𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you, an upbeat and ditzy underground nurse who treats all kinds of criminals, patch up the assassin toji fushiguro whenever he visits. slowly but surely, you realise he may be faking his injuries just to have an excuse to be near you.
tags. assassin!toji x (bimbo) nurse!female reader. smut with plot. unprotected. ōral (m&f). size difference. slight cervix fǔckin. breēding kink. missionary. dōggy. dirty talk. name calling. crēampie. user is called ‘girl, doll, sweetheart, slut’. not proofread :: wc: 4.5k :: on ao3
the dim fluorescent lights of your small clinic flicker overhead as the door creaks open, letting in a gust of cool night air. you are perched on your stool, scrolling through your phone and admiring the latest pastel pink nail designs on instagram.
your scrubs are a soft baby blue, adorned with little cartoon hearts you ironed on yourself because, well, why not? life is too short not to make everything cute.
the clock reads 2:17am. another late night shift where nothing exciting ever happened. or so you thought.
it’s then that he walks in. toji fushiguro. the man who can make your heart skip a beat just by existing. he is huge, all broad shoulders and rippling muscles under that tight black shirt, his dark hair messy like he’s just rolled out of a fight. which, knowing him, he probably had. his face is scarred and his eyes are sharp and predatory. he is the opposite of everything you are.
but to you? he is just toji, the guy who keeps showing up at your door with wounds that need fixing.
“toji!” you squeal and hop off your stool before rushing over, “oh my gosh, what happened this time? you look... um, intense.”
toji grunts, his deep voice rumbling as he holds his left arm close to his side. blood seeps through the makeshift bandage he’s wrapped around it: a torn strip from his shirt by the looks of it.
“nothin’ serious, girl. just a graze from a knife. mission went south.”
you pout, your glossy lips pursing together. “a knife? that’s not nothing. come on, sit down. let me take care of you.”
you gently grab his good arm. well, tried to, your small hand barely wrapping around his massive bicep as you lead him to the exam table.
toji lets you, though you knew he could have shrugged you off like a fly. that’s what you like about toji; he is all tough on the outside, but with you, he was... gentle? sort of.
as he sits, the table creaks under his weight. you bustle around and pull on your pink latex gloves (because regular ones are so boring) before gathering the needed supplies: antiseptic, gauze and bandages.
your clinic isn’t much—just a back-alley setup for people like him, assassins and mercenaries who couldn't go to real hospitals. but you've made it your own, with fluffy pillows on the chairs and a vase of fake daisies on the counter.
“shirt off,” you say cheerfully, not embarrassed. okay, maybe a little.
you’ve seen toji shirtless plenty of times over the past few months, ever since he first stumbled in here with a bullet wound in his shoulder. but every time, it hits you like a truck. his abs are chiseled like some kind of greek god, scars crisscrossing his skin like a roadmap of violence.
toji smirks, that lopsided grin that makes your tummy flutter, “bossy tonight, huh?”
but he complies, peeling off the bloodied shirt with a wince. there it is: a nasty gash on his upper arm, about four inches long, still oozing blood. not life-threatening, but it needs stitches.
you gasp dramatically, “toji! this looks awful! hold still, okay? i'm gonna clean it.”
you dab at the wound with antiseptic-soaked cotton. your touch is light and careful. he doesn’t even flinch, just watches you with those intense green eyes.
“does it hurt a lot? i have lollipops if you want one after,” you murmur quietly. you feel a bit silly suggesting such a thing to a man like him, but it’s customary to you.
he chuckles, a low, gravelly sound that sends shivers down your spine. “nah, sweetheart. i’ve had worse. you’re the one makin’ it bearable.”
your cheeks heat up and you giggle, a bit distracted from your work. “aww, that’s sweet! you’re my favorite patient, you know that?”
you mean it too. most of the rough types who come in are grumpy or handsy, but toji? he is respectful, even if he teases you relentlessly.
and lately, he's been coming in more often. for smaller stuff that he can fix himself, like this. you wonder if he is just clumsy or something.
as you thread the needle for stitches, you chatter away to fill the silence. “sooo, what was the mission about? bad guys? secret stuff? ooh, was there a chase scene like in the movies?”
“classified,” he says, but there is amusement in his voice, “let’s just say some idiot thought he could outdraw me."
you giggle and tie off the first stitch. “well, duh. no one’s tougher than you.”
your fingers brush his skin accidentally and you feel the heat radiating from him. god, he is warm. and close. you can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and blood—musky and masculine. it makes your head spin a little.
by the time you finish bandaging him up, the clock had ticked to 3am. “all done! try not to rip it open again, okay? and come back if it gets infected. promise?”
toji stands, towering over you and for a moment, his eyes softened as he looks down at you. that upturned face of yours with those doe eyes and bright smile makes him feel funny.
“yeah, yeah. thanks, doll,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash, which is way more than your usual fee, and presses it into your hand, “for the trouble.”
“nu-uh, that's too much!” you protest, but he is already heading for the door with his hands in the pockets of his pants, not even looking back.
“keep it. buy yourself somethin’ pretty.”
and with that, he is gone, leaving you staring at the door with a dumbfounded smile.
over the next few weeks, toji becomes a regular fixture in your life. at first, it is every couple of days. a bruise here, a cut there. nothing major, but enough to warrant a visit. you’d patch him up, he'd grunt his thanks and you’d both pretend like the lingering looks weren’t happening.
one night, he shows up with a split lip and a somewhat black eye. “fell down some stairs,” he mutters, but you know better.
“liarrr,” you tease, applying ice to his eye with a small giggle, “you’re too ‘professional’ for that. c’monnn, admit it, you just wanted to see me.”
toji raises an eyebrow with that familiar smirk playing on his lips. “maybe. your place is the only one that doesn’t smell like death.”
you beam as you finish treatment. “aww! i knew it. here, have a sticker for being brave.”
you slap a sparkly heart sticker on his chest, right over a scar. he stares down at it, then at you, like he couldn't decide if he wants to laugh or... something else.
as time went on, the visits got more frequent. and weirder. one time, it was just a scraped knee.
“tripped,” he said flatly.
you tilted your head and fluffed his hair out of habit to get the dust out, “toji—you’re like, super assassin guy. you don’t trip.”
“slippery floor.”
another time, a tiny nick on his finger. “paper cut,” he claimed, but his eyes twinkled with mischief.
you started to suspect something. was he hurting himself on purpose? just to see you? the thought made your heart race. you like him a lot. he is scary, sure, but he makes you feel safe. and hot. like, really hot.
the way he’d watch you work, his gaze lingering on your lips or the curve of your hips in your scrubs... yeah, you noticed.
but you are you: a bit oblivious, ditzy and still stuck in your younger years like many say. you trip over your own feet sometimes, forget words mid-sentence and your idea of a wild night is binge-watching rom-coms with ice cream.
and toji is a killer, literally. you’re worlds apart. still, the crush grew. you’d daydream about him kissing you, his big hands on your waist and his muscular body over yours...
it’s a rainy tuesday when things between you shift. toji bursts in around midnight, clutching his side. blood soaks his shirt and it seems way more than usual.
“fuckin’ ambush,” he growls and collapses onto the table.
“oh shit, toji!” you rush over, your hands shaking as you help him strip off the shirt. a deep stab wound in his abdomen. not fatal if treated quick, but bad. “hold on, i'll fix you!”
as you work, cleaning and stitching with frantic efficiency, he watches you. “y’re good at this, y'know? calmer than most.”
you bite your lip as you try focusing on cleaning and stitching up the wound, “i have to be. for you.”
the words slip out before you realise it and you freeze.
toji caught it on time. he tilts his head and his brow arches upward. he barely manages not to grin, knowing he’d feel any small movement in his abdomen. “for me, huh?”
your face burns hot and you shake your head. you almost drop your material, “i mean... you're my friend. or whatever.”
“friend,” he tastes the word then hisses as you pull a stitch tight, “yeah. sure.”
after you bandage him, he doesn’t leave right away. instead, he sits there, shirtless and staring at you. the air thickens and is charged with something unspoken.
“toji?” you whisper and step closer. your heart pounds loudly in your ears at the sudden tension.
toji reaches out, his rough hand cupping your cheek. his palm is calloused and warm, making you instinctively lean into it. “y’ve been on my mind, doll. more than you should,” he murmurs gruffly.
your breath hitches at the confession. his low voice seems deeper than usual, low and whispery. you’re not sure you can handle him being this close.
“really? me too. i mean, you. on my mind,” you stammer a bit, fumbling your words.
toji pulls you between his legs and your bodies are now only inches apart. he smirks up at you, “good. ‘cause i've been comin’ here for bullshit reasons just to see y’r ass.”
you gasp and then laugh, smacking him against his chest lightly, “i knew it! the paper cut bit was sus.”
toji’s laugh was low, vibrating through you. then his lips are on yours without a warning. it’s a rough, demanding, but oh-so-perfect kiss. you melt into him and your hands roam his broad chest, tracing scars. he tastes like danger and desire, his tongue invading your mouth as he grips your hips hard enough to bruise.
but it stops there that night. he pulls back, breathing heavy. toji looks like he’s barely restraining himself, eyes dark as they linger on your breasts before flicking upwards again.
he nips at your bottom lip, “not yet. gotta heal first.”
you pout and look a bit dejected. “hmph. tease.”
“patience, sweetheart.”
the tension built over the next visits. flirty touches turn to heated makeouts. he’d pin you against the wall after patching a "minor" bruise, his hands under your scrubs, squeezing your ass while you whimpered into his mouth.
you’d grind against his thigh, feeling his hardness press against you, but he’d always stop before it went too far.
“wanna do this right,” he’d growl as an excuse every time.
you’re going insane. your brain is completely fixated on him. on his size, his strength and how he'd probably wreck you in the best way ever. you even start wearing cuter outfits under your scrubs: lacy bras and thigh-highs, just in case.
then, one stormy night, he shows up again. this time unscathed. no blood, no bruises. just... him.
“toji?” you blink and your heart skips a beat as you set down the gauze. confusion mixes with a thrill that makes your thighs clench, “you’re okay? no cuts, no bruises... nothing?”
the assassin steps inside and the door clicks shut behind him. with a deliberate flick, he locks it, the sound echoing like a promise. his gaze rake over you. specifically your baby blue scrubs hugging your curves and the way your eyelashes fluttered innocently.
“yeah,” toji growls, voice low and rough, “came for somethin’ else this time.”
your pulse thunders in your ears and heat blooms low in your belly.
“oh?” it comes out breathy, your brain already fogging with anticipation. you can feel your nipples hardening under your lacy bra at the many images flashing through your mind.
toji stalks toward you like a predator, each step deliberate, closing the distance until your back hits the edge of the exam table. the air between you crackles with thick and unspoken need.
his hand shoots out to grip your chin firmly before tilting your face up to meet his intense stare. “you, doll. been dreamin’ about fuckin’ you senseless every goddamn night. that cute little body of yours writhin’ under me, beggin’ for my cock. gonna make you scream my name till your voice breaks.”
your panties soak through in an instant at his nasty words. you've fantasized about this so many times, his rough hands on you and his deep voice whispering dirty promises, but hearing it out loud? it made your knees weak.
“toji... yes, please,” you whimper, your hands trembling as they reach for his chest to feel up the hard ridges of muscle under his wet shirt.
his mouth instantly crashes down on yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue, devouring you like he’s been starving. his large hands roam possessively over your body.
one hand comes up to yank your head back by your hair for better access, the other sliding down to grip your ass hard. he squeezes the soft flesh until you gasp into his mouth. he tastes like rain and sin, his tongue fucking your mouth in a filthy preview of what is to come.
with a growl, he rips at your scrubs, buttons popping off and scattering across the floor like confetti. the top gapes open to reveal your pink lacy bra that barely contain your tits, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide your stiff nipples poking through.
“fuck, look at you,” he rasps, eyes darkening with lust as he drinks you in. “all dolled up in this slutty little bra, just beggin’ to be fucked, huh?”
you moan and arch into his touch as his calloused palms cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the lace in rough and teasing strokes. the friction sends jolts straight to your clit and makes you grind against his thigh instinctively.
“been wantin' this forever,” you pant, your hands fumbling with his wet shirt to get it off, desperate to feel his skin, “your hands on me, your mouth... oh fuck, please.”
toji smirks against your neck before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. he soothes it with his tongue, “greedy little thing, aren’t ya? don't worry, doll—i’m gonna give you every fuckin’ inch.”
with a swift motion, he shoves your bra up over your tits, exposing them to the cool air.
your nipples pebble instantly and he latches onto one with a hungry growl, sucking hard while his tongue flicks the sensitive bud. his teeth grazes and nips it just enough to make you cry out, pain blending with pleasure as he palms the other roughly, pinching and rolling the nipple between his calloused fingers.
”toji! oh god, that feels so good... harder, please,” you beg with your fingers tangling in his damp hair, pulling him closer. your brain is melting, reduced to needy whimpers and the ache between your legs.
his free hand slides down your body to trace the curve of your waist before cupping your mound over your pants. he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy as well as the dampness seeping through the fabric.
“wet already? fuckin’ soaked through y’r pants like a desperate slut,” toji murmurs against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. he rubs you firmly and grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, making your hips buck wildly.
“this pretty pussy’s been achin’ for my cock, hasn't it? drippin' just thinkin’ about me stretchin’ you out.”
“yes! toji, touch me—finger me, fuck me, anything,” you whine desperately, your voice high and breathy as you rock against his large hand.
toji chuckles darkly as he hook his fingers into your waistband and yanks your pants down in one rough tug, taking your panties with them—white lace with delicate little bows, now ruined with your arousal. the cool air hits your bare pussy and makes you shiver as strings of slick cling to your thighs.
“adorable,” the dark-haired man mutters, his eyes fixed on your glistening folds. they’re puffy and wet with need. he drops to his knees, his broad shoulders forcing your legs apart as he grips your thighs hard.
his hot breath ghosts over your exposed cunt which makes you clench around nothing, “look at this cute, wet cunt. so fuckin’ pretty and needy. gonna eat it till you scream. ‘till y’re squirtin’ all over my face like the dirty girl ya are.”
before you can beg, his tongue dives in, flat and broad as he laps from your entrance to your clit in one long and filthy stroke. you gasp, legs wobbling as he sucks your swollen clit into his mouth while his tongue flicked relentlessly over your cunt.
his rough fingers bruise your thighs, holding you open as he devours you like a man possessed, groaning into your pussy.
“taste so fuckin' sweet, doll. this juicy little cunt’s all mine now. need’ta tongue-fuck it till you're cryin'.”
“toji! too much—ah! fuck, right there!” you cry out and your hands fist his hair as he plunges his tongue deep inside you, curling it to stroke your walls. his nose grinds against your clit and the friction drives you absolutely insane.
you’re a babbling mess, your body overwhelmed by the pleasure, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. “feels so good... don't stop, please don't stop... gonna cum so harddd!”
he hums in approval and the vibration shoots through you like lightning. then he adds two thick fingers, thrusting them knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt before curling them to hit that spongy spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.
he pumps them hard, scissoring to stretch you while his mouth never leaves your clit. “that's it, cum for me, little slut. flood my mouth with that sweet pussy juice—wanna drink every drop.”
you shatter with a scream at those words, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. your velvety walls clamp down on his fingers, juices gushing out as you squirt. it coats his chin and drips down his neck. he licks you through it, sucking up every bit with greedy slurps until you’re trembling and oversensitive.
toji stands as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug grin on his glistening face, “good girl. fuck, you taste like heaven.”
but he wasn't done. not even close. he strips off his clothes with efficient roughness, yanking off his shirt to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest. his pants follow, his cock springing free. it’s huge, veiny and throbbing with need, the tip angry red and leaking pre-cum. it curves slightly at the tip and it’s as thick as your wrist.
your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight. you expected him to be packing a monster, but not such a big one. the veins running along the length only intimidate you more.
“that's... so fucking big. it's gonna split me open,” you whine as you rub your thighs together in anticipation.
toji chuckles while stroking himself slowly, his fist wrapping tight around the girth. “think you can take it, doll? wanna stuff this fat cock in your tight little pussy ‘n make you scream real bad.”
you nod eagerly before dropping to your knees on the cold floor, your smaller hands reaching for him slowly. “wanna try. wanna suck it first—to taste you.”
you slowly wrap your lips around the swollen tip and suck softly at first, tongue swirling around the slit to lap up his salty pre-cum. the assassin groans deeply and his hand immediately fists your hair. “fuck, your mouth ‘s so fuckin’ hot. suck it deeper, yeaaah—choke on my dick like a good slut.”
the encouragement only makes you take more. you bob your head and hollow your cheeks as you work him with sloppy enthusiasm. saliva drips down your chin which is mixed with his pre-cum.
you gag on his length, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch. he’s too big, the mushroom shaped tip hitting the back of your throat, but you pushed on—humming around him.
“shiiit, that's it. gag on it, baby,” he grunts before pulling you off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock, “not tonight though. wanna be buried balls-deep in y’r pussy instead.”
toji lifts you effortlessly onto the table and spreads your legs wide, your dripping cunt on full display. he drags your hips to the edge and comes to stand between your thighs.
“condom?” you whisper, ever the responsible nurse, even as your body aches for him raw.
he shakes his head, green eyes locked on where his tip is slowly dragging up and down your pussy lips, nudging your little hole. “nah. i’m clean. you?”
“y-yeah. on the pill,” you bite your lip and spread your folds with your fingers invitingly, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, “raw then?”
“fuck yes,” toji groans in agreement and rubs the thick head against your slick entrance, coating himself in your juices. “gonna ruin this tight cunt, girl. pound it till you're creamin' all over my cock, then breed ya deep.”
he thrusts in slow at first, inch by agonizing inch, stretching your walls impossibly wide. you whimper as your nails dig into his wide shoulders. the burn in your cunt is so intense it borders on pain.
“so big—ah, fuck, it hurts so good... deeper, toji, please!” you mewl already, hypnotised by the way his dick is filling you all the way.
once fully sheathed with his balls flush against your plush ass, he pauses and lets you adjust to the fullness. you feel utterly stuffed, his cock throbbing inside you while pressing against every sensitive spot.
toji’s hands grip your thighs tightly, holding your legs open wide while he looks down at the sight beneath him. your glossy eyes are brimming with overwhelmed tears, tits jiggling slightly with each ragged breath and those pouty lips parted in little gasps.
so fucking adorable.
not like the other women he’s had, the ones who took him rough and fast without a second thought, all bravado and no softness. but you?
you sweet, ditzy little thing are trembling around him, your smaller body trying so hard to take every inch as you look up at him like he is your whole world. it makes something possessive twist in his chest.
“eaaasy,” he rasps as he brushes a thumb over your heated cheek, “just breathe. you’re doin’ so good for me, pretty girl.”
it’s only when you give him a sign that he starts sawing his hips back and forth. it starts off slow before turning it into slow and deep thrusts that have you moaning like a pornstar.
“hnnh, harder... fuck me like you mean it, p-please,” you moan prettily, pussy squeezing his dick tightly.
that pretty plea snaps his restraint.
toji pounds into you relentlessly, the table creaking under the force. the sounds of your wet and sweaty skin slapping together echo obscenely in your clinic.
“take it, doll. fuckin' take my cock—your pussy's grippin' me so tight,” the dark-haired man grumbles, sweat trickling off his forehead.
each slam forward hits your cervix, the mix of pain and pleasure making you see white.
“yesyesyes! right there! fuck me—fuck this pussy!” you gasp as you wrap your legs around his waist, meeting his brutal thrusts.
toji’s veiny hand wraps around your throat. he’s not really choking you but more holding you in place, his dominance making you wetter. “this slutty little body of y’rs—this greedy cunt—are all fuckin' mine, yeah? say it.”
“yours! all yours, toji—fuck, i'm yours!” you cry out. you’re loving the possession, legs tensing up around his waist, locking him in deeper.
toji groans deeply at your wantong moans before suddenly flipping you over, bending you over the table, your tits pressed against the cold surface.
