Summary - Sukuna spent years building the future he thought you deserved. You spent those same years quietly supporting him and his brothers, Choso and Yuji. Somewhere between success, sacrifice, and unspoken words, he forgot to cherish what he already had. By the time he realizes that home was never the penthouse or the company, you're already gone.
Tags - Yearning Sukuna, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Relationship Problems, Temporary Breakup, Happy Ending (Eventually), Protective Sukuna, Soft Sukuna, Sukuna Has Feelings, Whipped Sukuna, No Cheating, Eventual Reconciliation, Choso & Yuji are Sukuna's younger brothers, non-sorcerers au, slight cursing, Taking Someone for Granted, Sukuna is down bad, Whipped Sukuna, Sukuna losing his mind with regret.
Word count - 6.6k
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You had been there for Sukuna since college. Back when everyone thought he was the biggest asshole on campus, until you realized just how much responsibility he was carrying all alone. Responsibility that was never supposed to be his in the first place. When you first approached him, he reminded you of a wild cat. Angry. Hissy. Ready to scratch anyone who came too close. But deep down... he never really wanted you to leave.
So you didn't.
Slowly, he began trusting you. He started opening up, little by little, and then one day he introduced you to his younger brothers. Choso and Yuji. You adored them instantly, and they welcomed you with tiny, shy smiles that completely melted your heart. Then eventually, with flushed cheeks and slightly trembling hands, Sukuna asked you to be his girl. All that time, you had been convinced you were the only one with a crush on him, so hearing those words felt almost unreal.
His parents had never cared about any of them and had left the three brothers to fend for themselves. Sukuna had been forced to grow up far too early, taking responsibility for Yuji and Choso while he was still just a kid himself. Even in college, he was juggling three jobs just to make ends meet while trying his best not to lose his scholarship. He never had much time back then, but somehow, no matter how exhausted he was, he never forgot about you.
You, on the other hand, came from a wealthy family. Sukuna was never the kind of person who would accept financial help, so you practically had to force him to move into your apartment just so he could stop wasting money on rent. It wasn't even yours to begin with. Your grandmother had gifted it to you. Once he finally gave in, it slowly stopped feeling like two people sharing a place. You felt like you had become a family.
You knew how important his work was to him so you helped him take care of his younger brothers, while also helping Sukuna get his business off the ground until he finally started attracting investors, business partners and greater opportunities. Then, slowly, the business began to grow. He had become someone people wanted to know and impress.
The more successful he became, the busier he got. You tried to understand it but then there were moments, when it felt like you were no longer a part of his world. Slowly the lack of time, efforts and assurance turned your relationship bitter. At one point you couldn't even remember the last time the two of you had laughed together or simply enjoyed each other's company. You guys barely even talked and when you did, they turned into fights. Constantly for months now.
He was always busy with work, meetings, and events, while more and more women kept throwing themselves at him. You understood he couldn't control that part, but it still pissed you off because he reacted like it was no big deal. Like you were overreacting. He used to get visibility irritated when some tried to hit on him before but now it was difficult to recognise him at times. Somewhere along the way, those frustrations slowly turned into suspicions. Were all those business trips really about work? Was there someone else? Did he still love you?
You watched the way women looked at him, with obvious desire in their eyes, not caring that you were standing right there beside him. And honestly you couldn't even blame them. Sukuna was attractive. Painfully so. Tall, handsome, successful, confident, and carrying himself with the kind of quiet authority that naturally drew people's attention the moment he walked into a room. It was almost impossible not to notice.
Some wore polite smiles. Others barely acknowledged your existence. But a few... a few looked at you with that same mocking smile, like they couldn't understand why someone like you was standing next to someone like him. Like you were some naïve little girl who had somehow ended up with a man completely out of her league.
And every single time it happened, a small part of you deep down had started wondering the same thing.
The doubts only seemed to grow stronger. Women - investors, business partners, assistants - kept messaging him, sometimes even late at night. Other times when he would step outside to answer a call, and you couldn't help overhearing a little, he didn't sound annoyed.
If anything, he sounded interested. Or maybe just amused. Like he was playing hard to get. He had changed a lot. And maybe his feelings changed.
It wasn't really his fault... was it?
You had helped him through some of the hardest years of his life. Maybe he stayed because he felt guilty about leaving you, even if deep down he wanted to. At first, the two of you fought all the time, but these past few weeks... even that had stopped. The silence between you had become cold, almost as if neither of you thought the relationship was worth fighting for anymore.
And then he forgot your anniversary. He never even realized it. Or if he did... he didn't seem guilty enough to bring it up.You never reminded him.What was the point? He would've probably shown up with some ridiculously expensive gift, thinking money could fix what had been broken for months. It couldn't.
You had spent years helping raise Sukuna's younger brothers, putting yourself and your own career second because you wanted to help all of them. You missed the girl you were back in college. The girl who was ambitious, who genuinely loved the work she did, who woke up excited for the future. Somewhere along the way, life became everyone else first and you somewhere at the very end. And now you were just tired.
But it was not just Sukuna who had changed. Even Yuji and Choso had.
Choso had always been the shy one. The kind of kid who practically hovered around you but hid behind you whenever someone new spoke to him. At first, you kept telling yourself that maybe he was just growing up. College changed people. He was probably busy trying to find his own friends and his own place in the world.
Yuji was easier to explain too. He was a teenager now. Teenagers changed. They stopped clinging to people and became more independent. That's what you kept telling yourself anyway. But no matter how many excuses you came up with, that strange feeling never really went away. Both of them had slowly become distant.
Yuji, who used to cling to your arm, scold Sukuna on your behalf whenever you two fought, and refuse to let you leave the house without hugging him first, had become someone who barely spoke more than three words to you. He still smiled politely whenever you crossed paths, but that was all they were now. Polite smiles. The kind you gave strangers.
Choso wasn't much different. He no longer hovered around you or quietly followed you into the kitchen just to keep you company while you cooked. Instead, it almost felt like he was avoiding you. At first, you thought maybe you were overthinking it. Then one afternoon, you overheard him talking to a few of his college friends. They were talking about you.
"I mean... she's lucky. Sukuna's loaded now. Must be nice living off all that money while he works day and night."
You paused and waited.
You knew Choso would say something. He knew better than anyone that you had been there long before Sukuna ever had money. So you waited for him to correct them. To defend you. Instead there was silence. Your heart sank. He didn't agree but he didn't disagree either. And somehow, that hurt just as much.
Did Choso think that too? Was that why he had been avoiding you? Not because he was shy anymore, but because he genuinely didn't like you? It suddenly hit you that maybe they had all changed. You had just refused to accept it. You had fed them, helped them with their homework, cleaned up after them, worried about them, celebrated their birthdays, and loved them like they were your own. But what were you to them now? Just some girl living off Sukuna's money? A nanny? A convenience?
You kept telling yourself Choso was just busy with college, trying to find his people, while Yuji was simply acting like every teenager did. Until one afternoon, when you came back from the supermarket. The three of them were sitting together in the living room, eating, laughing, and joking around. They hadn't noticed you standing at the front door yet, your arms full of grocery bags, but something inside you broke that day because, for the first time in months, you saw them laughing the way they used to.
Just...Not with you.
You stood there for a few seconds before finally stepping inside. The laughter stopped almost immediately. The room fell silent, and it felt like a stranger had just walked into a private conversation instead of coming home. Like you no longer belonged there. The only person who spoke was Sukuna.
"There's dinner for you in the oven."
You simply nodded before making your way straight to your bedroom.
You knew you had to talk to Sukuna. You had been putting it off for months, but this couldn't continue anymore. Except... he never came to your room that night. A quiet chuckle escaped your lips as you lay down on the bed. When was the last time the two of you had even gone to sleep together peacefully? Most nights ended in arguments, while the rest ended with him staying in his office until he eventually fell asleep there instead.
As you stared at the ceiling, you remembered something Shoko had told you months ago when the two of you had met. You're doing wife duties while you're still just the girlfriend.It never ends well. Back then, you hadn't listened. Because back then they needed you.
But people changed, and maybe the biggest thing you had failed to realize was that you weren't actually family. You were just convenient. And now that they didn't need you anymore, you couldn't help but feel like a burden more than ever. Sleep never came that night. Sukuna and you barely even felt like you were in a relationship anymore. As difficult as it was to admit, maybe his feelings really had changed. His circle had grown. His world had grown. Deep down, he probably knew he'd be better off with someone else.
Just when you finally gathered the courage to talk to Sukuna, he walked into the bedroom.
"I have to leave now," he said, already reaching for his suitcase. "Business trip."
You simply nodded. He disappeared back out to finish packing when his phone, which he had left on the bed, lit up with a notification.
A woman's name..
She was just one of those women. One of the many who seemed to cling to Sukuna even more whenever you were around, acting as if they knew him better than you did. The conversation would always somehow drift towards business, investors, meetings, and deals, leaving you standing there feeling like an outsider in your own relationship. Then there were the little things. The way her hand always seemed to linger on his arm a little longer than necessary. The way she stood just a little too close. The smiles that almost felt intentional, like she was trying to send you a message without ever saying a word. But she wasn't the only one. There had been others. Too many for you to even remember their names.
‘Let's meet at the same hotel after the meeting.’
Before you could even process what you had read, Sukuna walked back into the room and immediately picked up his phone. It was quick. Almost instinctive. Like he was hiding something.
You didn't feel angry. You didn't even feel like asking him to explain. You had done that before. Every single time it ended the same way. Another fight. Another argument about how you were overthinking things. How you were reading too much into it. How you just needed to trust him.
But you did not trust him anymore. Not after everything had changed. You remembered how he used to get irritated whenever another woman openly flirted with him. Now, it almost felt like he enjoyed it. And you were tired of wondering. Tired of convincing yourself that nothing had changed when everything around you said otherwise.
There were plenty of women interested in him. Women with influence. Women with powerful connections. Women who naturally belonged in the world he had built for himself. You weren't insecure. At least, you didn't think you were. You were just trying to be realistic.
Sukuna had outgrown you. He deserved someone who matched him. Honestly, he might even be relieved when you finally left. That night, Sukuna left for his business trip. You started packing.
There wasn't much that was truly yours anymore. Most of what surrounded you had been bought by Sukuna. At first, they were gifts because he wanted to repay you for standing beside him during the hardest years of his life. Somewhere along the way, they slowly became apologies instead. Expensive gifts after every argument, after every forgotten promise, after every disappointment. You just hadn't realized it back then.
Your eyes drifted to the ring on your finger. A ruby. Your favorite stone.
He had given it to you after landing his first major client almost four years ago. It wasn't an engagement ring. It was a promise ring. A promise that the two of you would get married one day as soon as his business got more stable so you guys could plan a lavish wedding.
Did you even want that anymore? You couldn't honestly say yes. Because love wasn't supposed to make you feel this small. You slowly slipped it off your finger and gently placed the ring inside the bedside drawer.
The next morning, two large suitcases sat by the bedroom door. One held your clothes. The other was filled with your books, important documents, and work files. Two smaller suitcases carried your gadgets and all the little pieces of yourself that had quietly found their place around the penthouse over the years.
Maybe you weren't being as calm as you had convinced yourself you were about this. Maybe you were being just a little petty because you wanted to erase every little trace of you out of his life.
Your shampoo. Your bath bombs. Your soft pink towel. The stupid little decorations you had insisted on buying because they made the place feel warmer. Everything went into a box.
The things you couldn't take with you, you had removed from the apartment entirely. Your old desk. Your bookshelf. Your oversized chair where you spent countless nights working while Yuji and Choso did their homework beside you. Sukuna will get his life back. Without you. Without even the smallest fragments of you left behind. After all, it was only polite.
Before leaving, you decided to have breakfast one last time with Yuji and Choso. You let out a quiet chuckle when both of them seemed to be in a hurry to leave. It took them barely three minutes to finish eating before they were already grabbing their bags and heading towards the door. You simply watched them and had your breakfast.
The two brothers exchanged a confused glance as you didn't say much today. You usually asked them what they had planned, their friends or just about anything but today you were very quiet. They shrugged it off thinking you were just in one of your quieter moods today. They walked toward the door, mumbled their goodbyes and turned to leave.
But you didn't answer.
That made them pause. Yuji looked back first. You were staring at the family picture hanging on the wall. The one you had insisted on framing years ago. Back then, all you could see was your family.
Now all you saw was a family of three brothers and a woman who was about to become someone they used to know. Eventually, you would just become another stranger from their past. You weren't going to fool yourself into believing Yuji or Choso would want to keep in touch with you after this. They barely spoke to you anymore. Some days you didn't even see them because they stayed over at friends' houses. You only knew the names of a few friends because they occasionally came over.
"Y/n?"
Yuji's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked over at him as you replied. "Yeah?"
No smile.
"We're leaving."
"Okay."
Your face remained blank. No ‘Take care’, No ‘Don't do anything stupid’.
Nothing. Both of them frowned. It felt... strange.
Choso hesitated before quietly asking, "You okay? You seem distracted."
His eyes shifted towards the family picture you had been staring at. You finally gave them a small smile as you looked away.
"Yeah. I was just thinking it's time to change this old picture."
The two brothers simply nodded before leaving. It was unusual. But they were already running late. As soon as they left you got up and carried your suitcases down to the car. After one trip, you came back upstairs to check the penthouse one last time.
You looked around and there wasn't a single thing left that belonged to you anymore. The apartment looked exactly the way it had before you ever moved in.
Like a luxury hotel.
Only one thing remained. The family picture.
You walked over and carefully took it off the wall. As soon as it was in your hands, every bit of anger and frustration you had been holding back came rushing to the surface. Your fingers tightened around the frame as tears silently rolled down your cheeks. You remembered the day you had proudly hung it above the fireplace. You remembered Choso's shy smile and Yuji excitedly pointing at himself in the picture.
You couldn't take it with you. But you did not want to leave it here either. It didn't belong above that fireplace anymore. In a sudden burst of anger, you threw it onto the floor. The glass shattered across the room.
After a moment of satisfaction, you let out an exhausted groan.
Great. Now I have to clean it up.
Those idiots would probably end up cutting themselves trying to do it. Just then, your phone buzzed. A message from Sukuna.
‘Choso and Yuji will be staying at their friends' place and will return next week.’
You stared at the screen for a second before letting out a hollow laugh. They hadn't even bothered telling you when you just saw them now. But why are you even surprised anymore? You were not family to them, at least not anymore.
You threw the broken frame into the bin. And gave the photograph one final look, before you walked over to the stove.
And burned it.
Like it had never existed before you finally walked out of the penthouse. Away from the life you had built. And the life you had only convinced yourself was yours.
You had your own money. More than enough, actually. You had never actually stopped working. You still had your own assets and investments, and although you had slowed down over the years, you continued taking independent projects from home whenever you had the time. You had simply spent so much of that time giving everyone else their share of you that your own dreams had quietly been pushed aside.
That was going to change now.
A friend owned an apartment nearby and handed you the keys without hesitation. You moved in that very day. There wasn't much to organize since it came fully furnished, so by evening you found yourself shopping for an entirely new wardrobe. Professional clothes. Clothes that made you feel like yourself again. You signed up for a gym too. Not because you were unhappy with how you looked, but because you missed feeling strong.
Besides, working out had always been your way of clearing your head. It gave you a reason to eat better, stay active, and focus on yourself again. For the first time in months... You were excited. Everything felt new.
The following day, you sat down and mapped out the next six months of your life. Registering your company. Legal paperwork. Finance. Marketing. Every little detail had already been planned years ago back in college. Somewhere along the way, you had forgotten about that dream.
Now... It was finally beginning.
You slept well that night. You had already grown so used to sleeping alone these past few weeks that it didn't even feel strange anymore. There was a lot you were looking forward to.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday morning
Choso picked Yuji up before heading back to the penthouse together. The moment they stepped inside, both of them instinctively looked towards the dining table, expecting to see you already sitting there, probably waiting for them to finally wake up so breakfast could begin.
Instead the house was quiet. It felt strange.
"Maybe she went out," Yuji mumbled with a small shrug as he looked around for you, before making his way towards his room. Choso silently followed behind him.
As they walked upstairs, both of their eyes drifted towards the empty space above the fireplace. The family picture was still gone. A small frown settled on both their faces. The whole place looked weird without it.
After changing, the two brothers wandered back downstairs, grabbed a box of cereal, and sat across from each other at the dining table. Both were lost in their own thoughts before Choso finally spoke.
"...Did she message you over the weekend?"
Yuji looked up immediately. He didn't even need to ask who Choso was talking about.
"No." He frowned. "I honestly thought my phone was broken or something."
