first day, first lecture, actually. he stepped in late, and the only empty seat left was beside you. you both stared at the professor in pure, utterly confused silence, question marks probably floating on top of your heads as you tried to gather anything. after five minutes, you simply turned and asked him to let you pass so you could leave.
he grabbed his stuff, joining you. he asked if you wanted to grab coffee, and that’s how it all started.
three years later, you were the untouchable sukuna ryomen’s girlfriend. your relationship was private, no one knew any details (it wasn’t like anyone would dare to ask sukuna, especially with the way his resting face was a terrifying glare to everyone else) and you two preferred it that way.
no one knew the details. no one knew how sukuna was deeply and utterly smitten— the scowling, terrifying, muscular 6’4 man turning immediately into lovesick puppy for you. clingy, needy, obsessed, your guard dog of a boyfriend never ever let you doubt his love. he always made it clear, whether it was his arm’s wrapped around you every chance he got, or him spamming your phone whenever you weren’t around, using any excuse to talk to you, or the way he dropped everything for you, making it clear you were his first priority, or the way he listened intensely to every word that left your mouth and noticed everything about you— which showed when he referenced your words from months ago, or bought you gifts you didn’t even mention, or could tell you weren’t okay from a single glance.
it really was not a lie that sukuna ryomen loved you. he knew it. you knew it. his frat knew it. everyone that really knew sukuna knew he loved you.
which was why the break up broke you.
that night didn’t even seem real. he had ignored you for a total of three days, replying to your texts dryly, which was already odd. then, he showed to to your place in the middle of the night, jaw clenched, eye bags dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. he didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain— simply told you he was tired, that he couldn’t do this anymore, and walked away.
like he didn’t just ruin you. like you two weren’t discussing your shared future a few days ago. like you two hadn’t already agreed what stupid fucking roses you wanted at your wedding. like he hasn’t kissed you so softly just a few days ago, murmuring soft pleads for you to never leave him.
to make it worse, he didn’t disappear after. he attended your shared lectures as usual— sitting behind you, always behind you, like he needed to keep you in his vision. he left your notifications on, which you knew because he remained the first to view every story until you blocked him. he kept going to your favorite cafe beside campus (he didn’t even like their coffee) at the exact same time you always did, his sad eyes set on you, buying a single water bottle each time, until you stopped going. you even had to stop going to the library late at night, because he would always be there, blank notebooks open as he pathetically pretended to focus when his eyes wouldn’t leave you alone. even late at night, when you would scroll through your chats, you would see his bubble. tying. erasing. there.
it was worse, because it was obvious that he still loved you.
it made you want to scream, really. it would have been better if he just… pretended you didn’t exist. ignored you. blocked you first. flirted with girls in your vision. did anything to make you feel like he didn’t care anymore. like he didn’t give a fuck, so you could move on. so you wouldn’t get the stupid urge to show up to his place and ask him what the fuck his issue was. so you could hate him.
but again, unfortunately for you, sukuna was never good at hiding his love for you.
it was going to be okay, though. because sukuna already broke it up, and moving on was clearly the only good solution. it wasn’t like he will ever come back, anywa—
bzzz.
dilf420: bro. ur fucking bf is sulking and ruining my party. can you come pick his drunk ass up. ill pay u.
you blinked once at the notification, then twice, then immediately opened it. you really should have blocked the whole frat.
you: broke up. no longer my bf. also, ur broke.
toji replied immediately.
dilf420: idc that u two broke up he’s drunk and blabbering about missing his fucking wife come pick his ass up
you stared at the dm blankly, eyes staring at the words like it would disappear if you blinked.
his fucking wife.
your throat felt dry. heart physically hurting, like someone’s fingers were digging into the muscle and squeezing it the way sukuna used to squeeze your fingers before kissing each knuckle. it hurt, so much, your vision slowly blurring the longer you stared at the three words.
on the other side of the phone, sukuna was pressed against toji, shoving his face into the cracked screen, face flushed from the alcohol, lips almost pouting, hair messy from running his hands through it so many times. “is she answerin’?” he muttered, voice slurred. “my pretty wife, is she comin’?”
toji sighed. “nah, man. she left me on read. you’re so fucked.”
sukuna groaned, stumbling slightly before he was leaning on the wall, eyes shut in pure devastation. “she hates me. what if she doesn’t wanna get back?”
“…you showed up at three in the morning and broke up with her without giving her a reason, bro. on gojo’s soul, she does not want to get back.”
it was silent for a few seconds before a quiet sniffle echoed in the room, and toji’s head snapped to the untouchable, scary figure sliding down the wall, face buried into his hands, shoulders trembling. toji’s eyes widened briefly, but sukuna grunted, the sound shaky. “not a fucking word.”
the next monday, you were still recovering from toji’s dm as you slid into your morning, 8:30 am lecture. you were half-asleep, buried in sweatpants and a hoodie, hood up in an attempt to hide from the world. your eyes were drooping sleepily, head slowly slipping from where your head rested on your palm, the tip of your pen slowly seeping ink into the paper.
someone slides beside you, and you freeze. you knew that cologne. you bought that cologne.
you didn’t move a muscle, shoulders tense, eyes suddenly focused as they stared ahead. you could feel his gaze, his thigh pressing against yours in the annoyingly small seats. you could feel the heat from his skin, even from the thick fabric of your sweatpants.
…what the fuck was he doing?
your jaw clenched, before you took a quiet deep breath, convincing yourself he must have not looked properly when picking a seat. it takes a few minutes, but you’re finally able to focus back on your professor again, ignoring the way you could feel his gaze shifting to you ever few seconds.
“…i’m sorry.”
you sucked in a sharp, annoyed breath, gaze still ahead, fingers tightening around the pen in your grasp, eyes unamused. he slowly placed a cup on your desk— your favorite coffee, from your favorite cafe. you froze, and you could see him wincing from your peripheral vision.
“…give me a chance explain, please?”
you carefully pushed yourself up, grabbing your bag and notebook, and silently stepped out of the hall. outside, toji was standing, a sigh on his lips as he caught up with you despite how you only spared him an annoyed glare.
“he loves you, you know that.” toji murmured. “give him a chance to explain.”
“no.” you muttered. “he’s a coward who left me without an explanation. now he wants to give me one?”
toji grimaced. “that wasn’t his brightest moments, but… come on, he’s your sukuna.”
“he made it clear he’s not.”
that night, you were dragged to one of their parties, curtesy of gojo begging you to show with tears and snot running down his face, using a lame excuse about how everyone in the frat misses you. you didn’t buy it, but you had to stop the embarrassingly loud bawling boy on your doorstep.
now, you sat in their kitchen, perched on the counter, an overly sweet drink between your fingers, and a staring ex-boyfriend on the other side.
sukuna was sulking.
eyes set on you, lips pursed, arms crossed— he ignored everyone who stared at him just so he could keep his eyes on you. geto and nanami sighed as they passed, geto offering him a bottle casually, and sukuna grabbed it, eyes still on you before he tilted his head back and drowned half the bottle down, only stopping when nanami pulled it back while snapping about expensive liquor.
the thing about sukuna? he was a lightweight, and an emotional drunk. that usually manifested in a shorter temper when he wasn’t with you, and him being unbelievably clingy with you, and now, a few hours after gulping random drinks down?
it manifested in him dragging himself to stand in front of you, lips wobbling and eyes tearful, looking like a kicked puppy instead of the frat bro everyone was terrified off. “baby…”
you hated how your own heart clenched, fingers digging into your palm to prevent yourself from cooing at him and tugging him into your hold safely. you only narrowed your eyes at him, and his eyes glossed even more. he opened his mouth, probably to beg, only to halt dangerously.
you, unfortunately, knew him too well. you let out a loud groan, quickly jumping off and dragging him to an empty bathroom upstairs, shutting the door just in time for him to drop to his knees and empty his stomach out into the toilet. he let out a choked sob between retches, and you sighed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, a hand slowly rubbing his back. “dumbass.”
“i miss you so much,” he immediately whimpered, eyes shut painfully. “i miss you so, so, much. please, angel, forgive me, please— i want you back, i need you back, ‘m a stupid son of a bitch for every breaking it off, i need you in my life, please—“
he was interrupted with another gag, and you sighed, resuming to rub his back as he continued, your own vision blurry, heart shattering at the broken sob he let out once he was done.
“breathe.” you murmured softly. “come on, kuna, breathe for me. you can do that, yeah?”
“no,” he choked out. “i can’t— can’t even breathe without you, baby. please, please, forgive me for being a dumb idiot, i need my wife back, please—“
“if you breathe now, and we can talk tomorrow.”
it was almost humorous how he immediately straightened up, red, watery eyes wide, nose red and cheeks flushed from the alcohol. you sighed, reaching over to wipe his tears away, and he let out a pathetic whine, immediately leaning into your touch. you finally helped him up, forcing him to brush his teeth before you opened the door, quietly leading him into his room.
inside, he immediately flopped into bed, tired, sad eyes staring up at you. “you’ll… talk to me, right? please, baby?”
“tomorrow,” you murmured, throwing him a pair of shorts. “just sleep now, okay?”
he nodded frantically, eyes shutting quickly, obediently.
no one would believe this was the version of sukuna ryomen you knew— now when everyone else got the loud, short-tempered, rude, asshole version of him. you stared at him softly, watching his breathe even out, eyes fluttering shut, before you sighed softly, and stepped out of his room.
the next morning, you woke up to sukuna in front of your door, hair messy and eyes exhausted, yet holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and your favorite coffee, the other messily trying to adjust his shirt to look more presentable. the second you opened your door, eyes sleepy and hair messily, lips pulled into a frown, he froze.
red eyes widened softly before his body relaxed, eyes softening, and breathed out slowly. “…hi.”
you reluctantly opened the door wider, letting him in. he stepped in, 6’4 solid figure suddenly seeming small, gently setting the items down, hands that are used to throwing punches leaning down to carefully adjust a delicate petal before he straightened up, eyes falling back on you, so full of unsaid emotions that they were already glossing over.
after a few seconds, he swallowed harshly, throat bobbing before he took a step closer. “i missed you.”
you frowned, eyes narrowing. “why did you break up, sukuna?”
“please,” he choked out the second the name escaped your lips, eyes wide in pure devastation. “please, angel. ryo, kuna, baby, pretty boy— anything but that.”
your frown deepened. he let out a defeated, shaky breath, and stepped even closer. “i broke it because i was a fucking idiot. i… i never loved someone so much, angel, i never cared about someone so much. you made me the happiest person alive, and… i knew you deserved better.”
you froze. he sniffled, taking another step closer, eyes desperately and voice breaking. “angel, i… i’m a selfish, possessive asshole, and you deserve someone perfect. i was so scared that you’ll wake up one day and end it, so i… just did.”
your vision clouded with tears, and he dropped to his knees, eyes wet with unshed tears. “i was a stupid, fucking idiot. i should have stayed, talked to you, got the reassurance i know my angel would give me, but i didn’t want to be selfish… i thought i was doing what’s best for you…”
he let his head drop, face falling to press against your abdomen, a loud, pained whimper escaping him. “turns out i was a fucking idiot for ever considering letting you go. i… i have been miserable, angel, bawled my fucking eyes out an embarrassing amount of times. i miss you so much, baby, i can’t— i can’t live with you. i can’t sleep, eat, breathe,” he gasped, hands trembling as they slowly reached to hold into your waist, and let out a louder sob once his fingers touched your body, tears soaking your shirt. “i need you in my life, angel. please, i can’t live without you. my heart only exists to beat for you. i was a fucking moron to ever think about letting you go. you deserve so much better— and i promise, ‘ll be better. i’ll be a better boyfriend, a better partner, a better everything— just, give me a chance,”
you sniffled. the second you did, his head snapped up, eyes wide and tearful and horrified, and he immediately shot to his feet, ignoring his own soaked face as gentle fingers slowly cupped your cheek, wiping your tears away. “please don’t cry, i can’t handle you being upset, please—“
“you idiot.” you finally whispered. he froze, eyes wide and pained, and you only stepped closer, letting your head drop into his chest. his arms immediately wrapped around you, pulling you until no space existed between you both. “are you stupid?”
“i am. i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered back. “i’m so sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m—“
“shut up.” you croaked out. “you’re an idiot. i love you as you are, you asshole.”
“i know, baby. i’m sorry.” he buried his face into your neck, his tears damping your shirt once more. “i’m never leaving you again, angel. not even physically— i’ll be so clingy you’ll get sick of me. i can’t live without you, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”
you let him hold you, eyes shut tiredly. “…idiot.”
he let out a sharp laugh, holding you even tighter, pressing wet kisses all over your face until a smile broke on your pretty lips, and you could physically feel him finally breathing normally, still pressing kisses to your face, gentle and needy and desperate. “i know, angel. only an idiot would ever walk away from you. never, ever again. i love you. never, ever again. i’ll marry you, my love. never leaving you again.”
a/n i hate tumblr i had to write this three times </3 anyways hi ^^ still obsessed w these headers…
In which: Sukuna realizes you truly care for him and his nephews
Sukuna was swamped.
He had appointments basically back to back from each other all day, and not small designs either— most of these appointments were sleeves or intricate tattoos that would take a while.
He was making good time at first until his last client showed up wanting a huge ass shark across their whole leg. Sukuna worked well under pressure but this would be cutting into the time that he had to pick his nephews up from school.
To make things worse, his client was a wimp when it came to pain so they were taking breaks every ten minutes. On one of those breaks Sukuna went to the bathroom and called you.
“Kuna! I haven’t talked to you all day, everything okay?” Your bubbly voice relaxed Sukuna’s shoulders immediately. You had that effect on him.
“Yeah, it’s all good. This last tat is runnin’ into the time I’m supposed to pick up Yuji and Choso though. I gotta figure some shit out.” He sighed.
You frowned, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continued responding to an email.
“Well, how about I go get them? If you’re comfortable with that of course.” You offered sweetly. Sukuna’s quirked an eyebrow— surprised you suggested that.
“You’re working, no?” You gave a small hum to say he was right. “Then stay at work, I’ll figure some shit out.” Your chuckle came in statically.
“I’m already leaving, babe. I’ll get the boys and get them something to eat, and I’ll make sure they do their homework.” You said, Sukuna could hear you shuffling around for your keys on the other end. “You still there, Kuna?”
“Yeah, uh— thank you. I owe you one.” You laughed softly.
“No you don’t, baby. Just get back to work.” With that you hung up.
It didn’t take you long to get to Yuji’s preschool first. His classroom had a few kids still left, their parents were probably busy as well with work. Yuji noticed you the second you walked in, he abandoned his backpack Sukuna brought too big for him to run into your arms.
“Auntie! What are you doing here!?” He exclaimed, clambering into your arms. You smiled and balanced him on your hip.
“I came to pick you up. Uncle Kuna’s still working, so you’re with me.” You smiled, ruffling his cute pink hair.
Choso’s elementary school wasn’t too far from Yuji’s, you picked the ten year old up and then you three were off to Sukuna’s place.
You got the boys settled in and had them doing their homework at the table while you whipped something up. Sukuna walked through the door looking exhausted a few minutes later.
The three of you all looked towards the door. You smiled softly, continuing to stir the pot, Choso waved at his uncle then went back to his homework, Yuji on the other hand fully abandoned his work to wrap around Sukuna’s leg like a koala.
“Hey to you too, brat.” He picked the ball of excitement up and ruffled Yuji’s messy hair in some attempt to be affectionate. He moved over to the kitchen where you were making dinner.
“Hey,” he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and leant down to press a kiss to your cheek. You smiled, adding seasoning into your pot. “You didn’t have to cook either. We could’ve ordered something.” You shrugged sweetly, setting your spoon down to turn and face your pink haired guy.
“Don’t worry about it. I like doing this, it feels… warm.” The ghost of a smile graced Sukuna’s face, he quickly hid it by leaving a kiss in your hair.
Sukuna helped the boys finish their homework before dinner was done. Surprisingly there were no tears this time which made everyone happy. Soon after that, the table was cleared for dinner time.
They all ate their food like men starved, throwing in a compliment between every few bites. Sukuna made the boys wash dishes after you all finished eating. You offered to do it of course, but Sukuna insisted they needed some responsibility.
While they completed that task clumsily, you and Sukuna enjoyed a glass of wine on the couch. You leaned your head on his bulky tattooed shoulder. “The boys are so sweet. You should get overbooked more often.”
