dozing off.

His thumb leaves soft caress on the side of your cheek. Your head leans into his rough palm further. His unoccupied hand finds the torn seam and just like that the tip of his finger finds itself playing with your bare skin. Your droopy eyes latch on his pierced ears. Wonder when he got those. Would your fingertip manage to slide in it. Would he let you?

"I hate easy women," his breath hits yours. Your sleepy eyes shift to his digit sliding in and out of the torn. It's covered in red scratches. His giant palms dwarf yours as you slide it over his wounds, caressing his skin and pressing down. That should make him hiss from the sting. But he is Ryomen Sukuna. Does he even know what a sting feels like?

"I hate men," You stare at his wounds, "I hate you."

His eyes crinkle at that.

"You are so full of yourself."

His scratched hand catches your pinky, rolling it a little.

"Hmm. So boring," He attempts to whisper, the tone of his voice not allowing him to do so. "Continue."

Your body relaxes, your arm hugging over his shoulder, daring to scratch his nape with your nails. His hand abandons his ministrations with your pinky, his nail pressing under yours one last time, before his hand slides over the plush of your belly, pressing there.

"Cat got your tongue, woman?" He mocks.

"You are a cocky sinister son of a bitch!" You attempt to scold him, even in drowsy. 

Sukuna laughs low at your response, his thumb never once stopping to stroke the side of your cheek.

"Stop toying with me. I'm tired." Your voice drops. "I wanna go home."

"But you are so entertaining," His voice drips of malice. "Oi, wake up, brat," his index finger flicks your chin softly. 

Sukuna's palm slides up your front. His cold fingers glide under the fabric on your chest, but not quite touching the places you want.

"Tell me what you want, you can do it," His sculpted nose nudges against yours, his breath ghosting over your lips.

"I want to rid myself of your horrible hands!" You try to pull away, before the haze completely devours your senses, but he doesn't budge. 

"Shall I lull you to sleep? That would be a humiliating sight." His arms loosen. The hand on your chest slides further inside, almost slipping into your bra.

"You are a shitty person and I always imagine killing you in my sleep." You don't even know what you're bluffing.

"You think of me so often?" He laughs, his index and middle finger sliding further and further until they graze your areola, the bouncy fat of your skin dipping under the pressure. The tip of his fingers press into the plushiness. His touch sends tiny sparklers of pleasure.

"So soft." His filthy mouth almost makes you moan as you try to tug at his hair on his nape.

His hand full on gropes your breast roughly and makes your mouth open a little. You feel your nipples harden, begging for his touch but you mouth doesn't seem to be making any sounds.

"Say it, I know you wanna say it," He grins, his sharp teeth on display as his tattooed tongue reaches towards your slightly opened one.

"Say it."

"Say you're so easy."

"Say you're so easy that you wanna beg for my cock-"

You press your mouth on his. Your lips tingle in need. You pepper his chin and the neighbouring area with slow feather-like kisses.

"You are pathetic, Ryomen," you whisper and his eyes widen, eyebrows furrowing. He can't seem to notice the way your nipple accidentally gets pinched between the curve of his fingers.

You wriggle out of his arms, taking the shirt off your body and putting on your childhood friend's that smells of oranges.

There are no more words being shared, though you feel  his eyes following you out of the room. But they don't reach you on your way home, when your feet stumble, or when the hot porridge burns the tip of your tongue, or in the comfortable plushiness of your bed where your sister's fingers envelope yours as you both fall asleep. Just like in childhood.

They don't follow you that far and yours seem to do the same.

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[candlelightforsoftmoments]

Cologne and Beads of Sweat Chapter 1: Nuisance Warning: slightly suggestive themes;

“Ryomen, water that damned plant while you're at it before you head out,” the owner's grumpy voice cuts across the silence. His wrinkly hands swishing side to side in the air.

That damned plant is a short lemon tree potted near the entrance. The first time Sukuna saw that plant, he reeked of cologne, standing with a scowl at the entrance. He could feel his back of the head dampen, heat forming the beads of sweat on his nape as they rolled down his shoulder blades. 

"Someone water that damned plant!" It was the owner's voice back then too.