Choso slowly nodded, absentmindedly pushing the cereal around his bowl.
"I was expecting at least two calls," he admitted quietly. "She didn't even text."
Yuji stayed silent.
"...She didn't seem okay that day either," Choso continued after a moment. "Where is she so early anyway?"
Yuji shrugged. "Maybe she's with Sukuna?"
The two brothers looked at each other before nodding. That made the most sense. Anything else, didn't.
Just then, Sukuna finally returned from his business trip. He walked in carrying lunch. Your favorite. You had left his "Good morning" message on read earlier that day. It had felt more like a formality than anything else, especially since he had spent most of the weekend buried in work anyway. He figured you were still upset with him, so he had picked up your favorite food on the way home, hoping it might at least get you to talk to him.
The moment he stepped inside, his eyes instinctively searched the apartment. He expected to see you. Instead he found Yuji and Choso sitting silently at the dining table.
His brows furrowed.
"Where is she?" he asked as he placed the takeaway bags on the table before looking around the place.
Yuji looked just as confused.
"Isn't she with you?"
"I just got back from a work trip. How the hell could she be with me?"
Choso slowly looked up.
"...She hasn't been home since morning."
Sukuna's head snapped towards him.
"And you're telling me that just now?" His voice came out much harsher than he intended as he immediately pulled his phone out. "Did either of you at least call her?"
The two brothers exchanged guilty looks before quietly shaking their heads. They had both assumed you'd be back by now. Muttering a curse under his breath, Sukuna immediately called you.
You didn’t answer. He called again.This time the call disconnected, only for a message to appear a few seconds later.
‘I'm busy with some work.’
He stared at it for a second before quickly typing back.
‘Where are you? At least tell me when you'll be home.’
No reply. Another minute passed. Still nothing. Sukuna let out a frustrated sigh before slipping his phone back into his pocket.
"She's busy."
He gestured towards the food.
"I brought food. Eat."
The three of them sat down in silence. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere, Sukuna finally spoke.
"What did you two do over the weekend, brats?"
"Nothing much," Yuji answered quietly. "Just hung out with friends."
Normally he would've rambled for another five minutes after that. But today he spoke nothing else. Sukuna glanced towards Choso.
"And you?"
"...Same."
Another silence settled over the table before Choso quietly looked down at the pasta in front of him.
"...She makes this much better."
Yuji nodded in agreement. Sukuna rolled his eyes, already about to make some sarcastic remark, when his gaze drifted towards the fireplace.
He paused.
"...Where did that picture go?"
Yuji looked over. "Oh."
"She said it was getting old. She must have taken it down to replace it."
Sukuna frowned. Old? You loved that picture. You had always gone on about how it was your favorite one in the house. Now the wall looked very empty. For some reason, it bothered him more than it should have.
"When did she say that?"
Yuji thought for a second.
"...Thursday morning."
Choso quietly added. "That was the last time we talked to her."
Something heavy settled in Sukuna's chest.
"Did..." Yuji hesitated before asking quietly, "...did you guys fight?"
Choso glanced towards him before adding,
"...She didn't look okay that day."
Sukuna frowned.
"...You're telling me she didn't call either of you the entire weekend?"
Both brothers slowly shook their heads.
That wasn't like you. No matter how bad things got between the two of you, you never dragged Yuji or Choso into it. You always made sure they were okay, especially whenever they stayed somewhere else. You always checked if they had eaten, if they reached safely, if they needed anything.
So why...
"I'll fix it."
It came out more like a promise to himself than to anyone else. He stood up, phone already in his hand, sending you another message.
Call me when you're free
Then he sat back down, staring at the screen as if somehow that would make it ring faster. A few minutes later, it finally did. Sukuna answered the phone almost immediately.
"What do you want?"
He frowned at your detached tone. It was cold. Polite. Like he was talking to a stranger. He deserved that much. Honestly, at this point he wasn't even sure what exactly you were still mad about anymore. Somewhere along the way, every fight had blurred into the next until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began.
"Look..." he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, alright?"
"Okay."
The reply came so quickly it almost caught him off guard. No arguing. No sarcasm. No telling him to go to hell.
Just ‘Okay’ Somehow, that felt worse. He continued anyway.
"Please just come home so we can sort this out."
There was a long pause. Long enough for him to wonder whether the call had disconnected. Then he heard you sigh as you realised he still hadn't noticed it yet.
"Sukuna..."
Your voice was calm. Too calm.
"I'm not coming back."
He frowned.
"What do you mean?...Are you staying at Shoko's? Just tell me where you are."
He assumed just like every other time, you will still stay. Maybe not happily, but you always did. Even when you were furious. Somewhere deep down, he had always known why.
Yuji.
Choso.
No matter how angry you were with him, you never let it affect them. But this time was different. And he was yet to realise it.
"Sukuna..." You took a slow breath before saying the words that had been sitting on your chest for days.
"I moved out."
Silence. You could hear his breathing. Nothing else. It was almost like his brain had refused to process what you had just said.
"...What?"
"I moved out."
"What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped, his voice suddenly rising. "I get that you're mad, but don't fucking joke like this."
You leaned your head back against your office chair, closing your eyes for a moment. You already knew he wasn't going to make this easy. Not because he loved you. Because you had become a habit. And habits were hard to break.
"I already moved out," you repeated quietly. "Three days ago."
Sukuna slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. His eyes wandered around the room. For the first time he actually looked.
Your desk. Gone.
The chair you always curled up in while reading. Gone.
Your books. Gone.
The little decorations you insisted made the room feel warmer. Gone.
It was so subtle that he hadn't noticed before. Now it looked like you had never lived there at all. His breathing became uneven. His hand started trembling as he stood up and walked towards the wardrobe. He pulled the door open.
Almost empty.
Only the expensive things he had bought you over the years were still hanging inside. His chest tightened painfully. Suddenly it felt too real.
"B-Baby..." His voice cracked for the first time. "Where are you?"
You stayed silent. He swallowed hard.
"Please." The word came out so quietly you almost didn't hear it.
"Think about Choso." Another pause. "...about Yuji."
Your voice remained calm. "They'll still have you... and that's enough. I know you'll all be alright."
Something inside Sukuna snapped. "NO!"
His voice echoed through the bedroom.
"YOU DON'T GET TO DECIDE THAT!"
His breathing had become ragged.
"YOU DON'T GET TO JUST LEAVE AND TELL ME WE'LL BE OKAY WHEN YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WE WON'T!"
For the first time since the call had started, anger finally surged through you. How dare he. How dare he act like this now? Like none of this had been his fault? A quiet, bitter chuckle escaped your lips.
"You were doing just fine all this time," you replied softly. "Even when I wasn't."
He froze.
"So why pretend now?" Your voice cracked just slightly. "Why are you acting like we weren't already over?"
A tear slipped down his face before he even realized it was there. He knew things had gotten bad. He knew the two of you had been fighting more than either of you were smiling lately. Every misunderstanding seemed to turn into another argument, every conversation into another disappointment. But somewhere, somehow, he had convinced himself that no matter how ugly things got...
You would still be there. He had taken that for granted.
"But..." His voice broke. "You can't just leave. We are family. You don;t get to do this" He didn't even know what he was saying anymore. "We have to at least try. We can fix this." He shook his head desperately, like if he refused to accept it hard enough, everything would somehow go back to normal. "Please... just give me one more chance. I swear I'll -"
You had heard it before. You had done this dance before. It always ended the same way. A few days of trying. A few promises. Then work took over again, another misunderstanding happened, and before you knew it, you were right back where you started. Now you couldn't believe him anymore. Not even if a part of you wanted to.
"Check your bedside drawer," you said quietly. "I left you something."
Your voice was so calm that it scared him. With trembling hands, he walked over to the bedside table. Somewhere deep down he already knew as he slowly pulled the drawer open.
His breath caught. There it was. Your ruby ring.
The one he had spent months saving for after landing his first major client. He still remembered how nervous he had been handing it to you, promising that one day he'd replace it with a real engagement ring. He remembered how brightly you had smiled, teasing him that he had somehow managed to remember your favorite gemstone. Now it was lying alone inside the drawer.
Returned.
The promise had been returned with it. He understood exactly what you were trying to say. You didn't trust him anymore. You didn't believe in him anymore. You didn't believe in the relationship anymore. His trembling hand held onto the bed as another sob escaped him.
Ryomen Sukuna.
The man who hadn't cried when his parents abandoned them. The man who hadn't cried while working three jobs just to keep food on the table. The man who had built an entire company from nothing with his own hands. Was now crying so hard he could barely breathe.
You had left.
The one person who had stayed beside him when he had absolutely nothing. The one who never looked down on him. The one who made sure Yuji and Choso always smiled. The one who had somehow turned a tiny apartment into a home..
"You..." His voice came out as nothing more than a broken whisper. "...You can't just leave us."
Your eyes filled with tears again. "We don’t belong together anymore, Sukuna. And I've accepted it. You should too."
And before he could say another word, you ended the call.
"No... no..."
His hands shook violently as he called you back. Again and again. Straight to voicemail. He sent a message. No reply. His breathing became more frantic as he looked around the bedroom again.
It wasn't just your clothes. Everything that had belonged to you was gone. Even your favorite blanket. It suddenly looked like no one had ever lived there besides him. Like you had erased yourself from the apartment...And from his life.
A strangled sound escaped his throat before rage exploded through him. He grabbed the chair nearest to him and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the wall, knocking a lamp onto the floor where it shattered instantly. His breathing became heavier. His vision blurred with tears.
He ripped the curtains down with one violent pull before punching the wardrobe hard enough to leave a dent in the wood. Nothing mattered. None of it. Not the penthouse. Not the company. Not the money. None of it meant a damn thing if you weren't there to come home to.
The crashing downstairs was loud enough that Yuji and Choso came running.
"Sukuna!"
"What happened?"
The two brothers stopped dead in the doorway. The room looked like a disaster. Broken glass covered the floor. The chair lay on its side. The curtains had been ripped down.
Their older brother stood in the middle of it all, breathing heavily, tears streaming down his face. Neither of them had ever seen him like this. Choso was the first to find his voice.
"...what’s wrong?"
Sukuna slowly turned around. His eyes were red. Broken. Empty.
"She left."
Neither of them moved.
"She's..." His voice cracked again. "...She's not coming back."
The room fell completely silent. Yuji felt the color drain from his face. Choso's heart dropped into his stomach.
What? Why?
Neither of them moved. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Sukuna's uneven breathing.
"...When?" Yuji finally managed to ask. Sukuna stared blankly ahead.
"Thursday."
Both brothers froze.
"...Thursday?" Choso frowned.
Choso slowly sat down, trying to make sense of it all.
"She..." His voice caught in his throat. "She was saying goodbye."
The family picture. You were not making conversation. You were saying goodbye.
"No..." Yuji whispered, shaking his head. "No... she wouldn't just leave."
He immediately looked towards Sukuna. "You called her back, right?"
Sukuna nodded. "She won't answer."
"Text her."
"I did."
"Call her again then!"
"I HAVE!"
The words echoed through the room before Sukuna immediately looked away, dragging a trembling hand over his face. His voice had become hoarse.
"I don't know where she is."
That sentence hit the two brothers harder than anything else. After everything, he didn't even know where you were. This hadn't been some impulsive decision after another fight.
You had packed. Found another place to live. Taken everything that truly belonged to you. You hadn't left because of one argument. You had been leaving for months. He had simply been too blind to notice.
For years, he had convinced himself that everything he was doing was for you. Ever since college, the only thing on his mind had been becoming someone worthy of standing beside you. You came from a family that could give you almost anything, while he came from nothing. Somewhere along the way, he had convinced himself that if he just worked hard enough, earned enough, became successful enough, then one day he would finally be able to give you the life you deserved.
So he worked. And worked. And worked.
He tolerated investors he couldn't stand, business dinners he hated, and people he would've gladly thrown out if his company wasn't still growing. Every fake smile, every forced conversation, every handshake was another step towards the future he wanted to build with you.
He never as much as thought about anyone else, forget cheating. The women never mattered. Not one of them. They couldn't even compare to you.
To him, they were nothing more than another inconvenience that came with success. He had simply become better at hiding his irritation because losing his temper every time someone flirted with him wasn't an option anymore. The company was still growing. Investors watched everything. One wrong move, one public scene, and years of work could disappear overnight. So instead of barking back the way he used to, he learned to hide it behind subtle gestures, cold stares, short replies, and ending conversations as quickly as possible.
He thought he was protecting your future. Instead he had forgotten to protect your present. He had forgotten to cherish the person he was trying so desperately to build that future for.
The room remained silent.
However Sukuna hadn't been the only one who had changed.
As his company grew, so did the attention around Yuji and Choso. Former classmates who barely acknowledged them when they struggled suddenly wanted to be friends. Some wanted favors. Others simply wanted to be associated with Sukuna's name. There were arguments, fights, and people trying to use them because of who their brother had become. Sukuna quietly handled most of it before it ever reached you.
The brothers stopped coming to you with every little problem. Not because they stopped thinking of you as family. Because they did not want to bother you even more..
Years ago, they remember overhearing your parents arguing with you, telling you that you spent too much of your life taking care of three boys who weren't even your responsibility. Those words made them realise how much they owed to you.
And without meaning to, they started carrying things on their own. They stopped asking for help. Spent more time outside. Tried to solve their own problems. Tried to become someone you could be proud of instead of another responsibility you had to look after.
Neither of them realized that every small step they took towards becoming independent looked, from where you were standing, like another step away from you. And by the time any of them understood what had happened...
You were already gone.
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I've been busy with this story for a while now. This one might have 1 or 2 more parts. Let me know your thoughts!
How many of you want to see Sukuna yearn for her so badly that he completely loses his mind after realizing what he's lost?
\( ᐖ)/ heianera!sukuna’s wife has been ignoring him, and he won’t have it
“Has she eaten?”
Uraume stands reverently at Sukuna’s side, flat gaze fixed ahead of them. “No, My lord. She has yet to leave her quarters.”
Sukuna grunts something under his breath, then dismisses his attendant who shuffles across the threshold of the lattice frame doors and disappears past the translucent sheets.
It’s quiet. Especially without your routine complaints or gossip of the shrine’s happenings. His breakfast tastes notably pungent this morning, the fisherman who refused to pay tribute at this month’s offering no longer as appetizing as he looked when he begged for mercy at Sukuna’s feet. Like a petulant child, he pushes his tray away from him and gathers his kimono to hoist himself up.
You haven’t said a word to him in three days. Any longer and the two of you might never speak again.
It’s juvenile—offering your Lord the cold shoulder like some inconsolable child. For fuck’s sake, he’s the strongest sorcerer in history. The undisputed King of Curses. Why is his attention anchored on a mere spiff? A lover’s quarrel?
No. He will sort this once and for all.
You’ve had enough time to sort out your emotions. The two of you will speak again today if he has a say in it. Which he does.
Promptly, he arrives outside your chambers. There’s not a sound coming from inside. For all he knows, you were assassinated in your sleep, stubborn and set on sleeping in separate rooms.
Sukuna doesn’t knock. The entitled man just slides the door open, inviting himself into your space.
Sukuna quickly realizes maybe he shouldn’t be as reckless as he’s feeling—only met with the sight of two irises piercing daggers into him.
You’re half-naked, sliding yourself into your kimono and brushing your unruly hair from your face.
But, no. Sukuna’s not focused on your pinched up and twisted expression that’s making a show to scowl at him. His attention is fully honed in on your body. Not because he wants to tear that stupid kimono off of you and devour you like he has for the past couple of lonesome nights. Even the worst fights ended with you sprawled beneath him—tears staining your cheeks while you screamed his name in pure bliss.
His crimson slits are dragging over your swollen and perky breasts, rounded out more than normal. The slight pouch of your belly. The second heartbeat jumping behind it.
Huh.
“Where is Furi? Were my instructions to her of not allowing any visitors in unclear?” you practically shout, working to tie your obi sash in haste. Perhaps you do not wish to spend another moment in his presence.
Sukuna slips inside, sliding the door shut and crossing his arms over his chest. He feels his temper simmer to a manageable level. If anything, your spat from the other night is inconsequential. Truly, he doesn’t even remember what the two of you argued about. His long hours away from the shrine? A servant who stared at him too long? His tendency to be a brute with the people of his domain? It’s usually one of the three.
“I was unaware that I was a visitor in my own shrine,” he retorts, head tilting as he gives you a slow appraisal with all four eyes. “Have you done something new with your hair?” he smirks, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
“Go find a scythe to fuck yourself on,” you curse, a pout on your lips as you stare at yourself in the mirror, clearly unsatisfied with the reflection staring back.