“ass up, doll. show me that pretty pussy again,” he smacks his girthy cock against your ass, watching the flesh ripple.
you comply and arch your back, presenting yourself like a cat in heat. he spanks you hard in response and the sting blooms across your cheek, making you yelp.
“cute lil’ ass. gonna spank it while i fuck you senseless,” toji licks his lip, grinding his cock between your cheeks while he smacks them.
more spanks rain down and alternating between your ass cheeks, each one harder than the last. your skin is burning deliciously and the pain only spurs you on more.
“oh fuck, yes! spank me more, nghhh—“ you beg and plea repeatedly, pushing your bottom back to him.
toji slides back in from behind in one swift thrust, even deeper this way, his cock bullying into your g-spot with every snap of his hips. one hand fist your hair and yanks your head back to arch you further.
the other snakes around to rub your clit in furious circles, “cum again. squeeze my dick with that tight cunt, yeah—milk me dry while i breed you.”
and that you did. you clench around him like a vice as another orgasm tears through you and your juices splatter down your thighs and all over his dick.
“toji! fuck, i'm cumming—yes, ohhh, fill me upp!”
toji groans at the feeling of your pussy trying to milk him dry. you’re clamping down on him, your slick covering his cock and sack erotically.
his thrusts turn erratic, balls slapping against your clit. “am gonna pump this womb full of my cum, doll—fuckkkk! breed ya till you're drippin' with it, till y’re knocked up with my kid.”
“yes please, oh my god!” you scream and eagerly push your ass back against his pelvis, taking him so deep that your eyes roll back and your toes curl from pleasure.
with a deep and low groan, toji buries himself deep, hot ropes of cum painting your insides, flooding you until it leaks out around his twitching cock. you feel every pulse of your pussy milking him greedily, drawing out every drop.
panting, he pulls out slowly to watching his thick cum drip from your stretched hole, pooling on the floor below.
toji spreads your cheeks and admires the mess with a low whistle, “fuckin’ beautiful. look at that creamy pussy, stuffed and ruined, keheh.”
you turn your body to face him before pulling the panting man into a kiss. your arms wrap around his neck and toji leans down slowly, covering your body with his larger one.
you part after a moment and smile up at him, still a bit dazed, “that was... wow. so intense.”
toji grins down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before whispering into it using that seductive tone.
“and it’s just the beginning, doll. gonna fuck ya like this all night—every day.”
𝜗𝜚 you thought toji didn’t want you, but the only reason your husband slept on the couch was to stop himself from giving in . . .
( mdni. cw: arranged marriage!au, hurt/comfort, age gap, size kink, praise kink, oral (f. rec), fingering, creampie )
you didn’t choose him.
and truthfully, neither did he.
your families had known each other for decades— tangled up in promises, contracts, and unpaid debts. it was never about love, or even choice. everything had already been decided long before you were old enough to understand what it meant. you weren’t even given time to mourn the death of your autonomy. no arguments, no bargaining. only your father’s voice, stern and tired, eyes dull with the weight of duty, saying, “he’ll protect you. you’ll be taken care of.”
those were the final words that sealed your fate.
and just like that, you became mrs. fushiguro.
the wedding passed in a haze of stiff silk and tense silence. you wore white, he wore black. no one smiled. at least, not in any way that felt genuine. even the photographer didn’t bother faking it. you recited your vows without ever meeting his eyes— the rings felt heavier than they should’ve. there was no kiss. just the sound of distant applause and the quiet, sinking feeling that nothing about this was truly yours.
toji was a quiet man.
stoic, broad, and nearly impossible to read. he didn’t waste time on small talk, rarely showed emotion. it seemed as though your overall presence didn’t faze him in the slightest, as if he’d already adapted to the idea of living with a stranger. he wasn’t the kind to leave messes or linger in shared spaces. everything about him was precise, detached. not out of cruelty, but habit, like he’d spent his whole life perfecting the art of keeping people out.
you’d heard rumors about him growing up. how he used to be the type of man who never stayed in one place for too long, who didn’t give his name to the women he fucked and never spent the night. toji’s never been a one-woman kind of guy. settling down wasn’t in his vocabulary. and definitely not with someone as young and out-of-place as you.
he was older. rougher. the kind of man who’d seen too much and felt too little. you were the opposite— softer around the edges, not naïve, but still idealistic enough to believe marriage might eventually mean something.
but the truth was, you were strangers playing house.
and he made no effort to pretend otherwise.
he never yelled or raised his voice, but he also never smiled. didn’t ask about your day or crack single joke. the most he ever said to you was the occasional, “you eat yet?” or “lock the doors when i’m out.”
he wasn’t cruel. but he wasn’t kind either. he was just… distant.
and every night, without fail, he took a pillow from your bed and laid it on the couch. like it was some unspoken rule neither of you had agreed to, but followed all the same.
you told yourself it didn’t bother you.
it’s better this way, you thought. less awkward. more space. at least he wasn’t forcing anything on you. at least he wasn’t trying to play pretend.
but it still left a strange hollow in your chest, watching him retreat down the hallway like some unwelcome guest, his broad back disappearing into the dark. it was your house, your marriage, but it didn’t feel like either belonged to you.
you could hear him sometimes through the thin walls— the creak of leather, the shift of his weight on the couch, the low sighs he tried to keep quiet. you’d often wonder, did he ever sleep soundly? did he ever think about coming back to bed? or was this just as unbearable for him as it was for you?
you didn’t know what he saw when he looked at you. just a kid, maybe. just another favor he owed. a girl too young for him. a wife he didn’t ask for.
and yet… there were glimpses. brief ones.
he’d linger in the kitchen after grabbing a drink, eyes flicking to you like he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. his gaze would catch on you when you bend over to grab something. there’d be times where his fingers would brush yours when passing a mug across the table, only to quickly pull away and act like the contact burned him.
but none of it meant anything. not really.
he still felt a million miles away, always avoided your eyes, and spent his nights on the couch.
and every time you lay in bed alone, facing the empty space where your husband should have been… you wondered how long it would be before either of you finally broke the silence.
+
months passed.
coexistence— bland, neutral, suffocating— was the best words you could find for it. two strangers living under the same roof. two shadows moving through the same space.
you learned his footsteps before his voice. heavy boots against the tile, always coming home late, reeking of steel and smoke. the scent of blood sometimes lingered longer than it should’ve. cuts along his knuckles, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a cigarette tucked behind his ear he never once lit indoors.
he never offered answers. and you never asked questions.
your conversations always felt transactional— brief and stripped of anything personal. he moved like a man who’d locked his entire life behind closed doors, speaking only when necessary, silence curling in the spaces between
but sometimes, he surprised you.
like when your cough wouldn’t go away, and he left a steaming cup of tea on your nightstand. no note. just honey, lemon, and a quiet gesture you pretended not to notice. or the time your car wouldn’t start, and by morning it was fixed, keys hung on the hook with a single post-it note: ‘battery’s old. don’t leave the lights on.’ or when you dozed off on the couch and woke up in bed, tucked in gently—your socks gone, your blanket neatly arranged over your shoulders, the air warm from the space heater you hadn’t turned on yourself.
little things. fleeting and wordless. barely there, but enough to leave a mark.
enough to make you wonder.
does he care? or is this just guilt? pity? obligation?
you caught him watching you sometimes, too. not lecherous. not overt. just… lingering. like he couldn’t figure you out. like he was trying to memorize you without getting caught. his eyes would trail over your face like he didn’t quite believe you were real.
but he never touched you.
never kissed you.
never allowed himself get too close.
and maybe it was better that way. maybe it hurt less to imagine he didn’t want you than to accept the possibility that he did, and was just too afraid to act on it.
until one night, everything changed.
it was starting to rain. the steady patter against the window, soothing enough to lull you to sleep with a book on your chest and the bedside lamp still glowing, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. you curled beneath the blankets alone, as always, half-asleep before the storm even settled.
you didn’t hear him come in.
but you felt it— the sudden shift in the air, the creak of the floorboards, the dip of the mattress under his weight. his warm breath near the nape of your neck.
your heart kicked in your chest.
“…toji?” you whispered, uncertain, afraid to turn around.
a pause stretched long.
“…can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough, like it scraped against something inside him just to speak.
your pulse quickened. “you… wanna stay here tonight?”
he hesitated. the air thickened, heavy with tension.
when he finally responded, his voice was low. remorseful.
“should’ve been sleepin’ here from the start.”
you didn’t know what to say. but when you shifted, he took it as an invitation— easing into the sheets behind you, his massive arm hesitating before wrapping around your waist.
his touch was delicate. almost reverent.
you held your breath as his fingers brushed your stomach. then your ribs. then lower.
“you sure?” he whispered, lips grazing your ear.
you didn’t need time to think before you breathed out a barely audible, “yes.”
a pause. then a low groan, rumbling in his chest.
“good,” he growled, voice thick with restraint finally snapping. “been holdin’ back for too fuckin’ long.”
and then he finally kissed you.
it was messy. desperate. months of pent-up frustration crashing all at once. his mouth was warm, his lips greedy, tongue sweeping against yours like he needed to taste every piece of you. every part he’d denied himself.
you whimpered, hands fisting in his hair, and he groaned against your mouth— deep and guttural, as if it physically hurt to hold back.
“fuck, baby… taste so sweet,” he murmured, breath warm on your lips. his hands roamed, rough palms caressing your hips, your thighs, your stomach.
he pulled back just long enough to sit up and yank your nightshirt over your head in one swift motion, tossing it to the floor. you lay bare beneath him, chest rising and falling, lips parted in anticipation— the look in his eyes darkened, heat blooming behind his lashes. his gaze dropped to your underwear, and a crooked smirk curved his mouth.
“always sleepin’ in those little fuckin’ panties,” he muttered, laced with amusement and need. “you do it to tease me?”
“n-no, i—” your throat tightened as he hooked his fingers into the waistband, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness, knuckles brushing your skin.
“you do now,” he said, eyes never leaving you. “so pretty… ‘s all mine, yeah?”
you nodded quickly, heart thudding in your chest. “yours.”
he leaned down, kissed your collarbone, your chest, your waist— leaving no place of you untouched. his stubble scraped your skin, rough enough to make your thighs twitch, your breath hitch. you shivered as he moved lower, lips brushing along your inner thighs until he was nestled between them
“spread those legs, sweet girl,” he rasped. “lemme taste what i’ve been missin’.”
you obeyed instantly, trembling.
and then he was on you.
your cry cracked the silence, body jolting as his tongue met your folds— slow, deliberate, filthy. he devoured you like he was starving, tongue flat and thorough, savoring every bit of you with obscene groans vibrating against your pussy.
“fuck… so wet for me already,” he breathed between licks, voice muffled and wrecked. “this pretty lil’ cunt’s been waitin’, huh?”
“t-toji— ah!”
he moaned in response, sucking your clit into his mouth while two fingers pushed inside— curling just right, filling you so perfectly it made your toes curl. you were already so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t give you a second to catch your breath.
he kept going, relentless, mouth and hands working in tandem until your thighs shook around his head and your fingers tugged his hair, your orgasm ripping through you in thick waves as you cried out his name.
only when you fell back against the pillows, panting and soaked, did he finally stop.
he sat back on his knees, eyes half-lidded, licking his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of you. he made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it with one hand while the other gently stroked your thigh, soothing you. his cock was thick, flushed, the tip glistening. heavy in his palm as he stroked himself slow, watching the way your chest rose and fell.
“gonna fuck you slow,” he promised, “but i ain’t gonna be gentle.”
you whimpered. “want you… please, toji.”
he leaned in and kissed you again— deep and messy, still tasting like you— before guiding himself to your entrance and pressing in, steady and thick, easing deeper until your walls stretched to take all of him.
“fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice…”
he stayed still at first, letting you adjust to his size, forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. then he rolled his hips, slow and deep, dragging every ridge of him along your walls. you were already gasping, body arching into his, overwhelmed by how full he made you feel. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, grounding yourself against the dizzying pleasure.
and then he started to move— faster, deeper, driving into you with smooth, powerful thrusts. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard thudded against the wall in rhythm.
“yeah, take it, baby,” he grunted. “takin’ it so good for me.”
his mouth found your neck, then your shoulder, then your lips again— hot and open, tongue sliding against yours between moans. you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only hold on and feel. your nails raked down his back as he fucked you harder, each thrust making your breath hitch.
“always thought about this,” he confessed between gritted teeth. “every fuckin’ night on that couch. wanted to come in here… split you open.”
his hand came up to wrap around your throat, not choking, just holding. “look at me.”
your eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at you like he was worshipping you. you were already teary, completely undone, and somehow still falling apart beneath him.
his lips were back on yours, languid, teasing, yet driven by something deeper. like he finally understood what it meant to want.
“mine,” he growled, low and steady. “you hear me?”
“yours,” you whispered back, broken and sure.
he groaned as he came, burying himself as deep as he could go, hips grinding into you while he spilled inside— thick and warm, pulse after pulse. you felt it fill you, every drop, your walls fluttering around him as you whimpered through the overstimulation.
you clung to him like a lifeline, barely able to breathe.
and still, he didn’t move.
he stayed there, chest heaving, one hand cupping your cheek, nose brushing your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you. he kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw. soft and sweet and quiet.
“shouldn’t’ve waited this long,” he murmured against your skin. “you… you make this place feel like home.”
you blinked up at him, bleary-eyed.
“…i thought you didn’t like me,” you hesitantly confessed.
his brows pulled together. “didn’t like you?”
you nodded. “you always slept on the couch. you never talked to me…”
his expression softened, almost ashamed.
he lets out a shaky breath.
“did it ‘cause i didn’t wanna scare you. didn’t think i deserved to sleep next to you yet.”
your heart clenched so tightly you thought it might break.
“…you do,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “you do now.”
he leaned into your palm.
then kissed you— slow, tender, like he meant every breath of it.
that night, for the first time, you fell asleep in your husband’s arms.
and for once… he didn’t leave.
i don’t think i’m very good at writing angst but i tried 🤧 i rlly hope i executed this well enough bc i never wrote arranged marriage trope before but i feel like this wasn’t that bad idkskdksk
𓆩❤︎𓆪 ─ ꒰ 𝓼ituationship 𝓼ukuna ꒱ gets used for convenience by the bitchiest girl he’s ever met — and he wouldn’t want it any other way
cw. rough sex, bratty/bitchy!reader, power play, spitting (in mouth), squirting, face grabbing, light choking, hickeys/biting, overstim, praise/degradation mix, toxic dynamics, repost
“come over.”
he reads it at 12:42am. the little “read” stamp lights up and you don’t follow it with anything else, because you don’t need to. you’re not in the mood for back and forth.
not tonight. you’re already on your bed, shirt off, thighs parted, phone sliding out of your hand into the mess of sheets behind you. nothing soft is playing—just the low hum of the city and your own breathing.
you’re not horny for him. you’re just horny. bored. overstimulated by everything and underwhelmed by everyone. and sukuna? he’s nearby. he’s easy. he listens.
the door clicks open exactly sixteen minutes later. not a knock. not a call. he lets himself in like he always does, like he lives here, like he has a right to walk into your space without warning—and you’re already backlit by the glow of your salt lamp, one hand tucked under your head, one leg bent, mouth glossed and eyes half-lidded like you were expecting him to take longer.
he looks you over, head tilting, lip pierced and smug, tattoo peeking from under his hoodie collar like it’s daring you to look.
“didn’t know i was a fucking vending machine,” he says, voice rough, cocky, with that stupid glint in his eye that says he came the second you asked. “you just press a button and out comes the dick?”
you don’t even blink. “you’re here, aren’t you?”
he scoffs under his breath but toes off his sneakers anyway, pulling his hoodie over his head as he walks toward the bed. you watch him do it with your chin propped up on your palm, already shifting your hips, the thin cotton of your panties wet and sticking between your legs, not because you missed him—just because he’s good at this. or at least, good at being used.
“you could say please once in a while,” he mutters, dragging his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of his self-respect. “might be nice to be wanted instead of just summoned.”
“if you want nice, fuck a girl who makes you pancakes in the morning.”
he snorts, licking his bottom lip like he’s already picturing it. “yeah? what do i get here? a woman with a wet pussy and a god complex?”
“pretty much.”
you open your legs wider. he shuts the fuck up.
he climbs onto the bed, slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he leans over you. there’s something mean in his mouth, but it never makes it out. instead, he kisses you, rough and deep, all tongue and attitude. you kiss back with a smirk, biting his bottom lip just enough to sting, then pulling away.
“take your pants off.”
“jesus christ,” he breathes, but his hands are already on the waistband. “what do you say?”
you lift your brows, slow, letting your eyes rake over his stomach, the trail of ink crawling up his ribs like it’s been begging to be traced, tongue first. you’re not even touching him yet and he’s half hard, sweats pulled halfway down his hips, that mouth still trying to run even though his body’s already lost the battle. your tongue clicks against your teeth.
“i say hurry up.”
he laughs through his nose like he can’t believe you, like you’re a fever he hasn’t figured out how to sweat out yet. “you know you’re a fucking brat, right?”
“you say that like it’s new.”
“nah. just tryna figure out when you’re gonna admit this means something.”
you roll your eyes, but it stings more than it should. you shove his pants down and straddle him without giving him the satisfaction of a response, your pantied cunt brushing against his thigh as you shift forward. “don’t start that shit.”
“what shit?” he grins, that sharp grin, the one that means he knows exactly what buttons he’s pressing. “you called me. not the other way around. what, you think i don’t know what this is?”
you lean down, mouth brushing his jaw, voice low. “this is me using you to cum.”
he growls, something frustrated and half-laughing as he flips you back before you can grind down again, big hands catching your wrists and pinning them above your head against the mattress.
echoes of silence by the weeknd hums from your tv speaker behind him, low, the bass slow and thudding like a pulse you’re both pretending not to feel. his face is inches from yours. his breath smells like mint and weed. his eyes are locked on your mouth like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss it or shut it up for good.
“then ride me,” he says, letting your wrists go. “come on, baby. show me how in control you are.”
you stare at him for a long moment, breathing hard. his cock is heavy and hard between his thighs, glistening with precum, and you want to wipe that look off his face. you want to take it all and leave nothing behind.
you push him flat with a palm to his chest.
“hands behind your head,” you say.
“yes, ma’am.” his grin is feral. he laces his fingers behind his head and sinks into the pillows like he’s watching the best show of his life.
“just don’t beg for more.”
you roll your eyes again, but slide your panties to the side and your cunt clenches when you line him up. the head catches at your entrance, thick and warm, and you sink down in one slow, brutal motion, biting your lip so you don’t give him the noise he wants. you feel him all the way up, your walls fluttering around him, hips stuttering when your clit grazes his pelvis.
he groans beneath you. “fuck, you always take me like you hate me.”
“i do.”
“no, you don’t,” he mutters, eyes locked on yours. “you just hate that you like me.”
you slap your hand over his mouth and start to move.
your pace is mean. tight little circles, grinding your clit against the base of him with every slow, dragging rock of your hips. your thighs burn but you don’t stop. you chase it. you ride him like you’re proving a point. the weeknd’s voice washes over the room, crooning about silence and desperation and something ugly that feels too close to the truth.
he moans against your palm. his eyes flutter. his abs tighten. he’s so fucking deep inside you, the stretch dizzying, and it only spurs you on—grinding, bouncing, taking him again and again until your cunt’s so slick it’s all you can hear besides the music and his ragged breathing.
“you like this?” you whisper, removing your hand. “being used like this?”
his head tips back, chest heaving. “i love it. i fucking love it.”
“you wanna stay tonight?”
he blinks up at you, dazed. “...do you?”
you slow down. your hips roll deeper, more sensual. his hands twitch behind his head. he looks like he wants to touch you so bad he might explode.
you lean down, hands braced on his chest, mouth a hair away from his.