“I don’t see how you put up with them.” Sukuna said despite him loving the boys an indescribable amount himself. “I really do appreciate you helping out. You’re too kind.”
You tried to hide your smile behind your glass, but he still saw. “It’s nothing, really. I love those boys like my own. And I love you too.” You leaned up and kissed his chiseled jawline.
Later on, Sukuna got the boys were bathed and fast asleep. You were waiting in his bed waiting for him to finish cleaning what the boys missed. Soon enough he walked in, all shirtless and handsome.
“Hurry. I need my heat furnace.” You giggled, watching him clamber into the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Sukuna wrapped his body around yours, you sighed from the immediate heat he gave off.
“Good night, baby.” You whispered into the air as you adjusted yourself on his chest which would serve as your pillow for the night.
Sukuna was halfway to sleep, so his goodnight was mumbled and halfway. You closed your eyes with a smile.
soft!kuna when you’re upset and not answering your phone
based off of this ask ! wow my longest fic!!
thank you for reading! please do NOT steal my work, or feed it into AI. all of my writing is my original work.
not proofread
it starts with a text.
kuna: open the door. you blink at your phone.
it’s barely eight. you haven’t answered anyone all day. not your friends. not your roommate. not even him. another buzz.
kuna: i know you’re in there.
you sigh, drag yourself out of bed, and crack the door open. he’s standing with a grocery bag in one hand and two drinks balanced in the other.
“…hi.” you mumble.
“hey, ma.” sukuna studies your face for all of three seconds before his expression softens.
“you’ve been crying.”
you immediately look away.
“i’m fine, ryo.”
“yeah?” he raises an eyebrow.
you glance back up at his face, trying to keep your face indifferent. sukuna looks back at you with a unbelieving face.
“you’re annoying.” you huff, stepping aside so he can come in.
“i’ve been told.” he carefully sets everything down on your table like he’s done it a hundred times before.
“brought you dinner.”
“…i wasn’t hungry.”
“didn’t ask.”
you roll your eyes.
“that’s my girl. always rolling her eyes at me.”
despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitches. sukuna sees the change in your expression and smiles.
“there it is.”
“don’t.”
“don’t what?”
“ryo, you point out every time i almost smile.”
“can’t help it, ma.”
“yes you can.” you groan, flopping back onto your bed.
he disappears into your dorm kitchen for a minute before coming back with two forks.
“eat with me. i didn’t buy you food and come all this way for nothing.”
you don’t reply, biting your tongue gently.
“please?”
hearing him say that makes you look up. sukuna almost never says please.
“…okay.”
he sets down the food he brought, and the two of you eat in comfortable silence. well, at least comfortable for him. for you, every bite feels like work.
after a while, he sets his fork down.
“talk to me, ma.”
you shake your head. “don’t know what to say.”
“start anywhere.”
you hesitate, of course you do. why should sukuna have to listen to all your stupid problems?
sukuna’s hand reaches out, placing it over yours.
“baby.”
“…everything feels wrong.” you whisper.
he nods, and doesn’t interrupt.
“i’m behind on assignments and i feel like i just keep messing things up. with my friends, and my family it’s just…i don’t even know why i’m crying anymore.” your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate that it does.
you hate crying. especially in front of him.
unfortunately, you can’t stop the slow flow of tears streaming down your face.
before you can even think of apologizing, sukuna’s already reaching over. his thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles.
“you’re allowed to, ma.”
“…allowed what?”
“to have bad days. everybody has days where everything feels like shit.”
he gently squeezes your hand. all you do is stare at him. your heart aches.
“i’m sorry, ryo.”
he frowns immediately.
“for what, ma?”
“being… like this.”
“don’t. don’t apologize for needing comfort.”sukuna says it so simply. like it never occurred to him that you’d think otherwise.
he reaches over and gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“i don’t only wanna be around you when you’re happy, ma. i don’t want you to have to pretend in front of me. you can be vulnerable, you know. i wanna be around all of you. especially the sad parts.”
your eyes sting again.
“don’t cry, ma.”
“i’m trying not to, ryo.”
“come here.” he whispers, opening his arms slightly.
you don’t hesitate.
you lean into him, and his arms are already wrapping around you, hugging you carefully.
never too tight. never like he’s trying to fix you. just enough to remind you he isn’t going anywhere.
sukuna rests his cheek against the top of your head.
“you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”
“what?” you mumble into his hoodie.
“absolutely nothing.” he responds, his fingers threading through your slightly tangled strands.
“…nothing? that sounds boring.”
“exactly.” sukuna smiles against your hair. you think for a bit.
“can we order food?”
“whatever you want, ma.”
“watch a movie?”
“of course, sweetheart. but you’re not allowed to think about school for one night.” sukuna added, looking down into your eyes.
“that’s impossible.”
“good thing i’ve been told i’m very persuasive.”
you pull back just enough to look at him.
there’s a soft and reassuring smile on his face.
sukuna presses a small and gentle kiss onto your forehead.
“i love you, sweetheart.”
“i love you too, ryo.”
and for the first time that day, the room didn’t feel quite so heavy.
any dividers used are tagged in pinned post! thank you for reading! 🦢
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! | okay first off, WHY is this SO FUCKIN EMOTIONAL for no absolute reason. damn. consider this a 1000 follower special! likes & reblogs are appreciated! 𖹭
[𝜗ৎ] 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 : 2.9𝗄
𝓜𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏!
my husband hates me.
the thought settles deep in your chest like a stone, familiar and heavy, as you lie on the silk sheets of the massive bed.
your fingers trace the embroidered patterns on your robe—some floral design you can't see but can feel beneath your fingertips. the fabric is soft, expensive. everything here is expensive. everything here screams luxury and power and wealth.
but none of it screams love.
you hear nothing from his side of the bed.
the man is so impossibly quiet, it makes your skin prickle with unease. you've been here for three months now. three months as the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, the most feared ruler in all the lands. and in those three months, he has barely spoken a word to you.
at first, you thought it was a game.
some twisted test of patience. you were clever enough to know that political marriages were rarely about love. you'd been prepared for indifference, for coldness, for a husband who saw you as nothing more than a strategic alliance.
but this? this silent treatment that stretches night after night, this deliberate distance he keeps?
it cuts deeper than you expected.
your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.
princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.
they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.
you were used to it.
but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.
and you'd felt hope.
you hate yourself for that hope now.
because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.
but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?
it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.
the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.
but you can't navigate him.
you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.
tonight was bad.
you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.
then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.
and the whispers.
you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.
"the blind empress."
"does he even notice her?"
"i heard he hasn't touched her once."
"what a waste of a pretty face."
"she must be so lonely."
"she must be so pathetic."
you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.
but inside, you were crumbling.
and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.
does he ever sleep?
you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.
a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.
and you can't take it anymore.
"ryomen?"
your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.
silence.
you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.
just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"what."
it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.
you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.
"i...i want to ask you something."
more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
"ask."
you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.
"do you hate me?"
the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.
"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?
"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"
"stop."
the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.
but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.
and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.
you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.
"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"
"quiet."
his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.
"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"
you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.
a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.
"open your eyes."
the command catches you off guard. "what?"
"your eyes. open them."
you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.
"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."
"i can't see you."
"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."
please.
the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?
you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.
"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."
your heart stutters. "then why—"
"because i'm fuckin' terrified."
you blink. "what?"
"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."
"but—"
"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"
his voice drops to a whisper.
"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."
tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.
but he was...
...afraid?
"you don't hate me?" you whisper.
"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."
a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.
"but you never—you never talked to me—"
"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."
"then don't stop."
the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.
"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."
sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.
"you don't know what you're asking."
"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."
"i'll hurt you."
"i don't care."
"i'll break you."
"i don't care."
his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.
the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.
he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.
he pulls back, breathless.
"tell me to stop, and i will."
"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."
he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.
"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."
your breath catches. "ryomen—"
"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."
you nod, unable to speak.
his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.
"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."
you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.
"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."
he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.
"more," you gasp. "please—"
"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."
he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.
"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"
"yes," you whimper. "only you."
he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.
"tell me what you want."
"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."
his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"
"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"
"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."
he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.
and then his tongue touches you.
you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."
he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.
"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."
his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.
you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.
when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.
"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."
his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.
"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"
"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."
he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.
"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"
"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."
he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.
"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."
"okay."
"promise me."
"i promise."
he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.
he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.
"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."
you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.
just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.
"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."
he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—
a sharp pain.
fuck...you forgot.
you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.
"did i hurt ya'?"
you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.
blood.
his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.
"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"
you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"
"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."
"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."
"you're fuckin' bleeding."
"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.
he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."
but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.
when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.
"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."
"move," you beg. "please."
he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"
"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"
"yes—yes—"
his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.
"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."
he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.
"more," you gasp. "harder—"
"y'sure?"
"yes—please—"
he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.
"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"
"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"
he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.
at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.
he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.
"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."
you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.
"i love you too."
a long moment passes. then another. and then—
"we're going to do that again."
you laugh, breathless.
"right now?"
"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."
"promise?"
he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.
"promise."
you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.
"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."
you're crying after a guy bothers you... and your boyfriend isn't about to let it slide.
bleehhh can't sleep and i made up this scenario w fratkuna sooooooooocontains college au frat!ryomen sukuna x midsize!fem!reader; themes of harrassment (the culprit is naoya bc i saw his ass in the manga😐), ryo is like ur knight but not in the toxic alpha male way ew & he punches a guy, & i'm using the hcs that toji, choso, & geto are all in a frat with him + the gojo twins are present (honorable mentions for twins satoshi "fratjo" gojo and satoru nerdjo🫶) and everyone goes to 'tokyo college of jujutsu tech', and dw it turns into fluff n comfort—btw this is noooottt proofread
"girl, you're really cute."
another nervous giggle, playing with a lock of your hair. jesus christ, you just wanted to get out of that fucking western poetry class.
you'd only taken the class because you needed a humanities elective, and it had looked interesting! unfortunately for you, though, every guy who thought they were a major philosopher and the next unbiological love child of nietzsche had also taken the class! and sadly, you had caught the attention of one of those guys—naoya zenin, one of the dean's relatives.
he was toji's cousin, you knew, and toji was your boyfriend's frat brother... so maybe you were fine? you tried to convince yourself you were as you sped walked out the door, naoya hot on your trail with a sleazy grin and a mouth full of harrassment.
"where ya goin'? class just ended, sweetie."
"i can't stay," you said quickly, heeled boots clicking rapidly against the floor. you'd dress so cute that—polka-dot glasses, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater, black skirt, and knee-high boots that really captured the prime look of a college girl! and it was being wasted because this motherfucker was ogling you. "i have to go back to my dorm."
"why? need an escort?"
"no, i know the way."
"well, someone might hassle you."
"somebody already is hassling me."
"huh?" that made naoya pause—but only momentarily. once he realized what you meant, he fell back into step behind you, seeming even more determined than before. "got some bite on you. i like that. lot of women don't know when they should play it easy or hard to get—you do."
you hated when guys couldn't just take no for an answer the first time. because that meant you had to use the next excuse up your sleeve—
"my boyfriend wouldn't like that you're following me. i really can't stay and talk, and i'd like it if you would kindly leave me alone."
you said it as curtly and politely as you could, then, before the surprised naoya could reboot and say anything else, you bolted through the doors of the humanities hall and out into the spring day.
campus was lively in the afternoon. there was ultimate frisbee and football being played, groups of friends on picnic blankets talking and tanning, girls swirling their boba and iced coffee as they commuted from classes and dorms—and there was ryomen's and a handful of his frat sitting on benches in the quad, lounging after smoking.
well, choso and geto were still slightly buzzed. toji hadn't taken a pass, and it took more than a few puffs to get to ryomen.
"oh my god, i can't feel my tongue," choso muttered, rubbing his eyes. his black mullet was shaggy, messed up, and he smelled like he'd been waterboarded in geto's cologne to cover up the post-smell of weed.
geto, sitting wide and strumming his guitar absently, grinned lazily. "you're too easy, man. second-hand molly in the wind would get you fucked."
"nuh-uh."
"uh-huh."
"shut the fuck up," toji muttered, waving his hand dismissively as he rubbed his face with the other. "i still have a goddamn headache."
"not our fault you hit your head on a fucking table last night," ryomen laughed.
toji groaned, turning his head to look off into the distance. the activity on campus only worsened his pulsing skull. "swear to god, 'm concussed or something. shouldn't have on that chair when i was drunk."
"you should've came." choso tapped ryomen's knee. "where were you?"
"with his giiiirrrllll," geto teased.
"yeah, yeah." ryomen didn't care if everyone in all of fucking tokyo knew he was whipped—he was whipped for you, his sweet little girlfriend. "not my fault i wanna spend one night of the weekend watchin' pretty woman again instead of watching toji crack his head open."
like he was summoned by his name, toji started shaking ryomen's shoulder. "dude."
"one sec—" ryomen was about to say something else to choso, but toji wrenched his arm to the side. "what the fuck! what?"
"look where i'm fuckin' looking." toji pointed across the quad. "isn't that—"
"holy shit," geto said when he saw you briskly walking and crying, like you were trying to escape someone—you had been.
choso frowned when he followed everyone's line of sight. "is that your girlfriend? why is she crying?"
"i... gotta go." ryomen got up from the bench without another word and started across the quad. when he realized how fast you were walking, he thanked god that he was an athlete and started running after you. "hey!"
when you hear a male voice, you automatically moved quicker, expecting it to be naoya again—but then it repeated, and you recognized ryomen.
"baby? hey, slow the hell down!"
fuck. you didn't want him to see you crying. think, think, think—
but it was too late. ryomen had reached you, grabbed you by the shoulder, and turned you around in an instant. "shit, thought i was going to lose you. what's—"
you couldn't held but sob even harder when he began to ask you what was wrong, and ryomen gaped at your puffy, round face, smudged mascara, and the salty streams of tears down your cheeks.
"oh god, angel. what's wrong? c'mere, can i hold you?"
as expected, since he had the biggest soft spot and change of attitude when he was with you, ryomen engulfed you in the comforting embrace of his arms and let you bury your face and ruined makeup against his racing jacket.
"ok, ok," he whispered softly against your hair as he stroked it. "deep breaths. in and out, yeah? gotta calm down and take proper breaths. can i see your purse, please, hon? don'tcha keep tissues in there?"
"i—" you wheezed slightly, trying not to choke on tears or words. "i was gonna wait inside until i looked for 'em..."
"all right, well, i'm here now. let me see."
carefully, he slipped your purse off your shoulder, located the pack of tissues inside, then extracted one so that he could dab your face gently. "there we go. better, hm? keep breathing f'me, just like that, pretty girl."
when you had calmed down enough to not explosively weep again, ryomen caressed the side of your face and asked, "tell me what happened."
you crossed your arms, lips pursed in a pout. "no."
you knew what he would do if you told him that naoya zenin bothered you...
"what? fuck you mean—" he inhaled slowly, then tried again, softer. "angel, how can i help if i don't know what's wrong? or—how are you gonna feel better if you don't talk about what made you cry like that? i mean, you were going pretty fast in those heels, i imagine something happened."
after a pause, he hardened. "did someone fucking do something to you?"
"ryo—"
"nah, don't give me that soft stuff. tell me who and what."
"it wasn't anything serious!" you insisted, holding him tightly. "seriously."
"tell. me."
"promise me you won't be mad!"
"no."
"ryo!"
"was it a guy?" he brushed a few hairs out of your face, grimacing. "i'll beat the shit out of him if it was."
"it was a small incident. small, that's it."
"or was it a girl? 'cuz satoshi's brother satoru knows a girl named shoko in pre-med, she'll fight anyone—unless you don't care if i do it, because i'll hit anyone you ask, babe—"
"stop!" you shook him slightly. "a guy kept following me around and bothering me, i just wanted him to go away—and he did! he just... overwhelmed me. i was scared."
ryomen stared at you when you finished speaking. he blinked a few times and nodded slowly, tongue against the inside of his cheek. "ok. yeah, ok."
you frowned, watching as his face contorted. "what?"
"this happened just now?"
"um... like ten minutes ago."
"where?"
you picked at your nails, growing nervous. "...the humanities building."
he'd turned on his heel without a second thought, and you hurried after him, having known he probably would've gone off the moment you gave him all the details, like a bloodhound with a scent for prey.