“Maybe I should,'“ he practically purrs out, a curl on his lips as he motions to leave your room.
He stops in place when your gaze flies towards him, doe eyes tinged red and filled with tears. You must have been crying all night, your cheeks swollen and eyelids puffy.
“Woman,” Sukuna starts slow, still marveled at the fact that you have domesticated him into rationality. “Use your words. I may be the strongest creature in all the lands, but what I am not is a mind reader,” he growls, gaze thinning in tepid vexation.
The corner of your lips twitch downward, before a tear slips down your cheek. You suck in a shaky breath, before staring at your reflection once again with disgust. “Something’s wrong with me, Ryomen,” you whisper, voice wavering. “I keep crying. Nothing tastes good anymore. I want to hit and kick you one minute, and then feel your kisses on my throat while you press me into the futon.”
You bite your lip, Sukuna’s form swallowing the background as he hovers over you from behind. Like they belong there, his lower pair of hands settle on your waist, while the other pair shift to correct the poorly tied obi.
Sukuna’s words, vulgar and rash and mean, are an absolute to his actions. Gentle. Loving. Tender.
Leaning down, he presses a kiss against your pulse point, feeling it jump under his teeth. Then, he whispers. Tone husky, a low timbre. “We’ve been fucking like dogs, little bird. When did you last bleed?”
You tense up, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you sort out your thoughts. “Oh my… N-no, I bled when… when that servant tried to poison you,” you stutter out, picking at your fingernails.
Sukuna can feel your heartbeat picking up as you begin to panic. Two hands find yours, large and calloused thumbs brushing over your supple skin. “That was well over a month ago. How incompetent are your servants that they haven’t noticed?”
You turn to face him, feeling more tears well up, running across your waterline. “I prefer to tend to m-my own sheets.”
Sukuna, a beast of a human, has to hold back his laughter from his wife whose about three seconds away from a breakdown. It is comical just how asinine you can be. Nonetheless, Sukuna has a strong incentive to see you joining him for breakfast again.
“Had I known you women were so complicated, I would have rethought this matrimony,” he grunts against your ear, a hand at your waist sliding up your belly.
“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you mutter stubbornly. You lean back against your husbands broad chest, inhaling deeply, breath shaking. “Us. You’re stuck with us.”
Sukuna’s gaze squints, ears twitching as he picks up on both the beat in your chest and the one in your belly. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice takes you aback. “Neither did I. Do you think we will be good at it?”
“You will,” he states with the utmost confidence, dragging your hair past your shoulder to inhale the scented oil dabbed on your nape. “You are a world’s more merciful than I am.”
You giggle, slapping his hand and allowing him to squeeze you in your intimate places, decorating your skin with short kisses. “That is true.”
The both of you stand there in silence. You and Sukuna never needed to fill the gaps with meaningless words, simply finding comfort in each other’s company. He’s nervous, you can see it in the tight expression he wears. And your pulse hasn’t slowed since you’d learned of what’s blossoming in your womb.
But you have each other. In a world full of curses and strife, Ryomen Sukuna and you managed to find worshiping devotion in one another that triumphs all.
SMAU: in which the men talk to their friends after an argument with you
Warnings: a little angst but mostly fluff/crack, a little suggestive language, established relationship, intended to see how they talk about you to others, not proofread
Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna
[𝜗℘] :: finding out that true form!sukuna had indulged in another concubine while you were gone.
tags. concubine!reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive. size diff. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’. kuna’s an asshole. no part 2 :: wc. 3.3k
you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.
perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.
missing someone.
it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.
he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.
and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.
they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.
“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”
you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.
yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.
the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.
“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”
you freeze.
your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.
guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.
“what?”
you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.
so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?
of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.
you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.
“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face.
she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.
the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses. the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.
“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame.
she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it’s a dream come true.
though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.
the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.
you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.
“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare.
both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”
“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists.
you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.
you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.
maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.
a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.
although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.
he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.
“out of the way.”
you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.
the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.
you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.
no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.
“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out.
sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.
he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”
sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.
“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm.
there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.
on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.
one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.
he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.
that’s exactly what you’re upset about.
there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.
there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.
he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.
you cannot rule over him or his mind.
“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material.
he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.
you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.
“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh.
you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.
your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.
you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.
“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation.
you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.
the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru.
he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”
and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.
sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.
normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.
either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.
sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.
he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.
when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.
keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.
sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.
he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.
every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.
nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.
it doesn’t hit the same.
you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.
sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.
if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.
it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.
sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.
“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”
the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.
you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.
you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.
‘know your place,’
that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.
this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.
“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips.
he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.
“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”
another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.
it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.
“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence.
you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.
sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.
he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.
“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room.
your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.
you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.
unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle.
“fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.
you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.
you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.
you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.
meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?
his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.
sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.
he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.
sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.
he can’t do that now.
well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.
perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.
[Heian!Sukuna x Fem!Reader // Major angst, character death // short drabble-ish]
Author's note: I love vengeful Sukuna
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs & comments are all appreciated𑣲⋆
You had always believed a lifetime with Sukuna meant eternity. Perhaps, you had been acutely aware that one day you might grow grey and frail. But Sukuna easily pushed the thoughts from your mind with lavish gifts and goddess-like treatment.
You wondered though, if he thought about you in that manner. Not often, but in the quiet spaces of your life as you reflected on the time you spent together. You wondered if the thought that you might become less of a partner and more of a liability to him over time had ever crossed his mind. That one day, you might become someone who needed to be cared for rather than someone who could stand next to him as an equal. If he had ever considered it, he never made it apparent.
The thought used to make your stomach turn, admittedly, but now as you laid in bed the thought could only bring a gentle smile to your face. You felt stupid. The fruitlessness of those thoughts left a bitter taste in your mouth as you laid bedridden and dying in your marital bad, only in your thirties. You had barely a grey hair, and yet your body was already failing you. Your mouth felt heavy with irony, so much so that you struggled to speak.
You were cut off before you could even think to share your thoughts with your husband.
"We will find the perpetrator, Lord Ryomen, they cannot be far-"
"Leave us," Sukuna's voice held a deep vibrato that seemed to rumble through the surrounding walls. You had heard it before, threatening and etched with malice. It shook you more now though. having never heard him sound so callous toward Uraume of all temple-goers.
"My Lord..."
"Leave us. Now."
His order came in a serpentine hiss as his hand clutched yours, punctuated only by the shuffling of robes as Uraume retreated. His hand tightened around yours at your fidgeting and if you didn't know him better, you might've thought your bones would snap under the pressure.
To weak to open your eyes you sunk deeper into cold, velvet sheets and hummed, "Don't take it out on Uraume, S'kuna..."
He huffed at your order and rebutled it with his own, "Quiet. Conserve your strength. And stop shuffling. The more you exert yourself the fast your heart will pump that filth around your body."
That filth.
The poison supposedly slipped into your evening meal, strategically tainted on the night of Sukuna's absence as he visited a Western province. He had raced home on horseback at the news of your collapse and it made you feel almost guilty. You were sure you had interrupted some important political meet that you had no previous interest in.
You thought about the servants downstairs, clumsily searching for anything that might aid your condition. You supposed it didn't matter, though. Your breaths were already laboured and something ugly was brewing behind Sukuna's eyes.
"What are you thinking about, dove?" He muttered, bringing you limp hand to his lips. His body dwarfed yours as he planted soft kisses unto your palm and up your wrist. It felt like a goodbye. It made you feel ill.
"Us," you admitted, voice tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry, Sukuna."
He shook his head with an amused chuff, though you could register the pain behind it, "Stupid woman. Apologise for nothing. You are a queen," he pressed one last, devastatingly soft kiss to the weakening pulse-point on your wrist. "My Queen."
It was early in the morning when you exhaled your last breath. A painless death-rattle that Sukuna couldn't help but be thankful for in a way that made him nauseous. The idea that the only reprieve he had was that you had gone comfortably curdled in the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps that was some sick mercy from the Gods above?
It didn't feel like it. In fact, it felt as though the beings above him were mocking his very being. Ripping his beloved from him as if she wasn't the only thing he would protest to have stolen.
The thoughts made clouds form behind his eyes as a punishing silence suffocated him, engrossed in the stillness of your body. It felt so unnatural, so wrong and perverse to see you like this.
Slow patters of rain splattered from the heavens and off the engawa outside, providing a soft song as he held you close; still warm and clinging to his kariginu. Somewhere in his twisted mind, the act felt wretched and intentional. As if the God's themselves has accompanied your loss with their own laughter in the form of the soft rain-pellets, a melody you used to comfortably sleep to now tainted by their mockery of the cursed being below them.
"Uraume?"
They appeared as if they had never left, "Yes, my Lord?"
sukuna wasn’t supposed to be there that night.
especially not after all the shit that’d went down with you—the screaming, the yelling, the words he hadn’t meant to say but said anyway. he’d fucked up. badly. he knew that, everyone knew that, you sure as hell knew that, and the worst possible thing he could’ve done was show up that soon—before you’d had a chance to calm down and actually consider forgiving him, but he’d done it anyway.
“did you have to?”
you’re sitting beside him now, knees brought up to your chest as you sit on the sand, the waves crashing but never getting close enough to reach you. he’s got a cigarette between his fingers, legs stretched out, eyes trained on you. all of your shared friends were behind you by the bonfire, well away from the water and the heavy silence you hated so much.
“have to what?”
“do everything you did,” your fingers trace over the rim of the bottle you held. “you weren’t invited yesterday.”
“i know.”
“i didn’t want you there.”
“i know.”
you pause, shifting to glance up at him.
“i hate you.”
you’re not sure if it’s guilt, or remorse, or pure disinterest in his gaze as he stares at you.
“i know.”
“then why are you here, sukuna?” he tenses at that, at the usage of a name that you’d never once used before. “i don’t need you anymore—you’re acting like we’re—”
“like we’re what? together?” his jaw clenches, wind brushing past and tousling his hair. “it’s you who can’t stay away.”
“don’t pin this on me.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
you’re tired. he can tell. you’re too tired to raise your voice, you’re too tired to try. he sees the smudges of dark under your eyes, he sees the rushed eyeliner and the languidness of your movements—and it’s his fault. it really is.
“you don’t even think before you speak,” you say, turning to stare in front of you instead, as if you couldn’t stomach looking at him. “you haven’t apologized, you haven’t even tried to. you show up, say the worst things imaginable then kiss me as if it’ll fix everything.”
“i’m sorry.”
the smallest scoff of amusement escapes your lips, “yeah fuckin’ right.”
“i told you i’m shit at relationships and you got with me anyway.”
“which is why i gave you a second chance. and a third, and a fourth, and a—”
“fifth, whatever,” he finishes for you. “i’m not saying i need you to forgive me, i just pity you, that’s all.”
“you what?”
“you’re all depressed. you got your hopes too high, and i warned you about—”
“you’re un-fucking-believeable,” sand sprays as you stand, and he’s up in an instant, catching your wrist. “this is what i just said. you don’t think before you speak—didn’t you learn in pre-school?! or did you drop out of that too?”
“baby—”
“ryo, leave.”
“i’m—”
“you're sorry? do i look like i give a shit?” you tug out of his hold, walking away, back towards your friends and the warmth of that bonfire. “this was your chance. you were supposed to apologize, or maybe even just admit you miss me and make some speech like satoru always does as a joke.”
“like satoru? you want me to be like gojo fucking satoru? you want me to get on my knees and beg for you?”
“try it. it might help.”
“you’re not worth getting on my knees for.”
you pause, hand clenching around the neck of the bottle.
he freezes.
“i didn’t mean that.”
the glass shatters against his shoulder as you throw it, shards slicing through his shirt to his skin. he doesn’t even wince, he can’t bring himself to give you the satisfaction of seeing it.
“are you serious?”
“i’m not worth getting on your knees for?!”
“i didn’t mean that.”
“you never mean anything you say.”
“what’s that supposed to mean?” he takes a step forward, and you flinch back. “are you saying i never loved you? are you saying i didn’t mean that either?!”
“i don’t even know what’s genuine anymore!”
blood soaks through his shirt, and he’s staring at you in pure disbelief. the bonfire behind you has gone silent, and your eyes flicker to the glass that’s sinking into the sand.
“i love you.”
“you don’t mean that.”
“i’ll do it. i’ll get on my knees for you.”
“leave me alone.”
“i’ll get on my knees and beg you to stay. i should’ve done that the first time i fucked up, and the second, and third, and fourth and—”
“i’m not doing this with you anymore.”
“baby,” he reaches for you again, searing pain coursing though him "i need you. i can’t function—i can’t fucking live without you. you know i mean that.”
“do i?”
“please.”
“y/n!” ieiri and yuki are calling, but you’re frozen, halfway between him and halfway between the rest of the world.
his eyes, still low, still lidded because of the weed he’d smoked earlier in the night, are pleading. they’re laced with vulnerability. with raw, undiluted emotion that looks so unfamiliar on his face.
“please,” he says, and your fingers curl around nothing. “i’m sorry. you’re worth it. you’ve always been worth it—you’re worth everything i have—”
“ryo.”
“baby please.”
you see it then. the tears. you see the way he’s pausing between every word, trying to find the right thing to say like he should’ve done from the moment you’d gotten together.
but he hadn’t, and it was too late now.
“ryo,” he tilts his head back, blowing out a breath as you lower your hands back to your sides. “i don’t love you anymore.”
this time, when you turn away, he doesn’t follow.
and you don’t know why you ever thought he would.
[𝜗℘] :: finding out that true form!sukuna had indulged in another concubine while you were gone.
tags. concubine!reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive. size diff. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’. kuna’s an asshole. no part 2 :: wc. 3.3k
you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.
perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.
missing someone.
it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.
he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.
and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.
they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.
“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”
you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.
yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.
the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.
“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”
you freeze.
your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.
guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.
“what?”
you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.
so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?
of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.
you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.
“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face.
she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.
the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses. the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.
“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame.
she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it’s a dream come true.
though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.
the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.
you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.
“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare.
both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”
“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists.
you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.
you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.
maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.
a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.
although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.
he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.
“out of the way.”
you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.
the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.
you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.
no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.
“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out.
sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.
he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”
sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.
“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm.
there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.
on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.
one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.
he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.
that’s exactly what you’re upset about.
there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.
there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.
he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.
you cannot rule over him or his mind.
“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material.
he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.
you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.
“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh.
you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.
your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.
you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.
“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation.
you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.
the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru.
he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”
and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.
sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.
normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.
either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.
sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.
he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.
when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.
keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.
sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.
he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.
every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.
nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.
it doesn’t hit the same.
you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.
sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.
if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.
it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.
sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.
“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”
the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.
you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.
you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.
‘know your place,’
that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.
this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.
“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips.
he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.
“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”
another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.
it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.
“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence.
you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.
sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.
he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.
“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room.
your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.
you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.
unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle.
“fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.
you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.
you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.
you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.
meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?
his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.
sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.
he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.
sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.
he can’t do that now.
well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.
perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.
F1 Driver Soft! Ex-Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader (Satoru's sister)
+ Brojo being the absolute best brother around.
Summary: You got stood up at a local fair by a man from Hinge, then got trapped beside your ex, and remembered that Ryomen Sukuna could drive a Ferrari for a living but still get scared by carnival rides. Then you relearn that Sukuna still knew your usual order, your cat hates him on sight, and your brother had once told you to stop throwing your life away for him. (Ft. Gojo Satoru, Catoru, Takako Uro & mentioned Geto Suguru Slander).
Or, Satoru got sick a few years ago & you haven't been the same since. Will the F1 driver be able to get you back?
Based on this poll. WC: 6.5K.
Warnings: Contains Fic Spoilers, Crack treated seriously, fluff, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, mentions of illness (metastatic uveal melanoma (ocular cancer with secondary poliosis)), brief panic attack/sensory overwhelm in public but don't worry Sukuna’s there, nothing graphic & good ending.
A/N: I have never cried this much while writing a fic (at Satoru's parts.) Not beta read; I'll reread it once I'm not smelling colors. Playlist
You arrived at the fair in an outfit that made men stupider, which meant Suguru from Hinge had chosen a historic day to become legally dead to you.
The skirt and the boots were new. The lipstick was so expensive that it made you eat fries with caution and drink water through a straw held at an angle. You had spent twenty minutes deciding between earrings, then another ten pretending that decision said anything meaningful about you on a first date.
Suguru had sent you a voice note that morning.
Can’t wait to finally see you.
He had a calm voice and a nice laugh. One month and a half of decent conversation, book recommendations, a very confident opinion about soup dumplings, and enough green flags that you had lowered your guard by four percent to show up here without thinking of ending up on Dateline.