“no.”
and then you kiss him.
filthy. greedy. too much tongue and too much spit. your mouths move like you’re arguing without words, like neither of you knows how to be soft but you can’t stop trying to bite it out of each other.
his hands break free, finally, grabbing at your waist, your ass, your back, like he’s trying to pull you closer than your own skin. his hips buck up into you, rhythm brutal, and you take it, you take all of it, nails dragging down his chest as your moans catch between kisses.
his mouth is hot and open and angry, tongue pushing past yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip until you hiss and pull back just enough to glare at him.
“don’t fucking look at me like that,” he mutters, breath ragged, pupils blown wide. “you don’t get to ride me like that and then act like i’m done.”
you scoff, breathless, grinding down once more just to feel him twitch inside you, just to remind him who started this. “what, you gonna cry about it?”
that’s when he snaps.
he flips you so fast the room tilts, the mattress creaking as your back hits the sheets and his weight settles over you, one knee between your thighs, one hand pinning your wrist above your head while the other drags down your body like he’s reacquainting himself with something that already belongs to him.
“say it again,” he growls, mouth trailing down your jaw, your neck. “say you don’t want me.”
you arch up into him instead, teeth catching his lip, dragging it between your own until he groans. “you don’t scare me, sukuna.”
his laugh is sharp and humorless, breath hot against your throat. “yeah? good. ‘cause i’m not trying to.”
he bites you then—hard, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, teeth sinking in deep enough that you gasp and curse, hands breaking free, your nails finding their way to rake down his back on instinct. he sucks the mark dark, tongue pressing over it like he’s sealing it in, like he wants it visible tomorrow, like he wants someone else to see it and wonder. your cunt clenches around him at the same time, slick and greedy, and he feels it. of course he does.
“fucking slut,” he murmurs against your skin, not gentle, not kind. “look at you. all attitude until i put you on your back.”
“fuck you,” you spit, but it comes out broken when he pulls almost all the way out and then slams back in, hips snapping forward with zero warning, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs.
he fucks you hard and deep now, no patience, no teasing, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, mixing with the low ache of the song playing like it was made for moments exactly like this.
you wrap your legs around his waist, dragging him closer even as you glare up at him, even as you refuse to kiss him again. “don’t get it twisted,” you pant. “this doesn’t mean shit.”
he leans down, forehead pressing to yours, eyes dark and burning. “then why are you holding me like that?”
you hate that he noticed. you hate that he’s right.
he shifts his angle just enough to make you cry out, cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, makes your thighs shake. his mouth finds yours again, but this time it’s slower, messier—tongue dragging, teeth clicking, breath shared and frantic. he bites your lip, then your jaw, then kisses the sting like he regrets nothing.
“you always try to leave before i get like this,” he mutters between thrusts. “always wanna pretend i’m just convenient.”
“you are,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair despite yourself.
he grins, feral. “yeah? then why do you let me fuck you like i’m staying?”
his pace turns brutal again, punishing, hips snapping forward as his hand slides down to where your bodies meet, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your back arch. you curse his name this time. can’t help it. he hears it and moans like it’s a victory.
“there it is,” he pants. “do it again.”
you try to hold it in. the noise, the heat, the ache crawling up your spine. you try to bite it back like always, teeth clamped down on your lip so hard it might bruise, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders as if that’ll anchor you to something, but sukuna sees it. he always fucking sees it. the stuttering of your breath. the widening of your eyes. the tremble in your legs like you’re about to go boneless under him. and worst of all—the way your cunt squeezes around him like it’s begging for more, like your body doesn’t care about all the things your mouth refuses to say.
“that’s it,” he growls, grabbing your cheeks, not rough but firm enough to make your lips part on instinct. “open.”
you try to turn your head. he doesn’t let you.
“look at me.”
you do. you shouldn’t, but you do. and his spit lands right on your tongue, slow and filthy, dripping from his mouth into yours like it belongs there, like this isn’t the first time and won’t be the last.
“swallow.”
you do. and his cock twitches inside you the moment your throat bobs.
“fuck,” he hisses, dragging his thumb along the slick corner of your mouth. “you’re so fucking good when you stop pretending.”
“s-shut the fuck up—”
but your voice breaks. it cracks, high and raw and gasping, because he grinds down right as he thrusts in deep, thumb pressed flat against your clit, pace relentless and brutal, like he’s chasing something with every stroke. like he’s chasing you.
and you lose it.
your moan isn’t elegant. it’s not composed. it’s not bratty or mean or cool. it’s ugly—loud, drawn out, wrecked. your thighs clamp around his waist as the orgasm hits, harder than you expected, your whole body seizing, cunt fluttering wildly around his cock until you're gushing all over him, a sudden, sharp rush of wet that makes both of you curse in tandem.
“holy shit,” he breathes, laughing, almost shocked. “fucking squirting for me now? that's new.”
you’re still shaking. twitching. overstimulated and raw, head tossed back, mouth open, breath hitching while your soaked cunt pulses around him in aftershocks you can’t suppress.
he slows down—not out of mercy, but out of awe. like he’s savoring it. like he wants to feel every second of you breaking.
“look at you,” he mutters, leaning down again, dragging his tongue across your jaw, your neck, your chest. “big talk all night and now you’re fucking dripping for me.”
you grab at him, too far gone to play it cool anymore, hips rolling up into his even as your body begs you to stop. you don’t care. you want more. you want him deeper. you want him to ruin what’s left.
“don’t you dare fucking stop,” you whisper, voice wrecked.
he kisses you again, messier now. there’s no rhythm, no technique. just spit and tongues colliding in a haze of sweat and shared breath. you claw at his back, drag him into you harder, and he gives you what you want.
his hips piston into you with purpose, cock slamming deep on every stroke, the bed creaking beneath you, the slick squelch of your cunt only making it nastier. your name leaves his mouth over and over—low, strained, cracked in the center like it costs him something to say. his hand curls around your jaw again, tilting your face up, his forehead pressed to yours so close you can’t look anywhere else.
“watch me,” he growls. “you wanna pretend this doesn’t mean shit? fine. but you’re gonna watch me while i cum in this pussy.”
you nod. your throat’s too tight to speak.
his rhythm falters once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you with a groan so deep it rumbles in his chest. his cock twitches, presses in deep, and he doesn’t stop moving—just slow, dragging thrusts to fuck it all into you as you twitch beneath him, overstimulated, moaning softly into the space between you.
he doesn't let you look away.
“that’s right,” he mutters, kissing your cheekbone, your jaw, your open mouth. “eyes on me, baby.”
when he finally stops, it’s only because you’re trembling so hard your hands can’t stay on his skin.
he stays inside you longer than necessary, hips still, forehead pressed to yours like he’s trying to catch his breath off your mouth. your body’s trembling, clenching around him every few seconds from the aftershocks, thighs slick and sticking to his waist, your nails still buried in his shoulders because you forgot how to let go. the room is quiet now—another song just finished minutes ago, the bass replaced with the sound of your breath, the ceiling fan creaking softly above both of your bodies like a reminder you’re not dreaming.
his thumb traces lazy circles into your thigh. not sexual. just there. something to keep him connected to you like if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear.
he shifts, just enough to meet your eyes again. his voice is rough. lower than before. but the bite’s gone.
“…still gonna kick me out?”
you blink up at him, lips parting like you forgot how to answer. maybe you did. you still haven’t unhooked your legs from his waist.
he smiles—faint, lopsided, stupid. “’cause like, i will. i’ll go. just saying... i could make pancakes in the morning. wear one of those slutty little chef aprons. ass out. the works.”
your laugh is so quick and unexpected it surprises even you. it bubbles up sharp, short, cracking straight through the haze. and the worst part? it sounds happy.
you shake your head, barely suppressing the smirk threatening your mouth. “shut up,” you murmur, smacking his arm. “just lay down.”
summary! choso's always had strong feelings for you, his sweet, impossibly cute roommate. after dropping out of college and introducing you to his band mate suguru, things take a turn for the worst when the man starts to take an interest in you. drummer!choso becomes increasingly more jealous and agitated with each fucked up thing geto puts you through, and he finally snaps. his quiet jealousy turns dark, messy, and impossible to ignore. (jealousy, slight angst, messyyy, toxic relationships (suguru –> reader) comfort, fluff, smut.)
choso hated when geto was over.
“suguru! fuck! it’s too much— i can’t— i can’t!”
“shut up—god—and take it.”
your muffled moans and the creak of the bedposts drifted through the thin plastered wall of choso’s room. the one you’d shared since signing the lease over two years ago, back when you were just strangers hunting for a nice apartment during your freshman year.
back then, things had been simpler.
you'd gotten close to the mysterious boy in only a few weeks. just you and choso, figuring out school and life together, finding comfort in each other’s company.
he had been one of the kindest, coolest people you’d ever met, someone who listened to your fucked-up problems without judgment, who cleaned up after himself, who held you on the couch when winter felt too crisp.
the perfect roommate, in every sense.
“you’d make a good boyfriend, cho,” you’d teased once, stroking his hair lightly.
“hmm, you think so?” he’d grinned, lazy and carefree.
but things were different now.
choso had dropped out to focus on his band, 'exorcize'—gojo on vocals, geto on guitar, toji on bass, and him on drums.
the band had taken off, and after being personally invited to one of their gigs, a small introduction from choso had suguru immediately hooked.
that had been the moment everything shifted.
quiet nights of spectated drum practice while you studied or long meaningful conversations were gone, replaced by surprise visits from geto and sleepless evenings that left choso restless and uneasy.
deep down, in that hazy, stoned part of his mind, he knew he felt something for you. something raw, unacknowledged, and unrelenting.
“god, sugu—i seriously can’t! —oh my god!”
he heard your cries, felt his stomach twist with a mix of disgust, anger, and jealousy. he couldn’t endure another sober second of listening to you plead.
his hand found a pre-rolled blunt in his dresser, lighting it with a red lighter you'd gifted him months ago, the smoke curling around him like a protective shield.
“c’mon, you can do it, just a few more—fuck!—seconds!”
he hated him. but more than that, he hated the way suguru spoke to you.
the subtle degradation, the possessive control masked by perfect composure. choso knew you noticed it too. the way your fingers curled around anything you could grab when suguru got too close, too possessive. the way you'd shy away from him rather than leaning into him lovingly. and yet, you stayed.
it tore something inside choso, some raw, unpolished piece of himself that had never stopped wanting you.
“just a little longer, y/n, fuck—you can do that for me, can’t you?”
he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs, the only thing that could dull the constant back-and-forth inside his head when it came to you. the only thing that dulled the voice in his head, from when you used to talk to him like he was the only man in the world. his addiction, his only vice.
~
morning
the brunette boy sat slumped on the couch, one leg folded under him, the other stretched across the coffee table. sunlight crept through the blinds, painting uneven lines across his face. his hoodie hung half-off his shoulder, hair tied back loosely, a blunt tucked behind his ear like muscle memory.
he looked fucking wrecked.
you padded out from the hallway, wrapped in a big t-shirt that definitely wasn’t yours. it hung too low on your thighs, smelled faintly like suguru’s cologne, and that made something twist in your stomach when you noticed choso glance at it once, then away with a twitch of his eye.
“good morning, cho” you said, trying to sound casual, cheerful, like nothing weird had happened last night.
he didn’t look at you right away. his thumb was tapping against the armrest, slow and rhythmic. “yo.”
you bit your lip, moving to the kitchen counter. the silence pressed between you like humidity. it felt different now, awkward, thick.
you’d never had awkward silence with him before.
“uh, you sleep okay?” you tried again, voice soft, careful.
he finally turned to look at you. dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his tone came out flat. “where’s geto?”
your stomach dropped. “huh?”
“suguru,” he said again, leaning back into the couch. “where’d he go?”
you blinked, your throat suddenly dry. “oh. um. he—uh—left early, he doesn't really stay the night...he sorta just comes at night whenever he wants and leaves when we're done.”
choso didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly, eyes still half-lidded. but you knew that look—his patience hanging by a thread, the faint twitch of his jaw, that lazy exterior covering something sharper underneath.
“choso,” you said quietly, walking over a bit. “did you… uhm— hear us?”
his eyes flicked up to yours. “mhm.”
the word hit heavier than it should’ve. you looked down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “oh my god. i thought you were asleep. i didn’t mean for you to—”
“s’alright,” he said, cutting you off, voice rough. “walls are thin, y’know, i get it.”
you winced. “was it—was it bad?”
he let out a low, humorless chuckle, the memory of his band mates grunts and your pretty gasps still fresh in his mind. “mhm. heard it all.”
you felt heat crawl up your neck, mortified. “shit, choso, i’m so sorry. i really didn’t think—”
“don’t worry 'bout it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “i’ll just sleep the morning away, got the gig tonight anyway, so it should be fine.”
you hesitated, wanting to say something to make it better, to make him better, but his tone was a closed door.
so you offered the only thing that came to mind. “let me make you breakfast? as an apology?”
he looked up, studying you for a second before nodding. “right... sure.”
you exhaled in quiet relief and turned toward the kitchen, grabbing eggs and bread from the fridge.
you weren’t sure what he liked this early. he usually slept until noon, leaving trails of smoke and half-empty cereal bowls behind, but it felt right to do something. the clinking of pans filled the silence.
behind you, choso leaned his head back on the couch, eyes half open, watching the light catch in your hair as you moved. he wanted to stay annoyed, to keep that boundary up. but the sight of you—bare legs, hair messy, humming softly under your breath while cooking in the kitchen—hit him in that dull, sore spot inside his chest.
“you should come to the gig tonight, if geto didn't already invite ya',” he said suddenly, voice low.
you glanced over your shoulder, surprised. “yeah, you want me to come?”
“i do.” he stretched, reaching for the blunt on the table but not lighting it yet. “you haven’t seen us play in a while.”
you smiled a little, flipping a piece of toast. “yeah, sure. i’ll come.”
he grunted something like approval, pretending not to notice how your eyes softened when you said it, the way your face lit up as you moved your hands.
you’d seen clips online—crowds packed tight in dark venues, neon lights washing over exorcize as they played.
they weren’t just another college band anymore. they were it. the band everyone wanted to fuck, to be, to orbit around.
gojo with his wild white hair and stupidly perfect grin, toji’s quiet menace on bass, suguru’s calm confidence, and choso behind the drums, silent but magnetic, his hair sticking to his face, eyes half-lidded, lost in rhythm.
they all had that look, that raw, sexy allure that made people crave them like meth.
and you’d been there at the start of it. before the crowds, before the smoke machines and the afterparties. when it was just choso, hunched over a kit in the living room, half stoned, tapping out rhythms while you studied on the couch.
the smell of butter and coffee filled the apartment. you plated up the food—scrambled eggs, toast, a few slices of avocado—and brought it over to him.
“here,” you said softly, setting the plate in front of him. “a really shitty peace offering.”
he gave a small smile, lazy but real. “yum.”
you sat down next to him, tucking your legs under you. the couch dipped between you, and the silence that followed wasn’t as sharp this time. he picked at his food for a while, eating slow.
“seriously though, cho,” you said after a minute, eyes on your plate, “i’m really sorry about last night.”
he shrugged, chewing. “told you, s' fine.”
“it’s not fine,” you insisted, voice quiet. “that must’ve been… weird for you. i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
choso let out a low snort, setting his fork down. “y/n. you were horny. you got dicked down. shit happens.”
you froze, staring at him with wide eyes, face flushing deep. “ew,”
he smirked a little, leaning back. “what? just sayin’. it's no big deal.”
“yuck, don't talk to me like i'm one of your little junkie friends!”
“why not? we're not friends now?” he asked, in a tone that was so laid back and careless it made you anger, “what are we then? don’t get all shy now, i'm tryna lighten the shitty mood.”
you swatted his hand away, embarrassed but smiling despite yourself. “stop it, we're just friends... it's just— just shut up.”
“yeah,” he said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “heard that before.”
you laughed under your breath, shaking your head. for a moment, it felt like old times again.
easy, unspoken comfort settling back between you. but under it all, he felt that same ache still there, low and constant.
the thought of geto touching you, of your voice on the other side of the wall, it looped in his head like a bad song he couldn’t skip.
he finished his plate, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
“thanks for breakfast, it was real good, y/n. you'd make a good housewife y'know,” he said.
“god just shut up,” you said with an all too dramatic eyeroll.
the quiet lingered again, softer this time.
~
the studio reeked of ash and stale beer. gojo was already shirtless, sprawled across the leather couch, strumming suguru’s guitar with no real purpose.
“bro, put that down before you break a string,” suguru said, tone bored but edged.
“relax, i’m blessing it,” gojo said, flashing him a grin.
toji sat off to the side, bass in hand, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the day. he didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to, his presence was enough to keep the room balanced.
gojo noticed the slight tire in getos purple eyes and decided to pry. “so,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. “you look fucked, man. late night?”
suguru stretched his arms overhead, dark hair falling into his face. he smirked like he couldn’t help it. “mmm, something like that.”
“oh, come on,” gojo said, grinning. “you can’t just say ‘something like that.’ i need details, you fuck some chick, or?"
toji gave a quiet snort but didn’t look up from his tuning. “you gossip more than a fucking teenager, huh?”
“yeah, keeps me in shape.” gojo’s grin widened. “so? do tell.”
suguru’s smirk deepened, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “you know, just y/n.”
“shit,” gojo said, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “again? chosos little roommate? thought she was too sweet for you or whatever shitty excuse you made last time you slept with her and dipped.”
suguru shrugged. “sweet doesn’t mean boring.” he spoke like he was discussing a setlist, casual, detached. “can't stop going over to her place man. she's a great fuck, obedient, y'know? and tight as hell.”
gojo laughed under his breath. “oh yeah? she's sexy, sure, but i didn't know she had all of that going for her. you mind if i..."
“yeah, i do,” suguru said, unbothered. he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. “she's only sucking my cock right now and i wanna keep it that way.”
gojo raised both hands in mock surrender. “fair enough. so does she know about all the other pussy you get or?..." he teases.
"no. and she's not gonna. thinks i'm some fucking saint."
the way he said it made the air go strange—like they were both too comfortable talking about someone so badly who wasn’t even there.
toji glanced at them, expression flat.
“so what’s the deal then?” gojo asked, voice dropping just slightly. “you two dating?”
suguru’s tone turned dry. “not exactly. it’s just casual, a bit messy.”
“that mean she thinks you are and you don’t?”
little did the guys know, choso was standing in the hallway outside the studio, leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded, hoodie drawn over his head. the door was slightly ajar.
at first he just wanted to pass, maybe pop in later when they started playing. but then he heard it—
“she’s a little too attached. wants to talk about everything. i don’t do clingy bitches,” suguru said, voice casual, almost bored.
choso froze.
“it’s fine. she knows what this is, if she gets hurt, that’s not on me.”
choso’s jaw tightened under the hoodie. his hands curled into fists, then unclenched. the smoke haze that usually clouded his head felt sharper now, stinging like cold air.
"does choso care? i mean, he's pretty much always high off his face so i doubt he'd even notice, but still. you can't be quite even if you tried." gojo added.
"nah, choso doesn't give a fuck about anything, i'm sure he doesn't care."
gojo just rolled his eyes and nodded along, clearly geto didn't know shit about his supposed friend.
choso was classical stoned, sure, but he was a deep thinker. although the never really voiced his opinions doesn't mean he doesn't have any. and the assumption that he doesn't care about you, the one girl he can actually feel himself around, feel comfortable with? it's a punch to the gut.
“plus, maybe he’s some sick cuck, maybe i’m doing him a favor fucking y/n loud enough for him to hear,” suguru said next, the words like a punchline to the room.
gojo laughed, oblivious, egging him on. toji’s bass sat idle, a quiet observer.
choso’s stomach twisted, sour and heavy, but his face stayed blank. he’d heard enough. everything he’d felt last night—the jealousy, the heat, the ache—coiled into a tighter knot in his chest.
and yet. he didn’t react. didn’t slam the door open or yell, he was too level headed for that. he just let the words hang there, let the laughter roll over him. the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat became his anchor.
then, like he always did, he slipped into his usual mask. the hoodie covered his eyes, his hands shoved deep into the pocket of his baggy sweatshirt.
he pushed the door open, just enough to enter, and let his presence announce him.