"wait—ryo! it's not that big of a deal!"
"not that big of a deal my ass." he was practically snarling.
who you didn't expect to see soon after ryomen was on his war path was the culprit himself. naoya was crossing the pavement, staring at his phone—but when he saw the tattooed, six-foot-four jock headed his general direction, he couldn't help but freeze. you also stopping, surprised and wary, was a dead giveaway on who the guy ryomen was looking for was.
ryomen glanced between naoya and you, then pointed. "him?"
you slowly let go of his arm, knowing there was little you could do to help the situation or stop your boyfriend. "yeah..."
calmly—too fucking calmly—he continued down the sidewalk until he was a few yards from naoya, then he nodded once and said, "hey, man."
naoya, contemplating fight or flight, tried to remain casual and nodded back. "hey..."
"wanna ask you—you bother that girl over there earlier?" he jutted a thumb over his shoulder, at your nervous figure in the distance.
"i didn't bother her. i was just talking to her."
"in what way."
"huh?"
"In what way—because you sound like a really shitty guy to talk to if she walked away crying."
"not my fault she didn't—"
before naoya could finish casting off whatever blame onto you, ryomen winded back a tight fist and clocked him in the nose.
naoya yowled in pain the moment the fist connected with his face, and he recoiled, hands snapping up to cover his soon-to-bleed nose. "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"ryomen!" you cried from behind him.
across the quad, it seemed that the others ryomen were with before had witnessed everything.
"ry!" toji waved a relaxed arm, like he knew ryomen had everything handled but still wanted to be nice and extend an offer. "good?"
ryomen cracked his knuckles, then wrung out his pulsing hand. "yeah, he shouted back. "good."
"is she ok?" choso called over, pointing at you.
"i'll take care of her."
"'kay, i guess." geto watched the entire thing with a skeptical look. "see you later."
without exchanging any words, ryomen returned to you and carted you up to his dorm. he was glad that you didn't protest or refuse to go with him—he surely thought you were mad at him, until you whispered the soft "thank you" to him at his door. he simply kissed your head and pushed the door open.
in his dorm, he insisted you clean while he ordered food. lounging in his bed, shirtless now and just in a pair of sweatpants, he scrolled on his phone while resting a hand on you. you'd positioned yourself beside him after cleaning off your tear-streaked makeup and changing into one of his hoodies.
"sushi and boba, or thai?" ryomen asked, rubbing slow circles on your thighs. he loved to grip the plush there, to kiss up from your calf to the softness of your belly—he would later, but right then, he was focused on getting you fed and rested, the two things he thought key in recovering from bad days. "wait. chinese?"
you ran a hand through his hair and leaned over to peck his cheek. "anything."
"you always say that, baby."
"i know."
"ok. sushi and boba."
you smiled. "i trained you right."
taking a moment, ryomen dropped his phone and grabbed your jaw to bring you in for a full, proper kiss that lasted until you were both breathless. and when you pulled away only slightly, hovering closely above him, lips still brushing, he licked his lips and smiled. "you're ok, right? not mad?"
"no," you said, tilting your head slightly. "not mad. maybe a little annoyed that you always jump to violence, but... i really appreciate you wanting to protect me. i know you just want me to be all right in the end."
"damn right i do. i love you, gorgeous."
smiling, you kissed him once more. "i love you too, ryo. now order the food before the place closes."
send me asks <3
buy me a kofi
divider creds to @anitalenia check them out their work is so gorg!!!!
You and yuji kind of have a private ritual you two do whenever the other or both of you has had a hard day. A shower—together. And this time, you had a terrible day. I mean you could hardly get up to shower, you laid on the floor for atleast an hour when you came home, wanting the floor to swallow you whole.
But that was until yuji came in, he had buttered you up with his sweet words, kissed your neck with a few pecks, picked out your pjs for the night—your favorite matching set. “Come on,” he murmurs, “I’ll even let you turn the shower blazing hot even though I despise it.”
And that’s how you two ended up in the shower.
𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
He’s washing your back and pressing kisses against your shoulder. “I love you alot.” he murmurs, and you can only smile as you feel your soapy back rest against his chest. Words couldn’t express your feelings right now anyways, but you did love, you loved him alot. Especially right now.
“Do you love me back?” He questions, his fingers trace your back, writing something with the soap. ‘I love you’
“Ha, yes yuji.” you smile, “I love you, so much.” You spin around facing him, and he bends down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “tell me about your day!” he exclaims, “oh and can you get my back?” there was the hyper yuji you know.
You feel your lip quiver as you scrub his back, soap spilling over your hands. “it was awful.” your voice shakes, And that’s what prompts yuji to turn around. He pouts as he sees your sadden expression. “aw baby.” he brings you into a wet soapy hug, you two are skin to skin and he can feel your body physically relax.
“Hey—you can cry.” and it takes those three words for your tears to spill. You cry in his chest, body shaking. His fingers softly rub up and down on your back, Biting his bottom lip.
Yuji is usually unserious but he can’t stand seeing you like this. It makes him almost want to cry. He’s stands in thought as you shake in his arms. And he can feel tears start up in his eyes as well, but he immediately wipes them.
“Baby,” he murmurs and you lift your head up. “Wanna go grab some ice cream? And then hit up the beach, hm?” He has those pleading starry eyes. You smile through your tears before fully laughing, and that—that caused yuji to stop, and admire.
“I love you—again and over and over, and forever.” he murmurs more to himself as he sees your smile. “hm?” you say asking what he said, “uh so is that a yes?” and you nod, a smile.
ran out of ideas, anyways here’s a draft (NOT PROOFREAD)
The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside rain tapped lightly against the windows, streaking the glass with silver lines while the clock on the microwave blinked 2:13 AM in dull green numbers.
You sat curled on the kitchen floor in one of Sukuna’s hoodies, knees against your chest, staring blankly at nothing and still you hadn’t turned the lights on.
Hadn’t answered your phone.
Hadn’t moved for almost an hour.
And when the front door finally unlocked, you didn’t even look up.
Heavy footsteps paused immediately.
Then—
“Baby?”
His voice changed instantly.
Not the rough, cocky tone he used with everyone else. Soft. Careful. Like he was approaching something fragile.
Sukuna dropped his gym bag by the door and crossed the apartment fast, crouching in front of you.
“Hey,” he murmured. “What’re you doin’ down here in the dark?”
You shrugged weakly.
He looked at your face for a long moment, red eyes scanning every little thing—the exhaustion under your eyes, the untouched tea beside you gone cold, the way your fingers trembled inside his sleeves.
And his entire expression softened.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The nickname nearly broke you.
Your lips pressed together hard as tears burned suddenly behind your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered automatically.
His brows pulled together immediately. “Why the hell are you apologizing?”
“I dunno… I just—” Your voice cracked. “I can’t stop feeling like this.”
Sukuna exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to stay gentle.
Then he reached out carefully, sliding both hands under your arms.
Before you could protest again, he lifted you effortlessly into his lap and sat against the kitchen cabinets with you tucked against his chest.
Warm and safe.
One large hand rubbed slowly up and down your back.
“Have you eaten today?”
“…No.” A tiny shake of your head.
He sighed quietly and pressed his lips to your temple.
You hated how pathetic you felt. Hated how dependent this moment made you seem.
“I’m ruining your night,” you mumbled.
That made him pull back immediately.
His hand came up to cradle your jaw firmly, forcing you to look at him.
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“But—”
“You think I care about anything else when you’re hurting?”
Your throat tightened.
Sukuna wasn’t good at pretty speeches. He wasn’t poetic. Wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things.
But he loved hard.
Completely.
“You don’t gotta pretend around me,” he said quietly. “If getting through the day is hard right now, then it’s hard. Doesn’t make you annoying.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
He wiped it away with his thumb instantly.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
And there was nothing cruel in his face. Nothing impatient.
Just worry.
“You stay alive long enough for me to love you through this, aight?”
That did break you.
A sob escaped your chest before you could hide it, and Sukuna immediately pulled you fully against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly.
“I got you,” he whispered into your hair. “I got you, baby.”
No rushing.
Just his warm hands rubbing your back, fingers threading through your hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.
Eventually, when your breathing calmed a little, he shifted enough to stand—still carrying you.
“Kuna—”
“Nope. You’re not walking.”
Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you.
“There she is,” he murmured with a faint smile.
He carried you to the couch, wrapped you in blankets, then disappeared briefly into the kitchen.
You heard cabinets opening.
The microwave humming.
A minute later he returned with instant ramen, cut fruit, and water balanced carefully in his tattooed hands.
“You’re gonna eat a little,” he said. “And then I’m putting on that stupid baking show you like.”
“You hate that show.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly, handing you the bowl. “But you smile at the old lady with the cupcakes, so now I’m emotionally attached to Brenda.”
You laughed again—small and watery.
Sukuna pretended not to notice the way your hands shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Not because he didn’t care.
Because he knew you hated being watched when things got bad.
So instead, he leaned back into the couch beside you, one arm stretched across the cushions behind your head while the baking show played quietly on the TV.
Some overly cheerful woman was crying over sponge cake.
You sniffled. “She dropped it for like… three seconds. Why’s she acting like someone died?”
“She’s weak,” Sukuna said immediately.
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth.
There it is.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Sukuna always noticed.
You managed a few bites before your appetite disappeared again, and when you started absentmindedly stirring the noodles instead of eating, his eyes flicked over.
“That all you can do?”
You nodded guiltily.
“Okay.”
No disappointment.
He took the bowl from your hands and set it aside before tugging you closer until your legs rested over his lap.
Sukuna’s fingers kept tracing slow patterns against your calf through the blanket.
Your head eventually tipped against his shoulder, exhaustion dragging at you now that the worst of the crying had passed.
Quietly, you whispered, “Do you ever get tired of me?”
The room seemed to still.
Sukuna looked down at you slowly.
“Tired of you?”
You instantly regretted saying it.
“It’s stupid, forget it—”
“No.” His hand slid up to the back of your neck gently. Don’t ask me something and then take it back.”
Your chest tightened.
He studied your face for a second before speaking.
“I get tired of the way you talk about yourself.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“I get tired of seeing you hurt,” he continued quietly. “I get tired of watching you apologize for existing.” His thumb brushed your skin softly. “But you?” He shook his head once. “Never.”
The sincerity in his voice hurt worse than anything else.
Because part of you still didn’t understand how someone like him could say things like that and mean them.
“I’m hard to love,” you whispered.
Sukuna actually frowned.
Like the statement irritated him.
“Says who?”
“…Me.”
“Well, your brain’s a liar sometimes.”
You stared at him.
And he looked so genuinely certain.
Like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
“You know what you do when I come home?” he asked suddenly.
You blinked. “What?”
“You peek through the blinds when you hear my bike outside.”
Heat crept into your face immediately. “I do not.”
“You do,” he said smugly. “Every damn time.”
“That’s creepy. Why are you watching me watch you?”
“Because you’re cute.”
You groaned softly and hid your face against his shoulder.
He chuckled under his breath, deep and warm, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“And every morning,” he continued, quieter now, “you make coffee and forget your own cup because you’re busy making mine exactly how I like it.”
Your throat tightened again.
“And when you think I’m asleep, you fix the blanket on me.” Another kiss against your forehead. “You remember what days are hard for me without me saying anything. You leave little notes in my lunch even though your handwriting sucks.”
A weak offended noise left you.
“There she is again,” he murmured softly, smiling.
Then his expression gentled.
“So don’t sit here and tell me you’re hard to love.”
Your eyes burned all over again.
Sukuna noticed immediately and sighed dramatically.
“Ah, shit. C’mere.”
He pulled you fully into his chest before the tears could fall again, wrapping both arms around you and laying back against the couch with you on top of him.
You listened to his heartbeat while his hand stroked slowly through your hair.
Steady.
Patient.
Safe.
After a long silence, you mumbled against his shirt, “You’re too good to me.”
“Nah,” he said easily. “Just good to the right person.”
And for the first time in weeks— the heaviness in your chest didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.
By the third episode of the baking show, you were practically glued to him.
Not that Sukuna seemed to mind.
One of your legs was tangled with his, your face buried in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his waist beneath his hoodie like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go for even a second.
Every time he shifted even slightly, your grip tightened again.
He noticed.
But instead of teasing you immediately, he just rested his chin on top of your head and kept rubbing slow circles into your back.
“Tired?” he murmured.
You shook your head against him.
(what a lie)
He could feel it in the way your body melted heavier into his every minute.
Still, you clung tighter.
Sukuna glanced down finally, amused warmth flickering in his eyes.
“You tryin’ to crawl inside my ribcage or what?”
“Maybe.”
Your voice came out muffled against his throat.
A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest.
“Dramatic.”
But his arms wrapped around you even tighter anyway.
You inhaled slowly, comforted by everything about him—the smell of his cologne and rain, the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
It made your chest ache.
Because lately everything in your mind felt exhausting and heavy and loud— except him.
With him, things went quiet.
“You’re comfy,” you mumbled sleepily.
“I better be. You use me as a damn weighted blanket every day.”
“…You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
You lifted your head just enough to squint at him.
He was already smirking.
Liar.
Your expression softened before you could stop it.
God, you loved him.
Loved him so much it scared you sometimes.
Sukuna noticed the look immediately.
His brows lifted slightly. “What?”
“Nothin’.”
“Bullshit.”
You hid your face again.
He snorted softly. “Baby.”
One hand slid under your jaw, gently forcing your face back up toward him.
His expression shifted the second he really looked at you.
Not teasing anymore.
Just soft.
“What’s goin’ on in that head?”
You stared at him for a second too long before the words slipped out quietly.
“I really love you.”
The room went still.
Not awkward.
Just full.
Heavy with something warm and overwhelming.
Sukuna’s entire face softened in a way almost nobody else ever got to see.
His thumb brushed slowly over your cheek.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded, eyes already getting shiny again from how intensely you felt everything tonight.
“So much,” you whispered. “Like… too much.”
A tiny crease appeared between his brows immediately.
“There’s no such thing.”
Before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you.
Slow. Careful.
You melted instantly, hands grabbing the front of his shirt while he held your face so gently it made your chest hurt.
When he pulled back, he stayed close enough for his forehead to rest against yours.
“I love you more than anything,” he said quietly.
And Sukuna almost never sounded vulnerable.
But he did now.
Raw and certain.
“You hear me?” he murmured. “More than anything.”
Your eyes filled completely this time.
“Oh, c’mon,” he sighed softly, smiling a little as he wiped beneath your eyes. “Why’re you cryin’ again?”
“You’re just…” You laughed shakily. “Too sweet.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not.”
“Hm.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me.”
You smiled for real then. Small.
Beautiful enough to make his chest ache.
There it is.
Sukuna stared at you for a moment like he wanted to memorize the sight.
Then you suddenly climbed fully into his lap without warning, wrapping yourself around him again.
He blinked once.
“…Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You cling harder than a haunted doll.”
But his hands were already settling securely on your waist.
You tucked your face into his chest with a content little sigh.
“I just wanna be close to you.”
The honesty of it nearly killed him.
Sukuna leaned back into the couch, one hand smoothing through your hair over and over.
“Then stay close,” he whispered.
So you did.
And sometime later, long after the baking show ended, Sukuna looked down to find you fast asleep on top of him— still holding onto his shirt tightly even in your dreams.
He smiled so softly no one else would’ve believed it.
Then he pulled the blanket higher around you and kissed your forehead carefully.
“Love you too, clingy girl.”
hai! Ive been so busy this month, i wrote this after several episodes in which i felt 100% like reader and I thought it was a good idea to write something, so as not to make other people feel alone.
original work, do not stole, copy, plagiarize my work - sturduststrails
wish I could see that it feels much better when I'm with you
pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)
summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.
when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.
content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better
episode 1: going through it
episode 2: under your spell
episode 3: anyone out there?
episode 4: expectations are too high
episode 5: crush
episode 6: I just don't know right now
episode 7: late nights
episode 8: so come a little closer
episode 9: beating like a hammer
episode 10: stop the world I wanna get off (with you)
[ frat!kuna x sociallyawkward!f!reader ] running into the embodiment of your biggest fear disguised as a man— not once, but twice— wasn't bad enough. your best friend telling him that you're mute because you couldn't apologize due to your awful social skills was the cherry on top. as a result, you bite your tongue, even when you're alone. but the state of your tongue is definitely about to worsen, because another run-in with him at a party will change everything.