You checked your phone again.
7:16 PM.
The meeting time had been 6:30.
You called once more, and it went straight to ringing, then voicemail.
You stared opened your chat with Uro.
You: i hope all his hair falls out.
Uro: Did he arrive?
You: if he did he is doing a stealth mission.
Uro: Men from dating apps need ankle monitors.
You: i wore the boots.
Uro: The black ones?
You: yes.
Uro: Jail.
you: he hasn’t picked up once.
Uro: Jail with soap drops.
You stood near a booth where a man in a foam hot-dog hat shouted about ring toss prizes. A toddler screamed at a plush duck. Couples passed with paper trays of fries and stupidly linked hands. Then you got startled by a generator coughing behind the cotton candy stand.
Your phone buzzed again.
Uro: I have to pick up my niece from my sister’s. She tried to feed a Lego to the dog.
you: that’s advanced.
Uro: I’d have brought her, but she's three, so fairs are still beyond her. Go enjoy the place. You already paid for parking and the outfit.
you: I got stood up.
Uro: But your boots are innocent, babes. Just eat overpriced food, and have fun. God knows you need it.
You looked down at your boots.
They really were.
you: fine. if i die on a carnival ride-
Uro: I’ll sue the park.
You put your phone away and bought cotton candy from a teenager. Pink sugar melted against your tongue. It was too sweet, coating your teeth, but the outrageousness helped.
The fair had a local committee feel—half the lights flickered, the prizes looked as if they had been won in divorce court, a banner near the main stage promised LIVE MUSIC AT 8 but the band currently tuning looked prepubescent.
You wandered because you were good at taking yourself out. That skill had come from practice. Movies, cafes, bookstores, and whole birthdays turned into errands because if you waited for people to show up on time, you spent half your life facing an empty chair.
So you did the stalls.
You threw darts at balloons and missed every single one, which the booth guy treated as a genuine tragedy.
You watched a little boy win a plastic sword bigger than his arm and immediately whack his father in the shin.
You texted Uro a photo of a plush frog with one eye sewn higher than the other.
you: this is suguru.
Uro: Too handsome.
you: true. suguru had better hair.
Uro: Frog has better commitment.
You laughed and got powdered sugar on your lips.
By the time you reached the rides, the sun had dropped behind the school building beside the fairground. The Tilt-A-Whirl sat near the back, painted red and yellow, its bulbs blinking in frantic loops. The cars spun in drunken circles while a group of teenagers shrieked.
Your stomach did a happy little flip with them.
You loved rides that ruined balance—Ferris wheels were pretty, carousels felt decorative, and the Tilt-A-Whirl was nonsense with bolts. It made your insides lift and swoop, and for three minutes your head cleared out.
You bought a ticket and climbed into an empty two-person car with your cotton candy tucked against your side. You hoped the operator would forget about you or place a woman beside you.
You continued to eat through your leftover cotton candy while looking at what other rides you could go on after this one.
The car dipped as someone sat right next to you.
You half turned.
Tattoos.
Black Line Tattoos.
Your hand clenched around the paper cone.
He was looking away, one elbow braced on the edge of the car, his phone in his hand. His hair was shorter than when you had last seen him. He wore a black jacket over a plain t-shirt, and the side of his neck still had that faint tan line from racing gear. He looked rich in the way drivers did after sponsors got involved—expensive, mildly sleep-deprived, capable of getting photographed beside a model and smirking through the headline.
You looked away so fast your neck nearly clicked.
Fine. Fine. He hadn’t seen you.
Maybe.
The fair was crowded. The ride was loud. The universe had placed him next to you as a practical joke, but you had survived worse jokes.
You reached for the lap bar to lift it.
It locked.
The operator gave the car a bored shove.
The ride started.
Your soul left your outfit.
Sukuna still hadn’t turned. He was watching someone by the fence. You followed his line of sight without moving your head much and caught sight of Yuji waving both arms while Choso held a paper plate piled with funnel cake. Some younger cousin or family friend bounced beside them with a flashing wand—so they were out on family night.
Aww cute.
No.
Horrible.
Your exit routes had been sealed by machinery and his entire goddamn bloodline.
The first spin was mild—your car rolled around the platform, gaining momentum. Wind pulled at your hair, and the cotton candy trembled in your grip.
Sukuna’s knee hit the side.
You tried to look at him from the corner of your eye without turning fully toward him.
His jaw had tightened.
Oh.
You remembered now.
He could take corners at speeds that made sports commentators develop religion. He could slide a car through rain, through smoke, through the hideous math of another driver trying to cut him off.
Yet put him on a county fair ride operated by a boy named Mason with an energy drink, and Ryomen Sukuna became a trapped alien.
The car swung harder.
His hand landed on the seat between you, palm pressed flat.
You turned your face away and bit the inside of your cheek.
Another spin, faster. The platform tilted. Your stomach tingled in the way you loved, a bright swoop that rushed up your ribs. You almost laughed.
Sukuna made a sound that could have been a cough—if coughs carried primal fear.
You stared at the painted horse on the booth across the ride and, without looking at him, placed your hand over his.
He seemed too busy fighting for his life to notice.
But the car spun again, and his hand gripped yours on instinct, hard enough to make your rings press into your skin. He still didn’t turn. Maybe he thought you were a stranger. Maybe he was far gone in battle with the Tilt-A-Whirl deity. Maybe he had recognized you from the first second and decided mutual delusion was better than conversation.
You kept your face angled away.
The ride grew faster and meaner, so your laughter broke out, helpless and breathy. Sukuna’s shoulder bumped yours, his body almost lurching forward.
When the ride slowed, you pulled your hand back before he could catch it properly. The lap bar lifted, and you stood while everyone around you stumbled out.
Sukuna finally turned.
His eyes caught on your waist, right where his hand used to land before dawn when his alarm went off and he reached across the bed half-asleep, finding you before he found his phone.
Recognition moved through his face with vulgar speed.
You were already moving through the crowd.
You didn’t run because that would imply guilt. You were simply a dignified woman fleeing a carnival ride because your ex had discovered your waist by sight.
He called out your name, but it was so loud he couldn't hear his own voice.
A child with a glow stick cut across your path. You dodged. Someone spilled lemonade near the duck pond game. You stepped around it. Your heart was making a ridiculous amount of effort for a body that had only eaten sugar.
You almost reached the row of food trucks when a hand closed around your arm.
You turned.
Sukuna let go at once.
For a second he looked exactly as stupid as you remembered him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought that was you.”
You stared at him.
His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes flicked over your face, the boots, and the cone of cotton candy crushed in your hand.
“You changed your hair,” he said.
“You still scared of rides at a carnival.” Adreline made you blurt it out before you could stop yourself.
His face loosened, his crimson eyes relaxed into his features, and it reminded you too much of the day you’d last seen him.
You cleared your throat. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“How have you been?”
“Driving in circles for money.”
“Healthy career path.”
“You?”
You nodded toward the fair in general. “Being abandoned beside a corn dog booth. Thriving.”
His brow moved. “Abandoned?”
Your phone buzzed in your bag. Probably Uro asking if she could pay an Etsy witch to get Suguru stalked by goats.
“Long story.”
Sukuna studied you, then glanced toward the ride. “You stayed on.”
“I was trapped.”
“You held my hand.”
“You were dying.”
“I was assessing structural failure.”
“Mason looked very qualified.”
“The operator?”
“He had a whistle.”
Sukuna’s mouth twitched. “Powerful credential.”
You hated how fast your face warmed. You hated the stupid, familiar muscle memory. You hated that the air between you could still find the old groove with one push.
“I saw your last race,” you said, because your mouth had chosen arson.
Genuine surprise crossed his face. “You watch them?”
You scrunched your nose mildly, accidentally. The way you did when you’d been caught.
Sukuna stared at that tiny movement. He’d never told you about that one tell.
His expression did a weird thing—softened at the edges, then caught itself.
You swallowed. “Some highlights came on. At a gay bar with friends.”
His brows rose. “I have gay bar fans?”
“You have fans with questionable betting habits everywhere.”
“Which bar?”
You refused to explain that you had begged the bartender to put the race on while you sat alone PMSing, a gin and tonic beside your hand, pretending you wanted sports because sports had become a pathetic substitute for his absence. You had watched his car move through the screen while drunk men argued behind you about karaoke. You had missed him so badly you had ordered fries you didn’t want just to stay until the podium interview.
“Some place downtown,” you said. “The bartender said you were probably annoying.”
He leaned a little closer. “You care about other people’s opinions of me?”
“I was doing community outreach.”
“So you follow me.”
“You have gotten hard to miss.”
He smiled then, infuriatingly flustered beneath the smirk. “Are you seeing someone?”
Your grip tightened on the cotton candy cone again.
You could have said you had been stood up by a man whose most impressive quality was voice-note confidence. You could have said everyone after Sukuna had felt as if they never really saw you. You could have said you had wanted him to be there so many times that no one would ever compare.
Instead, you said, “How’s the model?”
“The model?”
“The one from the news at the rooftop dinner. Tall one.”
He huffed. “You follow me pretty closely for somebody asking casual questions.”
It should have made you laugh.
That was the script. He teased, you deflected, he leaned closer, you rolled your eyes and pretended your heartbeat didn’t sing for him.
Instead, something inside you slipped.
Satoru would have loved this. He would have demanded screenshots, then called Sukuna a pink-haired lizard, then told you to stop acting as if a breakup suddenly made you mature.
Your smile thinned before you could poker-face it.
Sukuna saw.
He stopped teasing so fast it hurt more than anything.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at your face as if he could pull the answer out, then seemed to think better of it. His hand flexed at his side.
“I fly back the day after tomorrow,” he said, instead. “Before that, can we get coffee tomorrow night?”
You watched a father lift his daughter onto his shoulders near the balloon stall. The little girl had blue face paint smeared across one cheek.
You said zilch.
Sukuna’s mouth tightened. “I need an answer. I can’t call you.” He paused. “Same number?”
You had blocked him so thoroughly your phone treated his existence as malware.
“Same number,” you mumbled.
“I’ll pick you up.”
“I can drive.”
He ignored you. “You live at the same place?”
“Next to the old one.”
“Six then.”
“I didn’t agree.”
“I did for both of us.”
You should have hated that.
But your lips twitched before you could stop them.
He saw that and looked pathetically relieved for a man paid to risk death.
At home, you called Uro from the couch.
She answered with, “Tell me Suguru got shingles.”
“I saw Sukuna.”
There was some scrambling on the other side.
“Ryomen Sukuna?”
“How many Sukuna exes do you think I have?”
“With your taste? I fear categories.”
You told her everything—the Tilt-A-Whirl, the hand, the gay bar lie, the coffee.
Uro went silent.
Then she sighed. “You should go.”
You sat up. “Why?”
“Sukuna didn’t cause this.”
You looked toward the TV, where a cooking show contestant was crying over burned fish.
Uro lowered her voice. “You ended it because of Satoru.”
Your throat tightened.
“You told Sukuna he was boring,” she continued. “Which was insane, by the way. That man has a lethal jawline and a deadly career.”
“He did become boring.”
"No, honey, you panicked because your brother relapsed, and the illness came back worse, and Sukuna was training for the season that could make his career. You thought he’d throw everything away and come sit in oncology waiting rooms.”
You pressed your thumb under your ring, twisting it.
Uro added, “You also kept telling everyone you were fine, which was your least convincing era.”
“I couldn’t make him choose.”
“You chose for him.”
You closed your eyes.
“Go for coffee,” she said, smiling. “You can still leave if he’s gotten stupid. I’ll key his car.”
That made you laugh, but it hurt coming out.
After the call, you fell asleep with your boots still beside the couch.
Satoru woke you by poking your ankle under the blanket. “Breakfast.”
You opened your eyes in the old house, in his room, on the giant bed you had practically moved into during the bad months. The emergency bell sat on the nightstand beside many bottles of prescription eye drops, a strip of tablets, and the ugly plastic water bottle he hated because it made him “feel eighty in a hospital commercial.”
He stood at the doorway in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, hair white around his face and paler at the lashes. Before the cancer, he had black hair and caramel eyes. He used to say the universe stole his color and made him ethereal.
You sat up too fast. “Why are you moving around?”
He waved a hand. “I made pancakes, nurse warden.”
“You’re meant to rest.”
“I am resting.”
“Satoru.”
“I feel better, let me have this.” His smile spread, bright and crooked, a little thinner than it used to be. “Breakfast for my baby sister.”
You followed him to the kitchen because arguing with him had once been a full-time job and you missed him having the stamina for it.
The pancakes were your favorite—he'd made them with extra fruit and too much syrup. He had even warmed the plate.
You took a bite.
The taste was wrong.
It was floury, flat, and a little bitter.
Satoru’s smile faltered. “Meds messed with my taste buds again, huh?”
“It’s good.”
“Liar. Give me the bowl. I’ll remake it.”
You pulled the plate closer. “It’s perfect.”
“Add more syrup.”
He sank into the chair across from you, breathing a little heavier than he wanted you to hear.
“Will Kento or Shoko come by today?” you asked.
“Don’t feel like socializing.” He sighed, stretching his shoulders with a wince he couldn't hide well. “I was thinking we watch a movie.”
You fully looked up.
He shrugged. “Unless you have better plans. Like maybe calling your bubblegum-haired ego a problem."
“Sukuna has a name.”
“Sukuna has anger issues.”
You laughed.
Satoru leaned back, pleased. “Call him back.”
“I broke up with him.”
“Why?”
“He should focus on his career.”
“If he’s going to be worth anything, he should learn to multitask." He speared a piece of fruit from your plate. “If he has a girl, she’s high maintenance. He’ll have training.”
“You barely know him.”
“I know he looks at you as if you’re a pit stop he wants to marry.”
You choked on syrup.
Satoru waited until you stopped coughing. He passed you water, then kept his hand around the glass for a second, as if he knew you might use it to hide your face.
“I’m serious,” he said.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “That’s new.”
“Don’t get cute. That’s my job.”
“You’re bad at it.”
“I’m excellent at everything. Keep up.” His smile faded before it could become a joke. “You shouldn’t have broken up with him because of me.”
You looked down at your plate. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You make every decision like every part of your life has to consider me first.”
“That’s not—"
“It’s true.”
You pressed your fork into the pancake. “You’re sick, Satoru. You need me.”
“I know that.” His voice stayed steady, but his fingers tightened around his mug. “I need my sister. I don’t need you to turn into a nurse with no life after me.”
Your throat burned. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“It’s a horrible thing to watch.”
You looked at him then.
He held your eyes, tired and pale and still your brother under all of it. The same brother who had signed your school forms when your parents forgot, who had shown up to parent-teacher meetings in his uniform because he had practice right after, who had made your lunch badly for a month before he learned how to pack fruit without smashing it. He had been loud about everything except the things that mattered most.
“You think I don’t see it?” he asked. “You don’t sleep unless I sleep. You don’t eat unless I complain first. You keep your phone face down because you’re scared he’ll call and you’ll want to answer. None of this is good for you.”
You swallowed.
“Sukuna makes you happy,” he said. “He also annoys you, which is good. You get unbearable when nobody argues with you.”
A weak laugh left you, then quickly turned into tears you blinked away.
“I’m scared too.” Satoru leaned back, breathing through the small cost of sitting upright for more than his body was able to bear right now. “I don’t want to say that because then you look at me like your whole chest got kicked in. But I’m scared. And I still don’t want your life to shrink down to this house.”
“Satoru—”
“No. Listen to me.” His voice cut through yours, low and clear. “Love me. Take care of me. Fight with doctors. Make ugly pancakes taste worse with extra syrup. Fine. But don’t throw away someone you love because you think suffering alone is what you deserve.”
You wiped away the tears that came treacherously anyway.
“I raised you better than that,” he said, softer now.
You tried to smile anyway. “You raised me to be dramatic and suspicious.”
“I raised you to have standards, and somehow you picked a race car demon, but I’m choosing peace.”
“He’s not a demon."
“He has face tattoos.”
You laughed again, a little bit bigger this time.
Satoru opened his arm to let you tuck in. “Promise me you’ll call him. If he’s useless, I’ll hate him with you. If he shows up, let him.”
“You make that sound easy.”
“It won’t be.” His hand rubbed against your temple, careful and warm. “Do it anyway.”
He grinned, and for a second he looked sixteen again—school jacket half-zipped, practice bag slung over one shoulder, his mock-test rank posted near the top of the board. Boys copied his notes despite hating him. Girls found reasons to borrow erasers. Teachers used his name in warnings and compliments in the same breath. He played whichever sport had a vacancy that week, won enough to make coaches greedy, then came home with convenience-store candy for you because you had texted him a sad face during math.