“’bout time,” gojo said, lounging back on the couch, grinning like nothing was off, like he wasn't just talking questionably about him. “thought you were skipping rehearsal.”
“nah,” choso said, voice low, clipped, casual. “traffic was slow.”
suguru glanced up, immediately switching to his usual calm, lazy composure. “afternoon,” he said evenly.
choso gave a small nod, dropped his bag, and moved to the drum kit, adjusting cymbals without looking at anyone else.
but under the surface, the coiled anger, hurt, and frustration hummed. every tap of the drumsticks later would carry some of that weight, silent, restrained, but there.
gojo, pretending to be oblivious, grinned at him. “you good, man? look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“didn’t,” choso said, tone clipped.
gojo whistled, dragging the notion. “what, neighbor’s dog barking again?”
“something like that.” choso gave suguru a quick side glance before settling in further.
suguru’s hand stilled for a second on the fretboard. he didn’t look up, but he could feel choso’s eyes flick toward him.
toji caught the tension first, his gaze shifting between them. “you two done?” he asked dryly. “we practicing or what?”
choso exhaled, sitting down behind the kit. “yeah. let’s get it.”
the first few hits were slow, a warm-up rhythm, but every strike landed with more force than usual. the echo bounced around the room, sharp and deliberate, filling the silence that had started to suffocate the space.
gojo laughed lightly, trying to shake it off. “guess that’s a yes.” he adjusted his mic stand. “alright boys, from the top.”
the noise erupted again, guitar, bass, drums, the controlled chaos of sound. it filled every corner of the studio, pushing back whatever words had hung there before.
suguru played clean, precise, every note in place, but his mind wasn’t entirely in it. he could feel the weight of choso’s rhythm behind him, each beat heavy, almost personal.
choso kept his head down, sticks moving fast, steady. he wasn’t thinking about the music. he was thinking about voices in thin-walled apartments, about laughter that sounded just like this. about how easily people could talk about something that still sat raw in his chest.
gojo sang through the chorus, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes half-closed. toji’s bass lines held everything together. and choso, he hit the drums like he was trying to keep from saying something out loud.
when the song ended, there was a moment of quiet, the kind that comes right after noise when everyone’s heart is still beating too fast.
“tight,” gojo said, wiping sweat off his face. “we’re gonna kill it tonight.”
“yeah,” toji said simply, setting his bass down.
choso nodded once, not looking at anyone.
suguru adjusted his guitar strap, clearing his throat. “we’ll meet back here at eight,” he said, tone easy. “venue’s expecting us by nine.”
choso started packing up his sticks. the others were still talking, voices fading into background noise. he kept his head low, eyes on the drum kit.
“yo, cho,” gojo said suddenly. “you bringing anyone tonight?”
choso hesitated. “y/n said she'd show.”
“ahh, she better,” gojo grinned. “need a familiar face in the crowd.”
suguru’s hand tightened imperceptibly on his strap.
choso zipped his bag and stood. “mhm. see you later.”
no one stopped him. the door shut quietly behind him, the sound echoing longer than it should have.
for a second, the three of them just stood there. gojo hummed, breaking the silence. “yeah, i think he heard you, and he definitely does care.”
suguru didn’t answer. he just stared at the door for a long moment before setting his guitar down, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something and thought better of it.
toji rolled his shoulders and muttered, “doesn’t matter now. just shut up and focus on tonight's gig."
~
choso pushes the door to your apartment at around 7.p.m, his skateboard bumping against the wall as he toes his sneakers off. he decided to hit the skate park after the studio, and was just getting back now.
the apartment’s dark. not quiet-dark —off dark. no soft indie playlist humming from your room, no yellow light spilling down the hallway, no half-finished tea on the counter. just the faint hum of the fridge and the lingering scent of your coconut shampoo that always hangs in the air.
he squints toward the living room. nothing.
“yo, y/n?” his voice echoes a little. it sounds lazy, but underneath it’s got that edge, confused, half-worried. “you home, babe?”
nothing.
he pauses, drumming his fingers against his thigh. normally he wouldn’t think much of it, you liked to take long showers, disappear for coffee runs, but the place feels weird tonight. the kind of quiet that sits heavy.
“yo, for real, where the fuck are you?” he calls again, walking toward the kitchen, his hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from washing it after practice. the smell of weed clings to him, mixed with cigarette smoke and a hint of cologne he must’ve borrowed from gojo.
he flicks on the hallway light, flinches a little at how harsh it is. the walls glow pale and flat. still no answer.
“y/n,” he mutters, a little louder now, “don’t fuckin’ do this horror movie shit.”
he checks the balcony. empty. checks the bathroom, light off, door cracked. nothing. his chest tightens even though he keeps telling himself he doesn’t care, that you’re probably fine, that he’s overreacting like some clingy idiot.
then he hears faint music. a muffled bassline leaking through your bedroom door.
he exhales, tension leaving his shoulders all at once, muttering, “jesus, fuckin’—you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
he knocks lightly, then pushes the door open without waiting.
and freezes.
you’re standing in front of your mirror, airpods in, the faint shimmer of your lip gloss catching the lamplight. you’re half-dressed, black skirt, sheer tights, tiny top, and your hair sits perfectly like you didn’t even try. your room smells like warmth and perfume and clean skin.
for a second, choso forgets how to breathe.
“shit,” he says under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
you pull an airpod out and turn toward him, surprised. “oh my god, you scared me.”
he blinks slowly, eyes dragging up from your legs to your mouth, then back down again. “yeah, uh—my bad. place was dark. thought you got kidnapped or somethin’.”
you laugh softly, shaking your head. “kidnapped? really?”
he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “could happen. you never know. world’s fucked.”
you roll your eyes but smile. “well, i’m fine. just getting ready for the gig.”
“yeah, i can see that.” his voice dips lower without meaning to. “you look…” he pauses, tongue running over his teeth, trying to sound casual but it comes out rough. “fuck, you look hot as hell.”
you blink, heat crawling up your neck. “you think so?”
he nods, still rubbing his neck, eyes locked on you. “yeah. like, real talk, y/n, you’re gonna make it hard to focus tonight. literally everyone’s gonna be staring.”
you laugh, a little flustered. “you’re just saying that.”
“nah,” he says, finally walking into your room. “not just sayin’. like—you look fuckin’ insane. good insane.”
you smile, glancing back at your reflection, fixing your earring. “thanks, cho.”
he drops down onto your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “you mind if i chill here? watch the whole… transformation process?”
“be my guest,” you say, turning back to your mirror.
he leans back on his hands, watching you move. your drawers open, mascara wand twirling between your fingers, your skirt swishing when you shift. the music in your airpods leaks just enough for him to catch the rhythm.
he tries to stay cool, keeps that lazy look on his face, but his heart’s still pounding from the moment he saw you. his head’s full of too many things, practice, suguru’s voice, your laugh, the sound of his name coming from you.
after a minute, he says, “we gotta leave in, like, an hour. gojo’s picking up suguru and toji, you wanna ride with me or get there yourself?”
you turn around, surprised. “oh, i can come with you?”
“course,” he says, shrugging. “beats paying for parking. you'll be abit early is all.”
you grin. “then yeah, i’ll come with you, doesn't matter to me, cho.”
“aight,” he says, stretching his legs out, smirking just a little. “sweet.”
he’s quiet for a while after that. you keep getting ready, music still faintly playing, the smell of your perfume thick in the air. he fiddles with the ring on his thumb, his mind replaying suguru’s words like static.
she’s a great fuck, obedient and tight as hell.
she thinks i’m some fuckin’ saint.
maybe he’s some sick cuck.
the words crawl under his skin. he can’t stop hearing them, can’t stop imagining the look on your face if you knew.
he shifts, sits up straighter. “hey,” he says suddenly.
you hum in response, focused on your eyeliner.
“can i ask you somethin’?”
“sure.”
“what’s the deal with you and geto?”
you pause mid-stroke. “what do you mean?”
he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “just… what are you two, exactly? like, are you dating or is it just some hookup thing?”
you blink at his reflection in the mirror, half-smiling. “why, you gonna make fun of me again for last night?”
he shakes his head. “nah. i’m serious.”
something about his tone makes you turn fully, leaning against your dresser. “oh. um…” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i don’t know. i mean, i like him a lot. we hang out, we… yeah. i guess we’re dating? hes never actually said it, but it sure feels like it.”
he stares at you for a long moment, his chest tightening.
“you guess?”
“yeah.” you laugh softly, awkward. “he’s not, like, big on labels, i think. but we spend time together. he’s nice to me. i like being with him.”
choso nods slowly, but his face doesn’t change. “right. 'nice to you.'”
you frown, studying him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he looks away, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “nothin’. just… didn’t figure him for the relationship type.”
“why not?” you ask, voice soft but curious.
he shrugs again, lazy like always, though his voice is heavier now. “he’s just… not the kinda guy who stays still, y’know? always got somethin’ else goin’ on. kinda hard to picture him with one person.”
you tilt your head. “you sound like you know him better than i do.”
“maybe i do,” he mutters.
“then tell me,” you say quietly. “should i be worried?”
his jaw tightens. he doesn’t answer right away. he wants to tell you, wants to let it spill out, the whole disgusting thing he heard at practice, the way suguru laughed about you like you were nothing but a story to pass around. it’s right there, sitting heavy on his tongue.
but when he looks at you, soft eyes, hopeful little smile, the way you look at him like he’s safe, he feels sick.
you’re too good for it. too sweet. too fucking naive to see how much he’s playing you, and he can’t stand the idea of being the one to shatter it.
“cho?” you ask gently.
he blinks. “yeah.”
“what were you gonna say?”
he opens his mouth, ready to just do it—to tell you everything, to ruin whatever fantasy you’ve built around suguru—but then your phone lights up on the dresser.
suguru calling.
you both look at it.
your heart jumps a little, that reflexive smile pulling at your lips. you grab the phone, swiping to answer. “hey.”
choso watches you, expression unreadable. your voice softens instantly, your tone sweet and familiar in a way that makes his stomach twist.
“yeah, i’m just getting ready,” you say, turning slightly away from him. “mhm… yeah, i’ll see you there, choso's driving me.”
his fingers drum against his knee. your voice is quiet now, almost a whisper. he can’t hear the words, only the tone—light, careful, like you’re trying not to say the wrong thing.
you laugh at something he says, that little laugh that used to be his favorite sound in the world.
and something in choso deflates.
he stands slowly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. your perfume still hangs in the air, heavy and warm.
“hey,” you say, glancing at him mid-call, mouthing, one sec, before turning back.
he nods, grabbing his keys from your desk where he’d dropped them.
you’re still talking, giggling now, saying something about how you’ll be there soon. he heads for the door.
“yeah,” you murmur into the phone. “love you too.”
his steps falter for half a second, then keep going.
the door clicks shut behind him, quiet.
you love him? god, how could he tell you after hearing that...
~
the venue’s already packed when you and choso pull up. neon bleeds across the cracked pavement, the sound of bass leaking through the concrete.
you can feel the pull of the crazy fans even from the street. drunk laughter, the sharp scent of cigarette smoke, someone yelling over someone else.
choso kills the engine and leans back in the driver’s seat for a second, watching people shuffle in through the side door. the light outside hits his face in flashes. pale, pink, blue, he’s fading between moods.
“you ready?” he asks, voice low, lazy, but you can hear something else under it.
“yeah,” you say, adjusting your skirt, checking your lip gloss in the visor mirror.
he glances over, eyes flicking briefly down your legs before turning away again. “lookin’ like that, you’re gonna cause a fuckin’ riot, man.”
you laugh softly. “you said that earlier.”
“yeah, and i meant it both times.”
you shake your head, smilin despite yourself.
inside, it’s chaos. the place smells like sweat and beer, lights flashing in dizzy loops, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. gojo’s voice echoes somewhere backstage, already hyping people up. you follow choso through the narrow hallway, your hand brushing his arm as someone shoves past. since when was he so muscular?
“sorry,” you say automatically.
he glances back. “nah, you’re good.”
he holds the side door open, letting you through first.
the band’s gear is scattered everywhere. amps, cables, beer cans, half-empty water bottles. suguru’s there, tuning his guitar, cigarette hanging from his mouth.
when he looks up and sees you, his expression softens into that easy smile that always used to make your stomach twist.
“hey, pretty thing,” he says, walking over.
choso looks away, jaw tight.
“hey,” you say quietly, leaning up to kiss him. his hand slips to your waist, the kiss short but a little too public, a little too look-at-me.
“you made it,” he murmurs.
“told you i would.”
behind you, gojo’s laugh cuts through the noise. “yo, choso, you finally dragged n/n outta her cave!”
choso smirks. “yeah, figured she could use a little culture.”
“culture, huh?” gojo grins at you. “hope you’re ready for noise complaints and groupies.”
“i’ll manage,” you say, smiling.
toji doesn’t look up from his bass, just gives a small nod in greeting. the whole room buzzes with the kind of pre-show tension you can feel in your teeth.
everyone’s running on nerves and caffeine and whatever else they’ve put in their systems.
choso tosses his hoodie onto a crate, rolling up his sleeves. he looks good like that—focused, hair half-tied, a strand falling over his cheek. he’s calm but sharp now, a different kind of energy from the stoned version of him you’re used to. the one who drifts through mornings in smoke.
“five minutes,” someone calls out from the stage manager’s booth.
you hover near the wall, watching them all get into place. gojo bounces on his heels, suguru spins his pick between his fingers, toji stays silent. choso’s behind his kit, tapping his sticks against the snare like he’s talking to it.
the crowd roars as the lights dim.
you press closer to the side of the stage, the bass vibrating through your shoes.
gojo’s voice hits the mic, smooth and arrogant. “we’re exorcize. don’t fucking blink.”
the first chord screams through the room, and everything shifts.
the sound is huge. overwhelming. suguru’s guitar cuts clean through the noise, toji’s bass a low pulse under it all, and then choso—he owns the rhythm. every hit lands deep, every movement controlled but raw, like he’s drumming out something that’s been living under his skin for years.
you can’t take your eyes off him.
he’s sweat-slick already, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. the lights flash white, then red, then blue across his face. every motion is deliberate, steady, like he’s trying to stay anchored in something only he can hear.
and even though the crowd’s losing their minds, it feels like it’s just him and the sound.
you glance at suguru. he looks good too—cool, collected, confident. but next to choso, he feels staged. rehearsed.
your chest tightens. you look back at choso.
there’s something different in the way he plays tonight. sharper. more aggressive. like he’s exorcising something, no pun intended. every strike on the snare is heavier, almost angry. you wonder if it’s just adrenaline or if something happened earlier.
when the first song ends, the crowd screams. gojo throws his head back, grinning, shouting into the mic. “holy shit! you guys showed up tonight!”
choso stays quiet, twirling his sticks, taking a long drink of water. his eyes flick toward the side of the stage, toward you.
you smile.
he doesn’t. just nods once, small, subtle, before looking away. the next song starts before you can think about it too long.
you dance a little, lost in it, letting the music carry you. but somewhere in the back of your head, you can feel his stare again. quick glances between beats, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long before he looks back down.
and for the first time, you realize you’re not sure which one of you it’s harder for.
by the time the set ends, you’re breathless from the noise, your voice hoarse from shouting. the band leaves the stage to cheers, sweat-soaked and buzzing. gojo’s the first to collapse backstage, laughing.
“we killed that shit,” he says, half-yelling.
“yeah, not bad,” toji mutters, towel over his head.
suguru grins, walking straight toward you. “told you we’d put on a good show.”
you nod, heart still racing. “you were amazing.”
he leans in to kiss you again, and you let him, even though your eyes flick over his shoulder for a second—to choso. he’s wiping sweat from his forehead, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor.
suguru pulls back, arm still around your waist. “so, you coming to the afterparty?”
you hesitate. “uh, yeah, i think so.”
“good.” he kisses your temple, then turns toward gojo to talk about something.
you stand there for a second, unsure of what to do with your hands. the noise of the room fills the space between you and choso. he finally looks up, trying to push aside the guilt he still felt for not being able to man up and tell you about suguru.
you smile, small and tired. “you were insane up there.”
he laughs, strong yet humorless, the phrase 'love you too' still haunting his every thought. “yeah? thanks.”
“no, really. i couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but doesn’t trust himself to. “yeah, well… guess i did my job.”
you step closer, voice soft. “you okay?”
he nods, eyes flicking briefly toward suguru, then back at you. “yeah. just… beat.”
you nod too, not sure what else to say. gojo yells something about shots, suguru laughs, and the night keeps moving around you.
but in the middle of all of it, you and choso stand there for a second, caught between the noise and the silence. like the whole night’s holding its breath, waiting to see which one of you breaks first.
~
the afterparty’s at some half-finished warehouse space two blocks from the venue, the kind of place that smells like spilled beer, sweat, and old amps. led lights are strung along exposed pipes, blinking unevenly. someone’s blasting music from a bluetooth speaker that keeps cutting out.
you walk in first, suguru’s hand laced with yours, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. you look good under the dim light—like you belong there, like you’re glowing even in the noise and haze.
choso follows behind, slower, his hoodie unzipped and hair sticking slightly to his forehead. he already smells of weed; he’d lit up the second they left the venue.
people yell greetings, offer shots, hugs, congratulations. gojo’s already got his arm around two people he definitely doesn’t know, yelling about how they fucking killed it tonight. toji’s slouched near a speaker, scrolling through his phone like none of this matters.
suguru doesn’t let go of you. not once. he keeps you close, leaning down every so often to murmur something in your ear that makes you laugh. he’s magnetic in these settings. composed, charming, eyes sharp enough to make anyone feel seen.
choso sits on a couch near the edge of the room, elbow draped over the back, watching through half-lidded eyes.
you look happy.
and for a minute, that’s enough.
he takes a drag, holds it, exhales slow. watches the smoke drift toward the ceiling. you’re laughing at something suguru said, your head tipped back, eyes bright.
he can almost convince himself it’s fine.
you’re happy. maybe that’s all that matters.
but he can’t stop remembering the way suguru talked earlier at the studio, voice low, that half-smirk twisting his mouth as he said your name like it was something to toss away. you lean up and kiss suguru’s cheek, whisper something. he nods, still holding your waist.
“gonna go fix my makeup,” you say, smiling. “don’t move.”
he smirks. “not going anywhere, princess.”
you squeeze his hand and disappear down the hallway. choso takes another drag. exhales through his nose, slow. for a few seconds, suguru just stands there. then, like someone flipped a switch, his attention shifts.
choso notices it instantly, the way suguru’s gaze catches on someone across the room. tall girl. dark hair. red lipstick. she’s leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to some guy with a drink in her hand.
choso knows her. everyone does. she used to hang around the studio all the time. suguru’s old fling. the one he’d bragged about, laughed about, talked about like she was a good story, just like you. his shoulders tense.
suguru drifts over. slowly. easy. one hand tucked in his pocket, the other reaching for a drink as he greets her.
she smiles like she’s been waiting.
he says something that makes her laugh, that same half-grin sliding across his face, the same one he used when he looked at you five minutes ago. choso stares at them, heartbeat starting to pick up, jaw tightening around the joint.
he can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. he can read the body language, the subtle lean-in, the flirtatious tilt of her head, suguru’s slow smile.
the same old act.
he feels something stir in his chest, something dark and heavy. he looks toward the hallway, half expecting you to come back. you don’t.
he looks at suguru again, and his mouth moves before his brain can stop it.