── .✦ TAGS
18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of nicotine/cigarettes. slight angst. hurt/comfort. MISCOMMUNICATION. slow burn. social discomfort. socially awkward reader. self-consciousness. overthinking. anxiety. social anxiety. making out. rough kissing. neck kissing. dry humping. slang. social media references. (later on… smut. oral (f! receiving). p in v.) -> tags will be updated as series continues.
── [ chapter 1 ] : look at me. (wc: 6.1K)
── [ chapter 2 ] : ...
── [ chapter 3 ] : ...
── .✦ you prefer reading on Ao3?
art by @/naomiiocha on tumblr (left side) and @/neverisa on instagram (right side)
Synopsis: After a lifetime of believing you are meant to be alone, Kento swoops in, ready to love you when you least expect it.
to sum it up: kento heals years of mistrust just by being himself
WC: 5,499
Warning(s): a little angst in there but it's mostly fluff
You always told yourself that you'd never turn into your mother.
The constant overextending. The subconscious, trauma-induced emotional manipulation. The sheer weight of her feelings that she never allowed herself to bear alone, always with the help of her daughter who carried the weight of her unhealed grievances on her growing back.
Your mother was emotional. Empathetic in that way that makes one feel suffocated, her emotions inescapable. Impossible to avoid feeling, and impossible to avoid projecting. How else is one woman meant to go on with the burden of such intensity all on her own? Someone had to act as a buffer, to shoulder it all, to take the heat of the manifestations of her haunting past.
She gave you better than what she had, but still inflicted damage nonetheless. You figure now, in your older age, that is the very curse of cycles and generational patterns. The inheritance is inevitable.
And growing up overly conscious of error, oppressed verbally, and trained to bear the plights of other people, you turned your nose away from any notion of vulnerability, and any possibility of you taking on your mother's flawed behaviors.
I'd never treat my kid this way, you would tell yourself, holed up in your closet with your face burrowed in your arms, tears streaking down your heated face as your mind replayed the accusations of disrespect and the belittling of your character for expressing opposing opinions. I never want to be like this.
For a while, you think swearing by this oath will work some kind of magic on you, wipe away your genes, and free you of all the memories and experiences you have with overpowering emotion, with your mother.
You think that when you fly the coop, you'll get a clean slate.
But suppression only leads to explosion.
You hide away behind a wall of toughness, as you've long struggled with letting people in, with letting them see the real you for fear of their judgment. Every time anyone has ever managed to peel away at the layers and expose the truth in your unsaid thoughts and your overthinking tendencies, they villainized you.
You've accepted a lot of bullshit in your early years, thanks to the skillful way your mother formed you into a durable doormat for others to stamp their complaints into. Boys guilting you into having sex, expressing insecure possession - declaring you too friendly, uncaring, rude for speaking your mind.
Excessive blame for things outside of your control, lies about secret attraction toward friends, forcing you to drive everywhere, to pay, to be at their beck and call but not to bother them while they're occupied.
Lack of communication. Hours into days without texts. Weaponized incompetence. Never thinking to hold the door, never cleaning you up after sex, gaslighting, lusting, preying.
And they were never like that in the beginning. Always scheming, always putting on a mask to be able to say that they could obtain you, a prize, then letting it drop once you were within their grasp.
Disheartened by betrayal, tolerance worn thinner with each disappointment, the very worst act upon your tender heart. You crumble, you burst, you pour out the years of pent up anguish. Every moment you've held onto when you felt belittled, or ignored, or unseen by those you've trusted rockets from your chest into a spew of heavy, harmful truths that sever the connection between yourself and others.
In moments of unreciprocated action and the antagonization of your pleading words, you step outside of your body to look down upon yourself - you realize that you aren't much different from your mother.
Overexplaining, pleading with someone to hear you though they can not provide the things you need, to understand your pain, to feel the sorrows you feel every day. You've begged for someone to lean on. Someone who can handle knowing you, who can learn about you without tilting his head and saying that your emotions are...
A lot.
But that someone has yet to come.
You recall telling your mother the same thing in your early college years, when you finally worked up the courage to advocate for yourself. To fight back. To create a sense of self separate from hers.
You shiver at the comparison. Kids really are doomed to be their parents from birth. You know, now, that there is no escaping it.
You aren't good with friendships. You're horrible with relationships. You don't trust others with your love, with your whole self. You've only ever truly felt safe within your own mind, where no one else can harm you. Where you can't harm anyone else.
You tell yourself that you don't mind being single. In fact, you're better off. You have more room to develop yourself, to work toward your goals, build upon your career, nurture yourself in a way that you know you can't when you are in love and consequently overextending.
You try to push down the feelings of loneliness that often consume you when you see a happy couple walking by. You ignore the longing, the desire to be seen and loved in such a way by someone other than yourself. You convince yourself that it will never come, so you don't wait for it. You push on and try to forget.
Then, you meet Nanami completely by accident.
You're having a particularly unpleasant day, and after your shift, you decide to treat yourself to a fresh baked pastry to soothe your troubles and consequently destroy the diet you've put yourself on.
You're in front of the line, scanning the assortment of baked goods, and you finally decide on a tea and a chocolate croissant half the size of your head that's been calling your name. The lady behind the counter smiles politely and tells you the total you owe. When you reach for your purse, however, you realize that it is not on your person, but recall that it is lodged under the passenger seat of your car, after you'd tossed it off of you upon leaving work.
Embarrassed and annoyed, you sigh heavily and close your eyes. "I'm so sorry. I - forgot my wallet in my car. I'll be right back to go get it."
Before you can turn to go, someone walks up to the counter beside you. You think, at first, that he is rushing you, so you shoot him a hard glare, but instead, you are met with the side profile of quite a handsome man, tired and softspoken as he interjects.
"No need," he starts, voice formal and low with fatigue. He slots his fingers through his wallet calmly, clad in a grey work suit that brings out the soft yellow color of his blonde, fluffy hair. "I'll cover hers as well as mine."
You freeze, face falling with shock. "Oh god, don't do that," you step toward him again, reaching your hands out as if you can stop him, but he's already handing the lady a couple of bills as he recites to her an order that she seems to be all too accustomed with.
He turns to look down at you with the kindest chocolate eyes. "I assure you. It's not a problem."
"Really, though, my wallet's only a few steps away. I'd hate for you to pay for something I can easily take care of."
"Perhaps, but then you'd have to wait in line all over again. I figure this is more convenient," he explains simply, and you furrow your brows with a blink. The lady behind the counter darts her eyes between the two of you, hesitantly reaching for the money that is still extended toward her, unsure of what the consensus is.
"Sir, please," you chuckle awkwardly. "You're... too kind, but I can pay for myself."
"I insist."
"No, I insist. You don't even know me."
"I hardly think that matters."
"But-"
"Girl, just let the man pay! Damn."
Both of your heads swivel to the older woman behind you, her hand propped on her hip with a sour impatience scribbled onto her wrinkled face. Your brow twitches, and you turn to look up at the stranger beside you and catch the ghosting smile that graces his exhausted, pretty features.
You open your mouth to protest, but then consider the long line behind you, and deflate. "Okay fine." You nod toward the lady at the counter who finally takes the man's money.
She grins, counting the bills then putting them into the register. "We'll have your orders out shortly. Thank you! See you at the end of the week, Nanami!"
You step to the side as the man who paid for you nods into the woman's direction with appreciation and familiarity, before stepping to the side along with you.
The two of you stand next to each other awkwardly, your arms folded over your chest, and you clear your throat. "Thank you," you manage.
The man shakes his head. "Don't. Really. It was my pleasure."
"Still, you didn't have to do that. It's not like I forgot my money at home."
"I was happy to. Regardless." You slim your eyes with skepticism, unsure of his angle. He seems to catch your suspicion with a soft chuckle, as he proceeds to ask, "I take it you don't believe me."
Slightly taken by his forwardness, you stumble to explain. "It's not that I don't believe you, I just don't really get... why?" you shrug, smiling awkwardly with your teeth.
The handsome blonde ponders you thoughtfully. "Does there have to be a reason other than me wanting to?"
"No one ever wants to cover someone else," you wave him off.
"I just did."
Your mouth curves up. "Out of obligation."
"Because I wanted to," he corrects you for the third time.
You press your lips together tightly, and he chuckles something light and unexpected. "Are you laughing at me?" you quirk a brow.
"No."
Your eyes slim. "Liar."
The handsome man shakes his head, a smile line creasing over his warm skin. Tired eyes blink before landing back on you out of the corner of his eye. "Not at all," he says earnestly.
You look away. So does he.
You find yourself unsure of what more to say, so you let more awkward silence fill the small space between you as the cramped bakery grows busier. You tap your foot against the floor as you wait, and the man named Nanami checks his watch multiple times. You're keenly aware of his presence beside you. You try not to let it further bother you.
It shouldn't bother you, but the excited flutter of your heart proves otherwise, though you endeavor to ignore it and brush it off as nerves.
The call of your name soon comes, and your brows furrow as you and the blonde stranger move to grab your order at the same time. With hands outstretched, you find each other's gaze again, and you frown skeptically - Nanami seems to have reached your warmed croissant and hot drink before you.
"I was closer," he offers as he turns to you, tea in one hand and bag in the other. Your brow twitches as you hastily take your order from him. He lets you, his hands falling instinctively to his sides as though to surrender power back into your jurisdiction. "You would have had to push through-"
"I'm aware," you cut him off. "You don't have to go doing everything for me now."
"That wasn't my intention..." the brown eyed man trails off. Suddenly, his name is called behind him, and his head turns slightly at the sound but his eyes remain on you as he fumbles with his thoughts, bearing an indifferent expression. "I'm sorry. I've offended you."
You watch as he grabs his own order, nodding toward the worker with pressed lips of acknowledgement. You look down at your own order in your hands, and back up at him. "No... you haven't. Sorry. It's - just been a long day. Not used to random acts of kindness," you say as an excuse.
The man faces you again, a large loaf now tucked under his arm as his veiny hand clasps his coffee. "I understand."
A lull in the conversation strikes once more when the two of you realize that you have nothing more keeping you within the establishment. "Well, thank you. Again. Really, that was... unnecessarily nice of you."
"You don't need to keep thanking me. It really was nothing."
He walks a few paces behind you as you both go to leave the bustling bakery, and as he lunges from behind to stretch his free arm toward the door, pushing it open from the angle he discovered just above your head, your brows pinch again. And you thank him. Again.
You give him a tight smile before turning over your shoulder to walk to your car, when you hear his steady, polite, subtly hesitant voice.
"Pardon me, but you're very beautiful."
Your heels halt their clicking against the pavement. You freeze, whipping your head over your shoulder with tight muscles and wide eyes. The suited man stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, face blank and eyes honest. He does not try to perform. Does not try to add anything more to the compliment. He simply lets it linger in the air, making himself known to you for fear that he would never see you again.
Your lips part, your breath hitches. You're hardly new to such praises, but the gentleness of his tone when he spoke, the humility in his words, the lack of expectation in his eyes is what frightens you.
You see his lips tighten under your gaze, and he shifts the bread under his arm. "That's all."
"Is that why you paid for my order?" you ask suddenly, cheeks warm and brain stirring with confusion. “Because I’m beautiful.”
Something in him dissipates, as though the tension in his body has eased slightly at your voice. "Partially. I saw you walk in before me. You looked stressed so, I thought I'd try to make you feel better."
"And how would you know if I was stressed or not?"
"Because I'm stressed all the time. I can sense it from a mile away."
There is, once more, no performance behind his words. Just truth in exasperation, in the lidded state of his warm eyes and the lines creasing beneath them. You inhale to speak, but the words get caught in your chest again. You have nothing to bite back with, nothing to scoff at, no excuse to chastise, and you're unsure of how to go forward accordingly.
You swallow hard. "Well, I hope you don't think that buying me something when I don’t even know you is gonna give you some kind of advantage."
"I don't think that," he shakes his head simply. "Like I said before, it was my pleasure. I don't expect anything from you in return."
You raise your brow, unconvinced. "Really?"
"Truly."
Your brows come down and your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. A light smile returns to the stranger's lips, something soft and observant. "Then," you start, drawing your tea close to your chest. "I'll be taking my leave now."
You wait for an outburst, an explosion, for him to go on a tangent about how you haven't even given him the decency of providing a number, or at least for his expression to shift with irritation. But none of which comes. Instead, he just nods simply and goes to walk off as well. "As will I. Have a wonderful day, miss."
Your jaw drops when he walks away, slow, easy, tired strides, and you stand frozen in place, watching the back of his head as he moves away.
You clamp your lips shut and swallow hard, moving to turn around as well, but something in you fights back. You clench your jaw hard and close your eyes before- "Excuse me!" you call out. Now a few yards away, he stops and turns over his shoulder with surprise and curiosity. Your lips crinkle, your skin flushing as passerbyers glance at you, and the blonde's attention is once again yours.
You can't believe you're doing this.
"W-What was your name again?"
He blinks, genuinely surprised that you stopped him to ask. "Kento Nanami."
You nod. “Okay. Good. Goodbye.”
You swiftly turn over your shoulder and leave, and the blonde watches you, shocked, before smiling.
You see Kento a handful of times before you finally give in and give him your number and your full name. You realize that, due to his frequent appearances in your recent life, that he must live within the same vicinity as you. A few hopeful conversations and approaches initiated by the blonde, cautious yet earnest, and a text from your friend is what pushes you to finally give him access to you outside of short interactions in the middle of the cereal aisle.
You're guarded from the beginning, terrified by his generosity, his respectful good morning texts, the way he checks in on how you're doing when he has free time in the day - unprovoked, unpressured, seeking no ulterior motive.
You would stare at the lit phone screen with your chin propped angrily in your palm, fingers thumping against your lips as your glare sharpens on his perfect grammar. You're waiting for the gentleman routine to die away, to fade out, but it remains steady over a week of phone conversation. Still, a week is just a week. Hardly enough time to know someone's true motivations, and you've been with men who have kept up the act for months before finally revealing his hidden, careless identity.
But then, Kento asks you out.
You read the text over and over after having initially dropped your phone and jumped away upon receiving the message.
Kento | I would love to take you to dinner, if you would be willing to let me.
It's a trap, you immediately think. You can't remember the last time you've been on a date, the last time a man actually asked you properly, the last time a man planned something for you without expecting you to jump through hoops to see him. You're prepared to tell him no, or that at the very least you'd think about it, but after leaving him on read for nearly six hours, and another call with your best friend, you accept, as she claims that you would be crazy not to go out with him.
But she can not account for the discomfort that seizes your body when he meets you outside of the nice restaurant he picked, after you insisted on driving separate cars; when he opens the car door for you and stretches his hand inside the vehicle to gingerly take yours in his; when his eyes capture your face and not your body as he tells you that you look absolutely stunning; when he pulls out your chair for you to sit down, having guided you by your hand throughout the twists and turns of the dimly lit space, an air of natural dominance crowding him when he interacts so calmly with the staff.
He does not suffocate conversation with arrogance, but asks you questions about your life, holding your gaze as you speak to show that he is truly listening. When you notice him staring, he apologizes, ducking his head with the intrusion of stifled shyness as he continues to compliment you, your mind, your beauty.
You're out of your depth. Your heart flutters the whole night as your (e/c) hues hold his warm ones, and your skin crawls with something you can't quite name. You don't remember the last time you felt so seen, so prioritized, so catered to. And more than Kento's swiftness to pay without blinking an eye or letting you even see a peep of the bill, and more than his haste to make sure you aren't too hot or cold, that your food is just the way you wanted it, is the manner with which he treats you. As though wining and dining you at some fancy place you always wanted to try is nothing near a chore, but something he feels that you are entitled to, that he is expected to do as a man in pursuit of your heart.
And at the end of the night, after he has offered to walk you back to your car, instead of expecting once more, he asks if he can take you out again.
You look at him with a dumbfounded gaze for a long moment, as you likely have for the majority of the night, and you mindlessly nod, your skepticism warping into fear.
Fear over the fact that this is the first man you've felt a genuine connection with after years of shielding your heart from any possible vulnerability.
You wreck your brain, wondering what this man could possibly want from you. Sex? A mistress? Someone to manipulate?