A young blonde man seemingly his age snickered a little as he poured a whole bottle on the plant. He looked up at Sukuna, not registering his annoyed gaze. His eyes squinted a little, as he started cheerfully:

“Now, why would you wanna come here, mister? You seem out of place."

"Huh?" It came out a little too rough. "None of your business. Call your boss here." 

He was not cut out of this, all this endless waiting and pent up tension. Hot, humid air tickled his face as he felt more sweat forming near his hairline. The day hadn't even started and he already wished he were cooped up elsewhere munching on his favourite noodles. Time really waltzes away when you need it to rush the most. Fingers impatient, he rubbed his eyebrow a little before clearing his throat, announcing in front of the balding elderly man that he was indeed looking for a job. Briefly for a second he felt that passionate spirit awaken, who used to love digging in to the academic books back in old days.

Life has never fancied him. It never rewarded him of that infamous success that everyone seemed to be talking about. It was a bizzarre thing, turning him into a bitter ghost, a wretched soul. This suited him more, drifting aimlessly, place to place. At least, that's what Toji kept saying, that a person should not bind himself rooted in place. That's why he himself drifted from one place to another, from city to city. He looked satisfied with his life. A normal person would call it a time spent useless, but regardless, Toji was satisfied doing whatever. Satisfaction would be enough if only Sukuna could get his hands on it. So, he was more than bewildered when the balding man smiled a little at his tattooed face that stamped his rebellion and asked, how soon should he have expected him to come.

The following day marked his first day at work as a waiter. Though that feeling of satisfaction, he couldn't quite muster it yet, it's like all there was to him was indifference, tranquility and so much rage underneath all of it. Nevertheless, he delivered, completing every task given. Even his break went quiet, except that old hag that kept interrupting his smoke break. She kept going on and on about her family business of owning a bookstore. Her wrinkly face lit up as she went on:

"Getting a job here of all the places, how lucky for Abe. He won't have to worry about shady customers. One look at you and it's all over for them." 

This woman was a nuisance. Sukuna felt his ears buzz a little, familiar waves rising from his abdomen up to his neck. Squinting his eyes a little, he turned his back to her while his fingers skimmed through a tiny box of nicotine. 

"I wish I had an employee like you." 

Here it goes again.

The more she talked, the more bitterness he felt on the tip of his tongue. 

"Can you look after the girls working here? Nothing too much, just keep an eye on them whenever you can."

For fuck's sake. 

Now they wanted him to play the role of a babysitter. It's like the world can not really get into its head that Sukuna dreads anything other than doing things for himself, that is also to drag himself from day to day. Unapproving of the old woman's request he stayed quiet, not daring to take a glance in her direction and as if she sensed that, she padded slowly towards the entrance of her green building. Satisfied with himself, the corner of his mouth dragged up as a slight chuckle made the cigarette smoke huff out in waves.

As if.

He already had too much on his plate on its own.

That evening was the first time he ever took a glance towards the so called "girls" that old woman was talking about. You and the others, sitting comfortably in the right corner of the tea house admiring the eastern design of the room. You looked so cozy that his stomach churned a little. His mind raced trying to remember the last time he felt that comfortable too but it got all too blurry and dark, so he gave it up, walking over to the table with a little notepad in his giant hands. At first, he tried to fight the scowl forming on his face for a while, but he gave up eventually. The usual stern look was embedded on his skin.

"Ready to order?" His voice came out low and rough, making the girls side eye a little as they grinned and ordered sweets alongside some butterfly pea tea. 

From that day on he found you in the right corner of the eastern motive ornamented room almost every week. Even though you always repeated the same "two sandwiches and the butterfly tea," he couldn't help but ask about the order each time. No, it was not because he wanted to hear your voice or some related bullshit, it was because he excelled at everything on the first try and he so turned out to be the best employee of the month, the most punctual of them all. Though, not as punctual as Maurice apparently, who seemed to glue his body over yours each time he struck up a conversation, batting his eyelashes, beaming with a lopsided grin, sliding his fingers briefly across your nape. That was the image he was met with each time he spotted you two together. But really, that was no surprise for a person like him. He knew how much an average human craved such intimacy, chasing the thrills of it. He knew those things all too well, but knowing and understanding are two contradictory terms. He couldn't seem to understand the need to dedicate one's being to that illusion, something so fickle that could ruin a person's life in a heartbeat.