You spent the afternoon watching a dumb action movie. It had three explosions in the first twenty minutes and a villain with an accent from nowhere. He kept making comments under his breath, weaker than his usual running commentary but smug enough.
Halfway through, his head tipped against the back of the couch, heavy medication dragging him under.
“You’re missing the part where the car jumps through a hospital.”
“Mmph.” He made a lazy sound, eyes closed.
You let him sleep.
The medicine did that to him lately—took his words first, then made his limbs sluggish, then the rest of him slower to react. You checked the time on your phone, compared it with the notebook on the table, and saw his next dose still had some time. Fine. He could sleep. You could give him that.
The movie kept playing—someone on-screen was shouting about a bomb as Satoru breathed beside you, shallow but steady, so your body allowed itself to unwind.
You must have drifted off too, because when you opened your eyes again, the room had shifted into evening. The TV had gone to the streaming menu, and the house had that late-day smell, dust, syrup, old coffee in the mug by his elbow.
Your neck hurt from the couch angle.
You yawned and nudged his knee with your foot. “Toru. Go to bed.”
He stayed slumped against the cushion.
You rubbed your eyes and sat up properly. “Seriously. Your back’s going to hurt more if you sleep here.”
His hand rested palm-up on the couch between you—long fingers, pale knuckles, and a small bruise near the wrist from the last blood draw. You nudged his palm.
“Medication time soon,” you added. “Come on. I’ll help you walk.”
He stayed still.
A small irritation rose in your chest, familiar and domestic. The type of annoyed you got when he acted dramatic during eye drops or complained about water tasting “aggressively round.”
“Satoru.”
You leaned closer and shook his shoulder.
His body moved with the shake, then settled.
Your irritation thinned.
“Toru?”
You touched his cheek.
It was warm but too still under your palm. His lashes were pale against his skin, white from the treatment and the strange pigment loss.
“Hey.” Your voice came out softer. “Wake up. You have to take the evening meds.”
The notebook lay open on the coffee table—pills and drops listed by time. The little boxes you had drawn and checked and checked again because order made you feel useful.
You reached for his wrist.
His pulse was hard to find.
Your own pulse got in the way, slamming through your fingertips.
“Satoru, stop it.”
You pressed harder at his wrist, then shifted to his throat the way the nurse had taught you during one of the discharge briefings.
“Wake up,” you said, even louder. “Go to your bed. You’re too tall for the couch, and I’m sick of hearing you complain about your spine.”
His head stayed angled toward the TV.
You grabbed his shoulder with both hands.
“Satoru!”
The name came out in a cracked scream.
You shook him again, rougher than you had touched him in months.
“Stop. This isn’t funny. Toru, get up.”
You bent close to his mouth.
For one awful second you thought you felt breath, then realized it was yours hitting his skin and coming back.
“No,” you said, and the word came out small, stupid, and useless.
You pressed your ear to his chest.
You waited.
You moved your ear, searching.
You held your own breath so you could hear his.
Nothing came.
Your hands began to shake so hard his shirt wrinkled under your fists.
“Toru,” you whispered.
Then you screamed for him.
The dream broke there, same as it did every time.
You woke on the couch in your apartment, gasping, sweat cooling under the collar of your shirt. The TV had gone to sleep, your phone had slipped between cushions and outside, daylight had already moved across the room and started fading again.
You had slept through most of the day.
Coffee was in an hour.
You got ready in simpler clothes because the idea of another date outfit made you feel stupid. New jeans, clean socks and the oversized white cashmere sweater Satoru had bought you years ago, back when he had money, black hair, caramel eyes, and a talent for buying gifts that made you cry in private.
Downstairs, Sukuna waited beside a car you couldn’t place. New or rental.
He straightened when he saw you.
Then he opened the passenger door and held out flowers.
You stared at them.
They were real flowers—pink and white, wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine.
“For you,” he said when you kept staring at them.
“I gathered.”
“You going to take them?”
“I’m thinking.”
He waited.
You took them.
He looked away, and the edge of his mouth moved, almost smug.
You wanted to beat the smugness off with the said flowers, but instead you got in.
The car ride carried all the comfort of small talk. He asked about traffic near your building. You asked about his flight schedule. He mentioned a sponsor event. You said the fair food was probably giving him diarrhea. Sukuna laughed.
The cafe was small, upscale, and filled with people who seemed able to drink espresso after sunset without ruining their nervous systems.
Sukuna held the door. You hated that too.
At the counter he asked, “Usual?”
You nodded.
He ordered it correctly.
You took a table near the wall.
“So,” he said once he sat, “what are you doing these days?”
“Work sabbatical. Finishing my degree.”
His eyes stayed on you. “That good?”
"Please, I don’t need judgment from a man who believed cigarettes were breakfast.”
His mouth twitched. “I matured.”
“You bought a sports car.”
“It was assigned.”
“What? Corporate custody?”
“Something along those lines.”
The server arrived with drinks plus a small pizza cut into uneven squares. Your usual.
You stared at the tray for a second too long.
He sipped his coffee. “How’s Satoru?”
Your body became hyperaware of your reality.
The hiss of the steamer grew enormous. A chair scraped behind you. Someone laughed near the window, high and sudden. The chili oil on the pizza smelled acidic. The sweater collar touched your throat.
“He died.”
Sukuna froze. “What”
“It’ll be a year soon.”
His hand hovered near the table, then lowered. “How?”
You folded your napkin, then unfolded it. “Peaceful, according to the doctors.”
His jaw worked. “Are you living alone?”
“Yes.”
“Family?”
You almost smiled. “Satoru was the family.”
The words hurt to speak aloud.
Sukuna knew you had family, but having and being reciprocative with affection and meeting a child's needs were two different things. They didn’t like you or satoru much.
“Have you…” Sukuna looked at you for a long moment. "Cried since?”
Your hands felt cold.
“What?”
“Since he passed.”
You pushed back from the table—the legs screeched. The cafe turned its head toward you in a hundred tiny ways. Every cup, every voice, every light on the wall became a separate grating sound.
Sukuna rose with you, fast enough to catch your wrist before you could knock something over.
You flinched, and he released you.
Then he stepped close enough that his voice could reach your ear and no one else. “Breathe. You can skip the answer. I pushed.”
You shook your head.
“Breathe,” he said again. “Look at me or the door. Pick one.”
You looked at the door because you didn't have the capacity to look at him right now—his crimson eyes were too expressive at the worst of the times.
"Please…" You took a deep breath in. “I want to go home.”
“Okay.”
The drive back was short.
He made zero attempts at conversation, keeping both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. At your building, he parked and walked around to open your door.
“I can get upstairs.”
“I know.”
He followed anyway, carrying the pizza and flowers, as if the evening had become a delivery service with unresolved romantic history.
Inside your apartment, Toru stood in the hallway—white fur and blue eyes. A body shaped by luxury and criminal entitlement.
The cat looked at Sukuna, then at you, then back at Sukuna.
Sukuna stared.
You mildly introduced them, “That’s Toru.”
Toru blinked slowly, withholding citizenship.
Sukuna took off his shoes. “Does he bite?”
“He does and also loudly meowdels every old man complains he has.”
“Fair.”
You went to the couch because your bones had become heavy. Sukuna went into the kitchen without asking, which should have annoyed you, except you were less overwhelmed now. He filled the kettle. Opened cabinets and found the pan.
Toru followed him and sat near the fridge, supervising with contempt.
“You eat?” Sukuna asked the cat.
Toru’s tail moved softly.
“Useful answer.” He paused, then asked. “She eat?”
You pulled a pillow over your face, quite far away to hear any of this.
Sukuna continued, fully serious. “Blink once for very little. Twice, if she survives on coffee.”
Toru blinked once.
“He seems credible," Sukuna calls out to you.
“He licks plastic bags.” You yell back.
Sukuna smirked towards Toru and tapped his nose, making the cat paw at its nose. “It’s okay. Witnesses are allowed to have flaws.”
The cat squared up and hissed, which meant he was flawless.
From the couch, you heard the scrape of a knife, the tap of the cutting board, and the click of the stove. He made coffee first. Then stir-fry, simple and fast, with vegetables cut the way you used to cut them and sauce mixed from memory.
Your recipe.
Stolen.
Also, the only thing he’d eat after a long day.
You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep until Sukuna stood over you with a bowl in one hand and the remote in the other. You woke up with the smell of garlic and soy.
“Sit up.”
You sat up because your body, treacherous thing, wanted the food.
He sat beside you with his own bowl and put on a terrible movie. Some action sequel where cars exploded for reasons that offended even him. Toru jumped onto the armchair and watched Sukuna as if waiting for a confession.
The first bite loosened your chest. Warm rice, vegetables, and sauce with slightly too much garlic because he remembered you liked it.
“You still cook it wrong.”
He glanced over. “You’re eating fast for a critic.”
“You stole my recipe.”
“I improved it.”
“You put too much ginger.”
“You need flavor.”
“You need to be humbled.”
“Tried it. Bad fit.”
A huff of a laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Sukuna looked at your face, then back to the TV.
You ate half the bowl before speaking again. “Satoru wanted a cat.”
Sukuna kept his eyes on the screen. His body shifted into less performative ease and more attention.
“Our parents would never let us have one,” you continued. “Which made sense in the practical way. Then it made less sense because they weren’t indulgent with anything, so it became this larger question of why they had children at all.”
Toru groomed one paw, deeply unmoved by human origin stories.
“Satoru used to send me photos of cats. He said once he got better after treatment, he’d buy a bigger house and fill it with cats who were babied and spoiled.”
Sukuna set his bowl down.
“During the last months, his hair went whiter. Lashes too. The doctors explained it, saying it was pigment cells, immune response, and treatment side effects. His eyes were the first problem. He couldn’t see well, but you could work around that while the meds still worked. There were tools, routines, labels on bottles, brighter lamps, audiobooks when reading hurt too much. Then—”
You swallowed because if you’d stopped now, it’d stay stuck in there forever and eat you worse. “Then the liver got worse. He had these drops, and scans, and appointments where everyone used gentle voices at us.” You swallowed. “He made jokes about turning into a designer ghost.”
Sukuna made a small sound, almost a laugh, because Satoru had deserved that much.
The crying began softly—a few tears you could have blamed on the movie.
Then Sukuna moved closer and put his arm around you.
“I kept thinking if I managed the appointments and the meds and the food and the calls, it would make a difference. If I stayed in his room and stayed awake, I’d catch everything. If I heard every breath, if I woke up fast enough...” Your spoon rested against the bowl.
“It didn’t matter.”
Sukuna said your name.
Your face hit his chest, and the sound that came out of you was ugly and torn loose. Years of holding yourself upright broke down into his shirt. He moved the bowl away with one hand and pulled you in properly.
You cried until your nose ran, until Toru abandoned the armchair and jumped onto the couch, until Sukuna’s shirt was damp and his hand had settled at the back of your head, warm and familiar in a way your body accepted before you realized.
“I told you that you were boring,” you choked out because he deserved that.
“I remember.”
“I was lying.”
“I know.”
“I thought you’d ruin everything.”
“You should’ve let me choose.”
“I’m sorry.”
His mouth pressed to your hair. “I know.”
His eyes burned once before he blinked hard and looked away. The wins had come with the money, the cameras, and the noise.
None of it fixed the part of him that still looked for you after every flight, every podium, every room full of people talking too much.
Every success felt a little thinner because every hotel room still ended with him reaching for a phone he couldn’t use to call the only woman he’d ever cared about.
Back then he’d known you were lying, he just hadn’t known how to make you come home.
You cried harder because you probably hadn't since your brother left.
At some point the movie ended and the streaming app tried to play another. Toru fell asleep against your thigh. Sukuna kept holding you until your body gave out.
You woke once when he carried you, mumbled something unintelligible, and fell asleep again.
He carried you to your bedroom.
You hadn’t slept there in weeks. The bed looked almost staged.
Sukuna set you down and left only long enough to bring water, your phone, and Toru, who protested being handled until Sukuna told him, “Your landlord requires supervision.”
Toru bit his arm.
Sukuna winced and let the cat curl up to you.
Sukuna got into bed beside you fully clothed. He didn’t crowd you at first. He lay on his back, one arm open.
You moved into it.
The sweater smelled faintly of your perfume and old cashmere. Sukuna smelled of coffee and the same cologne he used to wear when he had early flights and kissed you in doorways while pretending he had plenty of time.
You slept deeply.
Morning arrived without the usual panic of dreams.
For a few seconds, you knew that before you knew anything else. Your body had rested properly because your jaw didn’t ache and your hands weren’t curled into fists under the blanket.
Then you reached beside you.
The pillow held a dent, but Toru had claimed Sukuna’s side of the bed and looked pleased.
Your chest tightened, then eased in a tired, resigned way.
Of course. He had a flight. He had said so.
Maybe last night had been a mercy visit from an ex with guilt and good arms.
That was fine.
It had helped.
You could survive that much.
You got up to feed Toru.
A note was stuck to his bowl in Sukuna’s handwriting.
I’ll be back next month. Unblock me.
You stared at it.
Toru headbutted your ankle because romance meant little compared to tuna.
You fed him first.
Then you unblocked Sukuna.
A text came through almost at once with a photo.
You were asleep on his chest the night before, your cheek squashed against his shirt, Toru sitting on your hip as if guarding property. Your hair was everywhere and your mouth was slightly open. Sukuna’s jaw was only partly visible, but his hand rested over your back, his thumb blurred mid-stroke.
Below it came a calendar invite, already adjusted to your time zone.
1:30 PM Video Call.
Don’t dodge me.
You clicked on the calendar and saw that he'd squeezed it in after his team debrief. It was surreal to see that your ex had a Ferrari schedule, a flight, and a body people paid millions to keep functional, and still he had blocked out time to annoy you himself.
You accepted it.
Then you went into the kitchen and saw the flowers resting in a mug of water on top of the fridge.
And inside, cold brew waited in a glass bottle, labeled with tape.
Eat something first.
Beside it sat the remaining pizza, wrapped properly, and a container of leftover stir-fry.
You took out the bottle of cold brew, took a photo of it, and sent it.
You: i’m sorry, and i’ll wait for you.
The typing bubbles appeared so fast you almost dropped the phone.
A picture arrived.
Toru sat on the kitchen counter near the same coffee bottle in the gray morning light, tail curled around his paws, blue eyes aimed at Sukuna behind the camera. Beneath it, Sukuna had written:
Your brother might approve.
A/N: I hope you loved this piece as much as I did writing it even if the keyboard was blurry through most of it. I wanted to write only crack and fluff in this; however, Satoru stole my keyboard midway. So hopefully the next story I post isn't going to be as hurt/comforting.
Want to read the same pairings but with Gojo as the endgame?
Masterlist | Rabies | Chuki
Header Images from Anime & Pinterest, dividers are mine.
— you and your husband are divorced, your child hates it. so, they draw a little something and sends it to their dad: effectively or ineffectively breaking their heart.
ft. dads! gojo satoru, nanami kento, geto suguru, toji zenin (not yet a fushiguro)
➤ in which the king of curses, known for terror and bloodshed, will become your husband. sukuna normally slaughtered others without thinking twice, but you were the only person who could curse, fuss, and walk away unscathed. with any remark he made, you could make a witty retort twice as fast. he grumbles (but secretly loves it.)
Sukuna never had to say a word. His presence spoke volumes, and made people bow their heads with horror-stricken resignation. Others dare not look at him, as they didn't want to become another example of his wrath. Everyone in your village knew of him, where he lurked: a forest on the outskirts. A forest nobody attempted to traverse.
Until you were sent to find herbs.
You had a hard time finding the plants you needed, so you made the decision to wander through the forest. If no one has ever been there, the place must have an abundance of plants. You thought, but there was still a small, lingering fear of coming across him.
That was the day he first saw you, but you were still unaware. It was nearing sunset, the sky calming down to soft orange hues. Everything in the forest was still clearly visible, and he wasn't necessarily hiding. Sukuna would make himself known if he wanted to be.
His first thought was that you were a beautiful, yet foolish woman. Why would you come here alone? Wander so far away, just for herbs?
Once he saw you struggling with a certain herb, he made a fast, upward motion with his pointer finger. The plants stem fell off, ending your struggle.
You were taken aback, cursing under your breath with confusion. You could feel a chill, and goosebumps appeared on your skin. You secured the plant, but it wasn't by your own devices.
"I helped you, and I get no word of gratitude?" A deep, throaty voice spoke.