The speculations die one by one with each date you have with him, with every fact you learn about his personality and his daily life, about his morals and values, his drive, his grit, his responsibility. Three dates fly by, and he has yet to ask you to join him at his place or to accompany you at yours. He keeps a respectful distance whilst continuing to pursue you, to treat you, to court you as a man should.
You feel yourself actually beginning to like Kento, and that prospect alone is enough for you to disappear for a couple of days after your discovery. You tell him that you've been busy, that you don't have the time you once had to talk on the phone every night or plan your next outing.
Ordinarily, you get away with your habitual isolation, but one rather serious text is enough to tell you that you won't be able to get away with such things with Nanami, especially since he has made his intentions with you very clear - that he plans to be yours.
Kento | Hello, beautiful. I understand you need your space. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but from your tone and distance, I've sensed that you are upset about something. I recall you mentioning that you tend to take steps away when you aren't feeling like yourself. I won't further intrude in honor of your space, but whenever you feel ready, I am here to talk or listen. I sent you something to help take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. I hope you like it.
You open your door to find a bouquet of flowers lying at your doorstep, and a note attached with Kento's name and I'm here written in cursive. Your nose flares and your eyes glaze over as you look down at the thoughtful gift. No one's ever sent you flowers before. Not like this.
And no one's ever noted your habits, ever paid enough attention to you to tell when you're overstimulated or overthinking. You'd mentioned that about yourself one time, and Nanami remembered. And he didn't just remember, but he acknowledged it. He didn't antagonize you for it. He made himself known, and reminded you that you aren't alone. That you don't have to be anymore. That he sees you and wants to continue seeing you in every sense of the word.
Your heart pangs. You like him and you're terrified.
You don't reach out to him until the next morning. You've placed your flowers on the counter for display and lean against the kitchen sink with your phone in hand. Your leg bounces restlessly against the cabinets as you harshly tap on his contact to call. It's the weekend, so he answers rather swiftly.
"Hello?"
"You scare the shit out of me," you bluntly confess into the speaker, voice tight.
The other line is silent for a moment before Nanami's voice, low and thoughtful, comes back in. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to," he apologizes. You click your teeth with a huff of a laugh. "Could you tell me what I've done to make you feel that way?"
You suck in a sharp breath, for there truly is no way to get this man to show any bad side. Your gut trusts him, but your mind screams at you to run, while your heart yearns to feel his arms encase you as he tells you that everything will be alright. You're at odds with yourself.
But you want him so badly.
"You're too nice," you exhale through an anxious laugh, looking longingly over at your flowers.
"...Too nice?"
"Yes. I-It's confusing. You don't need to check in all the time or - or send me flowers-"
"You don't like them?"
"No," you quickly say. You sigh. "I mean... no - yes, I do like them. They're very sweet. T-Thank you. But that's not what I mean. I just mean... like... you're so..."
You stumble over your words, struggling to find the right way to express yourself whilst evading judgment. Your mind frantically searches for the right path and you fumble.
"(Y/n)," Kento calls gently.
"What?" you heave.
"Take your time," he guides. "Just tell me how you feel. It's alright."
You freeze. "...Wha...What?"
"I'm listening, sweetheart. Just take your time to sort it all out," he assures.
Your lips press together in a pout as you stare ahead, wide-eyed, your heart pattering in your chest. Your eyes sting with humiliation, and that hardness around your heart softens as you feel that you will finally be heard, that someone is happy to hear you.
You take in a shaky breath. "Why are you so nice to me?" you whisper.
"I'm happy that you think I’m kind, but I’m not trying to be nice, (Y/n). I've only aimed to be honest. I like you, and I want to be with you someday if you would like that too. I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. In all honesty, I haven't done anything very remarkable."
"You haven't-" you stop yourself with another laugh, sniffling slightly. "Kento, what do you mean you haven't done anything remarkable? You - you're so sweet to me all the time. You go out of your way to do things that you don't have to do."
"Like what?"
"Like... planning our dates all the time, or picking me up, or sending me things, or-or listening to what I say-"
"(Y/n), those aren't remarkable things. That's the least I can do for the woman I care about."
"You say that, but you don't get it."
"Perhaps I don't," he agrees. "But I'd love for you to help me understand what you're feeling more."
You trace your finger over the countertop sheepishly, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Can you come over?"
"Absolutely."
And he does. And the two of you talk for hours, or rather, he listens to you spill your vulnerabilities, your feelings, vent your concerns and frustrations with a trust that you did not realize you had formulated with him. And unlike every guy who brushed you off or told you that you were too demanding or too emotional, Nanami holds your hand, looks you in the eye, tells you he hears you, and means it.
Your bottom lip trembles as the past month or so spent with him flickers through your mind. You can feel the race of your pulse against the blonde's skin, and you frown at yourself. At how giddy he makes you feel. "I know how I get," you say. "When I have feelings for someone, they're not something I take lightly. I'm not casual. I can't pretend not to care, and I don't want to feel like I'm grasping for attention when you finally get me. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that just because you're nice, you can't do what other people have done."
Nanami watches you with a fondness you can't name, silent and steadfast, warm and enticing. His thumb traces over the back of your hand as he sits close to you on the couch, unhurried, patient, present, and grateful to be.
"I can't pretend to know what other men have put you through, or how deeply it continues to impact you. I know you're scared. You have every reason to protect yourself the way you do," he begins. "But I'm not that kind of man. When I say something, I mean it. When I promise something, I have every intention of fulfilling that promise. When I treat you one way, it's not for show. It is how I intend to treat you for as long as you will allow me. I know trust is not something that can be built overnight, but I'm willing to do the work. I want you to feel safe with me. I want to make you happy. I won't try to rush that happiness or that trust. You're entitled to your space when you need it. You owe me nothing. But when you're ready, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."
You sink into his words, your walls cracking, your heart surging. Glassy, red eyes search his face for some trick, and you once more come up empty handed. He presses his lips together in that tired, half smile, reminding you that it's okay.
Moved, you lean forward and press your lips to his impulsively, parting shortly after with a soft smack and sad eyes. You go to start apologizing when his palms raise to hold your face and your lips are slowly brought back into his.
Nanami kisses you for the first time like he is holding something precious. He does not attack you, but he savors you, slow and kind like his voice and the way he interacts with the surrounding world. You feel your chest tighten and warm, your skin tingle all over, and your flesh run hot as he holds you to him carefully, politely, gliding warm lips over your own with an appreciation so firm, he can't bear the thought of breaking away.
You part for a moment with heavy eyes, his thumb tracing over the skin of your cheek. Your hands press to his shoulders as you release a hot breath. "Please don't hurt me," you plead against his mouth, surrendering yourself from this point forward.
Nanami cradles you close. "I'll do everything in my power not to."
And even then, his words ring genuine, for Kento is aware that he can not promise such things, that people hurt their loved ones without attempting to all the time. But more importantly, he will work to honor your desires, to remember your triggers and fears, to know you well enough for that not to happen as long as he can control it.
And that, to you, means more than he could even begin to understand.
The two of you take it slow. You don't have sex until after he has asked to be your partner, and when you do, Kento asks for your permission before making any move to touch you further. He sees, feels the anxiety in your eyes and your body language, the fear that sexual intimacy will draw him further away from you, but he stays.
He stays with you while making love to you, holding your gaze, interlacing your fingers, pressing his body flush to yours, eliminating any exposure to the cold, keeping himself present.
He stays with you after, holding your shivering body against his, murmuring soft praises into your ear and pressing warm kisses to your skin.
And rather than creating a distance, sex brings you inexplicably closer. The passion is thick in Nanami's enamoured eyes every time he sees you, every time he utters your name. After months of chipping away, you mirror his smitten nature, opening yourself up to the affections he always, always provides.
That's what Kento is, a provider, financially, physically, and emotionally. You feel light with him by your side, like the burdens of the world have lifted from your shoulders just long enough for you to breathe and simultaneously enjoy the good that it has to offer.
You never find yourself overexplaining your frustrations, because Kento has already noticed them and taken action to help you through them.
You never feel as though you are carrying anything alone, because Kento is always there to share the load or take it on himself.
And you never experience a moment in which you feel unloved, because Kento ensures that he spends every second of every day reminding you what you mean to him, showering you with unforced, unconditional ardor.
When you look back on your past, at the lengths you went to avoid further damage to your heart, you wonder what force in the universe brought Kento to you when you thought that you were never meant to experience the happiness you do now.
𝜗𝜚 between bruised knees and spring rain, Jin Itadori hands pickup duty of his adorable Yuji over to his son's… less than adorable, heavily pierced, slightly scary uncle, Ryomen Sukuna. You’re a busy woman, dealing with one headstrong daughter is work enough- no matter how sweet she is! But when your paths cross outside the school gates, tiny backpacks in hand, who knows what you’ll be able to make time for?
| pairing: Unckuna x milf reader
| content: smut, reader is Nobara’s mother, Unckuna, Yuji + Choso + Nobara + Megumi cameos, spirit of a crackfic, Sukuna is down bad, brief romantic tension, humour, making out, lip piercings, dick piercings, fingering, handjobs, p in v, missionary, creampies, fluff, getting together, happy endings <3
| wc: 4.6k
a/n: inspo from this anon ask <33 thank you for 7k!!
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ೃ࿔*:･
The pickup area outside of Yuji’s school is crowded with parents huddling together and walking their warm-handed children to even warmer cars, colourful umbrellas dripping rainwater from patterned plastic in rhythmic taps.
Sukuna does not have an umbrella. He’s stood there- or maybe looming would be a better word, parents avoiding his presence- progressively dampening like a sponge, pink hair clinging to his tanned forehead while his jacket beads with water. He curses Jin Itadori internally- he should be at home, maybe at the gym, not waiting to collect his sticky five year old nephew from the school gates.
Yuji bounces out soon enough, pink tufts of hair tucked away safely underneath the transparent web of his umbrella. Next to him, a little girl babbles loudly away at his side, raincoat neatly fastened across her chest as she adjusts the pink barrette she’s fashioning at her swooped fringe.
Yuji and the girl trudge in synchronicity up the path to the gate, their teacher ushering them forwards along with the rest of their class. Puddles splash beneath small, uncoordinated feet, some squealing and waving at their parents or siblings as they wait to be collected.
Sukuna notes the tiny lines of tiredness in their faces despite the toothy (or, in some cases, toothless, as their adult teeth come in) smiles. “Must be hard doing nothing all day.” He huffs to himself, already thinking about the reams of crayon-covered drawings Yuji will no doubt try and shove into his hands.
“Oh, tell me about it.” A voice echoes sweetly from beside him. Sukuna almost jumps out of his tattooed skin, eyes dropping to your smiling face as the spring rain patters your umbrella. “I can’t be jealous when they’re this cute, though.”
Sukuna is about to respond with his own opinion that, once you come into contact with his unbridled amounts of energy, Yuji Itadori is not cute- his pierced lips hang open, poised and ready to speak, until you move to scoop Yuji’s friend into your arms and Sukuna stands there stupidly.
“Nobara!” You beam, “how was school?”
She grins proudly. “Really great! Me and Yuji spoke to Megumi all day, but he had to leave early to see the- the dentist.” She whispers quietly, voice dropping as she looks around like the dentist in question will jump out of a nearby bush, “I hope his teeth are okay.”
“I’m sure they are.” You laugh and turn to Yuji, who’s trying to climb Sukuna like a tree, little tongue poked out in concentration as he tries to scale his leg. “Oh, you’re here for Yuji!” You say surprisedly, “you aren’t Jin.”
“Definitely not.” Sukuna grumbles, pulling Yuji away from his jeans with one hand and little strength required.
“Yeah, this is my Uncle Kuna!” Yuji beams, hugging Sukuna’s leg, smile like sunshine as you take Nobara’s backpack from her. “He’s really tall, and mean- but not to me!- and cool, and he has loadssss of tattoos, and he uses bad words-“
“Brat.” Sukuna mutters, before turning back to you and trying his best to recover. “Wow, I didn’t know they let siblings do pick ups.”
Nobara rolls her eyes. “She’s my mommy, idiot.” Sukuna glares at her- the one time he comes to collect Yuji, the one time a pretty lady seems interested in him, and it’s ruined by her daughter?
You giggle, and the sound melts like honey in Sukuna’s ears; you really are pretty, he thinks, eyeing up the warmth in your face and the motherly lilt to your voice when you speak to Nobara. And he definitely isn’t looking at the tiny sliver of cleavage your top affords him.
“We’re going home, Yuji.” He says abruptly, tossing his squirmy nephew over his shoulder despite his squealing protests. You take Nobara’s hand in yours to walk, umbrellas catching the splashing rainfall while she jumps in a puddle. Her rainboots squelch, and you beam down at her.
Sukuna starts filling in for Jin a lot more after that. Jin gets to relax, Yuji gets to see his uncle, and Sukuna gets to speak to you- it’s a win for everybody really, he thinks, watching as you walk up to the gate and smile at him.
“Hey, Kuna.” You tease, bumping your elbow with his. He wishes you’d just call him Ryomen, but the nickname Yuji gave him stuck, apparently. But it’s still a nickname, at least- and the acknowledgment makes his chest do something sappy and stupid.
It’s sunny today, rays glittering down onto your hair like a personal spotlight; as such, Nobara and Yuji spend a few minutes running around on the playground, pushing each other on the squeaky roundabout and laughing as they go down the slide, while their respective adults chat,
“I see Jin’s been slacking on pick up duty more often.” You observe, looking up at Sukuna- and the height difference is still staggering even after speaking to him so many times. He's broad, you've come to appreciate in sly glances, shirts stretched over his muscled back and strong arms that flex when he tosses Yuji over his shoulder.
Is it really that morally wrong to be jealous of a four-year-old?
“What, do you never slack?” He questions- it lands a bit sharper than originally intended, but you just smile. “Well... I love picking Nobara up. She makes my day.” You begin, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.
Sukuna’s hand twitches like it wanted to get there first.
“And besides, it’s not like I have a responsible husband to come and help. It’s just me and her-“ you say wistfully, gazing over at your daughter as she giggles, your face breaking out into a smile, “-but I don’t think I’d have it any other way.”
Sukuna will feel guilty later about how he internally celebrated that little piece of information- no husband, no boyfriend, you absolutely dote on his nephew and you’re pretty? He must be dreaming!
There’s practically a tiny cupid flying around his head, sprinkling puffs of stupid pink sparkles onto his stupider grin- never has Ryomen Sukuna been this desperate to make a woman laugh, and never has he been stopped from doing so by his nephew!
He’s about to say something in response, something smooth that’ll have you giggling- but he doesn’t get to, because an uncomfortably loud smack! suddenly emanates from the playground. It’s followed after a few beats of silence by sobbing, tiny little wails that make your heart clench.
Of course.
“Oh, Yuji-“ you coo worriedly, already hurrying over to scoop him up, “what happened?”
“I f-fell off the- the swing-“ he hyperventilates, cheeks bunched up as streams of tears make their way down his face. Nobara pets his head sympathetically, stood to the side. “I want my uncle-“
Despite his nonchalance, Sukuna’s already there- awkwardly holding onto his crying nephew like he isn’t sure where to exactly put his hands; it works enough for him, though, since Yuji’s hysteria dies down almost immediately into fading hiccups.
“I bruised my knee.” He says miserably, tears already welling in his big eyes, “it stings.”
Sukuna grimaces and picks Yuji up, carefully buckling him into his carseat with all the attention you’d give a nuclear bomb. Beside him, you appear, perfume wafting into his nose as you hold Nobara’s little hand.
“You’re a good uncle.” You say softly, peering up at his scoffing expression. “No, seriously, I mean it.”
“Thanks.” Sukuna mutters, toeing awkwardly at a rock on the ground because he isn’t used to compliments on the way he handles anything, let alone his nephew.
“See you on Monday for the trip?” You say hopefully.
“What?” Sukuna says, head snapping up, “Jin wants me to go on a fucking trip?” The expression on his face contorts into a scowl you'd find intimidating if it weren't for the exact replica of him shoved into his car. Nobara stares up at him, scandalised. “That’s a bad word-“
“Shh, Nobara.” You say, “he’s an adult.” You turn your attention back to Sukuna, “don’t worry, you aren’t actually chaperoning. We just need to drop them off a little earlier in the morning, maybe stick around long enough to wave them goodbye.”
He nods like he’s absorbing the most important information of his life. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
⋆⋅ ❀ ⋅⋆
Monday arrives in a swirl of black coffee and misery for him.