“yo.”
his voice cuts through the music, quiet but sharp.
suguru glances over his shoulder. “hmm?”
choso’s still on the couch, but his tone’s different—lower, edged. “you maybe wanna get your shit in order before she gets back?”
the girl blinks, looks between them, then takes a step back.
suguru raises an eyebrow. “huh?”
choso leans forward, elbows on his knees, smoke curling around his fingers. “you heard me.”
the room feels quieter even though the music’s still playing.
suguru laughs once, soft, incredulous. “you serious right now?”
“deadass.”
he looks away for a second, shakes his head like he’s amused. “you’re high, choso.”
“not that high.” choso stands up, slow and deliberate. “i just don’t like watching you act like a fuckin’ idiot when she’s not even gone five minutes.”
suguru’s jaw tightens, that calm exterior starting to crack just a little. “what’s it to you?”
“what’s it to me?” choso echoes, stepping closer. “she’s my roommate, dumbass. i actually give a shit if she gets hurt.”
“roommate,” suguru repeats, his smirk returning. “that what we’re calling it?”
“yeah,” choso says flatly. “that’s what we’re calling it.”
suguru laughs again, but it’s sharper this time. “come on, man. don’t tell me you’re getting protective. that’s cute.”
choso doesn’t smile. doesn’t blink. “just don’t be the asshole i know you can be, yeah?”
for a second, something flickers behind suguru’s eyes. annoyance, maybe. guilt. or nothing at all. he looks away, taking a sip of his drink. “you don’t know what you think you know, choso.”
“nah,” choso says quietly. “i know exactly what i heard.”
suguru’s gaze snaps back to him. “what?”
“the studio,” choso says, voice steady. “you should watch what you say when you think nobody’s listening to you talk shit.”
suguru freezes, for a long moment, neither of them move.
then suguru laughs again—soft, controlled. “you think you know what that was about.”
“don’t need to think,” choso says. “you said it clear as day.”
“she’s a big girl,” suguru says after a pause, voice low. “she can handle herself.”
choso’s eyes narrow. “you mean she trusts you. that’s not the same thing.” suguru doesn’t respond.
choso takes another step forward, close enough now that the smell of smoke and alcohol mixes between them. “if you don’t give a fuck about her, fine. just don’t stand here pretending you do.”
he steps back, drops the joint into an empty cup, and turns toward the hallway, he almost bumps into you.
you’re back, smiling, oblivious, still glowing from the night. “hey, what’d i miss?”
both men go still.
suguru’s mask snaps back on instantly, smile smooth and easy. “nothing, babe. just talking band shit.” you nod, glancing between them. choso’s eyes are hard to read. too calm, too quiet. you loop your arm through suguru’s. “oh! okay. drinks?”
“yeah,” he says, kissing your temple. “let’s get you one.” he leads you toward the kitchen, the two of you slipping back into the party’s pulse.
choso stays where he is, arms crossed, jaw tight. from across the room, he watches as suguru hands you a drink, laughs at something you say, leans in close like nothing happened.
and for the first time in a long time, choso feels the kind of anger that doesn’t burn out, it just settles. slow, deep, and quiet.
he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his lighter, flicks it once, twice. the flame dances for a second before he shuts it off.
he takes a breath.
then another.
the music swells again, the noise swallowing everything.
and still, all he can hear is suguru’s laugh and the echo of his own restraint cracking, one hairline fracture at a time.
.
a few hours later
choso doesn’t mean to, really.
but the tight, burning knot in his chest, the one suguru’s smirk planted there, the one that grew watching him flirt with that old girl, the one that pulsed every time he saw your smile linger on suguru instead of him. fuck, it’s unbearable.
he’s been quiet, slow, keeping that lazy, half-asleep stoner mask on, puffing on his joint like everything’s fine. but it isn’t. it never has been.
he promised. always promised. no pills, no hardcore shit. just weed. the band worried enough about him already, addiction has always been a shadow he could never quite shake, and they knew if he went deeper, it’d swallow him.
but now, standing in the pulsing warehouse light, the noise vibrating up through his shoes, the alcohol and smoke thick in the air, he’s feeling something foreign. anger. jealousy. raw heat that makes his chest ache and stomach twist.
“yo, kamo,” he hears a guy drop down next to him, some old friend from college, he's leaning in. “nice to see you man. it's been ages."
choso just nods along, letting the guy talk about whatever he thinks is so important, his ears only really peeking up when the guy says, "you look like you need somethin’ a lil stronger.”
choso looks at him, slow. “mm, like what.”
the guy holds out a small baggie. pills, little white caps. “just some party shit. everyone here's doing it."
choso stares. his promise to the band, to you, floats somewhere in the back of his head , only weed, nothing heavier.
you'd all told him how addictive he could get, how dipping his feet into any sort of hardcore drugs wouldn't turn out great for him.
he takes the bag anyway. too pissed if to give a shit about anything other than numbing what he's feeling. "yeah, alright.”
“sweet,” the guy says, handing him a drink to wash it down.
the high hit him slow at first, a gentle fog wrapping itself around his chest, legs, fingers. choso felt the kind of calm that usually made him drift through a morning on the couch, hoodie loose, blunt tucked behind his ear.
but tonight, it was different. it hit like a wave he couldn’t ride without tumbling. and the warehouse, sticky, crowded, glowing in neon and sweat, was the perfect storm for it.
he wandered through the party, each step lazy, like he was moving through molasses, yet every sense screamed sharper than usual. the bassline rattled his chest, people’s voices blurred into a constant hum, the smell of booze, perfume, and sweat mixing into a heady cloud.
he took another long drag from his joint, holding the smoke, letting it curl around him, thinking it might shield him from the gnawing coil in his stomach, but it didn’t. not really.
“hey, choso,” a familiar voice broke through the haze. a fan, a girl maybe nineteen or twenty, pressed forward with wide eyes and a camera phone. “can we… like, take a pic? i love your band, dude, you’re insane on drums..
choso blinked slowly, the effects of the drug tangling with his words. “ahh, yeah… fuckin’ yeah, for sure.” he motioned lazily to the spot, half-smile tugging at his mouth. he let the girl snap a few pictures, asked her dumb little questions, about the band, gigs, where they got the idea for that last song—and he answered, voice drawling and thick, slurring words just slightly.
every few minutes, though, his gaze flicked back to you. and every time, there you were. pressed against suguru, who had that impossible grin plastered on his face, thumb brushing your hip while making conversation with someone else. choso’s stomach twisted. you weren’t tense. you laughed at something suguru said, head tilted back—but his jaw clenched.
and then he noticed it. suguru’s eyes, dark and dirty, sweeping across the room, lingering on every passing girl with a flash of that smug, possessive look. choso felt something sour bloom inside him, anger. jealousy. something he hadn’t felt in a long time, something sharp and alien.
he sucked in a long drag of his joint, letting it burn down slowly, but the warmth didn’t soothe him. the high pressed against the raw edges of his chest, amplifying the foreign heat that bubbled with every glance suguru threw.
the way his lips curved slightly at you, and yet his eyes traveled over the figure of every passer by, made choso’s fingers itch to smash something, anything.
and then it happened. a girl, tall, laughing, hair loose over her shoulders, crossed the warehouse floor, and suguru’s gaze latched onto her, heavier than he had been doing.
just like that, he leaned down slightly to you, whispered something, and before choso could register it, suguru excused himself.
"gonna step out for a bit,” he said smoothly, voice low, eyes catching choso’s once before he disappeared through the side door.
you watched him go, smiling like it was nothing. like you didn’t notice the tension he left behind.
choso’s lips parted slightly, and for the first time tonight, he felt some clarity in the chaos—the haze, the crowd, the thrum of the bass—all of it funneled into one magnetic point: you.
he made his way through the crowd, knees a little wobbly, mind thick and messy with high thoughts, each step pulling him closer to you.
when he reached you, he leaned against the wall beside the couch, blinking slowly, trying to anchor himself despite his brain telling him to just spout nonsense.
“yo,” he said, voice low, a lazy drawl that was already fraying at the edges. “hey… hey you- you look… fuck, you look like— like somethin’ really fuckin’ hot. like, goddamn, don’t even—don’t even talk, just stand there, yeah?”
you looked at him, frowning slightly. his eyes were glassy, unfocused, but they held a sharp, almost wild intensity.
“cho… did you..? what did you take?” you asked carefully, voice low, hands resting lightly on the couch back. “you’re really high right now, aren’t you?”
he blinked slowly, shaking his head, hair falling into his face. “nah… nah, it’s… just… the whole place… it’s like—fuck, it’s like the world’s spinning.”
he ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting to you, then back toward the doorway where suguru had disappeared. “man, I swear, every time I look… he’s lookin’… like—fuck, like he’s owning somethin’ that’s mine. not yours, mine.”
you frowned, stepping closer. “cho… slow down. breathe. you’re not making sense.”
“sense? ha!” he laughed, sharp and hoarse. “fuck sense, you’re… you’re standin’ there, and I’m… I’m—shit, I’m like, all these fuckin’ feelings,” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you, voice cracking a little with the intensity.
“cho,” you said softly, moving to grab his arm, trying to steady him. “look at me. what did you take?”
he shook his head violently, sitting down on the edge of the couch, hands tugging at his hoodie strings. “nah… nah, can’t… fuck, can’t tell. you'll be mad at me. but you… you’re like… god, you’re fuckin’ everywhere in my head.”
you bit your lip, exhaling through your nose, letting a faint groan of frustration escape. “hey… listen to me. you’re too high. you’re spiraling. it’s not healthy. come on… we’re going home.”
he blinked up at you, expression softening slightly, but the haze still clouded his gaze. “home?” he muttered, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “fuck… home. yeah, yeah, you… you’re home.”
you knelt beside him, voice gentle but firm. “yeah. c’mon, we’re leaving, you're fucking soaring.”
he blinked at you, then laughed softly, a little shaky. “you… you’re fuckin’ bossy, y’know that? like… goddamn, bossy as hell… I fuckin' like it. I like it a lot.”
you shook your head, smirking despite yourself. “yeah, well, bossy is gonna save your ass tonight. now get up.” you extended a hand. he took it slowly, fingers brushing yours, gripping tightly for a moment.
as you led him through the crowd, you leaned slightly toward gojo, speaking over your shoulder. “hey, tell geto I’m leaving for the night. also tell him not to come over later.”
gojo’s grin faltered slightly, but he raised a hand in mock salute. “yeah, yeah. whatever.”
you didn’t answer, just kept walking, guiding choso toward the side door. the night air hit him like a splash, sharp and cold, clearing some of the fog from his mind. he shivered, pulling the hoodie tighter around himself, looking at you with wide, almost pleading eyes.
“fuck, it’s… it’s cold out here,” he muttered, voice rough. “but… yeah, fuck… you smell, like… everything good.”
you rolled your eyes, smiling, tugging gently on his arm. “c'mon, get in the car you big baby.”
he followed, shuffling along beside you, shoulders hunched, hands fumbling with the hem of his hoodie. he let you guide him into the passenger seat of his sleek black mercedes, heat and regret and longing pressing together as you let go of his arm.
“yo… you know,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough, “I… I like you. fuckin’… like… goddamn, like really, really… yeah.”
you glanced at him, surprised, hand resting lightly on his arm. “cho… you don't know what you're saying,” you said softly, voice steady. “now let’s just get you home before you do anything stupid.”
he grinned, shaky but wide, and leaned slightly into you as you guided him along the sidewalk. “yeah… yeah, okay… home… yeah… but fuck, I swear… I swear, I’m like… all my feelings… all of ‘em… you’re fuckin’… yeah, you’re it.”
you laughed softly, shaking your head. you were starting to get really anxious. he's ever like this, never so open, never so talkative. “you're high. i don't want to hear any more of this nonsense, okay?”
~
you open the door to your apartment with a slightly more sober choso trailing behind you. normally, it was warm here, soft, your little refuge from the chaos of the outside world. tonight it was cold, unfamiliar, as if every object, the counter, the fridge, the chipped mug in the sink, was holding its breath.
choso was already inside, leaning against the kitchen bench, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes.
normally, even high, he was lazy, drifting. tonight he was… heavier. darker. like every beat of his pulse carried some of the tension from the warehouse, every breath filled with something raw, sharp, desperate.
“cho?” your voice was soft, tentative, as you stepped closer. the door clicked shut behind you and the sound seemed louder than it should have been. he didn’t answer at first, just watched you, eyes glassy but unblinking, half-shadowed in the dim light.
then he moved. suddenly, decisively. one long step forward, and he was close enough that you felt the heat from him, smelled the faint mix of weed, sweat, and his cologne. before you could react, he caught your wrist and guided you toward the counter, pressing you lightly against it.
“hey,” he murmured, low, rough, voice shaking just slightly. “don’t… don’t move. just… just listen.”
you froze, pulse jumping. normally he was lazy, teasing, stoner-lazy. not like this—not intense, not… commanding in that way that made your lower stomach tighten.
“choso—” you started, but he silenced you with a sharp glance, his eyes flicking up to yours, desperate, pleading.
“i… i’ve been keeping something from you,” he said, voice tight. “something stupid. something i should’ve… fuck, should’ve told you about a long time ago.”
you swallowed, your heart picking up. “hmm?… what is it?”
he exhaled slowly, hands brushing against the edge of the counter near your hips, close but not overbearing, just there enough that you felt trapped in the tension he carried.
“it’s… it’s about… suguru,” he said, jaw tightening. his voice caught in his throat for a second, then he pushed through. “about all the… shit he’s said. about you, y/n.”
your stomach dropped. what the hell was he talking about? he was clearly fucked out of his mind, slurring his words as his jaw twitched. you wanted to put him to sleep, tell him to calm down, but he looked too controlling, like he'd explode if he didn't get this out.
“suguru, he… he talks about you like you’re nothing,” choso continued, hands tightening around the edge of the counter as if he needed the anchor. “like… like he’s the only one with a right to… to even fucking look at you. he… he laughed, y/n. we were at the studio, and... he said—he said such shitty things about you."
your breath caught as he leaned in closer. "l-like what?..."
"shit... he said that he likes you because you’re obedient, you're 'tight as hell', a good fuck, like you’re… like you’re just… I don’t even know, a thing for him to screw. and then—”
he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, dark eyes flicking to yours. “—then, tonight, while you were in the bathroom, doing your makeup, he went straight to his old fling, the girl he used to bang and brag about, just… just to… to prove something. he looked me dead in the eye. like he was… like he’s proud of it.”
you felt your throat tighten. your hands gripped the counter instinctively. “oh choso... i'm sorry you had to hear all of that… i—”
“no, no,” he cut you off, urgency flashing. “don’t you fucking start apologizing. don’t. you didn’t do anything. it’s all him. it’s… it’s just… i hate him. i fucking hate him, y/n.”
his voice was raw, breaking a little on the last word.
the smoke curling around him made him look sharper somehow, the dim light accentuating the edges of his face, the dark lines under his eyes. you’d never seen him like this. vulnerable, angry, but also… unflinchingly honest.
“choso... he's your band mate, i know what he did to me was shitty, but don't let that ruin your relationship with him... cmon…” your voice was quiet, unsure. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to comfort him or run. your chest hurt at the honesty in his voice.
“no. i don't care, y/n... and that’s not the worst part,” he said, leaning just a little closer, hands still on the counter, gaze locked on yours.
“the worst part is… i can’t—i can’t stop thinking about it. about him touching you, talking about you, laughing at the way he’s—fuck, i don’t even know. it makes me… it makes me feel like i’m losing my mind. like my chest is… i don’t know, ripping in two.”
your lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. his usual lazy, stoner-laden grin was gone. this was… desperate. needy. almost like he couldn’t stand not saying it out loud.
he was slurring his words, looking frantic.
“and i… i want to—” he paused, swallowed, voice rough, low. “i want to tell you… that i’d never… i’d never do that. not to you. not like him. not even close. you… you’re too good, too… i don’t… fuck. you’re not like that. and i… i like you, y/n.”
the words hit harder than you expected. you’d thought he was joking before, rambling high, maybe even teasing. but this… this was different. he was standing close, breathing uneven, heart thudding in his chest, eyes pleading, and you realised, he meant it.
“choso…” you whispered. you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tight. “you… you mean that?”
“yeah,” he said, a harsh exhale of smoke escaping his lips. “i mean it. i’ve liked you for so long, and i… fuck, i just… kept it buried. kept it lazy, kept it… i don’t know, hidden. i didn’t wanna make it weird, or fuck things up. but tonight… tonight i saw everything. you with him. and i couldn’t hold it anymore.”
he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. his hand lingered, trembling slightly. “you're... you're really special to me, y’know? not like… possessive or some shit. just… like… i need you. i need you to know i don’t want anyone else doing what he did. talking about you like that. looking at you like that. not ever."
you bit your lip, heart racing, conflicted. the intensity of his confession, the anger at suguru, the neediness, it was… a lot.
you didn’t know how to feel. your body was leaning slightly into him, the pull of him against you magnetic, but your mind was spinning. suguru. choso. confusion and lust and relief all knotted together.
"why are you just telling me this now...?" you ask, shyly as he inches closer, grabbing your jaw and holding it loose.
"because i'm off my fucking face, y/n."
it was sudden, and you even giggled. because he was right. sober choso, stoned choso, he'd never been this open, never this vulnerable.
"... i don't know what to say, this is all so— fuck— it's so sudden. what am i supposed to do about suguru..." you ask, he closes his eyes and responds with his forehead pressed to yours.
"if i had it my way... you'd block his ass, never speak to the mother fucker again, and spend your nights wrapped up in my bed, instead of his. letting me take care of things, keeping you close so you'd know i was yours, asking you out like a proper fucking guy. not using you like some sort of pocket pussy."
that hit. because that's all you'd ever really wanted from someone. companionship, love, the kind of respect you just didn't feel from suguru no matter how many times you'd try make yourself think you did.
he finally let go of your face and stepped back, rubbing his hands down his own thighs like he needed the grounding. “c’mon,” he muttered, voice rough, low. “bed. i… i just wanna… be near you. just… lie down, okay?”
you nodded, still unsure, heart pounding, but the pull was magnetic. his bed was just down the hall, soft, slightly messy, with a blanket he probably hadn’t folded in days.
normally he was too stoner-lazy to care about anything resembling organization, but tonight the bed felt like a sanctuary. he moved ahead of you, swaying a little, still fumbling with his hoodie, and you followed, careful not to trip over the rug in the hallway.
once inside, he lowered himself onto the mattress with a groan that was half frustration, half relief. he patted the space beside him, a small, awkward gesture but charged with meaning. “get in here,” he said, voice soft now, almost pleading. “just… be here. with me.”
you perched at the edge for a moment, looking down at him. he looked vulnerable in the way you hadn’t seen before—high and open, yet completely raw. then, slowly, you slid in beside him.
he shifted slightly, making room, then wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. your head rested lightly against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the soft heat of his skin beneath your cheek.
“fuck… you feel good,” he murmured, voice thick and rough. “like… like everything i’ve been waiting for, all at once. i… i don’t want to move,"
you exhaled softly, heart hammering. “i’m here,” you whispered. “i won’t go anywhere.”
he pressed his face into your hair, a quiet groan escaping him, not sexual, not demanding, just… relief. he was holding onto you like no one's business, like proximity to you was the only thing keeping him tethered.
“i… i fucked up tonight,” he said, voice muffled against your hair. “i know… i was all over the place. off my face. but… you gotta know… i meant everything i said. every word. you’re the only one i want to be… like… close to. like this.”
you shifted a little, looking up at him. the sharp, high tension in his face had softened, replaced by a mixture of haze, exhaustion, and longing. “cho… i get it,” you murmured. “you don’t have to explain anymore. just… be here.”
you let yourself sink against him, chest pressed to his, but your mind was a storm. part of you was still sharp, aching with betrayal. the thought of suguru’s words, his casual cruelty, it stung, too fresh to be jumping into anything emotionally taxing as of now.
it left a sour taste, a tight knot in your stomach. you hated that you’d ever tried to make excuses for him, that you’d tried to convince yourself his calm exterior meant anything other than manipulation.
and yet, lying here with choso, pressed close to him, his warmth and his raw honesty wrapping around you, it felt like a shield. the tension, the anger, the hurt—they softened at the edges, dulled by the simple fact that he was here. that he wasn’t pretending. he wasn’t playing games. he didn’t want to own you—he just wanted you near, wanted to take care of you in the quietest, simplest way.
your chest warmed despite the lingering anger, the betrayal still gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. and yet, in this space, tangled together, pressed close in the dim glow of his bedroom, you could let yourself be content. content with the one person who’d always been honest with you, who’d finally shown you exactly how much he cared.
for now, that was all you needed.