That explained your recent chills. You turned around to see the man you thought was a myth. Seven feet tall, two pairs of arms: the bottom pair crossed, the top pair resting on his hips. The wind ruffled his black haori and light-colored pants. He had foreboding stature, yet to you he was enticing, alluring. He was looking down at you, eyes slighty narrowed with analysis, trying to figure out your next move, how you would react.
You didn't scream or run, but you replied. "I usually don't thank men who lurk from afar. If you had made yourself known, I would've."
That wasn't what he expected. His eyebrows furrowed, making small wrinkles on his forehead. "It is not lurking when it is my forest."
"Then do you prefer the word stalking?" You stood to your feet. "I believe that's a better fit."
His scowl deepened. "You are lucky I've let you stay here for so long. I'm sure you are not oblivious, you know who I am. What I am capable of."
"I do." You nodded. "Yet, my village needed herb, which this forest has plenty of. So, I suppose I will thank you for that."
His lips twitched, wanting to say more, but he pushed it back down. "You will leave now." His voice boomed. "Go, while I am still giving you a chance."
Sukuna's words held no malice, and his threats were always empty. Every other day, he'd spot you in the forest again picking and cutting plants. He caught on to the routine, figured out where you'd enter, and left a pile of plants near it. The pile increased in size as the weeks passed, and the small basket you carried wasn't enough anymore. Sukuna crafted you a bigger one. When your yukata got caught on a branch, he left you a new one. A blue yukata bright as the sky on a spring morning, that's how he saw you.
When the herbs turned into gifts, you realized this was a courting attempt, as much as you didn't believe it.
You went back to the forest, but not looking for any herbs. You wanted to find Sukuna, but he found you first.
He stated your name. "Do my gifts suffice?"
"Your gifts have been nice, but they've also made me weary. I've given you no reason to do this, so there must be something you want in return."
"You're smart." The corner of his lips curved into a smirk. "I want you to be my wife."
He stated it like it was common knowledge, not a proposal. Not asking for lifelong devotion.
"Your wife?" You questioned, dumbfounded. "That's not humorous at all."
"Do I look like I am trying to make you laugh?" He met your eyes, repeating his prior statement. "I want you to be my wife. You are gorgeous, I've given you gifts, are you not satisfied?"
"I just told you I liked your gifts, didn't I? It's just, what did you expect from me? I am not all powerful like you are."
"Your words hold more power than I have ever seen." A genuine compliment. "They can quickly irritate me, but I've grown to appreciate the irritation. You could say i've grown fond of it." Sukuna slightly swayed. Only admitting something like this could make the King of Curses waver.
You smiled. "You're nothing like what I've heard. You're sweet."
His fond expression quickly turned into a frown. "Watch yourself. I have uttered those words for nobody else. Nobody but you."
Sukuna became your husband, and you moved into the estate. Spacious halls to accommodate his frame. Everything was left neat and tidy due to the servants who worked. You'd adjusted to living there, but not to his huge body.
Both of you were in the bedchamber, moon high in the sky. You attempted to sleep, but one of his arms would occasionally fall onto you. Every time you moved it, he would grumble.
"Wife," he huffed. "could you stop moving while I'm trying to get a moment of rest?"
"You're telling me to stop moving? You have not stopped moving since you've laid down!"
"That is not true." He quickly denied.
"It couldn't be more true! You, stop moving your arms."
"Or what?"
"Or I will move to the guest room. No, I changed my mind, you will move to the guest room."
"You think you can—" He turned over and assessed your glare. "fine."
You slept soundly that night, and he only kept one arm around you. That was more comfortable for you, and the only thing he wanted was to hold his wife.
…YOU LET ME CALL YOU BABY BUT I CAN’T CALL U MINE ?
sum. when geto is partnered up with you for a ‘fake family’ project, it gives him the perfect excuse to touch you as he pleases. but when you continue to laugh him off, can his frat brothers help him make you see him as boyfriend and not ‘bestie’?
“you’re partners with y/n?! that’s your sign to lock in, man. stop playing safe and take the fucking leap.”
ΣΧ
“i think we should name the baby ‘nagito komaeda.’”
“i think you’ve lost your damn mind.”
in the common room of the sigma chi frathouse, geto suguru has his legs spread lazily & his back against the old couch. he’s scrolling through his phone with bleary eyes as sato & sukuna debate a name for their project’s fake baby. sato gojo is scribbling names in red on the whiteboard. ryomen sukuna is taking up half the space on the living room couch.
“sukuna the second,” sukuna says with a gulp of his cola. he sets the can down with a thud & crosses his feet over the wooden coffee table, leaning back into suguru’s space. “it’s the only respectable option. suguru, what do you think?”
geto suguru thinks that sukuna hasn’t showered today.
he also thinks his privacy screen is his greatest investment. ryomen sukuna has his cheek smushed against suguru’s shoulder and his brown eyes blinking up at him, but he doesn’t notice that geto is scrolling through your instagram posts, staring at pictures where you look too pretty to be real with a tight jaw & stifled heartbeat. sukuna flicks his temple. “helloo. earth to suguru?”
suguru’s silver piercings are glistening in the heat. he blinks once, twice—memorizes the photo on his screen where you’re grinning while hugging a plush bear bigger than your head—& clicks his phone off with a sigh. his head rolls back in defeat.
“y/n is my project partner.”
the room goes silent.
gojo sato freezes against the whiteboard, marker still in hand. sukuna has leaned away from suguru, eyes wide, as if suguru has just admitted to not showering this morning. the two boys stare at suguru. then at each other, then back to suguru again.
“ouuuu shii,” they drawl simultaneously.
“please don’t start this nonsense…”
“suguru, this is huge!” sato lets his marker fall to the floor, and runs to crouch in front of geto, elbows on suguru’s knees. “think about it, man. you and the girl of your dreams. partnered up to play husband n’ wife and take care of a plastic baby.”
suguru bites his cheek, neck hot. “it’s just a project.”
“no, it’s an opportunity,” sukuna corrects. “this is the girl who calls you bestie even when you look at her like you wanna eat her alive.” he snaps his fingers. “this is your chance, idiot. to show her you’re husband material. you have an excuse to call her wifey, for fuck’s sake.”
suguru’s phone is tight in his palm. his thumb is still tracing the line of your smile in the image he was staring at before he clicked his phone off.
“she thinks i’m her friend,” suguru murmurs, voice half-gone as he slips his phone into his pocket. “she’s comfortable with me. i’m not gonna ruin that by acting like a feral dog.”
“you’re already feral, idiot. y’think i didn’t see you staring at her IG photos like a creep?”
geto blinks. “how did you—“
“not important!” sato interrupts, slapping suguru’s thigh. he rests his chin on suguru’s knee, blue eyes glimmering in the light. “what’s important is, you have an opportunity. she’s already comfortable with you—you just have to take it further. call her sweetheart. baby. wife. see if she doesn’t stop you. take the leap, suguru.”
“take the leap,” sukuna grins.
take the leap. but the leap is a jump with no safety net. geto suguru knows what’s at stake. he knows if he ever let himself get too greedy—too carried away—he risks losing the friday mornings spent at the library with your head against his shoulder while you pretend to read from a book. he risks your voice calling his name across campus, and the way you hug his arm when you haven’t seen him in days, and the way you tug the piercing on his lip with a playful smile when you want his attention. geto suguru knows better than to risk it. he knows not to take the leap.
but he nods, lips tight as he reaches for his car keys on the table. “i’ll take the leap.”
“let’s go, daddy geto!” sato roars, dapping sukuna up. the boys watch with stupid grins as geto shoves things in his pockets. geto glances at the time: 5PM. “i’m going to her place now, we agreed to meet up.”
sukuna clutches his heart, then waves. “go get your wifey, asshole.”
suguru doesn’t look back. it’s time to fucking leap.
# SHOW TIME !
“suguruu, stop acting responsible and come cuddle me.”
ah, you’re such a fucking bother.
it’s sometime after six and geto suguru is in your bedroom with his shirt tossed somewhere on the floor and his silver chain cold against his chest. he’s putting together the plastic baby crib in preparation for the project’s official start on monday, and trying very fucking hard to ignore the fact that you’re all sprawled out on your bed behind him: hair fanned out, pillow to your chest, and whining his name because who are you if not a tease?
“you’re such a bad husband,” you mumble wistfully. “leaving your wife all alone on her bed like this…”
god.
geto’s throat bobs. there’s blood in his throat but his eyes skim the instructions with hazy focus. lord knows he wants nothing more than to press you into the covers and kiss you till you’re laughing his name and you can’t fucking breathe, but he knows the minute he pads over there you’ll laugh in his face.
his mouth dries.
“someone has to build the crib, angel,” he murmurs. it comes out lower than he intended, but whatever—it came out regardless. pet name number one, okay. “unless you want our fake baby sleeping on the rug?”
“i want my fake husband,” you hug your pillow tighter, and geto can hear the pout in your voice. your eyes are still on the ceiling, and geto doesn’t miss the fact that you don’t comment on the pet name. perhaps you didn’t hear it. perhaps you just don’t care. “and the baby is plastic,” you grumble. “it doesn’t care if it sleeps on a mattress or a floor.”
he hums. “bet it doesn’t complain as much either.”
“hey!” you gasp, chucking your pillow at him with a laugh. geto’s lip twitches in a smile. he rubs the back of his head, sweeping away the black strands falling in his face. he turns to glance at you, and then he wishes he didn’t, because you’re staring back at him with the brightest eyes he’s ever seen.
he bites his cheek. and then he pads over to you.
you watch, starry eyed, as geto lets the instruction manual glide to the floor. he presses a knee into the mattress, leg swinging over your thighs, bed dipping underneath his weight. his hair tickles your jaw and his chain dangles in front of you and geto suguru smells like dogwood and something too warm to have a name.
you blink up at him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he murmurs. “you look cute like this.”
he shouldn’t say that, he knows he shouldn’t, but you’re already curling your hand around his necklace and letting your thighs squeeze underneath him. and geto’s eyes rake down your body—just once, just a little, because he knows better than to leap that fucking far. so he bites his lip.
“i always look cute..” you mumble, lashes fluttering and voice fading underneath him.
“mm, but you look extra cute today,” he mutters, “like a real life mommy.”
you tug his necklace, grin cheeky. “geto suguru. are you trying to seduce me?”
“no,” he murmurs, and his voice is too low and the words come too fast. “i’m being a good husband. taking care of my wife’s needs before she even asks.”
he’s still propped up over you, bare pecs heaving & chain glinting too close to your face. the heat of his body pricks at your skin. you tug him closer by the chain: “and what needs do i have?”
“attention,” he murmurs, thumb grazing your cheek. “you've been whining since I got here. wanted me to stop working. wanted me to come cuddle you.”
“i was only joking..” you mumble, slightly shy. and geto wishes you wouldn’t say that. wishes he didn’t know that already.
but he’s a patient man. and how can he be upset when you look so pretty underneath him?
“i know,” he murmurs, voice warm, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “i’m sorry. am i making you uncomfortable?”
he says he’s sorry but his thumb still grazes your cheek, because he can’t not. you lean into him reflexively, and then you blink.
“what—? no, no. it’s just—“ your brows furrow, and you frown in that way that makes geto want to kiss it off. “it’s just… you’re so good at this, geto!”
his thumb pauses over your cheek. “what?”
“this husband thing!” you grin up at him, cheeks flushed. “you made me feel all hot and funny inside. your future wife is gonna be so lucky.”
geto blinks. you keep going.
“you were so hot,” you cup his cheek with a palm, and geto’s jaw is slack. “and you’re so responsible setting up the baby stuff. whoever you date and marry is gonna be so lucky. in a way this is perfect practice, isn’t it?”
his jaw tightens. “yeah, practice.”
he doesn’t say you’re the only girl he’s ever wanted, the only girl he’ll ever want, that last summer when you fell asleep on his couch with his hoodie on your shoulders he thought about you with his last name; or that every time you swat his chest and laugh away his efforts his heart cracks a little in his chest. he doesn’t tell you he’s only a man and his heart can’t take much more much longer.
but he squeezes your hip. bites your neck so you giggle and swat him away. rolls off you and pretends his chain isn’t still warm from your grip.
geto suguru pads away to kneel by the crib’s side. “is my wife gonna keep whining, or is she gonna help me fix this?”
SATO’S REMARK : TOUGH LUCK. BUT KEEP AT IT, BROTHER!
HUSBAND TACTICS #2: GET DOMESTIC !
taught by: toji zenin
“wanna woo her? take her on a family-esque activity. that’ll show her you’re husband material.”
ΣΧ
sigma chi’s frathouse kitchen is two bottles of bourbon & cranberry jam left open on the countertop. in the kitchen suguru geto is there, a hyper-realistic plastic baby on his hip as toji scribbles grocery items in handwriting geto will have to pretend to understand.
“here’s everything,” toji grumbles, clicking his pen and passing the note to suguru. geto’s face scrunches immediately, piercings glimmering as he squints his eyes in a desperate attempt to read the list. “how the hell is your handwriting worse than sukuna’s?”
“you’ll figure it out. it’s for meg,” toji answers, bored, drumming his pen against the sticky counter. “and some of the organic stuff my girl likes. i’ll be back late today, so i need you to drop it off at my place.”
suguru shifts the doll over his chest, taking one last look at the sorry note before stuffing it in his pocket. “are you taking meg with you today?”
“no, he’s home with the babysitter,” toji grunts, slipping his hands into his skinny jean pockets to hide the fake ice on his wrist. “new job’s paying good, so i’m taking the missus out on a date.”
“aww,” suguru softens, smile tugging at his lips. he’s pleased to see toji doing better, to say the least. he’s engaged to a pretty, rich lady now; working hard as a ghost writer for drake, all while being a good young father to meg. he pats the doll’s head absentmindedly. “that’s cute. what are you planning?”
“luxury shopping date,” toji mumbles.
“really?” suguru tilts his head. “where are you going?”
“shoppers drug mart.”
geto doesn’t comment.
“you should take that girl with you,” toji says, hands still in his pockets. “take her n’ your plastic doll grocery shopping. it’s good domestic practice. get her some expensive strawberries and see if she doesn’t fall head over heels.”
suguru bites his lip, phone already heavy in his pocket.
can’t hurt to try, right ?
# SHOW TIME !
suguru wishes you wouldn’t do this to him.
wishes you wouldn’t look all cute standing by the store’s glass doors, lashes fluttering as you blink around trying to find him. he should raise his hand, text you he’s just two aisles over and you should move before the lady behind gets mad at you for blocking the entrance. instead he watches with a fond smile as you frown and fumble to grab your phone from your purse.
he sighs, walking over to stand behind you with the fake baby in his arms. your eyes are still on your phone as your thumbs tap frantically, typing a message to send to his contact: ‘SUGURU. where are u???’
his lip twitches. he’s leaning so close over your shoulder that he can smell your shampoo, and your hair is tickling his nose, but you still don’t notice. so cute. geto thinks you’re so cute.
he hums into your neck. “who are we texting?”
“suguru!” you gasp, whipping around at the sound of his voice. he’s looking down at you with those half-lidded eyes, teasing smile, dark sweater sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. you frown at him. “you scared me! don’t you know you shouldn’t sneak up on vulnerable young women?!”
suguru blinks. “what?”
“you heard me,” you grumble, fake pout on your lips as you lean down to the plastic doll in his arms. “hi, lafayette. daddy’s being mean to mommy again.”
“i still can’t believe you named our baby after a revolutionary leader.” geto mutters.
“he’s my fave in hamilton,” you hum, slipping lafayette into your arms. “shall we get shopping?”
——
in geto’s shopping cart, there’s five shades of lipgloss, a bag of plantain chips, and four other items that are not on the shopping list.
geto suguru needs to start saying no. but it’s hard to deny you when you look up at him with those pretty eyes, batting your lashes all sweet in that way that makes his chest hurt. so he pushes the cart, resigned, watching the sway of your hips as you balance lafayette on your side and coo silly things to him like he’s a real human child. he shakes his head, bites his lip. geto suguru is utterly fucked.
“suguru! look at this!”
he shouldn’t look. because it’s just going to be another item you’ll seduce him into buying, but he looks anyways. you’re pointing at a box of dinosaur cereal—a clear off-brand version of froot loops. “lafayette would love this. can we get it for him?”
he pads around the cart to get a better look. “lafayette can’t eat cereal.”
“i meant megumi,” you coo, running a hand down his pecs. “he likes dinosaurs. he’ll love this.”
“no, he likes gummy worms,” but geto suguru is already distracted by your hand stroking his chest. his lip twitches, “you want this for yourself, don’t you?”
“caught me,” you flash him your sweetest smile, squeezing his pec before setting mamdani in the cart. geto watches as you lean up to the top shelf, skirt riding up your thighs as you reach for the box of cereal. his eyes drop. but then his neck heats and he quickly looks away.