Love. Attraction. spark? Whoever came up with those terms must have been one hell of a pathetic guy. Or so did Sukuna think. That is why, during his smoke break he wasn't surprised to see you two pressed up against each other in the dark alley between the shops, Maurice grunting a little, cradling the side of your face with his hand, as his other hand slipped to hook underneath your knee. 

Humans. Animals. The same thing. The though flew across his mind as he decided to avert his gaze, wanting to smoke in peace. He seemed to have made some kind of noise, because your eyes found his and your face flushed. Pushing Maurice a little too rough, you quickly slipped past Sukuna. He shrugged with a grin  when Maurice's dumbfounded gaze dropped on his.

Animals indeed. Curious animals.

He didn't mind though. He kept to himself, not gracing his coworkers with his words, doing his daily tasks as usual to achieve that satisfaction, but it felt empty. That's his fault for believing in Toji. Yes, how could that fucker have known better, it's not like he was a philosopher. So, Sukuna decided to leave this shithole of a place. He didn't know when exactly, but the decision was made.

Deep in thoughts, the soil overflows with water as it drips across the concrete. The damned lemon tree is watered. 

"Are you out of your mind?" Your voice trembles.  "If you were not my friend, I would've slapped you right now."

"Friends help each other, don't you know that?"  He knows that annoying voice all too well. "Once is all I'm asking."

“No, don't ask me that again. I'm leaving," the chair screeches. 

“Huh... Fine. Can we do that again though?" That raised tone of speech hurts Sukuna's eardrums. God, is he becoming more sensitive or is this Maurice guy just so. Fucking. Noisy.

“If you decide to be weird again, I'm kicking you out.”

Sukuna feels his ears ring. You are both so annoying. He had indifference at least but fuck, what did he do so wrong in past lifetime that it turns into annoyance. 

Noticing Sukuna on your way out, you flash him a nervous grin, fidgeting your manicured fingers on the black handbag:

“He's helping me. As a model. I sketch. He's a childhood friend."

He feels his scowl deepen. 

Whatever. 

Your face falls a little. 

Nuisance. 

That's what you are.

Strolling down the narrow street, you grin. How fucking pathetic. Explaining, blabbing on, as if he gives a damn.

He was making a face...

Your stomach churns, you should've brought some water.

Entering the subway station, cool air threads across your hair. People move like ants. Everyone looks so busy, fidgeting. You'd have to fight tooth and nail to find a proper place not to get crushed inside.

He smelled of cologne... That fuzzy smell tingling the tip of your nose. His big hands were probably so warm. He had his nails painted black. He always did, as if he was born like that. You often find yourself staring at them, connecting them to his ink lines peeking under the white shirt so thin, it almost looks see-through. That goes well with his pink spiky hair that hardly ever messes up whenever he smooths his hands over it, deep in thoughts. He always looks so out of place, seemingly too different and too big to be walking around the vintage place as a waiter. In your mind he could've easily been a noble lord somewhere in ancient times, strolling down the engawa with a face that for once showed no sign of scowl. How old-fashioned of you.

Engrossed with such thoughts, you find your stomach twisting nervously again, stumbling into the packed train. Your hand slips as you finally manage to hold onto the metal pole, taking out your phone from your handbag, not surprized when the screen shows Maurice's incoming texts. Photos. He holds his head dramatically in two of them, while he looks melancholic laying on his side in the third one. You did ask him to model for you, interested to see how artists worked in the environment such as that, but over some time your childhood friend got so into it that he sent some photo references on his own. The fourth picture has him fully naked  into a graceful pose near the window. How cheeky. You two did fool around some months ago out of curiosity. It felt safe, good, but repeating it more than twice, you felt the same sadness engulfing your heart that seems to come every night before sleep. Your noisy mind turning even noisier, you stared at the ceiling jumping from one thought to another until the birds started chirping outside and the sky lit up with the first rays of sunshine. Being intimate with Maurice left you pleasured but sad. You are built that way. Insomniac, sad freak. Over-worker, but not someone who despises themself. 