~
the weeks had slipped past since you’d messaged geto to fuck off. you hadn’t spoken to him since that curt text, and honestly, it was quieter than you’d expected. no drama, no confrontations, just the dull ache of his absence.
the apartment felt calmer for it, too. you and choso hadn’t talked about that night, about the confession, the intensity, the things he’d admitted, but it hovered in the space between you like a low hum, unspoken but insistent.
and slowly, almost imperceptibly, a rhythm emerged. mornings were quiet, coffee mugs and peeling toast and sleepy smiles. afternoons slipped by on the couch, half-watching a show, half-dozing, your knees brushing against his.
evenings smelled like takeout and weed, music humming in the background as he sprawled lazily on the carpet, drumsticks idly tapping against his legs.
there were moments where it almost tipped, where the electricity between you made your fingers tremble and your stomach twist. a brush of hands in the kitchen, a shared laugh over something dumb on your phone, and for a heartbeat it felt like you could collapse into each other right then and there.
but choso was careful. patient. giving you space to breathe, letting the sting of geto fade, even as his gaze lingered longer than it probably should. he still wanted you close, but he held himself back, letting you set the pace. only on your own terms would he get close, letting you slip into his bed when you got lonely, letting him rub your back when things got stressful. the little things.
the band had its own tension.
practices had become sharper, more pointed, the edges of old frustrations showing. suguru’s sulking was more obvious these days, jaw tight, fingers always on his guitar strings like he was ready to snap at any moment.
he hadn’t forgiven you, or himself, for the way you’d just ended things. toji sighed more than usual, muttering about drama infecting the rhythm of the band.
gojo, predictably, had made it his life’s mission to tease both suguru and choso mercilessly. apparently, choso had spilled every detail from that night to him, and gojo’s sharp, smug grin had never left since.
“yo, cho,” gojo called during a rehearsal break, plopping onto the bass amp with a lazy flop. “have you swooped her up yet? any new updates on your little scheme to make her your play thing?"
choso’s eyes flicked up from the drumkit, one stick lazily twirling in his fingers. “shut the fuck up, gojo. that's not what i'm doing,” he said, voice flat but amused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
he was back to his usual rhythm now. easy, teasing, present, but the underlying tension in the studio hung there anyway, like the air before a storm.
suguru scowled from the corner, tuning his guitar obsessively. “idiots,” he muttered, voice sharp. “both of you.”
toji snorted. “cho’s chillin’, you're the only one sulkin' man.”
the drums hit again, slow and steady, choso’s stick tapping a rhythm into the carpeted floor.
back at the apartment, it was quieter. the city hummed outside the windows while you and choso settled into something gentle, unspoken, almost tender.
one night, he was sprawled on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, knees bent, and you were perched at the edge, flipping through a magazine. your hands brushed, his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary as he gazed into your eyes like a man starved, the pull was undeniable.
“choso… we shouldn't just…ignore it.” you started, heart hammering.
he cut you off with a soft hum, eyes still hidden beneath the hood. “i know. but i’m… i’m trying… letting you breathe. letting you… heal first.”
your chest tightened. “it’s… it’s still weird. still raw. geto… he—”
“fuck geto,” he interrupted softly, voice low but firm. “he’s out. he’s done. i’m… here. for you. not asking for more than you can give.”
and that was enough. the rest of the night passed in quiet, soft laughter over dumb shows, slow music, the faint drumbeat from his sticks echoing against the walls.
no confessions, no admissions, just presence and the weight of his calm, steady warmth.
practices were intense now. the band had a gig coming up, the biggest they’d ever do. every session was longer, every riff tighter, every cymbal crash deliberate.
choso’s drumming drove the rhythm, his usual lazy charisma replaced by a quiet focus, punctuated by moments of laziness where he’d just lean into the kick drum and let the beat flow through him.
and through it all, you were there with choso. kitchen chats between sessions, lounging on the couch while he absentmindedly tapped his sticks on your coffee table, brushing against your knees when you passed by.
the apartment was your sanctuary and your battlefield, tension and warmth coexisting, your bodies close but boundaries carefully observed as you'd talk about everything.
"so, will i see you at the gig?"
"duh. i'll be front row screaming your name."
god, he wishes you would scream his.
~
the venue pulsed with energy. bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation.
you could feel the bass thumping through the soles of your boots before the band even came on. a low chant started somewhere in the crowd—ex-or-cize, ex-or-cize, ex-or-cize—and spread fast, a heartbeat made of strangers.
you were front and center, caught in the current of people, hands gripping the barricade. your chest was tight, a knot of nerves and excitement wound together. this was their biggest gig yet—bigger venue, bigger crowd, the kind of show that could push them up a tier.
the lights went low. a hush fell. and then gojo’s voice hit the mic, clear and cocky, dripping with that smug grin you knew even without seeing it.
“alright, alright, you sexy motherfuckers,” he drawled, drawing out every syllable. “we’re exorcize, and we came to make your night filthy.”
the crowd erupted. lights flashed red, then white, smoke rolling over the stage. suguru stepped up first, guitar slung low, hair slicked back, jaw set tight.
toji followed, head down, fingers flexing around the neck of his bass.
choso came last, sliding onto the stool behind his drumkit, sticks already spinning between his fingers. the moment he sat, everything in the room seemed to lock into rhythm.
you couldn’t take your eyes off him.
the set kicked off hard; gojo’s voice raw and teasing, suguru’s guitar slicing through the noise, toji’s bass thick and grounding. but choso… god, choso was something else entirely.
his body moved with the rhythm like he was the rhythm. sweat already glistened at his temples, hair falling into his eyes as he leaned into each beat. his arms flexed with every strike, the muscles shifting beneath the fabric of his tee, drumsticks flashing in the lights.
it was hypnotic. enticing. you felt it low in your stomach, that steady pulse syncing with his.
geto was there, of course. you’d spotted him near the sound booth, head low, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t care. the sight of him twisted something sharp in you at first, but it faded fast, burned away by the heat rising from the stage.
because when choso hit that first solo, nothing else mattered. not the press of bodies, not the alcohol hiring your tounge, and definitely not suguru geto.
he tilted his head back slightly, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as his hands blurred.
you’d seen him play before, countless times —but this was different. this was him, stripped down, alive. raw talent and rhythm and restraint all breaking loose in front of a crowd that screamed his name.
and you were screaming it too.
every cymbal crash sent a jolt through you. every roll of his shoulders, every flick of his wrist made your breath hitch. your fingers gripped the barricade harder as heat coiled low in your belly. you couldn’t stop watching him. didn’t want to.
gojo grinned into the mic between songs, sweat dripping down his jaw. “give it up for the best damn drummer in tokyo—my guy choso!”
the crowd roared, and you swore you saw choso’s mouth twitch into the faintest, shyest grin. his gaze swept across the crowd for a fleeting second, and when it landed on you, your stomach dropped. he saw you. he felt you.
the rest of the set blurred together, grinding guitars, crashing percussion, gojo’s voice splitting the air like lightning. when they closed out with exile mind, their heaviest song, the crowd went feral.
choso drove the final beat like he was trying to break through the floor, and when the last note hit, he threw his sticks high into the crowd. one disappeared into the sea of hands; the other bounced off the barricade and landed right in front of you.
you picked it up, clutching it tight.
the lights faded. the crowd’s roar slowly dissolved into chatter and laughter, the sound of the night spilling back into the open air. the band vanished backstage, swallowed by cables.
you slipped through the press of bodies, heart still pounding, the drumstick warm in your hand. a couple of drinks from the merch table had loosened your nerves, and you could feel a confident heat rolling low in your belly, pressing against the restraint you’d been holding onto all night.
when you found him outside—behind the venue, near the alley where the smoke from the back door curled upward—he was leaning against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, head tipped back, still catching his breath.
“you were…” your voice caught, breath slightly slurred and warm from the drinks, “holy shit, choso, you were incredible.”
his lips quirked, soft and tired. “yeah?”
“yeah.” you stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face, deliberately letting your hand linger a second longer on his chest. “i couldn’t look away. like… i don’t even have words. you sounded—” you lowered your voice, letting the warmth of the drinks give you boldness, “you sounded so good. so fucking good.”
his gaze flicked to yours, something dark and quiet sparking in it. the pull between you was immediate, electric, and you let your fingers brush his hoodie again, teasing, deliberate.
“you think so?” he asked softly, voice rougher, more ragged than usual.
you nodded, stepping closer until your body nearly pressed against his. “yeah. you made me feel it. every beat.” your lips curved into a half-smile, half-grin, letting the alcohol fuel a boldness you usually didn’t give yourself.
after weeks of pretending like there was nothing going on between you, this was definitely the breaking point.
"i couldn’t stop thinking about you, how i'm so lucky to have such a talented friend.”
he swallowed, shoulders rising, that lazy grin cracking just slightly as he stepped a fraction closer.
for a second, the air felt so thick you could barely breathe.
the back door swung open then, and gojo’s voice cut through the air.
“yo, you two!” he shouted, grinning under the streetlights. “afterparty at mine. everyone’s invited. you better show up, cho—you owe me a joint and a round of beer for that call out, man.”
choso didn’t even glance back. his gaze stayed on you, dark and intense.
you tilted your head, voice soft but teasing, letting the boldness roll over your words. “maybe skip it,” you said, hand still lightly resting against his chest. “the last afterparty didn’t go so well for you, remember?”
his laugh was low, slightly hungry, genuine. “yeah,” he murmured. “fair point.”
“come home,” you said, your body brushing against his side as you spoke, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. “come home. with me.”
he hesitated a heartbeat, then exhaled, eyes softening, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“yeah. home sounds really good.”
.
as soon as the door clicked shut, the air between you ignited. his hand found the small of your back before you could even react, pulling you flush against him. your body pressed to his chest, heart hammering, pulse racing, every nerve alight with anticipation.
“fuck,” he breathed, forehead leaning to yours, voice low and rough, vibrating in your chest. “i can't take this anymore. i can't keep ignoring this.”
you swallowed, breath hitching, hands braced against his shoulders. “cho—”
he cut you off with a growl, lips brushing against your jaw as his hands slid down to grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him. “no. fuck that. i mean it. i… i’ve been holding back everything. every word, every look, every feeling.”
your stomach fluttered, heat pooling between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine. he tilted your chin up, eyes dark, heavy with desire and something softer, something raw and unguarded. “i can’t… can’t stand it anymore, y/n. that night, everything i said… everything i’ve wanted… i need you so badly.”
“choso…” your voice was breathless, half warning, half pleading, but your body betrayed you, leaning in closer, the tension unbearable.
he laughed, low, rough, almost a growl. “jesus, look at you. you're so fucking beautiful… i want you all to myself, all of the time. i don't know how i control myself most of the time, y/n.” his hands roamed lower, teasing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing against the soft line of your hips.
“i need you. i’ve wanted you… every lazy, fucking long day i’ve spent here in your vicinity, it's like i can't breathe properly without you.”
your chest tightened, mind spinning, everything he’d said that night pooling back into focus—his confession, the anger at suguru, the raw truth. you’d thought it was a high, a ramble, but now… seeing him, feeling him, you knew it was real.
“ i—” you started, voice trembling, then cut yourself off as he leaned in, pressing his mouth to yours.
the kiss hit first soft, lips delicately meeting for the first time, then it grew demanding. a low growl vibrating from his chest, hands gripping your hips tighter, rolling you against him like it was the only natural motion in the universe.
you gasped, fingers tangling in the back of his hoodie, pulling him closer, feeling the press of his hardness against you, the undeniable weight of him. your body arched instinctively, pressed to his, heart hammering, chest rising and falling in sync.
“tell me,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough, low. “tell me you want me… all of this… me.”
your eyes fluttered open, heart in your throat, and you met his gaze. you looked him up and down and pulled him in tight, letting your lips do the talking.
"does that answer your question?"
he groaned, a sharp, feral sound that made your stomach clench, and pressed harder, pinning you against the door like it was his god-given right. “good,” he breathed, tilting his head as his lips sought yours again, slower now, tasting, teasing, claiming. “i need to… i need to ask, too.”
“ask?” you whispered, breathless.
he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. “be… mine, y/n. completely. no games, no half-assed shit. i want you. all of you.”
your chest tightened, eyes swimming with heat, desire, and relief. “yes,” you breathed, voice trembling, letting everything spill out.
that was all he needed. his grin cracked wide, teeth grazing your lips, and he dove back into your mouth, hands wandering over every inch he could reach, lips and tongue claiming, teeth grazing just enough to draw gasps from you.
you pressed into him, hands clawing at his back, hips grinding, the friction of his body against yours setting you alight. each kiss was sharper, heavier, demanding, full of need and want and something that had been simmering for years.
he backed you into the hallway, every step making the tension coil tighter, until finally he spun you gently, but with no less force, toward the bedroom. the air was thick, your breaths ragged, hands clutching at each other’s clothing, trying to close the distance you both had held back for too long.
“god, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and you shivered violently. “i’ve needed this… wanted you… for so long.”
you couldn’t hold back anymore. “me too, cho. so badly.”
he groaned, a deep, rough sound vibrating through your chest, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer as you crossed the threshold into the bedroom. the door shut behind you with a definitive click, muffling the city outside, leaving only the sound of your hearts, your breaths, and the magnetic pull between your bodies.
and then… he kissed you again, slow and searing, full of hunger and want and heat, pressing you onto the bed as your legs tangled together, bodies seeking, finding, consuming.
he’s all teeth and tongue, biting, sucking, nipping at your neck, shoulder, jaw, dragging low, urgent groans from deep in his chest that make you ache and melt at the same time.
your nails rake down his back, pulling him closer, and he leans in, grinding, pressing, heat and hunger radiating from him in waves that make your knees weak.
“fuck, choso—” you gasp, but he swats your hands away gently, lips still devouring yours, teeth grazing, tongue probing, tugging, tasting.
every touch, every snap of his hips as he grinds his clothed cock against you, makes your clit pulse with anticipation.
his fingers slip under your shirt, pressing and pinching at your hardened nipples, trailing down your sides slowly, dragging heat across your skin.
your hands clutch at him, tugging his hoodie off of his body, anything to get more of him, more contact, more friction. he responds with a low, guttural growl, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hips snapping hard, testing, teasing, driving you insane with want as he tears off his shirt.
you catch a glimpse of the body you'd see on the daily, a perfect chiseled masterpiece, only this time, it was all yours.
he doesn’t just kiss you, he devours you. hands roaming over your pretty body, he slips your skirt off next, and slides his big, veiny hand down, down, until the thick pads of his fingers tease and prod at your wet bundle of nerves. you hiss in reply.
"fuck! choso— that feels— so good!"
he smirks at your confession and slowly pushes his thick digits inside, scissoring them back and forth, driving you up the wall as you let out pretty, breathless moans.
"ch-choso!"
his mouth drifts lower, teasing the swell of your breasts, biting just enough to make you arch and cry out.
after working you open, he kisses your lips tenderly before pulling down his pants and underwear in one swift motion. his rock hard cock springs free, and, wow. just wow.
"th-that's not gonna fit..."
"we'll make it fit, baby."
and fit it did. he slowly pushed his fat tip past your puffy lips, whispering reassuring praise as you squeezed your eyes shut from the streeeetch.
"aww— you can do it, ma. you're doing so good for me. that's it, just keep breathing baby."
his hips jerked forward, letting the last few inches fully stretch you out, earning a porn star worthy moan rip from your throat.
"holy fuck— holly shit! choso, you're so big!"
he groaned in satisfaction, your cunt swallowing him whole as he slapped his hips back and forth over and over again, cursing and moaning deeply into your ear.
his pace turns brutal, like all of his emotions were being poured into fucking you nice and deep, the way you deserved.
he dips his face down impossibly close to your face to capture your quivering lips in a kiss. he smirks against your skin, letting lewd comments tumble out of his smirking lips.
"you moan so prettily for me baby— shit— nothing— hah— gets me harder than hearing you whine like a slut while i fuck you fast."
you arch, grinding against him without thinking, letting the friction and his raw heat take over, body trembling beneath him. he groans into your neck, claws digging into your thighs, holding you open, guiding, punishing, claiming.
he’s insatiable. every roll of his hips, every snap, every deep press of him against you makes your body combust, trembling, gasping, aching for more. your moans, ragged and loud, fuel him, and he leans in, tongue and teeth and lips all at once, relentless, like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin.
you can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t do anything but ride the fire, hips rolling into him, chest pressing into his, skin slick and shivering. he drives you higher, deeper, grinding with unrelenting intensity, low growls vibrating through his chest, vibrating through you.
"fuck! baby— gonna cum— gonna fill y' up, shit!"
you locked your legs around his torso as his thrusts become more and more feverish, the sheer pace making your face squeeze tight in ecstasy.
he's breathing heavy, holding your hips against him so hard you're sure his hands will leave bruises, your cunt being relentlessly pounded as he finally lets go.
"fuck— y/n! fuck i love you, i love you so much!"
you gasp at his words and blurt out a response like it was muscle memory, like it was the most perfect irrevocable truth.
"i love you too, choso— hah!—,"
when he finally drives the both of you over the edge, it’s explosive. he pants and collapses immediately, groaning into your chest as he caresses your hair, speaking soft praise into your ear.
"god, that was so good. you did so well f'me... holy shit, y/n. you're so perfect, so good... you took me like a fucking champ."
you were too busy coming down to fully comprehend, but you cradled his head against your chest all the same.
he doesn’t pull away. just holds you, chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your forehead, arms tight around you, skin slick and sticky, breaths mingling, pulse still wild. the tension hasn’t left, it’s just simmering now, a coiled heat between you two that promises this is only the beginning.
you’re still gasping, shivering, trembling in the aftermath, but it’s… thrilling, dark, messy, and perfect. he leans down, brushing his lips over yours once more, teeth grazing, murmuring something low and rough that makes your stomach knot again.
"i love you, y/n. you're mine. i don't fuck and dip, this is a forever thing now, okay? i promise, i'm never letting you get away from me."
the world outside is gone. it’s just the two of you, tangled, fevered, and utterly, terrifyingly alive.
you reply through breathless speech, looking deep into his beautiful, tired eyes.
"i know, cho. and that's all i've ever really needed."
⊹ tags: ryomen sukuna x female reader; childhood friends; character mentions: uraume - satoru gojo; unresolved tension; sukuna is oh so in love; fluffy but a mix of angst/smut/fluff; domestic; non curse au; p in v sex; unprotected sex; dry humping; making out; oral sex;
:about: you've known sukuna before he was a world boxing champion, when he was just a scrawny kid who used to hide behind your legs when you were both in kindergarten. sukuna is growing tired of the fame and fortune, and all he really wants is to fall into the arms of the one person who he's always considered his home.
this fic is one shot. I'll happily answer any lore questions regarding boxer!sukuna x reader, but there will not be a part two or more parts of their story. It is a standalone.
wc: 19K+
Sukuna steps out of the shower, his body wound up in a tight coil after the night's fight. He presses the bridge of his nose together to relieve his throbbing head, but his brow is searing with pain. When he opens his eyes he catches a reflection of his self in the bathroom mirror- a split on his bottom lip, a cut on the arch of his right eyebrow and a slight bruise on his left cheek.
It's rare for him to look this battered after a match.
He's been untouchable for years, he's almost forgotten what it's like to take a few good hits in the ring.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?"