"Yuji. Car." He says gruffly, voice still tinted at the corners by sleep. He turns to his older nephew- "Choso, make him move."
"I don't wanna be mean to him," the brunette huffs, holding onto his little brother's hand like he doesn't want to let go, even as he reluctantly walks out the door. "Why can't you take him?" Sukuna groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Yuji punches his leg. It doesn't hurt, obviously- Yuji's tiny fists pack as much punch as a ball of cotton- but it's still annoying.
"Because I get the bus, and he is four?" Choso says flatly, "I don't even go to the same school as him."
"You-"
"Bye, Yu!"
"Byeee, Cho!"
He’s already on his third coffee of the day by the time he gets to the car, where he wrestles an overexcited Yuji into his seatbelt, his tiny legs kicking. “The trip’s gonna be so fun, Uncle Kuna, Megumi told me there’s gonna be bunnies and frogs and owls-“
Sukuna groans, forehead resting on the steering wheel- it’s far too early for this. “And, and, and-“ Yuji continues, squealing out his polysynthetic list, “Megumi also said-“
It goes on and on and on like this until Sukuna finally, finally reaches the end of the drive; this time, it doesn’t take him any effort to deal with Yuji, who’s already fumbling at his seatbelt with chubby hands and waving at his tiny friend.
“Hi!” He squeals, running over to him as Sukuna drags behind, rubbing his eyes with one hand as they protest against the sun.
“Hi.” The spiky, dark-haired one says, his freakishly adult demeanour only slightly diminished by the chubbiness of his bright little cheeks as he turns accusatorially to Sukuna. “Why are you helping out.”
“Megumi, be nice.” You chastise, already walking up from behind- right on cue- with Nobara in hand. “And he isn’t, he’s just here to say goodbye to Yuji.”
“Oh.” Megumi says, as though this is a conversation he doesn’t have any scheduled time for, immediately turning his back on Sukuna. When they’re called onto the minibus by their teacher, the trio lines up dutifully next to the steps, tiny bags clenched importantly in even tinier hands.
“Bye, Nobara!” You yell, waving her off as she beams at you through the window, shouting something back you can’t quite hear.
When your fingers brush Sukuna’s on the way up, neither of you say anything.
You’re too focused on smiling at your daughter with pride as she waves back with a small hand and a big smile- but when she turns around to speak to her friends, something crests inside your throat and your heart clenches.
“She’s getting so… so old.” You whisper to yourself, parents already vacating the spot you’re stood in.
“I know, I’m being dramatic,” you sniffle into your palm, “but I wish she’d just stay this little forever. Don’t you feel like that with Yuji?”
Sukuna deliberates on this for a moment. Sure, Yuji can be a pain, but he does find some slight fascination in watching him grow; from holding him tightly in a bundle at a few weeks old, his eyes crinkled shut, to playfighting with him on Jin’s living room carpet as he tugs at his scalp and calls his tattoos cool. “Yeah.” He says slowly, “yeah, I guess so.”
A small, perfect tear beads up in the wet outer corner of your eye and your lip wobbles along with your casual facade- you’re ready to let it fall, to allow a single solitary line trail down your face, but it never makes it that far.
A calloused thumb swipes it away without a second thought, the action awfully loud for something that made no noise at all. Sukuna stares at you for a moment, skin lingering against your cheek, then rips his hand away like it burns.
“My, um…” you breathe, eyes glassy, “my house is only down the street, if you wanted to come over.” When Sukuna’s eyebrow raises, you flush. “Just for a drink and a talk. If- if you’re thirsty, that is.”
He smiles down at you, teeth glinting almost predatorily in the sun. “Parched.”
Sukuna’s lips are softer than you imagined, is the initial thought that crosses your mind when he first crashes his mouth to yours in your hallway. The kiss is messy and rushed, like you’re making up for lost time- the ceramic dish on the side jangles quietly as you toss your keys, and he kicks the door shut.
“God-“ you gasp against his greedy mouth, cool orbs of his snake bite piercings cutting into your warm lips. “Slow down-“
“I can’t.” Sukuna groans. His hands are already mapping out each gentle curve, learning the topographical details of your body. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”
Despite the breathlessness in your lungs, you giggle. “Me too.”
Your teeth nip at his lips, soothing the bruises with your tongue before tangling into his mouth in a messy mix of saliva and hushed moans.
Large palms grip at your waist, manoeuvring your body backwards against the wall like he’s been planning this out for as long as he’s known you. Sukuna would like to say this all comes naturally to him- and it does- but never has somebody invaded his senses like this. Like you.
He feels like there’s an audible hum below his prickly skin, made worse when your shirt falls to the ground and his fingers are free to map out the frayed lace on your bra.
“That’s nice.” You breathe, eyes fluttering closed as your scalp meets the wall and your hands rest on Sukuna’s shoulders for support. The entirety of your consciousness is consumed by the feeling of your tits under his grip, so you barely register when the button of your jeans pops open below.
“Yeah?” He whispers into your ear, the cartilage warm under his mouth when he bites down.
“Yeah- fuck!” You gasp suddenly, his fingers finally swiping through the cloying wetness building between your soft thighs. He laughs, but there’s no bite to it this time- because you’re clenching around his fingers, hips jerking in search of the friction of his palm, and he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life.
Spit slicks shinily across the marks Sukuna’s leaving on your chest, purple and red and shades of bruising pink. His head is tucked fully into the junction between your neck and shoulder now, nipping at warm skin while two of his fingers curl between your parted legs.
“Wait, wait-“ you squeak in panic, nails digging into his back, “fuck, I’m close-“
“That’s the idea.” He laughs shakily, thumb painting wet circles over your sensitive clit. The breathy noise your throat expels into his ear when you cum, legs shaking and clamping around his hand, is the prettiest thing Sukuna’s pierced ears have ever had the pleasure of hearing.
“My...“ your speech falters when you look down, eyes widening at the much larger than anticipated bulge in his jeans, “my bedroom’s upstairs. First door on the right-“
Sukuna doesn’t need to be told twice- barely even once, as he hoists you into the air. Your legs clamp automatically around his waist, looking for the hot slide of friction even despite your recent orgasm, seeking the noises he allows to slip deliciously from his lips when you bite down on his neck.
The duvet makes a comforting backrest for when he lies you down, sheets parting under your body as you prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch him unbuckle his belt one-handedly.
It slides out of place with a gentle clink, dropping to your floor in a loose coil of material before Sukuna goes to unzip his fly.
“Wait,” you say suddenly, curling up onto your knees on the bed. “Let me. Please?”
How could he say no?
“Go ahead.” Sukuna smiles down at you, hands held loosely at his sides to watch the way your breath catches in your throat as you pull the denim down and palm him just once over his underwear. “Shitttt.” His head falls back briefly, pupils dilating behind closed eyelids as he drinks in the feeling of your fingers trembling on his skin.
A faint coral happy trail starts at his navel, decorating the soft plane of his v-line and disappearing below the waistband. You look up at him, eyes glassy and lips parted, your fingers hooked into the elastic, and Sukuna has to resist the image that suddenly flashes across his mind.
He wants to cram your cheek against the bulge and watch the way you’d go nervous, cheeks flushing more as he holds you there against the throbbing outline of his cock through the damp spot in the fabric, but he doesn’t. He lets you have your fun.
Although, it’s significantly more entertaining for him when you finally do get the underwear down his thick thighs and you gasp. “Oh my god-“
“Never seen one before, sweetheart?” He grins, lifting his shirt over his head with muscled biceps and tossing the fabric somewhere in the room.
You both know he isn’t just talking about his dick. You’re staring disbelievingly at the tiny silver ball studded at the tip- pierced, rather. Your mouth waters against your will.
“Shut up.” You breathe, fingers tentatively curling around the base of his dick. But you aren’t even looking at your hand or the silken skin it's wrapped around.
Your gaze is heavy but focused, transfixed entirely on the way glittery beads of pre start to shine over the piercing at his flushed tip; you don’t catch them with your fingers, you just look at the way they spill over and down his length.
“Yeah, like that.” Sukuna groans from above you, watching as you press light kisses to his hip beside your bobbing hand.
Your hand shimmers as it works him, scrutinising the way his face flutters and twitches, the way the breaths he’s expelling become more and more ragged until his hips are jerking up-
And you stop. Completely.
His red eyes snap open immediately, shock splashed across his features. “Why the fuck would you stop, woman?”
You shrug, casually peeling your remaining items of clothing off. “Wanted it inside.”
He narrows his eyes in curiosity. “You’re not-?”
“Birth control.” You say, unclasping your bra fully and letting the lace slip down your shoulders before settling back on the sheets in waiting. “Perimenopausal precaution.”
“Ah.”
He’s about to say something else, snake bites glinting in the sunlight your curtains let in, but the moment you spread your legs open a little further his brain blanks.
His hands meet soft skin, pushing your thighs apart to settle his hips between them. Hair falls into his eyes in spiky tufts of pink, and you instinctually raise a hand to brush them back.
“You’re so fucking wet.” Is the first thing to leave his mouth as he lines himself up, the words stuttered through a thick groan as his tip brushes your clit. You sigh into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his back, and he pushes in.
The stretch is perfect, the feeling of being so full after so long almost too much for you to take; you can feel the piercing, feel the way it rolls coolly inside you like something designed solely by him, for you.
“You- you can move.” You keen against his throat. “Now, please.”
“Bossy.” Sukuna says, voice coming loose at the edges already as he buries his face into your shoulder.
The movements he affords you are languid at first, testing to see what angles make you moan the loudest and which rhythm makes you squeeze tightest around him. It turns out you hardly have a preference as long as he's moving; just the knowledge of him being seated inside you, stretching you out, is enough.
Your nails run smooth patterns over his broad back, etching red lines across the inky tattoos while you lose yourself in it. Every drag is perfect, pace increasing steadily until the room is full with quiet, slick noises that have a flush creeping up your chest.
Just when you think he’s as deep as he could possibly be, when there’s nothing left for him to give you- a calloused hand moves from your hip to your thigh, lifting it upwards and pushing the limb against your torso.
“Fuck!” You gasp, scrabbling for purchase on his arms as he grins above you. The new angle lets him hit even more spots, stars bursting behind your eyelids.
“You like that?” Sukuna asks rhetorically. He knows you can’t answer, he knows your brain is melted into slush every time he rocks forwards, he knows- but it’s fun to watch you struggle.
“I- mhm-“ you whine, back arching into a curve below him. “Kuna-“
The nickname does something unexpected to him, the sugared syllables dripping like messy honey from your tongue into his mouth when he kisses you again. “Fuck, say that again.”
“Kuna-“ you beg, digging into his skin, “please-“
“Yeah,” he pants into your mouth, “yeah, s’okay.”
The softness of your legs wrap around his waist tighter, heels digging into his back as he releases the hold on your thigh to drop his full weight onto you.
The pressure is gorgeous; the feeling of his abdomen against your soft torso makes you squirm, fluttering tightly around his cock as the piercing keeps rubbing across your soft insides. It maps you out, cool metal gently roving over the smoothest spots your pussy has to offer.
The polish on his nails is chipped, black giving way to reveal the curves of keratin carving pretty crescents into your sticky body- he looks down at them in pride, knowing that only his hands could mark you up so perfectly. But his red irises never stay in one place for long; he can get impatient.
They drift from the mess spilling onto your thighs, the sight of him actively pushing inside almost an assault on his self-control. Then, he stares greedily at your chest, at the soft bounce of your tits when he releases his chest far back enough to appreciate the view.
But he saves the best for last; your face. Lips dropping open into a picture-perfect circle, mouth tightening then becoming lax as moans slip freely into the heated space between you, eyes shiny and bright. God, you're so pretty, Sukuna thinks.
“M’gonna cum.” You breathe tightly, stomach clenching when two of his fingers slide between your bodies to rub messy circles over your swollen clit.
“Yeah, me too.” Sukuna admits roughly, voice dropping to vibrate against the cartilage of your throat.
The orgasm winds tight, humming and heavy, twisting beneath your sweaty skin and shattering. Your lips part around a silent moan, babbling something unintelligible- maybe it was his name, maybe it was a plea; whatever it is, it pushes Sukuna over the edge with you.
A sharp little gasp sounds from him as he stills, hips stuttering inside you as thick pearlescent strings soak your sheets, overflowing from your cunt and onto the duvet.
He catches his breath before rolling off you, slumping in a mess of sweaty muscle and spit-slicked skin beside you in the mess of your bed. “Fuck.”
“Mmm.” You agree breathlessly, chest still heaving with exertion, limbs boneless.
Sukuna stands first, unashamedly naked, sun painting a halo behind him as you adjust onto your side and speak with hoarse vocals. “Going somewhere?”
“Well-“ he begins, a blush creeping onto his face that has nothing to do with the post-sex afterglow, “I was gonna get you a drink, or somethin’, but I realised I don’t know where your kitchen is.”
The absurdity of the situation hits you then; your daughters friend’s uncle is stood totally naked in your bedroom, his cum is leaking onto your sheets, and he doesn’t even know where your sink is.
You laugh, collapsing onto your front and hysterically giggling as he stands there confusedly. “Something funny?”
“No, no-“ you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes, “not at all, actually.”
It isn’t raining when you arrive at the school- in fact, it’s even more sunny than it was earlier, big strips of light illuminating the flowers around your feet as you wait. You aren’t alone, as usual- Sukuna stands beside you, waiting too; but this time, your hands aren’t empty.
Instead of waiting outstretched for Nobara’s backpack, your hand rests cosily in his; fingers tangled together like they’ve been used to it for years, Sukuna’s thumb brushing comfortingly over your knuckles.
“They’re staring.” You whisper, anxiously eyeing up the gaggle of bored parents around you, some curiously peering at your hands.
“Ignore it.” Sukuna replies, glaring at a woman who looks too long. Her head snaps around immediately, and he grins to himself.
Your hand never leaves his, even when your breaths get nervous and anticipatory as you wait for Nobara to see you. Her shoes are soft when they land on the gravel below, her face plastered with a huge smile.
“Mom!” She yells, walking over to you, “it was so fun, Megumi and Yuji were right, but I didn’t like the frogs- why are you holding hands?” She squints at your fingers braided with Sukuna’s at her eye level.
“Well-“
“Uncle Kuna!” Yuji squeals, throwing his arms around Sukuna’s leg in the strongest hug he can muster, “there was bunny rabbits- are you holding hands?”
Two pairs of tiny eyes- three if you count Megumi Fushiguro, who’s been watching the whole time as he waits for his sister with a bored expression on his pink cheeks- travel from you, to Sukuna, to your entwined hands, like they’re slowly figuring something out.
Aside from Megumi, who likes to act like he's figured everything out already.
Yuji gasps loudly enough to turn heads. “Does this mean you’re my auntie? Does this mean he’ll finally stop talking about you to my dad? Does this mean me and Nobara are cousins?”
Nobara stares at you, and you nervously stare back. “Okay. But he-“ she says, pointing a finger at Sukuna, “is still annoying.”
You breathe a sigh of relief at her approval- to you, it means more than anything. “Yeah, he is.” Sukuna’s mouth twitches at the corner. “Do you wanna go home now?”
She nods, grabbing onto your spare hand. As Yuji tugs Sukuna towards the car, yelling something nonsensical about his ‘new favourite auntie’, his fingers slip from yours regretfully.
Two matching heads of pink hair walk away from you, Sukuna struggling as usual to clip Yuji into the car. You giggle.
“Tell me about the trip.” You ask Nobara, clasping your hands together, “what about the bunnies?”
“They were with their mom,” she says thoughtfully, face breaking into a toothy smile, “it looked like us in my baby pictures.”
Your heart tugs. You want to say something, like ‘I love you’ or ‘you’re still a baby to me’, but words die in your throat. You settle for a hug, crouching down to wrap your arms around her as she giggles and squirms in your grip.
From behind her, as he reverses onto the road and Yuji giggles from the backseat, Sukuna waves one-handedly from the steering wheel.
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: thank you soooo much for reading! have a lovely week + comments appreciated! <33
despite the tremendous growth zuko has had over the years in regulating his emotions and reeling back his more sadistic ways of achieving his goals, it’s no surprise that there are still moments where his past behavior peeks through in places that aren’t quite. . . standard for him.