You must have been so lost in thoughts staring at Maurice's last picture that looking up, you just register a hand much bigger than yours holding onto the pole just above your fingers, not quite touching them. The fingers manicured in black. Wrist tattooed in dark circle.

Fuck.

You feel your whole skin heat up. Sweat drips out of every pore on your body as you slowly look up at the massive figure standing just behind you. Your eyes meet his in a flash, but his seem to be glued onto the screen of your phone. Your fingers shake, throwing the phone into the bag after pressing every possible button to shut off the screen. His eyes finally fall on yours, his brows forming twin creases between them.

“I- H-hi, I have to sketch those. He models for me."

He stares, eyes not leaving yours. Train shakes, forcing people to squeeze tighter, forcing him to press against you a little further.

Great, you. You seem to have a knack for embarrassing yourself in front of him. 

"Please, do not misunderstand,” Your voice dims with each word. 

You don't even know why you're speaking to him, and in a defensive manner at that.

His eyes finally leaving yours, now skim across your face, sliding across your manicured fingers matching his black, across you mouth and furrowed eyebrows, your steady shoulders. His other hand lifts replacing the first one on the pole as the latter slides a little further to the right, basically caging you in place. 

Smelling that snaky cologne, you shift sideways, averting your gaze, trying to look engrossed in the shitty mass of people being pressed against each other, when you feel his heavy palm sliding up your forearm to rest onto your shoulder, pressing against the side of your neck.

“Sneaky,” His voice booms, hoarse and condescending, layered with sinister snicker.  And it feels like the whole buzzy crowd quietens. 

“No! I told you-"

“That you sketch what, naked men? In your bed? Or theirs?" 

He has never talked to you before, granting you the "scowl specials," but really, he was granting that to everyone, except Mr. Abe. So, hearing his gruff, deep voice for the first time leaves you annoyed... and bewitched.

"I do the normal type of sketching! I study anatomy that way!" Your voice rises with each sentence, your face glaring up at his.

The corner of his mouth lifts up as his eyes darken further, no sign of playfulness in them. The voice in the train calls out the name of the passing station as his cologne shifts farther and farther, leaving your side. His massive figure leaves emptiness as it vanishes towards the entrance and out. Your heart squawks, uneasiness settling into the round of your stomach, but your fingers itch a little, wishing his rough hands have had slipped and rubbed against yours for a passing second.

The walk back home is quiet, except for the group chat exploding with incoming messages. Some write about getting a new internship, while others complain about their bosses. Your phone lights up, your sister's voice coming from the other side:

“I don't think I can make it today, I am really busy with the upcoming exams. I'll drop by your workplace tomorrow and let's go home together then."

Thinking that today went well, you open the door to your apartment. You change into your casual clothes, eat the leftover rice and stew, cooking up some scrambled eggs in the meantime. Eventually, the room darkens a little and you feel your eyelids droop, your body searching for some rest. That's when you decide that you should probably just slip under the covers and for once get a good night's sleep… 

…

For the nth time tonight, the screen of your phone glows with 3:30 A.M. written on it, when you shut it off again, laying your head against the pillow, sentences swimming across your mind. God, if only you could fall asleep. Dreading the thought of staying awake the whole night, you get up, walking towards the window, huffing, tension bursting off of your skin.

You should cry.

It's not like you are sad or anything, no, it's so that that could exhaust you to sleep, force you to  slip into the slumber. Forcing your tears to fall, you think about everything and nothing at once and eventually, sniffing into the white tissue in your hand you climb into the cool bed. Your nose congested, you huff against your fingers, eyes closing, forcing your mind to still. You feel like you won't dream tonight, your head will pound, but you don't think that your mind will draw up the setting of the crowded train again.

The train so stuffed of people that it almost bursts. You standing inside, holding the pole so tightly. Sukuna right behind you. Pressed up against your back. His strong fingers holding onto the pole just above yours. Your consciousness drifting. His left hand lifting up caging you in just like before until its massive frame lands onto the lower part of your stomach. Pressing there. His fingers spreading across. Pressing more. Possessive. The pads of his fingers sharing their warmth to the plush of your lower belly. Your lashes trembling. Your hands switching their hold onto his hand there, snaking around his elbow and wrist. The warmth spreading and spreading and spreading until it bursts downside wet.  