His eyes flicker up toward Uraume, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.
He shakes his head at his manager. "Nothing happened, I won. Isn't that a good thing?"
Uraume narrows their gaze, sharp like a sly little fox. They can read Sukuna like a book, but Sukuna chooses to play ignorant and brushes off their knowing stare.
He knows that the inquisition isn't about the sponsors, the money, or the win.
He also knows that Uraume never asks questions that they don’t know the possible answer to.
Thankfully, his manager just sighs.
"The limo is outside waiting to take you to the party," they state, their heavy exhale indicating that they know Sukuna won't own up to what they are trying to prod out of him.
"Fuck," Sukuna grumbles. The towel hangs low on his hips, and he throws the one that is around his neck onto the ground. He steps outside to the locker room and proceeds to change. He dries off, puts on his boxers and picks up his black t-shirt before pulling it over his bare chest marked with ink. He then tugs on his jeans, and secures his belt around the waist. "Do I have to go to that?"
Uraume shrugs, "Don't you want to parade your big victory over Satoru Gojo to the rest of the world?" his manager adds, slipping both hands into their pocket as they stride casually toward Sukuna who is merely trying to gather the rest of his things.
The last touch is his signature silver chain necklace. He hooks the accessory around his neck, while mentally preparing himself for the crowd waiting for him outside. For the voices that would be screaming out his name, and the obnoxious paparazzi who can't seem to grasp the concept of personal space.
They all gawk at him like he's a endangered animal at the zoo.
His chest seizes at the thought.
He used to gloat over being in the spotlight. He took to stardom with an extreme sense of pride, but the thought of it right now just makes his skin crawl uncomfortably.
The only thing that Ryomen Sukuna wanted at this very moment, is to go home in fucking peace.
He’s given the fans and the world what they wanted.
"Little shit got what was coming to him," he blurts out in response to Uraume. "It'll take him a while to lick his wounds and get over his broken pride..."
Uraume chuckles, "and I was worried that he might have actually had an advantage over you..."
Sukuna swallows the sudden lump in his throat.
God he was fucking tired. His whole body is aching, begging him to get some much needed rest. He hadn’t trained this hard in a long time. The strict diet, the isolation, the strenuous days in the gym and in the training ring slowly started filtering into him in doses.
"Almost," he admits quietly, a little bitter over the reality of the situation that he was close to losing. "He's good for his age. Really good actually."
Uraume's face falls at that. "You don't sound like yourself, my king," they tease half-heartedly, addressing Sukuna by yet another title which he earned in the ring.
"The King", "The Beast", “The Champ”, “Monster of The Ring”…
There was a time when he was younger, when the fire for the fight burned inside him with such intense conviction, that he found dignity in the titles that he's earned from every match. The thrilling sensation of him standing in the middle of the ring, his hands raised with victorious joy as he looked down at his opponent while the crowd would cheer for him like he was a figure of the divine, used to mean a great deal to him.
But those titles feel…hollow. An old skin which Sukuna unknowingly shrugged off without even realizing it.
"I'm just exhausted," he breathes with a hint of frustration, giving Uraume a reply after allowing his mind to drift for a few seconds. "I've got a raging headache and my shoulder is killing me."
He slings his bag over his good arm, before turning to face his manager.
The pair walk down towards the end of the hallway, and Sukuna can already hear the muffled voices from the press that have slowly gathered inside. He elongates his spine naturally as he holds a domineering pose. He quietly huffs out a breath and tries to steady the uneasiness coursing through his veins. The second the press lay their eyes on him, they stampede towards Sukuna like dogs off their leash. A flash of white and blue flickers around him, disorienting him for a single moment.
"Hey, champ! How does it feel to knock out Satoru Gojo after everything he said this season?"
"Way to prove that you're still The Beast of the Ring! What's next for our King?"
"You've held your championship title for ten consecutive years! How do you go up from here?"
"Sukuna! Sukuna! Is it true that you've just locked in a multi-million dollar deal with Nike?"
Uraume steadies the crowd, protectively standing in front of Sukuna as they gesture everyone to calm down.
Despite the sheer difference in their size, Uraume has a natural way of commanding a room.
That's one thing Sukuna has always been grateful for regarding his manager; Uraume always looked out for his best interest first.
"Hello, everyone," they politely speak, their voice calm and pleasant. "While we appreciate the enthusiasm; our champion, Ryomen Sukuna, will only be making a single statement. He's had a long night and needs his rest," they announce, before looking over their shoulder and giving Sukuna a nod of approval to say what he needs to say.
The man is thankful for Uraume every single day. He already informed them earlier that he wasn't interested in any post-match interview or conversations with the press, and Uraume happily obliged by accepting the privacy that he desperately needed.
Sukuna tightens his grip around the gym bag over his shoulder. He stares at the small audience before him before clearing his throat to speak. "Young fighters like to run their mouth. I know because I used to be one of them. It's easy to be all bark and no bite. But in my case, I came out teeth first-" he states with a patronizing tone, noticing the press eagerly hang onto his every word and even laughing at his snide remark.
They are waiting for a brutal comment from the badass himself, for him to add the cherry on top of all the shit-talk he’s already dished out.
But Sukuna acknowledges that there is no place for it now.
He doesn't need to add more to the hurt he's already caused to Satoru Gojo.
Everything was settled in the ring, and now it was over.
"However, I have to admit that this was one of the best fights of my career. I had fun. He's been a thorn by my side but I respect Satoru, and I know he has a brilliant career on the horizon. That's all I have to say about that for now. Have a good night."
He steps away from the press, who trail at his feet like a pack of rats rattling off question after question as Uraume tries to console their demands. His manager delays their footing, all the while Sukuna finds the rest of his entourage at the arena exit.
A string of bodyguards help him get through the second crowd of loyal fans who have gathered. They are waving phones in the air, begging for photos and videos. Sukuna obliges with a few, trying his best to fight off the shakes that's starting to make his hand tremble slightly. People lift up their shirts, flash their cleavage and pull out posters, bras and clothes for him to sign. He does so, his signature faltering from a clean string of letters to a fast doodle of his name. His fans offer him flowers, art, and mementos which he takes, and whatever extra he can't carry he hands off to one of his guards. When he's finally had enough of giving himself to the fans, he bids everyone a wave as his bodyguards escort him to the private parking lot in the back of the arena.
Sukuna doesn't even realize how hard his heart had started hammering until he's embraced back into the quiet again. He feels incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and he isn't sure if it's the apprehension or the adrenaline wearing off from the fight. The phone in his pocket buzzes, probably Uraume wanting to make sure he's made it safely to his vehicle, but he can’t bring himself to answer the call.
"Sir," one of his bodyguards states, "There's a VIP who is expecting to see you..."
"So?" Sukuna scoffs, the black Mercedes in the distance a sanctuary. "I don't want to fucking see them."
"Well, you see, they insisted. They weren't taking no for an answer."
"And you would be shit at your job if you just let them roll over you like that," Sukuna begrudgingly replies.
Sukuna wasn't particularly fond of the VIP guest lists. A majority of them were people who wanted to fawn over him, or simply weasel their way into his pants. The other half were people with deeper pockets trying trying to bargain him into fixing fights so that they can win big bucks on their bets.
Sukuna did not have the time or patience for the latter, and even the former as well.
Especially tonight.
"Actually, Sir, she's waiting for you as we speak-" the bodyguard stammers, having to look up when he addresses Sukuna.
The champion stops abruptly to give him a puzzled stare and a piece of his mind over his bodyguard’s stupidity, but his attention is sharply drawn back to the car when he notices a figure step out of the Mercedes.
You're wearing a denim skirt, a fitted white top and a pair of black boots. Sukuna’s heart skips a beat, noticing that your hair looks a little different from when he last saw you. A sparkle of silver glitters on your neck that matches his own chain, and you beam at him with a bright smile that steadies his soul.
The click of your heels echo a little louder from the distance as you approach him, waving your fingers delicately in his direction to say your first hello. Sukuna's feet moves faster than the rest of him. He drops his bag off his shoulder, the gifts in his hands splay across the concrete ground and he scoops you up in his arms before spinning you in the air the second he wraps his arms around you.
You giggle at his greeting, your body trapped in a blanket of muscle and cologne. Your fingers thread between the strands of his red hair, tears pricking your eyes at the sight of your best and oldest friend.
Sukuna squeezes you tightly, "they should have just told me it was you by name," he exhales with a hint of annoyance, then carefully places you back down to rest your feet on the ground.
You laugh under your breath, "Don't worry, I gave them hell for it. I told them that I'm the only VIP who mattered considering I have been on that list the longest...."
You try to loosen your grip but Sukuna tenses up, so you ease back into his hug.
He didn’t want to let go just yet.
And truthfully, neither do you.
"Hi, princess," he whispers in your ear, his voice deep and thick with fatigue.
"Hey, 'kuna" you reply softly, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as your heart beats heavily against his now relaxed chest.
₊ ⊹ .
The light from the car's backseat illuminates Sukuna's ruggedly handsome face. You cup his jaw between your fingers, and lightly trace your thumb over the cut on his swollen lip. Your eyes track upward and you wince at the gash across his brow.
"He got a few good hits on you didn't he?" you point out, not as a question necessarily but more as a statement of the obvious.
"A few good hits doesn't mean shit..."
"When was the last time you got hit this bad in the ring?" you press.
"I fight for a living, someone was bound to land a punch someday. Besides, it's not a concern. I had my good luck charm tonight without even knowing it..." he responds with a wolfish grin.
You jab him playfully in the chest. "You're not made of steel you know? You had me concerned for a second..."
"I roughed him up too," Sukuna states with a pout, "you're all acting like he walked away completely unscathed..."
He slings an arm over your shoulder, his strength pushing your body weight to lean closer against his side. You shake your head with disapproval as you press the button to switch off the light above you both.
The city moves past you in a haze, but you can't stop taking in the man before you.
Ryomen Sukuna.
The first time you met him was on the playground of your old kindergarten. You were all outdoors, and you noticed that these two bigger kids were knocking him around. The kindergarten teachers weren't anywhere to be seen. At the clear imbalance of power and with your sheer sense of goodwill, you decided to go over there and help.
Sukuna had just joined your class only three weeks before that. He was the smallest kid, and had a hard time keeping up with everyone else. Everyone made fun of him and called him "chili crisp" because of his hair. They teased him constantly for how he looked, how he dressed, and how he spoke and simply refused to play with him.
Being young and impressionable, you never engaged. But you didn't do anything to help Sukuna either. It made you ache seeing him treated this way, and this time you weren't just going to let it slide anymore.
Sukuna did nothing to deserve this treatment in the first place.
However, despite his small stature, Sukuna was a fighter even then.
He kept getting up even if it meant that he would just be shoved down once again.
You remember walking up to both those kids and grabbing them by the collar. You yanked them off, placing yourself in between them and Sukuna before scolding them both for their terrible behavior.
"I'm gonna tell!" you squealed with a furious point of your finger, threatening them with snitching words. "And if I ever see you hurt him, I'm going to make sure everyone knows how bad you are! And you’ll get into so much trouble with the teachers!”
You sharply kicked them both in their heels, and watched the kids scamper off, a little more intimidated now that someone they deemed as an equal threat entered the playing filed. Once they were gone, you turned toward Sukuna who was planted on the concrete ground. He was wiping away his snotty nose and trying to hide his tears.
You scratched the back of your head nervously, your throat all itchy and tight from the sight of him.
"You're-you're not a chili crisp," was all you could think of telling him in that moment. You gave him a small but kind smile, before offering him both your hands and helping him on his feet.
He was a whole head and shoulder shorter than you were back then. His clothes barely hung onto his body. He had to fix up his t-shirt and readjust his shorts.
"I know that," he answered with irritation, and a scowl that never seemed to have left him.
You assisted in brushing the dust off him.
"Your name is Ryo-men Su-ku-na?" you asked, breaking down the pronunciation of his name to make sure you said it correctly.
He nodded his head quietly.
You gave him another tender grin, and reached out for his hand before introducing yourself.
"I know who you are, I'm not stupid."
You frowned at his sharp response. "I never said you were."
The two of you stood there facing one another in awkward silence, unsure of how to proceed from the moment.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the next, kicking a random little rock on the ground. "Those kids are stupid."
"Yeah, they are." He grumbled through gritted teeth.
"So, if I'm not stupid and you're not stupid, why don't we be friends?"
Sukuna's eyes widened slightly at your words, like he couldn't believe what you said.
"Friends?"
"Yeah!" you squeaked with a little more excitement. "You'll have someone to sit next to and play with every day!"
He nervously gripped the hem of his tee.
He never gave you a real response, but the next day he showed up and took a seat right next to you in class.
You were both six years old, and have been insuperable ever since.
₊ ⊹ .
You press your cheek against his broad shoulder, and Sukuna sighs as his body melts into the leather seat underneath him. His hand gently rubs your own shoulder, with the two of you sitting in silence together as you have done many times before. He instructs the driver to take you both back to his penthouse, disregarding some after party that he's expected to attend.
At the call, your heart flutters with anticipation because it was a clear sign indicating that he wanted to be alone with you.
You shivered thinking of the last time that happened.
It's hard to believe that this version of Sukuna co-exists with the person you've known for a majority of your life.
The day after he sat next to you in kindergarten, everything changed for the better.
Sukuna still grimaced at everyone else, but kids no longer picked fights with him and he had a warming smile that was reserved for you alone.
Whether in class or outside of school, you both spent every spare moment that you could together. You were glued to the hip like two peas in a pod. Your parents adored him, doted on Sukuna despite him resisting their affection. It was only one night, when he was having yet another sleepover at your place, where you finally asked him how is he able to hang out with you all the time.
Sukuna revealed a truth that broke your heart entirely.
“Here is better than being home. Usually it's just me..."
"Just you?" you whispered innocently, "but your mom and dad?"
You watched him shrink into his blanket with uncertainty. "Don't know. I live with my Grandpa. He works a lot..."
It's only later in your life where you learnt the full story.
Sukuna’s parents abandoned him, leaving him with his grandfather to pursue reckless adventures together. At the time Sukuna was only three years old. His grandfather worked hard to provide for the boy, but he was an aging old man and didn’t expect to be responsible for such a young child. Sukuna's grandfather always showed deep gratitude to your parents for helping out and providing Sukuna with another safe space that gave him some much needed stress relief on his end.
His daughter eventually returned, in tow this time with Sukuna’s half brother Yuji. His dead beat dad was gone for good. But by then Sukuna was already fourteen.
He’s always had a complex relationship with his family, but things seem to be better with his brother. The two of them could pass off as identical twins, it was almost scary how alike they looked.
You loved Yuji; he was a living antithesis of his older brother. Always perky, smiling so bright it’s like the sun follows his footsteps.
Sukuna, on the other hand, carried the shadow and gloom of a waning moon.
Your childhood and early adolescent years were precious, cherished moments and memories that solidified the strength of your relationship. But despite everything, you were the only person who saw how bright Sukuna's own light could shine.
The driver finally parks the car in front of one of the most expensive buildings in Tokyo. Sukuna gets out first, and extends a hand into the vehicle to help grab yours. The touch sends tingles up your arm, but you do your best not to read into the reaction just yet.
The two of you enter the building, passing the security who simply tilts their head in acknowledgment, but from your peripheral vision you notice Sukuna’s eyes shifting around his environment.
“No cameras,” you reassure him with a squeeze to his bicep. “No paparazzi…”
Sukuna was aware of what he signed up for with fame, but that did not mean that you had to be subjected to the aggressive violation of privacy.
And after everything that happened, after the horrific clashing of both your worlds, he felt himself breathe a huge sigh of relief.
“They probably think I am showing up to the victory party,” he answered with gratitude.
The elevator rings, the doors opening as you both step inside.
Sukuna hits the button to the penthouse suite, and from the way his shoulders slump you can tell there is something off about his demeanor.
This isn’t the Ryomen you knew who walked away from a fight with the buzz of the winner.
He’s dimmed.
A bulb that’s flickering.
Something’s wrong, you thought, looping your arm around his and keeping your eyes on the numbers increasing as you swallow your concern.
₊ ⊹ .
Puberty didn’t hit Sukuna; it struck him like a brick over his head.
At sixteen years old, Sukuna was no longer the loser kid that everyone picked on. He was a tower, a watchful pillar that looked down on those around him with an intimidating stare. All of a sudden this scrawny boy shot up like a tree, his body springing into a new version of himself. His voice broke, dropping octaves lower than the soft tone of what it used to be. His shoulders broadened, lean muscle forming since he spent most of his time wrestling and boxing.
He became the bad boy that everyone blushed and fawned over.
The athlete that people admired.
His coaches loved him - called him a prodigy, and a star of the future.
Sukuna carried himself with plenty of self respect, and was extremely well spoken. Outside of his athletics he enjoyed reading and learning history, and his venture into sports only happened because it kept him busy and gave him some much needed space away from his home. He was readjust to a new life with his mom back in the picture, and a brother who was five years younger than him. At first it was simply an escape, but once he settled into the atmosphere of it all, it gave him a sense of structure. Sukuna was diligent about his training and academics, outsmarting and outplaying almost everyone around him. His motivation was fueled with every game and competition, and you quickly saw that Sukuna only had the expectation of being a winner and nothing else.
Navigating your teenage years was a bit tough for both of you.
It began with one sleep over just a year prior, the moment where you both recognized that things couldn’t progress as casually as they used to. You woke up tangled in each other’s arms, hyper aware of your bodies and the parts that were blooming.
Sukuna slept on the sofa every sleep over after that.
Thanks to your eruptive hormones, the both you bickered often and frequently. As you and Sukuna started understanding your own senses of selves, a hint of distance started to grow. For a long time the two of you only ever had each other, but with Sukuna now a part of the athletic group and you falling in line with your own little clique, the both of you were finding some time away from each other and identifying who you were without the other person around.
However, you always came back to one another, like two little magnets seeking each other out.
It’s all you’ve ever known since you were six.
One afternoon, while hanging out in the school’s basketball court, Sukuna turned to face you as you paced behind him while he was throwing some shots for fun.
“They think you’re my girlfriend,” he casually stated, referencing his new set of friends who always studied you with intense curiosity.
Your face burned multiple degrees hotter than it should.
“W-what?” You stammered.
“Yeah,” he answered nonchalantly, and you watched him dribble the basketball as the awkwardness settled.
“That’s…that’s weird…” was all you could think of adding on. “You told them I am not, right?”
Sukuna furrowed his brows and hummed. But he nodded his head.
“Just because we are friends that doesn’t automatically mean that we are “boyfriend and girlfriend”,” you insisted, using air quotes to emphasize your statement.
Sukuna turned so his back was to you, and tossed the ball directly into the ring.
“That’s what I told them…” he reassured, but something about his tone didn’t sit right with you.
The summer that followed - Sukuna’s grandfather, mom and brother took a trip away. Sukuna declined to join since he was participating in a tournament. After his wrestling team came out victorious, he decided to throw a secret bash at his place to celebrate.
You were there helping him hide away all the fragile items, before staring at him in shock when he placed a few beer cans on his kitchen counter.
“How did you get that?” You asked in a low whisper, afraid that you both might somehow get caught for doing something that you aren’t supposed to.
He just gave you a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, Princess…”
That nickname stuck on you like glue. It’s something Sukuna called you with annoyance when you were both kids, and you used to call him an angry dragon in return. Even though you stopped using that silly term, for some reason Sukuna’s pet name morphed into one of endearment and affection which he kept using.
“It’s just the team and a couple of girls that the guys have been trying to get with…” he ensured, “The guys wanted the beers, so I managed to sneak some from my grandfather’s stash…”
“And what if he finds out?”