“hm? I didn’t quite catch that, baby,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your flushed face as he pulls you closer, grip possessive, vice, the tension between you palpable and unmistakable. he forcefully bounces you on his fat cock as steam curls around you, water harshly sloshing with every sharp thrust your husband plants to your abused hole. it’s nothing unusual for zuko to pull you into the royal baths like this, craving a quiet escape from his relentless advisors and the chaos of certain friends who have always surrounded him.
but this time. this time was different.
“i—mph! i’m sorry! i’msorryi’msorryi’msorry—!”
“sorry for what? be more clear.”
“for ah! running straight into danger when you told me not to.”
“exactly. with absolutely no regard for your safety.” he clicks his tongue, a large hand coming down to swat at your asscheeks. “i know you’re a big, strong girl, but dealing with bandits alone isn’t something i want my wife to be doing in her spare time, especially when i’m off on avatar business,” he growls, tone edged with something firm but familiar.
frustration, worry. a deep desire to keep you safe in his domain.
you nod frantically, eyes glossed over with a mix of pleasure and guilt. you know how much zuko worries about you, a non-bender from foreign lands still unfamiliar with the true weight and danger of the fire nation territory.
you aren’t used to this, to life as royalty. to be waited on by maids and fed by famous chefs. you were a kyoshi warrior, above all. the only thing you knew here was him. his patience, steady presence, and strength. the way he looks at you like you hung up the moon and stars.
the fiery, dilated eyes that you cannot currently see.
“wanna look at you, zuko. haven’t seen your face in days.” you whimper, tears staining the crimson ribbon, the one tight around your eyes— the one he uses to keep his hair up.
“bad girls don’t get to have their way, princess. make me cum, and maybe i’ll grant you your wish.”
he slides his hands up your torso, teasing and featherlike. you could only shudder as you kept moving against him, your hands clinging to his shoulders and arms, stronger and broader than you remember, shaped by the years that have passed around him.
he thumbs at your nipples, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face as his thoughts begin to wander. he feels the subtle change in you, the way you tense and draw closer, and his expression shifts into something more devious (and a tad vengeful) as he watches you carefully.
zap!
you gasp at the sharp sting against your chest.
lightening. from his fingertips.
“i didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart. you don’t get to stop until i punish you properly.” he tilts his head. “now, should i make you count?”
he’s still angry, but not unfair. zuko soothes the sting with his mouth, lips pressing and suctioning and lingering where the heat blooms, easing it with slow, careful attention from his hot tongue— the way he does to your achy cunt on the days of your period where your cramps hurt the most.
then, he does it again. lets a spark flicker against the flesh of your ass, clit, and chest again and again until you’re trembling against him, unable to keep yourself upright.
relentless and ruthless and so, so, so in love with you.
“i’m sorry, zuko. won’t ever do it again.”
“i know you are, baby. but i can’t forgive you just yet.”
“wh-what can i do to make you feel better?”
he pauses, thoughts drifting once more as he begins to picture you warm and glowing, a soft hand resting over the gentle curve of your stomach. that’s all he’s been thinking about, really. in meetings and missions, at night when he’s got an arm slung over your tummy as you sleep.
what it would be like for you to bear his children.
you have always been so patient, so natural with aang’s son bumi, and the image lingers longer than he expects. he can’t fathom anyone else standing beside him, anyone else he would trust with something as important as having his heir, something that felt like a future he once never thought he’d have.
(and it’d give him all the more right to be fussy and obsessive about your safety. to keep you in his palace and in his line of sight at all times.
to tie you to him for eternity and more.)
“a baby.” he quickens his pace, rough hands glued to your hips, now full on slamming into you. he’s delirious with want, the animalistic need to mark you and solidify your position as lady of this land once and for all. “give me a— fuuuck— baby. i want an heir, princess.”
“ah—! ah—! zuko, slow down! a wh-what? a-a baby?”
“yes. need you bred and pregnant by the end of the week— no— by tonight. that’s an order.” he jests, but there’s a heavy glint in his eye.
a vow. you would bare his child at once.
“o-of course, zuko.”
“then we can’t have the water washing away my cum now can we? gotta make sure it takes.” he presses a kiss to the side of your head, slow and lingering. then his teeth catch lightly on the ribbon, tugging it loose before he pulls it away from your face, letting it fall as he finally looks at you again.
he grips your ass. makes a move to stand, cock still buried to the hilt of your quivering pussy. you instinctively tighten around him, grappling at the expanse of his muscular figure.
“miss you so much.” you sigh, nuzzling into his face and nipping at his scar. he breathes in your scent. agonizes over the fact that you’d smell so much sweeter once you’re full of milk and spiritual energy. “wan’ a baby with you too, zuko. been wanting one for so long.”
he begins thrusting upwards again, letting gravity drag you down his length. “why didn’t you say so before, petal?”
“you were so busy with nation affairs and. . . with everything you’ve been through.” you bite your lip. “and we cannot guarantee our first born would inherit fire-bending.”
he chuckles. his sweet, thoughtful girl. “all the more reason to have one, flower. or many. it would strengthen the throne regardless if the fire lord can bend fire or not. and it would heal my past wounds in ways that you can’t even imagine. to see you and watch you be the most amazing mother to our children. . .” he groans as he feels himself nearing the end.
you moan at his words— at the weight of him inside you and what this meant. “i’m so close, zuko. wanna feel you fill me. wanna give you a baby. wanna make you a good father, too.”
his hips falter for a moment, breath catching. your arms wind around his neck, pulling him down as your lips meet his in a rushed, desperate kiss, the kind that says more than either of you can put into words as zuko leans into you without hesitation. he cums with a moan into your mouth, his semen coating your guts in long, endless spills. feels your slick envelope him as well, walls milking him for everything he has.
“i love you.” he whispers into the crown of your head. “what an honor it’d be to start this new chapter with you.”
you can only smile against his chest, eyes drifting closed as sleep slowly takes you. you trust that he’ll always make sure you’re clean and ready for bed, wrapped safely in his arms.
your dreams blur soft and warm, filled with him, with the quiet image of zuko standing tall, a smaller version of him clutching the front of his robes as he holds them close, steady and sure like everything you’ve come to find in him.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ a feared, sleep-deprived sukuna shows up to the library just to take care of you, only to end up being the one who melts into your arms instead.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, established relationship, college!au, sukuna is a menace (publicly) but a loser (privately), back hugs, acts of service, soft kisses, big scary man reduced to putty.
the library was supposed to be neutral ground.
that's what everyone agreed on, at least. the massive, radiant-lit study hall on the third floor of the student union existed in a strange little bubble of collective silence, where people from every corner of campus could huddle over their laptops without having to acknowledge each other.
it was functional — boring, even — it was the kind of place where the most exciting thing that could happen was someone accidentally crinkling a chip bag too loudly.
which is why, when ryomen sukuna walked through the doors, twenty pairs of eyes snapped up at once.
he didn't look at any of them, he didn't need to; his presence alone was enough to suck the air out of the room — all six foot something of him, broad shoulders straining against the worn black fabric of his hoodie, tattoos crawling up his neck and disappearing into his jawline like dark vines. his face was all sharp angles and quiet menace, the kind of face that belonged on a wanted poster or a magazine cover, depending on how brave you were feeling. most people weren't feeling brave.
sukuna was holding a pink hydro flask.
no one dared to comment on it, not when he was scanning the room with those heavy-lidded crimson eyes, jaw set in its usual resting position that hovered somewhere between bored and actively hostile. a girl in the corner actually pulled her knees up to her chest, like she was trying to make herself smaller, and a guy two tables over dropped his pen and decided, very wisely, to just leave it there.
then sukuna's entire face changed.
it wasn't really dramatic; sukuna’s expression didn't soften so much as it unclenched — the tension bleeding out of his brow, the hard line of his mouth twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile but was definitely adjacent to one. his shoulders dropped half an inch, and his eyes, still sharp but suddenly warm in a way that felt almost illegal to witness, landed on a table near the window; you.
you didn't look up right away.
you were absently chewing on the end of your highlighter, eyebrows pinched together as you stared down at what looked like a truly offensive amount of organic chemistry notes. your hair was piled into a messy bun that was already escaping in several directions, and you'd stolen one of sukuna’s hoodies once again — the gray one with the ripped cuff, which he'd specifically told you not to steal because it was his favorite, which meant you'd worn it approximately four times in the past week.
sukuna crossed the room in seven long strides, ignoring the way people practically threw themselves out of his path. by the time he reached your table, the hydro flask was already extended toward you, bumping gently against your elbow.
you finally looked up, and your whole face lit up like someone had flipped a switch.
"hi, baby," you said with the cutest smile.
your voice was so casual, so utterly unbothered, like you weren't currently being stared at by half the library, like the six-foot-four tattooed menace looming over you was just a random guy, just your guy.
"you forgot this," sukuna said.
and his voice — god, his voice. it was still that same low, gravelly rumble that made freshman cross the street to avoid walking past him, but there was something else underneath it now; something softer, almost shy, if shy was a word that could ever apply to ryomen sukuna. the boy set the pink hydro flask down next to your elbow, and his long fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.
"you always forget it. your head's gonna dry up and fall off one of these days."
you laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that came from your chest, easy and warm.
"that's not how dehydration works."
"you don't know that. you're not a doctor."
sukuna was already pulling out the chair next to you, the metal legs scraping against the floor in a way that made several people wince; he didn't seem to notice, or care, sukuna dropped into the seat like he belonged there, which he did, because he'd been sitting in that exact chair every tuesday and thursday for the past four months, ever since you'd declared this your official study spot.
"i'm pre-med," you reminded him, twisting the cap off the hydro flask and taking a long sip.
water dripped down your chin, and you wiped it away with the back of your hand, completely unselfconscious. sukuna watched you do it with an intensity that should have been unsettling but somehow just looked like devotion.
"pre-med isn't med," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.
sukuna’s heart was somewhere in the vicinity of your pinky finger, which was suddenly very close to his hand on the table. he stared at it for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if touching it would make him seem desperate.
( he was desperate. he was always desperate. but he had a reputation to maintain, or whatever. )
"did you eat?" you asked with a little smile, capping the bottle and setting it aside.
your knee knocked against his under the table — deliberately, sukuna knew, because you always did that when you wanted his attention. like you didn't already have all of it, constantly, every single second of every single day.
"yeah."
"liar."
sukuna looked away.
"i had a protein bar."
"that's not food."
you were already digging through your backpack, and sukuna watched your hands move with that same quiet intensity, cataloging every small movement; the way your nails were painted a chipped, faded lavender, the way the sleeve of his hoodie kept slipping down over your fingers, the way you bit your lower lip when you were concentrating, just slightly, just enough to make something twist low in his stomach.
you emerged victorious with a granola bar, thrusting it toward him like a peace offering.
"eat."
"i'm not hungry."
"ryomen."
and that was it, that was all it took; just his name, falling out of your mouth in that particular tone — not angry, not nagging, just warm and expectant — and sukuna was reaching for the granola bar like his hands had stopped belonging to him. he tore the wrapper open with his teeth because he was still him, still a little feral around the edges, but he ate it.
every last bite, even though he'd genuinely not been hungry, because you'd asked him to.
you smiled at him, small and pleased, and then you turned back to your notes like that was just a normal interaction, like you hadn't just made the most feared man on campus eat his vegetables, metaphorically speaking.
sukuna watched you for another very, very long moment, and then he did something that made the girl at the next table literally drop her phone.
he rested his chin on your shoulder.
it was such a small thing, such an unconscious thing — the way sukuna leaned into your space, his chest pressing against your back, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck. his eyes fluttered half-closed, and he made a sound that was almost a sigh, something low and content that vibrated through both of you. sukuna’s arms came up to wrap around your waist, loose enough that you could still move, still highlight your notes, but present and anchoring.
"you're heavy," you said.
but you were already leaning back into him, your head tilting to give sukuna better access to your neck, and your hand came up to rest over his, your fingers slotting between his like they'd been made to fit there.
"mmh. you're warm," he mumbled against your skin, and his voice was so soft now, so private, like he'd forgotten there were other people in the room entirely.
sukuna’s thumb slowly traced absent patterns on your hip, over and over, a mindless rhythm that he probably didn't even realize he was doing.
a guy at the table across from them — some lanky kid with a beanie and an aura of misplaced confidence — whispered something to his friend, and sukuna's eyes snapped open; just for a second, just long enough to pin the guy in place with a look that said i heard that, and i will remember your face, and you should probably leave now.
the guy left, and his friend followed, looking vaguely nauseous.
you poked sukuna's hand.
"stop terrorizing the other students."
"he was staring."
"everyone's always staring. you're kind of noticeable."
sukuna made a noise that might have been a grunt of acknowledgment. his grip on your waist tightened slightly, and he pressed his face more firmly into the junction of your neck and shoulder, breathing you in. you smelled like vanilla and coffee and that specific laundry detergent you used, the one that made all your clothes smell like clean linen and something floral he couldn't name.
sukuna had started buying it for his own clothes too, which was embarrassing, but no one had to know that.
"you should study," you said, even as your free hand came up to card through his hair.
pink strands slipped through your fingers, surprisingly soft, and sukuna practically melted against you; his whole body went loose and pliant, the tension draining out of him like water from a cracked vase.
"didn't you say you had a paper due?"
"finished it."
"when?"
"this morning. at four."
you stopped moving your hand.
"sukuna."
"don't start."
"four in the morning?"
"couldn't sleep." he said it like it was nothing, like it wasn't a confession, but you knew him too well to let it slide.
you turned in sukuna’s arms, just enough to look at his face, and what you saw there made your chest ache; dark circles under his eyes, barely visible in the phosphorescent light but definitely there. a certain tightness around his mouth that he only got when he was running on empty.
"baby," you said softly, and his expression flickered, cracked, just a little. "why couldn't you sleep?"
sukuna looked away a second time, jaw working, and his hand naturally found yours under the table, fingers interlacing, squeezing once, hard.
"just didn't. it's fine."
"it's not fine. you need to take care of yourself."
"i take care of myself."
"baby, you eat protein bars for dinner and stay up until four in the morning writing papers you could have written during normal human hours."
you cupped sukuna’s face with your free hand, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, and he leaned into the touch like something starved finally finding warmth.
"that's not taking care of yourself. that's surviving."
sukuna didn't say anything for a long moment, he just looked at you, with those eyes that everyone else found so terrifying.
you'd never understood that.
his eyes were just eyes — intense, sure, and the color was unusual, but all you saw when you looked at him was the person who remembered to bring you water when you studied, the person who carried your groceries even when you insisted you could do it yourself, the person who'd stayed up with you until three in the morning last week, not because you'd asked him to, but because you'd had a terrible nightmare and he'd felt it through the wall between your apartments and had shown up at your door in his boxers with a glass of water and a quiet "you okay?"
"i'm not good at this," sukuna finally said, and his voice was rough, scraped raw around the edges. "the whole... being a person thing. i'm not good at it."
"you're good at it with me."
"yeah?
and there it was — that flicker of vulnerability, there and gone so fast you almost missed it. the reminder that beneath all the tattoos and the resting bitch face and the reputation that preceded him like a shadow, ryomen sukuna was just a guy; a guy who didn't know how to take care of himself but would burn the world down to take care of you, a guy who'd learned how to be soft not because you'd asked him to, but because you'd looked at him like he was already soft and he'd wanted so desperately to live up to that.
"yeah," you said, and you kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and brief. "now put your head down. i'm gonna finish this chapter, and you're gonna nap for twenty minutes."
"i don't nap."
"you do now."
sukuna stared at you for a beat, two beats, and then, with a sigh that was mostly for show, he folded his arms on the table and laid his head down, cheek resting on his forearm, and his other hand stayed wrapped around yours, thumb still tracing those absent patterns on your skin.
"twenty minutes," he mumbled, already sounding drowsy. "not a second more."
