celebrating Toji and his wife finally expecting, the boys get completely wasted, and Sukuna, operating on pure drunk logic, leans straight into whatever nonsense his brain serves up next
āthis time, making it very clear he's taken
crack, fluff
(part of my drunk!sukuna drabbles mini-series)
Sukuna is finished. Heās officially reached the point where his legendary alcohol tolerance has finally crumbled. Slumped deep into an armchair in the corner, he has his head tilted back and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Though he may look like heās contemplating the universe, you know heās really just trying to keep the room from spinning as his fingers twitch rhythmically against the armrest.
You walk over, weaving through the chaos of a dancing Satoru, whose laughter is way too loud. Reaching out, you try to grab Sukuna's hand. āCome on. Youāre done. Letās get you upstairs."
The second your fingers brush his wrist, he recoils with a sharp, indignant jerk. He buries his back deeper into the leather chair, drawing his arm to his chest, his gaze darting toward you like you're trying to pick his pocket.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he rumbles, his voice a thick, incoherent slur. He stares at you, deeply offended. "What do you think you're doing? Get your hands off me."
"Sukuna, itās late," you insist, reaching for his elbow this time. "Let's go to bed.ā
āDonāt āSukunaā me,ā he barks, his face flushing a deep red that creeps up to his ears. His scowl deepens, and his eyebrows knit together as he bats your hand away with a clumsy, heavy swat that carries more weight than accuracy. āI donāt know what kind of guy you think I am or what game youāre playing, but Iām not interested. Iām married. Iāve got a wifeāa real oneāsheās around here somewhere. So back the fuck up.ā
Heās truly upset, his chest heaving with a drunken outrage that would be endearing if it wasnāt so ridiculous. Glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen, he desperately searches for a way out of this very dangerous situation, but all the boys except Gojo are already slumped in various states of decay, scattered around the house.
"Kuna, I am your wife," you say, trying not to laugh at how fiercely heās defending himself against you.
āNice try.ā He turns back, squinting at you, barely able to keep his eyelids from drooping. āYou think Iām stupid? You think I donāt know my own girl? I got her right here. Iāll show you, and then youāre gonna apologize for trying toā¦ to tempt me or whatever.ā
He starts frantically digging through his pockets, his movements aggressive and uncoordinated as heās very close to falling out of the chair. Finally, he yanks his phone out, almost dropping it before he catches it with a trembling grip. He thrusts the blank, smudged screen toward your face.
āLook at that,ā he demands, nodding firmly toward the black, unlit glass. āThatās my girlāmy wife. Look at how she looks. Youāre wasting your time. Iām a loyal man.ā
"The phone isn't even on, you big idiot," you sigh, reaching for the device to help him show you a wallpaper of you.
Letting out a sharp, frustrated growl, he pulls the phone away, tucking it against his chest before flipping it over and stabbing the screen until it lights up. His brow furrows as he battles his own nervous system to enter his passcodeātap, tap, tap-tapābut his fingers are too clumsy, constantly hitting two numbers at once.
iPhone Unavailable, try again in 1 minute.
āGod damn it,ā he mutters, his jaw clenching.
He waits out the minute in tense, grumpy silence, glaring at you every few seconds to make sure youāre not getting any closer. As soon as the message disappears, he goes at it again, breathing hard, determined to prove heās taken that heās practically vibrating with effort. His frustration peaks as he misses the zero and hits eight instead. He deletes it with a hiss and tries again.
iPhone Unavailable, try again in 5 minutes.
Sukuna stares at the disabled screen, genuinely insulted by his own device. He looks up at you, his eyes narrowed and cold, his chest puffing out with a surge of renewed, drunken grumpiness.
"It doesn't matter," he rasps, his voice dropping to a low, protective snarl. "I don't need the photos to know Iām taken. I'm not going anywhere with you. Iām staying right in this chair until my wife finds me, so stop trying to hook up with me and move along."
āLook at my face, Sukuna. Just look at me,ā you say firmly, reaching down to grab both of his heavy hands and pull him up.
He stops mid-protest, dangerously swaying as he finally meets your gaze. He squints and leans in until his nose almost touches yours, inhaling your scent in a deep, lingering and very shaky breath. Recognition finally hits him like a freight train. The offended wall crumbles instantly, giving way to a hazy, mushy warmth.
"Oh," he breathes, his voice suddenly a soft, vibrating rumble. "It is you."
Not waiting another second, he collapses against you with his full, crushing weight, wrapping a massive arm around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair as you guide him toward the stairs. Every few steps, he stumbles, but keeps his nose pressed to your temple, breathing in your scent like heās trying to memorize it all over again.
āI have to tell you something,ā he mumbles against your skin, a smug, sleepy pride in his voice as you finally reach the guest bedroom. āSome girlā¦ she tried to hit on me. Rightāright there in the chair. I told her offātold her I had a wife.ā
You finally haul him onto the mattress, exhaling heavily as his weight leaves your shoulders. "You did a great job, Kuna. Truly," you murmur.
Sukuna doesn't even let you pull the covers up before he hooks a leg over yours and pulls you into his chest, pinning you there with a heavy, protective grip.
"Stay right here," he grunts, his eyes already drifting shut. "Don't let that other girl in."
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