“suguruu,” you frown, still reaching. “help me.”
suguru lets out a rough breath. he shouldn’t help, but he always will—what else can he do when you call his name like that?
he steps behind you, chest pressing against your back, arm reaching up and caging you in the process. your breathing hitches. suguru doesn’t miss it.
“suguru,”
“hm?”
“what are you doing?”
your voice comes out breathy, and suguru has to pretend he doesn’t like the way you sound or how you’re staring up at him with big eyes. he hums coolly. “i’m helping my wife.”
“oh,” your lashes flutter as he reaches to tug down your skirt. his knuckles brush your thigh & you glance down at his arm snaking around your hips before mustering up a smile.
you tease, “such a good husband, protecting my modesty.”
“mm,” he murmurs, “the best.”
your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. geto watches your lashes flutter—shy? nervous?—as your hand curls around his bicep to steady yourself. your palm squeezes his arm. he lets his hand dip to squeeze your inner thigh, and prays you don’t hear his breathing hitch.
“do good husbands usually grope their wives..?” you murmur, and geto thinks you’re teasing, but your lashes are low and your voice is so small and god he wants to kiss you so badly.
“don’t think so,” he mutters. “am i bad?”
“so bad,” you breathe. and your breath is hot & he’s leaning so close he can feel it on his lips. you squeeze his arm, eyes boring into his, and you really need to fucking stop before he leans down and kisses you. “but i don’t mind.”
god. you’re gonna fucking kill him. geto parts his lips to speak but you get your words out first.
“so,” you beam up at him, “the cereal?”
oh. the cereal.
fuck you and the cereal.
he doesn’t mean that, though. his jaw tightens as he lifts the box and drops it into the cart. his hands shove in his pockets, and geto suguru can only blink away the irritation burning in his eyes.
“thanks, sugu,” you lift lafayette into your arms. he’s gripping the cart handle right now, trying to ignore the fact that you’re smiling up at him and cursing himself because even now he thinks you are so beautiful.
“well then,” you chirp, grin sweet, “back to shopping!”
TOJI’S REMARK : SHE DON’T WANT YOUR ASS 🤦🏿♂️
HUSBAND TACTICS #3: GET SMOOTHER.
taught by: toru gojo
“your problem is that everything you do maintains plausible deniability. i think it’s time you claimed her in a way she can’t deny.”
ΣΧ
the good news is, even though geto ended up spending $200 on items not on toji’s list, the plantain chips you roped him into getting were really good. the bad news is, sato gojo is lying here on his lap, forcing geto to feed him said chips while gaming on sukuna’s nintendo switch.
“sugu, i want one,” -> geto feeds sato a chip. chew, swallow. “i can’t believe you embarrassed yourself like that.”
suguru’s eye twitches. “no more chips for you.”
they’re on the bed in toru’s room, and toru gojo sighs before slipping his headphones off at his desk. “sorry, but you guys are getting crumbs on my bed.”
sato laughs. “as if sukuna doesn’t jerk off in here every other day.”
“that was before he finished therapy,” toru mumbles in response, cheeks flushed in dismay. god bless geto for enrolling sukuna in therapy for his exhibitionist kink, despite sukuna’s wishes. toru takes his glasses off, runs a hand through his hair. “suguru, what’s this about you and y/n?”
“every time suguru tries something with her, she laughs him off,” sato snitches. he flashes geto a clumsy grin, smile totally innocent. “sugu, i want one.”
geto shoves him off his lap.
“maybe you’re not obvious enough,” toru plays with the stem of his glasses. “you guys are super close. even if you’re touching her, she might not take it seriously because she’s used to touchy friendships.”
“yeah!” sato agrees, fist pumped up, face flat on the floor. “my thoughts exactly, twin brother.”
“shut up.” geto and toru say simultaneously.
“anyway,” toru continues. “maybe get bolder. do something she can’t pass off as ‘just friends’.”
geto stares at the chips in his lap. “just friends, huh?”
#SHOW TIME!
geto leans by the kitchen door. “hi, mommy. what’re you doing?”
suguru’s over at your house for dinner. he’s just put lafayette to sleep in his crib, and he has his hands in his pockets as he pads over to you, sweatpants low on his hips. his arms cage you by the stove. “you smell good,” he mutters.
you ignore him. “i’m making dinner!” you beam, turning to face him.
geto can’t even tell what you’re showing him. in your hands is a charred mess, and geto can only pray the squiggly thing on the plate is spaghetti and not something else. his brows furrow in amused confusion as you beam up at him, lashes fluttering.
he cocks his head. “is this a burnt offering?”
“rude,” you swat his chest, and geto only smiles, eyes tracking the way your hair falls over your shoulders. you mutter curses as you shift the plate away, staring at the pot in dismay. “i wanted to cook for you.” you grumble.
his lip twitches. “like a real life wife?”
“yeah,” you turn to him, lips in a pout as you play with the chain on his chest. “but it didn’t work out. can you believe it?”
“i believe it,” he hums, but in reality he’s trying not to laugh, or rather, avoiding thinking about how glossy your lips look when you pout. his palms find your waist, “need your hubby to help?”
you smile up at him, “if he’d be so kind.”
geto lifts you by the hips before you can think better of it. you yelp as he sets you down on the counter, gripping him in a panicked hug. “suguru! you can’t just do that!”
he smiles, big. “do what?”
“lift me! and without warning!” you’re still hugging his neck tight, heart racing against his collarbone. he laughs, face in your hair to muffle the sound. his hands are splayed on your back, anchoring you against him.
“stop laughing at me,” you frown, and geto pulls back. he still has that lazy smile on his lips. “i’m not laughing,”
“yes you are,” you cup his face, smushing his cheeks in your palms. “look at your smile. it’s mocking.”
“adoring,” he mutters, gaze reverent.
“lying,” you pout, frown deep.
geto doesn’t argue. he only watches, eyes half-lidded, as you lift a palm from his cheek to card through his hair, stroking softly. you’re still pouting, still pretty. his thumb presses into your spine.
“i’ve never lied to you in my life,” he murmurs.
“yeah?” you’re still raking his hair, eyes never meeting his own. “then were you laughing at me just now?”
“no, mommy.”
“see?” you cock your head. “liar.”
he lets out a long, shuddering breath, hands sliding from your back to your waist, then down to squeeze your hips. you’re still stroking his hair, unbothered. no idea that you’ve got him crumbling beneath you.
“you feel so soft,” he murmurs before he can think better of it.
you tilt your head. “my hips?”
“and your waist, and your thighs,” he drawls, and he’s not even thinking straight anymore. “everywhere.”
you stare at him, brows knit, hand pausing in his hair. “suguru,”
“yeah, baby?”
“you’re being bad again.”
he lets out a strangled breath. he’s staring at your lips, he has been for a while now, and his gaze is bleary & eyes half-lidded. “sorry mommy,” he mumbles, “are you uncomfortable?”
“no?”
“then i’m gonna kiss you now.”
“sugu—“
and he does. he pauses just slightly—just enough to let you pull away if you don’t want this, if you don’t want him—but you don’t so geto presses his lips to your own. his first thought is gloss. your lips are so glossy; strawberry sweet & sugary fake. he lets his tongue slip out to lick your mouth, before cocking his head to kiss you deeper. you squeak, moaning into his mouth, kissing him back as he presses you into him. your thighs squeeze around his waist and geto slips a groan past your lips.
“so good,” he chases your lips when you pull away to breathe, “taste so good, pretty,”
you let him press sloppy kisses to your jaw, hands still in his hair.
but geto doesn’t notice how you freeze underneath him.
TORU’S REMARK: MY ADVICE WORKED?! THIS IS WHY I’M THE BETTER TWIN!! :)
HUSBAND TACTICS #4: GO GET YOUR WIFE !
taught by: ryomen sukuna
“good progress, bud. now all you gotta do? maintain the pace. keep showing her you’re the man now.”
ΣΧ
in sigma chi’s living room, ryomen sukuna is strapped to an armchair as sato hooks him up to a birth simulator.
idiots, the both of them. it started with sukuna saying that taking care of their plastic baby isn’t much work after all, and so motherhood can’t be that bad, and giving birth must not be that bad either. sato, ever the feminist, decided to challenge him on that. now it’s a weekday evening and sato is pressing electric pads to sukuna’s belly with his tongue in his cheek. sukuna the second (their plastic baby—sukuna won the argument it seems) is crying somewhere in the distance.
“nice work, daddy geto,” sukuna hums, shifting so sato can press another pad to his belly. “you’ve gotten the girl.”
geto has. so why doesn’t he feel like it?
you kissed him back. kissed him again. in fact, he’d say he had your lips for dinner. but the texts he sent you this morning are still unread: did you sleep well? can we talk?
geto shakes his head, relaxing into the sofa with his legs spread out as he watches sato fumble with the machine. “now all you gotta do is keep up the good work,” sukuna mumbles. “easy-peasy.”
“i feel like something’s wrong,” geto plays with his necklace. “but i’m not sure what it is, exactly.”
“nothing’s wrong, dumbass,” sukuna squints, watching sato frown at the remote. “you’re just not used to being forward. months of holding back will do that to ya. what you need to do now? ramp it up. tell her you wanna put a baby in her or something. girls love that shit.”
“oh, i agree with that. it’s like saying she’s wifey type.”
“you get me, sato.”
sato grins. then he presses a button on the remote and sukuna screams.
“jesus christ of nazareth!” sukuna roars, jerking in the chair. “fuck—! turn this shit off! sato!”
sato watches him jerk with his hands on his hips, lips bent in a clumsy smile. “what? i can’t hear you over your screaming!”
suguru eyes his frat brothers, both sukuna’s—and sukuna the second’s—cries roaring in his ears. he’s still not sure why this is even happening, but he’s long concluded both his frat brothers were born with a brain. he sighs, burying his face in his hands.
he really needs to fucking see you.
#SHOW TIME !
geto wasn’t sure you’d want to see him.
but you’d already planned to meet up today; long before he kissed you on the countertop, long before he sent you six messages & deleted them all when he received no response. it would be wiser to stay home but he shows up anyway, because he’s a coward who’s trying not to be, and he hasn’t eaten anything in days because everything in the sigma chi kitchen suddenly tastes like your lips.
you greeted him with a smile on your face.
lafayette on your hip, pretty smile as you beckoned him in. said you were just about making lunch. asked him to go handle it in the kitchen because obviously you don’t want to see his face.
geto shakes his head, stares at the water running off his hands in the sink. he has to think positive.
“lafayette, baby, please don’t cry,” your voice comes from the living room. “mommy’s trying so hard—oh my god. i swear i’m gonna take out your batteries!”
geto laughs through his nose before he can think better of it.
he wipes his hands, pads over to the doorframe to watch you fuss over lafayette in the living room. you’re bouncing the plastic robot in your hands, trying to get it to stop its automated wailing. “shhh. want me to sing you a song, baby? you like songs from hamilton, right? okay, okay. why do you cry like you’re running out of time—”
lafayette screams. geto falls in love.
well he was already in love, but somehow his heart has gone sticky in his chest. it’s silly, isn’t it? but geto’s thought about it a lot. your laugh in the kitchen on sunday mornings, your contact saved with his last name, you waking him up at 3am for some ridiculous craving; and he’d get up to retrieve it, of course. because geto suguru would go to the ends of the earth for you if you’d allow it.
is it weird to think of domestic life with someone you aren’t even dating?
probably. but then he thinks about your thighs squeezing his waist on the kitchen counter, your pretty moans in his mouth, your hands in his hair—and god. god god god. geto suguru has never wanted something so badly.
so he doesn’t think too much before padding over to join you in the living room, arms wrapping around your hips. “hey.”
you tense, just a little, just enough that geto doesn’t notice, then relax into him just slightly. “hi. are you being bad again?”
he can hear the smile in your voice, but your usual playfulness isn’t as strong. “maybe. you look cute, bouncing our baby like that.”
you force a smile, eyes dropping to lafayette wailing in your arms. “well—“
“you’d make such a pretty mommy,” geto breathes, and even he’s not sure what he’s saying. all he knows is you’re warm and pretty and in his arms and it’s all he’s ever wanted, all he’ll ever want.
you don’t respond, and geto’s in his feelings now, so his mouth keeps moving: “i think about it a lot,” he murmurs. “mornings with you. you burning the eggs because you’ve never been a good cook.” his palm shifts to your belly. “and i’ll eat them anyways.”
“suguru,”
“and you’d get mad at me for eating them,” he breathes, collapsing into your neck. “tell me you don’t need my sympathy and frown up at me while bouncing our baby on your hip. and then you’d kiss me because you secretly find it sweet of me.” he breathes. “i think about it a lot.”
“you’d make such a pretty wife, such a pretty mommy,” geto breathes. and your neck is so warm, and his lips are ghosting over it, and as his palm glides over your belly his dizzy mind flashes back to sukuna’s words: girls love feeling like they’re wifey!
so he kisses your neck. “can’t wait to see you round with my baby.”
if you were tense before, you’re frozen now.
“suguru.”
“hm?”
“i’m uncomfortable.”
geto freezes.
you step out of his hold, lafayette to your chest, pretty eyes looking up at his. but you’re not looking at him with your usual fondness. your eyes are bored—unimpressed—something geto’s hazy mind can’t seem to name. your lips are tight. “i think you should take lafayette for the weekend.”
“y/n—“
“and don’t contact me,” you snap, irritated. “don’t call, text, nothing. i just—“ you bite your lip, “you need to leave, geto.”
not suguru, geto. okay. okay.
geto leaves with lafayette in his arms. his heart is still in your living room.
SUKUNA’S REMARK : WHO TOLD YOU TO SAY THAT?!
HUSBAND TACTICS #5: DIVORCE COURT !
taught by: nanami kento
“you’ve been leading with actions instead of words. are you really surprised?”
ΣΧ
is it so bad to be forward?
geto has his head on the steering wheel & his heart in his throat. lafayette is crying in the backseat but geto doesn’t care, doesn’t care to rip out the batteries or at least sing the doll to sleep. instead he grips the steering so hard his knuckles turn white.
can’t wait to put a baby in you.
why did he say that? he wants to blame it on sukuna but he can’t. geto knows it’s all on him, of course. he let himself get too love drunk, too hope drunk, too drunk on a future that will never exist. he thought about sato and sukuna who don’t think before they talk and still manage to get the girl. but life has never let him have anything easy, and with you in his arms he managed to forget that. now the only girl he’s ever wanted thinks he sees her as just flesh, and geto is a coward so he doesn’t plan to redeem himself.
it’s best to let you go.
“do you intend to drive?”
nanami’s voice is flat beside him. it’s more of a bored comment than a question, and geto lifts his head up slow. nanami kento is beach-blond hair & pressed on clothes and a bored look that never seems to leave his face. he stares at geto. geto stares back.
“i’m going through a crisis.”
“i observed. should i get toji to drive me instead?”
“have a heart, kenny,” geto slumps against the driver’s seat. nanami’s license is on a three-day suspension for being slightly tipsy while driving, and it’s unusual for kento, but we all have our problems. geto reaches for a cigar in the glove box. nanami smacks his hand away.
“this is about y/n, correct? sato told me all about it.”
of course he did—what a snitch.
geto rests his head on the wheel, careful not to let the horn sound. “is it my turn for some advice?”
“i suppose,” nanami pushes up his glasses. “did you ever try speaking english?”
geto blinks. “english?”
“the others advised you to be forward, correct?” nanami starts. “touch her, kiss her, all of it. but did you ever speak english? tell her that you liked her? wanted her?”
geto blinks. but kento’s not done.
“i heard about what happened most recently, sukuna told me all about it,” nanami sighs. “telling a woman she’d make a pretty mom. telling her you can’t wait to see her round with your baby.” kento scoffs. “you have your domestic fantasies, geto. but do you know how terrifying that is to a woman who you haven’t even told ‘i love you’?”
ah. geto knew he’d been missing something.
he’s always been a coward. at thirteen, he pierced his own ears with a ballpoint pen and hid the bleeding from his parents for weeks. at seventeen, he got his first tattoo, and charred it off with cigarette butts until all that remained was the outline. at nineteen, he kissed a girl and blocked her the next day. at twenty-two, he fucked up his chances with the only woman he’s ever loved. geto suguru has never known how to handle wanting something. he either destroys it or runs far, far away.
“so what do i do now?” geto asks, brows knit. “she told me to stay away from her.”
“then you do exactly that,” nanami’s already unbuckling his seatbelt. “give her the space she needs. you’ve crowded her for long enough, suguru.”
he has, hasn’t he?