"whatever you say, baby."
sukuna's eyes drifted closed, and the last thing he saw before sleep pulled him under was you, bent over your notes, highlighter in hand, wearing his hoodie and looking like the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
across the library, someone's jaw was still on the floor.
the pink hydro flask sat between them like a promise, condensation beading on its surface, and sukuna — scary, shitty, tattooed sukuna — smiled in his sleep, just a little, because your thumb was tracing patterns back.
frat boy sukuna keeps a box under his bed — not the kind of box with porn that a frat boy would have.
inside, polaroids. little snapshots he’s collected without you ever posing for them.
you at a party, laughing with your head thrown back. you in his bed, tangled in his hoodie, half asleep. you in the kitchen at 2 a.m. stealing his hoodie again.
frat boy sukuna tells everyone he doesn’t do sentimental, but the box says otherwise. sometimes, when he’s pissed off or too tired to care about anything, he opens it just to stare for a second, thumb brushing over a photo.
when frat boy sukuna in a bad mood, he never says it outright.
no texts, no explanation — just shows up at your door like, “you busy?”
sometimes frat boy sukuna doesn’t even talk. he’ll sprawl out on your couch, let you sit between his legs while you study, head resting against your back.
if you ask what’s wrong, he just mumbles, “needed to see you.”
the frat loves you.
frat boy gojo teases you both constantly, calling you “the president’s weakness.”
frat boy nanami treats you like part of the house because you’re the only one who does the dishes when you come over.
frat boy choso lets you skip the party line and sneak in through the kitchen window.
frat boy geto lets you rant to him about frat boy sukuna, giving you the best advice: "he love you, he just doesn't know how to explain it"
frat boy toji? he’s the only one who takes it too far — throws his arm around you just to see frat boy sukuna glare across the room.
frat boy sukuna acts unbothered, jaw clenched, beer bottle halfway crushed in his hand.
and yuji? he loves you, adores you and calls you auntie every second he can. frat boy sukuna loves it yet why cant he just say the three words?!
his tattoos.
frat boy sukuna never lets anyone touch them yet likes to show them off, but you’re the exception.
one night you’re sitting on his stomach, a handful of markers stolen from frat boy gojo room, colouring the outlines on his arms.
“you’re ruining the art,” he says, but his voice is lazy, soft. his arm stays still so you can keep drawing. whilst the other on your hip rubbing soft circles, making you jolt every once and a while due to his rings.
later, when frat boy sukuna showers, he catches the faint smudges of colour still on his skin and can’t bring himself to scrub them off.
his camera roll? full of you, but hidden deep in an album called “.” yeah, a singluar dot. frat boy sukuna just wants to stay hidden like james bond he says.
blurry shots, little moments you’d never think twice about.
he likes the real ones — you laughing, rolling your eyes, flipping him off. but the ones he love are the ones that look like theyre out of a film.
when frat boy sukuna is away for a weekend game or stuck in class, he scrolls through them like it’s a habit.
you two have a weird almost-relationship routine.
frat boy sukuna does morning texts that just say “coffee?” knowing he'll show up with it no matter what.
frat boy sukuna has post-workout selfies he sends with “you’d look better spotting me.”
frat boy sukuna at nights sometimes will calls at midnight — “come over. not for anything, just… come over.”
you pretend it’s casual, but everyone else knows better.
jealousy comes easy to frat boy sukuna.
if someone talks to you too long at a party, frat boy sukuna appear out of nowhere, hand at your waist, voice low..
“you good, sweetheart?”
you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away.
later, he’ll act like nothing happened, but frat boy sukuna grip on you when you walk home together says everything you needed to ask.
the little things
frat boy sukuna keeps the bracelet you made on his wrist and says he keeps forgetting to take it off. he'll never take it off.
frat boy sukuna learned your coffee order after one hung-over morning and never got it wrong again.
frat boy sukuna leaves his hoodie on your chair before big exams.
frat boy sukuna once told yuji to give you hug when he couldn’t since he was sweaty — yuji told you, frat boy sukuna denied it completely.
late-night moments.
you, half-asleep in his bed, mumbling nonsense. frat boy sukuna watching you, eyes soft, hand brushing your hair out of your face.
the room lit only by his desk lamp, music humming low, everything slow and quiet for once.
“you look at me like that again and i’ll think you actually like me,” frat boy sukuna says, smirk lazy.
“maybe i do,” you whisper, not quite joking. he laughs — low, rough — and mutters, “yeah. maybe i do too.”
everyone knows it’s not official.
but you still end up in frat boy sukuna hoodie every weekend, in frat boy sukuna passenger seat on late drives, in every story his friends tell. and when someone asks frat boy sukuna if you’re together, he just shrugs:
“nah.”
pause
“but she’s mine.”
the mornings after parties are always the same.
you, half-awake, sitting on the counter in one of frat boy sukuna hoodies while he makes black coffee like it’s medicine. he doesn’t ask if you wanna stay the night again. he just slides a mug toward you and says, “drink before you die.”
frat boy sukuna always remembers where you left things. hair clip? in the cup holder of his car. your pen? back pocket of his sweats. he keeps them until you ask because hearing you say, “you still have that?” makes frat boy sukuna grin.
frat boy sukuna on campus he never walks next to you—always half a step behind, scanning. when a group of guys whistles, he doesn’t react, just hooks his thumb through your bag strap and murmurs, “ignore it.” the heat in his voice does the rest.
frat boy sukuna never admits it, but he loves when you study in his room even though theres no space.
you sit cross-legged on the floor with your notes everywhere, and frat boy sukuna lies on the bed pretending to scroll while actually just watching you mouth words under your breath. sometimes he’ll flick a pen cap at you just to get a glare.
when frat boy sukuna out of town for a weekend tournament, he texts like he’s allergic to punctuation.
“made it.”
“hotel sucks.”
“you’d hate it.”
the last one is his version of i miss you.
yet he'll probably never say that unless you did first.
if you’re stressed, frat boy sukuna won’t say comforting things—he just throws his hoodie over your shoulders and mutters, “five minutes of air.” you end up walking the campus loop in silence, the sound of your shoes and his quiet breathing enough to calm you.
sometimes the frat boys use you to get a rise out of frat boy sukuna. frat boy toji winks too much, frat boy gojo flirts on purpose, frat boy nanami invites you to study sessions except he's being serious about them because he needs help. frat boy sukuna never bites, but the muscle in his jaw jumps every time. later, he’ll say, “you really like the attention, huh?” but his hand on your back says he knows the answer.
he keeps one picture of you taped inside his closet door, hidden under a flyer. it’s not posed; you’re laughing, eyes scrunched, wearing his cap backward. every time he’s pulling on a shirt before a party, frat boy sukuna glances at it like a ritual.
frat boy sukuna won’t talk about feelings, but you catch him doing things that scream them—like buying your favourite snack when he stops for pre-workout, or queuing the song you said you liked last week.
sometimes you fall asleep on frat boy sukuna chest and he’ll trace patterns on your arm until he’s sure you’re out, whispering things he’d never say if you were awake. you don’t hear the words, just the rhythm, and pretend you’re still asleep because the way he exhales against your hair feels too good to interrupt.
frat boy sukuna with every argument ends the same way. one of you walking out, the other showing up later with takeout and no apology, just “eat.” the fight disappears somewhere between fries and the look you share when your fingers brush.
when you’re cold, frat boy sukuna will grab your hand and shove it into his hoodie pocket with his own. he says it’s practical, but he doesn’t let go even when you’re inside.
frat boy sukuna always pretends the others annoy him, but when frat boy gojo or frat boy toji tease him about you—“bro, she’s got you soft”—he doesn’t deny it. just rolls his eyes and says, “whatever.” that’s basically a confession.
one night, you’re both sitting on the roof after a party, the house still humming below. frat boy sukuna hands you his drink and says quietly, “don’t ruin this one, okay?” you nod, not sure what he means—himself, you, whatever this thing is—and he smiles like that’s enough.
sukuna and his cute-maxxing girlfriend ꒰꧞ ˃ 𛱊 ˂ ꒱ྀི
★ headcanons for my sukuna fic!
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna who claims he could never be “domesticated” or “tamed” by a woman. or anyone for that matter. which ends up being far from the truth.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna who plays defense on your school’s hockey team: known and feared for practically flipping people upside down with pure strength & playing with unmatched skill on the ice.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna is always equally intense off the ice. discretely watching you from the sidelines whenever you happened to be at one of his practices.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna whose a genius, amazing grades in every subject. chemistry, history, mathematics, you name it. but quite frankly sucks at english.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna who never attempted to actually speak to you. claiming that the two of you were 'just too different to get along'.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna who has no choice but to ask you for help with the final exam… or else he won’t be able to participate in the championship if he fails this class..
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna whose ready to sock anyone in the face if they even dared to look at you funny or said anything remotely negative about you.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna that sulks over the fact he needs tutoring lessons for such an irrelevant subject — but excited at the fact he gets to spend time with you without real reason.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 student athelete!sukuna who feels the weight of guilt for hiding his true intentions from you, even if he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth :(
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who discovers sonny angels for the first time, asking “why they hell are they naked?” — claiming it's the ugliest shit he's ever seen. all while keeping the rabbit you pulled once on him at all times.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who throws the biggest tantrum whenever he doesn’t get his desired character from a blind box. dramatic sighs, muttering about rigged odds: and immediately purchases another until he gets his desired character.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna that started doing hello kitty face mask every sunday thanks to you; grumbling about her “stupid little bow” all while pushing his hair back to make sure the mask is properly placed.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who’d have the cutest stickers stuck to him from your constantly misplaced sticker collection but made no efforts to remove them. tiny hearts on his bicep, smiley faces on his tummy, glittered stickers clinging to his behind.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who lets you decorate his hockey stick, pretending he doesn’t care while secretly loving every sticker, color, and little charm you add. he’d never admit it aloud, but the way he glances at it before practice says it all.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna insists that he go with you everytime you go shopping. following you around various retail ranging from victoria secret to sephora or ulta if that's your thing, helping you pick out the cutest items of clothing and various shades of anything that he thinks will be a cute fit for you.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who tries to assert his dominance in public while carrying your purse like its his own, clinks and jingles echoing everytime he took a step because of your ten thousand keychains.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who’d have no choice but to listen to your cute ass songs in the car and around the house, pretending he wasn’t listening and just to end up humming them weeks later.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who stole your favorite kaomojis and now sends things like (¬_¬") and (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)♡ in texts, claiming you infected his keyboard. he absolutely refuses to admit he has them saved in his notes after he stole them from you.
୨ ⸝⸝ 𖥻 boyfriend!sukuna who still looks intimidating as hell, arms crossed, sharp stare and all, deadly out on the ice — meanwhile his phone wallpaper is a blurry mirror picture of you two with matching face masks. he was whipped ♡.
it's me, im the cute ass gf
more sukuna && his cute gf
sukuna had always found his bitchy student council president hot, especially when you're pointing fingers at him. he convinces himself that you'll be the perfect brat when beneath him— but what happens when he finds out that you're all bark and no bite? the esteemed president, actually an inexperienced princess.
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this was commissioned by anonymous <3
"And then she blocked me!"
"Eh. Deserved."
"Excuse me? Who could ever say no to these baby blues?"
"Blue eyes on a rat don't change a thing now does it?"
Rolling his eyes to the air vents, Sukuna shut his locker in a rattle of metal. Shuffling his duffel bag over his shoulder, he side-stepped to thump the whining, white-haired nuisance beside him with a broad shoulder.
"Kunnnaaa, he's being mean to me," pouted Satoru, throwing an arm over his shoulders and squeezing on his bicep in that not-so-subtle way.
"Well for one, maybe stop sharing your love life with Fushiguro of all people." Sukuna reached a hand out, snatching his friend by the back of his pearly white tresses and wrenching him off. "And secondly, off."
"Don't you love me anymore? Is there someone else? Am I— gasp—" trembling his hands, Satoru raised them to his mouth. Exaggerating his eyes in what he probably thought was cute. "Am I the other woman?"
"More like a skank." Toji grinned, immediately side-stepping a hit that came his way.
Sukuna sighed, deep from his soul that had grown weary dealing with the dumb-and-dumber duo he called his friend group. Unfortunately these knuckleheads were also apart of his team. Guess this was fate.
The hallway bustled with a stream of college stereotypes. The preps and their perfect palettes, prattling as they pranced around. The stoners who propped against lockers on the far end of the hallways, zoned out and scrolling. The nerds with their arrogant stares, standing upright as they beelined for their next class, somehow avoiding collision even with a textbook wedged in their hand. Everyone had their role in this academic ecosystem and moral wasteland.
Role. Stereotype. Stigmatism. Sukuna never quite understood it. How most people plopped themselves into a box with a poorly-scribbled label on the front and called it home.
By definition, he was a jock. Captain of the college's star rugby team. With mean eyes and rough hands. Where girls swooned, guys were scared.
No one expected the jock to be an engineering major. Guess that's the assumption when your enrolment in an institution relied on a sports scholarship.
"Engineering," he remembered how a pretty girl from finance batted her eyes at him in surprise. "Wouldn't have expected that from you."
Sukuna always rolled his eyes at that. And what would anyone expect of an engineering student? Someone more put-together, refined, with a pair of fogged-up glasses and maybe a tight fitting button-up?
He'd never understand it.
"Hey you three, quit loitering."
But he always understood that smooth voice.
He could already see it from his peripheral. Your creaseless blazer shining your badge proudly. The pencil skirt that was exactly three fingers above the knee. Your hair fixed appropriately without a strand straying. The school's code of conduct glinted in your eyes.
Another one who fit her role perfectly. The pretty student council president.
"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.
You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."
Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."
Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.
Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.
Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.
"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."
"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.
You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.
"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."
Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.
Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.
"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.
You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.
"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.
Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.
Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.
The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.
He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.
Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?
He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.
You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.
He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.
Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.
You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.
Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.
The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.
Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.
Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.
The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.
Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.
Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.
And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.
He glanced to the left and sure enough— there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.
Not even your posture was refined— you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.
You stare still on him.
Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.
"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.
Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.
His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."
"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.
It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.
He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"
"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.
His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."
Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?
". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.
Something ticked within him.
His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.
"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.
Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"
"Got a problem with it?
"Watch it. I'm still your president."
"Dirty talking already?"
Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.
It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always did—
Thump!
"What the hell!"
"Ah— sorry. Soorryyy."
Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.
Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.
"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.
Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.
"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.
The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.
"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But it looked like you wanted to.
"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."
Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.
He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.
Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.
You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.
Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.
Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.
Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.
Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.
"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.
You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.
"It's. . . big," you murmured.
And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.
Just a jock. And a princess.
"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.
He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.
Cute.
"Well— yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.
You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.
"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"
"Not unless you want me to watch?"
Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?
"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.
"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"
His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.
Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.
"That's— that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.
He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."
"What's with that name?"
"What?"
He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?
Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.
He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.
His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"
Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.
Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.
He paused for the first time that night.
Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.
Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"
"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."
He blinked.
Spoke in that terribly stark way.
"You a virgin?"
"Must you be so blunt?"
A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.
"Yeah— yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."
He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess was—
"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."
Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once again— or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.
Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?
The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.
Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?
"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.
You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.
That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.
Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.
His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"
Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.
"Obviously! I'm not that—"
His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmed— whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.
It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.
Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.
The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.
"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."
He felt your body lock up against him— then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.
No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.
The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.
"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.
Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.
"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.
Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.
Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.
His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.
You nodded.
"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.
You squeaked. "Yes— yes."
Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.
Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.
He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.
"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.
You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.
He drawled. "Good girl."
Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.
"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breasts— over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.
Red, too.
Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.
He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.
He could get used to this darling side of yours.
A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.
You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.
You twitched when he reached your thigh.
"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."
"I— uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs together— he wedged them apart with a huff.
"Fingers. . . I think."
Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.
No, here? You were just his princess.
"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.
Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.
The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just right—
You pitched a whine.
"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"
"I— Yeah. . . mnn. My clit—"
"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"
Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.
After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finally— finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.
Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.
"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.
"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.
"Ryo—"
"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."
His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.
"Su—" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."
"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."
A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.
The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.
He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.
"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slow— watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"
You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.
So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.
"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little more—
Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.
"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.
"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.
"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.
He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.
He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.
He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spot— there.
"Fuck— there," you whined.
"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Once— twice— maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."
Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.
"I— 'm gonna. . . fuck, kuna—" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'm—"
"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.
"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."
Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.
Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.
His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.
"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.
His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.
His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuck—
Sweet. So fucking sweet.
"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.
So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.
But still speaking, it seemed.
"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.
"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.
He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?
"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.
Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.
His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.
A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"
His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.
"I— hngh. Kuna."
"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"
"Mngh."
His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.
Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.
"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."
Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.
Your hands froze.
So did he.
With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"
Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.
"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if I—"
His eyes softened.
"Nervous?" He murmured.
You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.
Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.
"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."
A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.
The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.
"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."
"I. . . thanks. Thank you."
"For being a decent human being?"
He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.
Fuck. He could get used to this.
"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.
The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.
His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.
"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"
A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.
The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