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter Please do not plagiarise, feed this story to AI, repost, or share this story on any other social platform/site. Also, please be mindful of hate speech, since I do not want any negativity spreading in the comments.

[candlelightforsoftmoments]

Cologne and Beads of Sweat P r o l o g u e *  *  *

A glint of the cigarette spark shined across the dim purple of the city evening. His rough fingers skillfully maneuvered on the roll of paper as his cheeks hollowed with the following inhale. Sukuna hummed a little, his nose twitching before his nostrils puffed out the grey serpents. Tan skin illuminated by the city lamps shined with something old and long gone. Callouses  skimmed over the nape while his eyes fell onto the pocket of his apron, seconds before they traced the feminine shape sitting across of him. That shape, so familiar, swaying as she crouched down to adjust her heels. Sweet smile shining upon the bookstore owner, as she waved goodbye probably until the day after tomorrow. Sukuna knew it, just as he knew the look in her eyes, as she took the tiny chair in her palms and gave him the usual quizzing look. "Can i get the usual?" There was a slight hoarse tone to her speech, giddiness flowing from the spoken words. "Sure. Without the spices?" He huffed out the last joint, his fingers hurriedly pressing the cigarette butt onto the trash bin before he disappeared into the empty kitchen, washing his hands, fumbling across the table till he skillfully arranged two mouth-watering sandwiches onto the plate.  He got used to it, those two sandwiches every other day and the gurgling sounds of her empty stomach and when he asked for how long, he got used to that ''For ever since" response too, gnawing at the back of his ribs. Hungry, starving, ''For ever since." He did see that, gears clicking into its place with the realisation of her body thinning out over the weeks, becoming weary and feather-like. How often does she neglect herself? "For ever since." and Sukuna stiffened as his chapped lips whispered a tiny "Why?" while he fiddled with the bow on his waist. She stared back with the usual stoic look in her eyes, ice stabbing his own.  “Do I know you?" That was a line in itself, a pit the swimmer dare not cross. He knew it. He knew it all too well, 'cause he has that pit too, no, he is that pit also, so he didn't dwell, his lips frowning a little: “Tch. Whatever." That morning he woke up giddy, embracing the sun beams on his honey skin and that evening he sat staring out of his balcony, almost basking in the city lights if it were not for the strange bitterness on his tongue. Thirst or annoyance? He wasn't made for any of that. That night... And the nights following after... Days filled with Maurice's Jokes and Anne's laughter as the shifts went on and the costumers complained, as the new sandwiches were wrapped and the hasty hands clasped. Usual... Usual evenings... Usual beginnings and endings... Usual thinning outs until he saw her wobble outside once, staying cross-armed inside the bookstore as she sat with a cold bottle rubbing on her forehead. He made her food then, with the twist of Maurice's recipe. And he made Anne take her home while he watched them get into the taxi. He stood there for a while sniffing in the smoky air coming somewhere from across the street. Looks like someone treated themselves to a little barbeque, warm end to the exhausting day.

Next Chapter Please do not plagiarise, feed this story to AI, repost, or share this story on any other social platform/site. Also, please be mindful of hate speech, since I do not want any negativity spreading in the comments.

[candlelightforsoftmoments]

Cologne and Beads of sweat

Pairing: Sukuna x Female Reader Timeline: Modern AU Summary: In which you work at a bookstore right next to the vintage tea house, where grumpy Sukuna works part-time as a waiter. Status: Ongoing. Rating: Explicit. MDNI. Find on AO3 with the same title. Author's Note: Hello! This is my first piece delivered into the world of fanfiction and considering that and also considering the fact that English is my second language, I hope you pardon some tiny mistakes, if any, and I hope you enjoy the story. P. S. Please do not plagiarise, feed this story to AI, repost, or share this story on any other social platform/site. Also, please be mindful of hate speech, since I do not want any negativity spreading in the comments.

✨ Prologue ✨ Chapter 1: Nuisance ✨ Chapter 2: A Memento ✨ Chapter 3: ???