“i’ll ask toji to give me a lift,” nanami is standing outside the car. “you’re in no condition to drive.”
nanami slams the door shut. lafayette is still crying in the backseat.
# SHOW TIME !
geto suguru is back in your room again.
not in the way he’d like, not sprawled on your bed or with you curled into his side. he’s sitting diagonally across from you on the mini-table you have laid out, because he’d tried to sit opposite you and caught the way your lip twitched with irritation.
geto is on his best behavior.
the plastic doll is asleep in its crib as you and suguru fill out spreadsheets. logs on feeding times, that sort of thing. he stares at the gleaming columns—empty. they’ve been empty for an hour now, because geto suguru can’t stop his eyes from shifting from his laptop screen to your face.
“feeding log,” you say flatly. “did you do the 2PM ?”
“yeah,” he did—he thinks. everything is blurry.
“no you didn’t,” you bite. “i’m literally looking at the column right now. it’s empty. and it shouldn’t be.”
geto’s fingers twitch over his keyboard. the spreadsheet in front of him is empty, but the previous one—the one you’re looking at—shouldn’t be. he remembers logging it yesterday with his back bent over the kitchen island, eyes clouded over, thinking, wondering if he should send you a message.
he croaks, “i did fill it in. check the—“
“you didn’t,” you snap, and geto’s never had you snap at him before so he’s not sure what to do with that. “i’m literally looking at it right now. can you please take this seriously?”
“okay,” he swallows.
you turn back to your laptop, irritated. geto fills out the spreadsheet in front of him. he won’t give you reason to be upset with him any longer.
———
the second time geto sees you after the incident, it’s at the local library.
you’re already done with today’s work, and the walk back to the residences is long & winding. geto suguru knows his place. he has his eyes down on the pavement, wind flinging his hair in his face, three feet behind you because you’d eye him if he got any closer.
you’re shivering.
and geto noticed it three minutes ago, to be honest. noticed how your shoulders hugged together, how you shoved your hands into your pockets. he should give you his jacket. you’re cold, and he doesn’t want you getting sick, and he doesn’t want you to snap at him or shoot him down but you’re cold and you’re beautiful and geto suguru is calling your name before he can think any better of it.
“y/n—here.”
he holds out his jacket. you turn back to look at the material, and then back at him.
“i don’t want it.”
he should stop. “you’re freezing. i don’t want you to catch a—“
“i’d rather freeze.” you deadpan. “can you not speak to me?”
geto bites his lip. he stops himself before he can say okay.
——
in the library’s study room, geto suguru has his head on his keyboard and eyes staring at the glass door.
his phone chimes, but he doesn’t check the message because he knows it’s just team snapchat. but then it chimes again, and geto reaches for his phone even though he knows there’s no point.
—
y/n :)
where are you
i have your location.
we need to work on the project
—
geto scrambles—actually scrambles, he accidentally knocks over the chair behind him—and then he breathes. wipes his face with his hoodie sleeves. breathes again.
when you walk in, you don’t say hi.
you sit diagonally across again, and open up your laptop. you look pretty today. hair loose over your shoulders, cheeks flushed from the weather, lashes fluttering in the light. and your lips are glossy again, like they were in the supermarket, like they were on the kitchen counter—and oh god. geto needs to stop staring.
but he doesn’t. he watches, mouth slightly agape, as your nails click at your keyboard. he can tell you’re upset or irritated, and he thinks—no, knows it’s because of him, and he really needs to get this work done so you won’t get sad and snap at him again. he doesn’t want to be in trouble. he doesn’t know what to do when you get like that. so he turns his eyes to his laptop. but somehow, they drift back to your face again.
“can you stop fucking staring at me?”
“sorry—“ he flinches. “i’m sorry, i’ll look away.”
there’s a lump in his throat. he’s looking at the screen but he can’t quite see it, and the numbers and columns have mixed together and swollen up on the page.
but you aren’t done.
“seriously, what is your problem?” you snap, irritated. “we have a project to do. and you’ve been letting your stupid feelings get in the way of it all!”
he wants to say he’s sorry again, and that his feelings aren’t stupid but he’s sorry, and it’s all he’ll ever be, but instead his voice comes out as a croak. “i’m trying.”
you stare at him in disbelief. his fingers are shaking under the table. has he always been this jumpy?
“you need to try harder,” you snarl. “or what? too busy thinking about marrying me? having me round with your baby?” he shrinks. “what the fuck, geto?”
he doesn’t know how to explain that that day in the living room he wasn’t thinking of actually giving you a baby, at least not right now. he doesn’t know how to explain that when he looks at you he thinks of forever, he wants forever, and ever since starting this project ‘forever’ has looked like wedding bells and sunday mornings and grocery runs with a mini-you in the cart. he doesn’t know how to say he wants you to be his, your last name, your everything, and it’s sick and twisted and too much too fast but geto suguru has never been able to want in increments.
so he shrinks. stares at his keyboard. you snap, “say something!”
“i’m sorry,” he croaks, eyes on his lap. “i didn’t want to—i wasn’t trying to—“
“you scared me!” you snap. “geto, you scared me. you’ve been scaring me! these last few weeks—“ you slam your book shut. “touching me. kissing me. and i don’t mind—swear to god i don’t. but you’ve been acting so weird so suddenly! saying things you’ve never said before. is this some kind of twisted roleplay?!”
geto stifles a breath. tries to count in his head so he doesn’t breakdown in front of you. he knows that wouldn’t be fair. you keep going:
“i don’t know what i’m supposed to think,” you grip the table. “my best friend of how many years gets partnered with me for a project, great! but then he starts kissing me on countertops. standing too close in grocery stores. telling me i’d make a pretty wife and mommy and—it’s weird! i don’t know where it’s coming from! he’s never said he likes me in his life, but he can’t wait to see me round with his baby?”
you’re sniffling now. “what the fuck, geto?”
your shoulders are shaking, and you’ve sat back down, and your pretty face is in your hands as you cry. geto’s heart aches. because you’re not supposed to cry because of him. because he’s not supposed to make you uncomfortable, or confused, or upset, and he’s done all of that in the span of a week. and geto’s mouth dries. he wants to pad over and hold you in his arms but he knows he doesn’t have the right to fucking do that.
he breathes in, deep.
“i’m sorry—for moving too fast,” his hands fist. “i’ve been in love with you since freshman year. and i tried, i swear i did, to show it. but you always laughed it off. and instead of telling you outright, i just got more and more aggressive with it. i think part of me has always thought you’d never feel the same,” he swallows. “so i thought it’d be safer to show it than say it out loud. but that was only safe for me.”
he bites his lip. you’re still bawling into your hands, small and terrified, and geto‘s eyes sting. he can’t believe you’re shaking because of him.
“baby—“ he catches himself, “please don’t cry,”
“i hate you,” you sob, “i’m never gonna forgive you ever.”
he swallows. “you don’t have to. but please don’t cry,” his hands tighten on his jeans. “i don’t know what to do when you cry.”
and it’s the first time geto’s been honest, because he really doesn’t know. because you’ve never cried because of him, and normally if you ever cried at all he’d drag you into his chest but right now that doesn’t feel appropriate.
but he gets up anyways.
takes your hands from your face. and you’re so gorgeous even with tears on your cheeks, eyes glistening wet, lips puffed out & nose flushed from crying. and he wants to hug you so badly, but for now he settles for crouching to your height and wiping the tears from your eyes.
you glare down at him, and he should be scared again but all he can think is that you’re so fucking cute. your nose is all puffy and your eyes slightly red. “you’re such an idiot.”
“i know.”
“and this is so cliché.”
“i know.”
“and i want you too, but slower.”
“i didn’t know that.”
“you know it now,” you curse. “you’re an idiot, i swear.”
geto breathes. and then you cup his face, watching the way his eyes glisten with wet. “you still haven’t confessed to me, suguru.”
“i love you,” he says too quickly. “since freshman year. i think about you too much. you’re always on my mind, and i don’t want anyone but you, and i love you so much y/n and i’ll love you forever if you’ll let me—“
you interrupt him with a kiss.
BONUS !
“i can’t believe he said he wants you round with his baby.”
the project is long over, and today you’re on the countertop of the sigma chi kitchen, legs swinging as you gossip with sukuna. he has your plantain chips in his hands, leaning against the counter as he eagerly munches on the snacks.
“i told him to approach you calmly and honestly, y’know? told him girls love communication,” sukuna clicks his tongue. “nobody listens to me in this household.”
you laugh, “really? that would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.”
“right?” sukuna shakes his head, passing you a plantain chip. “he’s got his brain in his ass cheeks, i swear.”
you giggle, and right then, the door swings open. sato gojo hurts in with his arms spread out in glee. “we’re back!”
geto trudges behind him, holding too many shopping bags for one person. sato has already run towards his room, leaving you and sukuna confused—but then geto drops the bags to the floor with a thud. he looks up at you. “hey,”
sukuna absentmindedly blocks your head with his own. “yo, man.”
“can you move your fat fucking head?” geto walks past him, ignoring the gasp sukuna lets out. he brackets you on the counter, forehead slightly sticky with sweat, chain glistening in the afternoon heat.
he murmurs, “hi, baby.”
“hi, handsome,” you cup his face. “back from your date with sato?”
“not a date,” he mumbles, kissing your palm, then your cheek, then your jaw. “was getting groceries.” he murmurs. “missed you so bad, pretty.”
you gigle, squeaking and squirming away as he attacks your face with kisses. he pulls back teasingly, smile smug, before you tug him back in by his chain. sukuna watches calmly, shoving another plantain chip in his mouth. he nods in approval of the flavor.
but he quickly grows bored. “don’t get too comfortable guys. i’ll whip out my dick and start stroking right now.”
“what...?”
“can you pretend to be normal?!”
before suguru can strangle sukuna, sato bounces back into the kitchen. his grin is clumsy, cap tilting off his hair, and in his hands is a machine that looks like a mini-tablet and a bunch of wires connected to pads at the ends.
art credits to @/kcokaine on tumblr, line divider by @/cursed-carmine, first gif divider by @/anitalenia, second gif divider by @/cafekitsune, pics from pinterest!
Sukuna and his possessive girl cat. She's always vying for his attention and never letting anyone come too close to him. That is, until she met you. Maybe, just maybe, you can be the one to win her over.
cw: SFW, fuff, girl cat Sukuna, domestic life with reader, reader is implied to be a PhD student, gender neutral reader, modern AU, established relationship, all characters are 18+, proofread, 1.3k wc!
a/n: I wanted to try something different, so here damn, take it LMFAO.... also fun fact! the thesis mentioned is a project I did for my bio class during my 2nd year! this was supposed to be a short fic.. it's longer than I wanted it to be but I couldn't stop writing </3 anyways enjoy!
a/n 2: I forgot to mention, but reader refers to the cat as "pip"; however, I decided against naming the cat after spending an hour trying to find a good name on reddit….
It was late at night when Sukuna found her.
A damp cardboard box next to the trash compactor of his apartment complex, and inside was a ball of fur, curled into itself. Shivering from the cold, while the thin blankets barely did anything to keep her warm. The lamppost over his head flickered on and off, lighting up the pathway leading to the dark, filthy alleyway where she was.
The sound of his footsteps had her curious head peeking from under the blankets, and before he knew it, he was staring back at a pair of green feline eyes. Her brown fur was matted and wet, and her ears stood tall. His hands reached forward slowly, hesitantly—only to be followed by a hiss. However, the smell of his sandalwood perfume and his calm patience comforted her. With his hand open and welcoming, she nuzzled her face into his warm palm.
Soon enough, huddled beneath the warmth of his hoodie, she found her home. And Sukuna, who couldn't even take care of a rock, found himself becoming a cat dad overnight.
It took some time for her to ease up to him, to trust him, but little by little, with each treat and each scratch behind the ear, Sukuna won her over. She was one spoiled cat; that much was sure. After all, Sukuna could never find it in himself to say no to his pretty girl—whether it was an extra treat, a new toy, or even a sparkly collar that caught her eye at the pet store.
She was a feisty cat, and a possessive one too. Ever since the day Sukuna took her in, she never left his side. Constantly vying for his attention with soft meows and her big eyes.
That is until you came into the picture.
With messy hair, clothes stained with coffee and a voice that brought a smile to his face.
You met on a gloomy day. The soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows became your company inside the quaint little cafe. The soft yellow lights highlighted your features, and your attention remained undivided as you stared attentively at the laptop in front of you.
The pull was magnetic—at least for him. Even as he was giving his order, he couldn't help but keep his eyes on you, throwing a look over his shoulder every five seconds—a small, hopeful part of him waiting to catch your attention.
His gaze wandered across the room, and in a cafe that was hardly crowded, he chose to take the seat right in front of you. The scrap of chair legs against the floor had you looking up, only to be met with, most possibly, the hottest man your eyes have ever laid upon.
Standing before you, Sukuna looked like a man of sin.
His leather jacket hugged each built muscle of his arms, his hair tousled and swept back, as if he'd been running his fingers through it all day. Silver hooped earrings decorating his ears glinted under the soft lighting of the cafe. His lips curved up into a smirk, peering down at you with piercing eyes, catching the way your eyes trailed across the pretty tattoos on his sharp features, until they met his—making heat rush to your cheeks from being caught.
It took your brain a moment to process what was transpairing, and once you did, your face warmed with embarrassment. Not only did he catch you staring, but your own attire left you feeling embarrassed. Clothes dishevelled and hair a mess from sitting in this quiet corner for hours, working tirelessly on the last few pages of your thesis on the role of engineered microbial enzymes for plastic biodegradation.
"Hey."
Dear god, his voice was equally as hot as him.
"Hi."
And eventually, you found a home with him too.
You still remember the first time you came over to his place, his arm wrapped around your waist as he guided you through the doors of his apartment. The second the door creaked open, you were greeted by a dash of brown fur, and the sound of excited paws against wood flooring filled the quiet atmosphere. Your heart warmed at the sight, watching her tail curl around his calf as she welcomed him back home.
Reaching forward to pet her, you were met with a hiss, turning her back towards you in rejection. A frown crossed your face, while the man towering behind you laughed as if he was having the time of his life.
"What..." You were left dumbfounded, disappointed by her hostility. Sukuna merely chuckled, his arm pulling you to him, planting a kiss to your hairline.
"Don't worry about her," he reassures, while the her in question left the room long ago, preferring to spend her time with a toy mouse and not with you. "It'll take some time for her to warm up to you," his hands reach for the collar of your jacket, helping you slide your arms out and hooking it to the coat hanger, "or to anyone," he said under his breath.
Your ears, however, did not miss his whispered words.
Since then, you found yourself competing for his attention with a cat, of all things. Every kiss shared was interpreted with a meow, every attempt to cuddle on the couch met with her sliding herself between you two, and every lingering touch of his trailing further was met with a paw smacking away at his eager hands.
It wasn't until that one night when everything changed.
Pulling up to the parking lot of his apartment, you slammed the door to your car shut, locking it while your hands juggled between your purse and car keys.
Your phone, on the other hand, was caught between your right ear and shoulder as you stayed on call with him. Sukuna was stuck at work, held back in a meeting, while you were already waiting outside of his door. Digging through the purse, you find the spare keys to his place.
"Kay, don't worry," you reply, twisting the doorknob and stepping inside. On his end, all he hears is shuffling, and then the sound of your keys placed onto the counter as you take off your coat. "I can take care of her, Sukuna." You roll your eyes at the thorough instructions he was throwing your way.
With a sigh, you hang up the call, making your way further into his place, your feet leading you straight to the living room where she was perched up on the beige couch, cuddled into herself like a loaf of bread.
"Looks like it's just you and me today, pip," you say, placing a hand on your hip, receiving a dejected meow in response from her.
It was going to be a long night.
Your attempts all felt fruitless, throwing a toy or treat, only for her passive attitude to dismiss you. Even following her dinner down to the last scoop, mixing her dry and wet food as instructed, you were met with a flick of her tail in disinterest.
By the time you gave up, the day had already passed—tirelessly at that. It wasn’t until you let your guard down, giving up with a defeated sigh and plopping yourself down onto the couch, that she moved. Slowly by slowly, through the periphery of your eyesight, she was inching toward you on the couch, while you mindlessly scrolled through Netflix.
Until she finally reached out, pawing at your hands. Your heart swelled at the sight of her big eyes and the soft meows, letting go of your frustration from the day you finally gave her a pet—nails scratching behind her ears as her eyes closed in contentment.
And when Sukuna finally came home that night, exhaustion on his face from the day wearing him down, he was met with the sight of you two lying on the couch—her small form cuddled into your chest underneath the throw blanket.