Sukuna laughs, “that old man can’t even remember what day it is. I’m sure he won’t notice a few beer cans missing…”
That night you had your first secret party, your first sip of beer and your first kiss; it was one of those core memories that lingered that was reminiscent of the adrenaline rush from living out the freedom of being young with no responsibilities. You don’t remember who it was who called out the idea of playing seven minutes in heaven, but suddenly all of you were sitting in a circle spinning an empty bottle on Sukuna’s grandfather’s worn rug. Your heart sat at your throat, your eyes fixated on the piece of twirling glass, half wondering who it would land on. You watched as couples disappeared into Sukuna’s room, everyone snickering in a circle thinking about what the potential couples could possibly be doing.
The boys were crude with their commentary, and the girls giggled with feign disgust.
Some people came out looking displeased, clearly unamused by what they experienced, while others had a look of euphoria on their faces.
When the bottle landed on you, the first person you found yourself seeking out was Sukuna.
However, the other end of the bottle wasn’t pointing to him, but to one of his teammates.
His friend’s eyes widen with intrigue, a cute smile forming on his pouty lips.
Your own cheeks warmed with curiosity.
He helped you onto your feet, but the two of you were struck with an abrupt question that had you pausing your movements.
“Do you want to do this?” Sukuna pointedly asked, his focus on you alone and no one else.
There was a grave but serious look resting firmly on his face.
Something about his stare made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t place why. With the eyes of everyone else on you and his teammate, you instantly wanted to divert the intense attention elsewhere.
“Of course!” You said with a casual shrug, then grabbed his teammate’s hand and led him into Sukuna’s bedroom.
You’ve been in here countless of times, never once feeling uncomfortable in this space. But this time, you were quite aware of the state of his bed, of the slightly rumpled sheets that were tugged from edge to edge. Your mouth went dry, your body suddenly trying to recollect every movie, book and comic that explained or depicted the intimacies between two people.
Two hands touched your waist, spinning you on your feet.
“Time’s ticking,” his friend said. “We shouldn’t waste it…”
“I’ve never done this before…” you blurted out.
“I haven’t either…” he answered kindly, and that made you feel better.
“Okay…” you said, before placing your hands awkwardly on his shoulder.
“Let’s just start with a kiss…” he suggested and then leaned forward.
You were frozen then, unsure of what to do. You stood there with wide eyes as you felt his lips on yours, the sensation making your belly tingle.
He pulled away.
“That wasn’t too bed…” you admitted and he laughed.
“Do you want to try?” He asked.
Your first initiated kiss wasn’t magical, nor was it horrendous as some of your other friends experienced. Even now when you think about it - the only memory that hits you is one of innocent exploration. It took a minute for you to get comfortable with his prodding tongue, to figure out the clash between lips and teeth, and to allow his wet muscle to access our mouth and glide over your own. The sensation reminded you of sticky, tacky popsicles that clung to your lips in summers past.
It was fun…until a loud bang startled you both, making you split from each other’s arms like opposing forces.
“Time’s up,” Sukuna growled, before barging in without even so much as asking if you were decent like he did with the other pairs.
The look he gave his teammate was terrifying, even you couldn’t help but gulp.
His friend let out a nervous giggle, scratching the back of his head as he scurried his way out. “Damn, that was fast!” He tittered nervously, his voice cracking slightly towards the end.
Sukuna narrowed his gaze as he watched him leave the room. Meanwhile, you both stood there facing each other, noticing his nostrils flaring as your breath rose and fell.
“What?” You questioned, returning his hard stare with an even stronger glare.
He huffed out a breath through his nose, “are you okay?” he asked, in an attempt to compose his clearly frazzled state.
“Yes!” You blurted back, a little shaken. “Was that even seven minutes?”
Sukuna grimaced, holding onto your eyes before he stormed out of his room, scoffing with annoyance at your response.
Neither of you really spoke about the awkwardness of that moment, and instead carried into the heat of that summer like nothing even happened.
But, what did hurt you after that, was that Sukuna never invited you to any of his “parties” again.
He fibbed and said it was just “a team thing”, but you eventually heard about the other attendees at the party, and only through the grapevine found out about Sukuna’s first kiss.
It felt like a betrayal in its own way, this sudden shakiness in your friendship as uncertain as tectonic plates waiting to crash into a shattering earthquake.
You called him one night to confront him, asking him why he wouldn’t tell you about his first kiss when you both should be able to talk about everything. But that conversation just resulted in an argument, a blow out that felt like a collapse in your world.
You both didn’t speak to each other until the end of that summer, when Sukuna finally waved the white flag by crawling to your front door late one evening with some ice cream as a peace offering.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, while you both sat on the sidewalk, scooping wooden spoons into the tub of vanilla with chocolate chips.
It’s the first time he’s ever apologized to you.
Even when you were kids, Sukuna refused to ever say he was sorry.
He would just pout angrily before over compensating with his sweetness to show you that he didn’t mean it.
But not this time.
You licked the vanilla off the spoon, biting down on the rich chocolate chunks, and hoping that the tears wouldn’t fall from your eyes from how your chest swelled at his remorse.
Sukuna draped an arm around your shoulder, “I hate that things have been weird between us.”
“You made them weird…” you mumbled and he just sighed.
“‘Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted, “yes, I did…”
You turned to look up at him, and he gave you a solemn smile.
“I’m a little possessive of you, I realize…” he explained, his lips forming into that small frown, mirroring his childlike expression.
“A little?” you answered back with a snarky tone.
“You’re my best friend,” he admitted, his eyes downcast with regret. “You have always been my person.”
“You’re my person too, ‘kuna…” you murmured, “but…but being best friends means that we have to trust each other. That we can’t just…hurt each other. That we should stop being honest or talking to one another when things get bad…that we can’t face things that make us…I don’t know, feel weird and stuff…”
He rested his chin on the top of your head, the two of you finally bridging the gap of what seemed to be the first real challenge of your friendship.
“It was a shit kiss…” he sighed, “I was just too fucking embarrassed to tell you.”
You gazed up at him from underneath your lashes.
“Why?” You said with a light laugh.
Sukuna’s attention dipped to your mouth for a split second and back to your eyes again. “I don’t know. You just seemed to have enjoyed yours in comparison. I felt like I lost a game or something. I didn’t want to admit that mine was awkward and wet and just…not fucking good…”
You laughed at that.
“Everything with you is a competition…”
“Not everything…”
You nudged his stomach playfully with your elbow. “Do you remember when we played Mario Kart for the first time? When you lost three rounds in a row and nearly ripped my head off?”
“How was I supposed to know you are freakishly good at that game?”
You laughed, “I stay the reigning champion of rainbow road!”
“You stay a pain in my ass…”
You rolled your eyes, “a pain in your ass that will never leave you, so stop complaining about it…”
Sukuna exhales, “It was…a bad kiss,” he admitted shyly, “She was so damn skittish, and I think I was too. I didn’t…I didn’t think it would be so…ugh. It was just not the right person…”
“Or maybe you were just nervous…” you answered honestly.
Sukuna shook his head.
“No, I know it wasn’t the right person…” he said with confidence.
You unraveled from his hold for a moment to look deep into those heated eyes.
“Can I say something?” he questioned, the tips of his ears turning slightly red, a blush you’ve seen before but never realized how adorable it actually looked on him until this moment.
“Anything”
“I don’t want you to think I am being weird or take this the wrong way…” Sukuna explained, pausing for a single breath before continuing. “I just thought the first person I would’ve kissed would have been…well, you…
The world went still in that moment. All you could hear was the soft rustle of the trees in the distance, and all you could see was the open vulnerability of Sukuna’s heart resting on his face.
It’s incredibly rare for him to even show it, your friend guarding that part of himself with such conviction.
“Oh…”
“But then I realized that you’re not supposed to be kissing your best friend,” he added on, stomping on the spark that flickered between you both before it even had a chance to even light.
“No,” you agreed quickly, your eyes darting to the tub of ice cream. You pressed the back of your spoon into the creamy texture, doing your best to ignore the sudden pulse in your chest.
“My second kiss was a lot better that’s for sure…” Sukuna rambled on, digging his spoon around yours as he scooped himself another serving of ice cream. “Way better actually…and on round three I think I got the hang of it…”
You swallowed the tiny lump in your throat. “I don’t need to know the gross details, please,” you implored, though your stomach rolled with a hint of nausea at the reality that he’s kissed more people than you expected.
You never admitted it out loud, but the confession made you a little jealous.
If you were an option in his head…why didn’t he just ask?
₊ ⊹ .
.
Sukuna lost his virginity to a freshman college student a year later when he snuck into a party with two of his former teammates. You lost yours on the night of your graduation party to the same boy you kissed for the first time. You and Sukuna were expected to attend the same university (with him obtaining a full scholarship for academic excellence), but your friend had deviated from the shared path after being scouted. The two of you commuted to see each other often, with you visiting him when he was training and him stopping by the campus whenever he had free time.
You and Sukuna knew about the other person’s intimate lives from the stories you shared, and despite continuously being plagued with constant accusations of being “more than friends”, you both agreed never to allow that discomforting prospect to intervene with your friendship again after that terribly awkward summer.
Rather than ignore the fact that you were growing to be even more beautiful by the day, Sukuna just became extremely blunt around you. He didn’t hide his eyes checking you out, noticing how your curves were starting to fill out and how you began to mature into your own features. He confidently spoke about how attractive you were, and often boosted your ego in ways that only enhanced your own confidence.
You enjoyed reminding him that once upon a time he thought “girls were disgusting” and “looked funny”.
“Let’s not forget I am the first guy to marry you,” he joked, recalling a game you both used to play where you pretended to be characters from a fantasy realm.
“Actually you were the first dragon to marry me,” you clarified, because Sukuna loathed the prospect of playing a prince. “I don’t really think it counts…”
“Maybe not - but all these guys fawning over you are going to find out you’re some kind of monster fucker and start running in the other direction…”
It was safe to say that the banter between you both never changed.
You on the other hand, were recognizing just how handsome Sukuna was becoming too. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times up until this point, but something about watching the definition of muscle build into his new physique, and noticing the way manhood slowly enveloped his body, began to hit you in different ways. This was especially noticeable when you would watch him train in the ring, paying attention to the fact that Sukuna wasn’t built just like any average person. It didn’t even occur to you how incredibly strong he had become until he would lift or move your body around like you were weightless and not a living, breathing human with physical mass.
One evening, while you both were walking back to your dorm from a dinner at a cheap ramen bar, Sukuna had the audacity to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder because “you couldn’t keep up with his pace”.
All of a sudden, you were acutely aware that the scrawny boy that you used to protect was now all grown up.
Sukuna morphed into brick and stone, while you were merely glass.
For some reason, it put a strain on your heart.
You guys really weren’t kids anymore.
This was only solidified a year and a half into his career when Sukuna fought in his first professional tournament at twenty years old. The man dominated the ring against his opponent. He broke the record of the most knock outs and became a household name almost overnight.
“The King”
Time moved at double speed after that.
Your fingers that were clinging to bits of nostalgia weren’t able to keep them from it slipping between your grasp. Things were happening in a blur, and the sudden shift in Sukuna’s world felt like a birthing black hole in your own.
The night before Sukuna was flying off on his first world tour, the two of you were cooped up in your dorm room, snuggled underneath the blanket like you used to be when you were both kids.
This time, it wasn’t awkward.
You had both experienced love and lust in different ways up until that point.
You knew that being this close didn’t have to mean anything risqué.
You were comfortable with yourselves far more than you were five years ago.
“It’s going to be weird not seeing you all the time,” you whispered with a sniffle, while Sukuna traced the shell of your ear.
Two silver chains mirrored one another, one on your neck and the other on his. It was your parting gift to him, a reminder to keep a piece of each other around when you couldn’t be together.
You assumed Sukuna would find it stupid, but instead he clasped the necklace around himself before doing the same for you in silent contemplation.
“I’ll keep in touch, brat” he soothed, but you could hear the ache in his voice too.
You circled your arms around his neck, eagerly clinging onto him as closely as you could for the little time you had.
“I am really proud of you though,” you spoke, your shaky breath against his collar bone, a tear rolling down your cheek as you inhaled the herby scent of his soap.
“I’m paying off your loans when the money really starts rolling in,” he chuckled against your temple.
You shook your head with disapproval. “Just buy your grandpa something nice,” you insisted. “And make sure to spoil Yuji…”
“That kid’s already spoiled…”
“But he’s a sweetheart,” you emphasized, “and I know he’s probably going to miss you more than me…”
Sukuna hummed. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”
You tilted your chin up as he dropped his head down, your noses merely inches apart. You relaxed the muscles on your face, your thumb reaching to smooth the crease from between his brows.
“God knows what would have happened if you didn’t save my sorry ass back when we were kids…” he said with an easy smile.
“You would have eventually fought back,” you giggled, “besides, you don’t need me protecting you anymore…” you pointed out, your voice a little breathless, and your anxious mind running on the concern of if you might even fit into Sukuna’s new life after this.
He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into the seam of his frame.
“I always need you,” he confessed, and those words were enough to make you break as the pain of his departure finally collided into you.
₊ ⊹ .
Sukuna went off to having an extremely successful boxing career.
At twenty-two, he had turned into one of the hottest sports stars the industry has ever seen.
He had win after his win under his belt, and the second he partnered with Uraume it was a match made in heaven.
He was insanely good, and with Uraume by his side, he was now unstoppable.
You were provided tickets to any of his fights, accompanied with private transportation and accommodation if necessary. Sukuna always made sure that you were well take care of, and you always accepted because it was the only time you were able to actually see him. Those few days were precious together, before you had to depart and return to the real world once again. Each of Sukuna’s fights was a mesmerizing experience. There was something about his flow in the ring that managed to make everything else around him blur.
He was strong, but agile.
Brutal but swift with his movements.
He moved with regal precision, a dancer that understood the rhythms of strength.
Everyone challenged him, but all of them failed.
Ryomen Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with.
Despite the distance, you and Sukuna always made a conscious effort at keeping in touch with each other. You may not be physically there in each other’s presence, but not a day went by without a phone call or multiple texts.
At twenty-seven, Sukuna was at the peak of his stardom. Your best friend found himself tangled between the world of fame and fortune, alongside his old life of normalcy and humble peace. He made good on his promises; setting up a trust fund to ensure that Yuji was well taken care of in every capacity. He paid off all your loans in secret because he knew you would never accept it from him upfront. He bought his grandfather a home in Osaka for him to retire to. And his peace offering to his mom was renovating their old, broken home into something new and vibrant for her to live her life happily now that she seemed to have finally settled down in her third marriage. Sukuna even offered to take care of his step brother, Choso. They may not have been personally close, but he was grateful that Choso was keeping a watchful eye on Yuji.
Your own life was starting to unfurl as well - you had graduated university, were experiencing your first serious relationship, navigating various friendships and landing your first job. It all felt normal compared to Sukuna, but the man never minimized your experiences.
When you were together, it’s like nothing had even changed, but the moment your realities bled into each other, it was a constant reminder of how just how far apart your lives actually were.
You were harassed by the paparazzi who constantly overstepped.
Sukuna’s boundaries were crossed by the people you knew because everyone wanted a moment with the star.
You found yourself in environments with the rich whose beauty, wealth and status seemed far out of your reach.
Sukuna found himself being treated more like an object than a person.
And yet, you both seemed to be settling down into your own versions of the life you were creating - always weaving the other person in no matter the obstacle.
At twenty-eight, Sukuna had earned more money than he could even imagine, and was still somehow only moving onwards and up. He was plastered on every magazine cover, was the the center of attention on social media by his most dedicated and loyal fans. He was stalked and obsessed over, admired and feared. Networks wanted to feature him on shows, movies and every talk show. The man was a composition of everything that people were projecting onto him.
He had become an untouchable to the eyes of every living mortal.
But to you, and just you - he would always be the little boy who was far too small for this big world.
After years of flings with influencers, models, and high end socialites - it seemed that Sukuna was finally settling down with one of the top actresses in the industry. The moment the two of them were caught kissing at a party, their secret was revealed to the public.
You, however, knew all the details of the ways in which Sukuna was slowly wooing her.
At this point you’ve both grown tolerant of hearing about the other person’s love life. And at this time especially, you weren’t affected by Sukuna’s first serious relationship because you and your boyfriend were discussing the possibility of marriage which felt close on the horizon. You had just bought your first house, and was considering the big gesture of having him move in with you. You had gotten an incredible promotion at work, and for the first time you felt a sense of stability that you had never really experienced before.
“We should have dinner together!” You offered one night to Sukuna over the phone.
“The four of us?” He questioned.
“Yeah, I mean…you know Sousuke really well…”
“Yeah, and he hates me…”
“But I haven’t met Mei yet…and no, Sousuke doesn’t “hate you”…”
“I hate to break it to you, Princess. But the guy can’t stand me…”
You glanced towards your boyfriend who was sitting on the sofa, his attention on the television show he was watching. You stepped away from the living room, and quietly made your way to the bedroom.
“’kuna…” you spoke, your throat catching, “I think…I think he might propose…”
“What?!” He exclaimed and you had to pull the phone away.
“Jeez! Don’t shout! You’re going to make me pop an ear drum!”
He groaned.
You sighed, “we’ve been talking about it…and I just…I just really want you guys to get along is all. I just think you guys are just not seeing eye to eye…”
Sukuna remained oddly quiet on the phone.
“Can you say something?” You begged.
“Fine,” he grumbled, “we can do dinner at my place. The paparazzi have been hounding me trying to get any shot they can find of me and Mei. I would rather we don't go anywhere public...”
You smiled, “dinner is perfect!”
At first glance, the dinner seemed like a complete success.
The four of you chatted and enjoyed your night like you were all old friends, especially after Sousuke got over his starstruck moment when he met Mei. You and Sukuna told stories of your years together, inviting your partners to the pieces of your lives that you both shared. You could see that Sukuna was clearly attracted to Mei, and in turn he could see that you were happy with Sousuke. The night felt like a convergence without an implosion - an easy going settlement on the two roads that you and your friend had taken.
That’s why when your boyfriend called things off with you three months later, it took you completely by surprise.
Nothing in this world could have prepared you for that heartbreak.
It was a grieving period, a dark time of mourning that had you glued to your bed most days. This life that you had been carefully piecing together toppled like dominos. After breaking the news to Sukuna, you spent two weeks isolating yourself from anything and everything else.
Your best friend couldn’t stand seeing you in this state, and showed up at your door out of the blue one evening.
You burst into tears at the sight of him.
He was there to mend your broken heart, and he never left your side. He told his team that he was taking a much needed break, and during that time made sure that you were fed and comfortable. He handled any extra chores, slept on the floor in your bedroom every night so that you weren’t alone. He spent hours with you in silence while you wept, listened to you angrily vent your frustrations on how your ex could treat you this way.
One night, he woke up and realized that you weren’t in bed. He searched for you, finding you in the kitchen staring at a small pile of bridal magazines.
Your clothes were rumpled, you hadn’t changed or freshened up since that morning.
Sukuna didn’t say anything, just placed two hands on your shoulders and turn you away from the painful memories.
You gasped and hiccuped into his chest.
“I couldn’t sleep…” you explained, “I r-remembered that I still had these, and just…just wanted them gone…”
Sukuna tenderly stroked the back of your neck. “You know,” he said, his voice deeper than the ocean itself, the tone the texture of velvet. “I can always break his fucking legs…”
The comment made you choke out a laugh.
“It’ll ruin your career,” you whimpered. “It’s not worth it…”
“For you,” he soothed, his thumb lightly tracing the space where the base of your neck and spine connected. “It’s always worth it”
₊ ⊹ .
The blunder in Sukuna’s career hit early last year, when his relationship with Mei fell apart and resulted in one of the worst break ups that people have ever seen. Mei released a public, viral video that had millions of views and thousands of shares. She accused Sukuna of cheating for the entirety of their two year relationship, crying crocodile tears on camera over how she was simply another trophy that he could successfully claim while his heart always belonged to someone else.
That video made your blood boil.
You knew Sukuna wasn’t perfect - but if there was one thing you would never doubt about that man it was his loyalty.
You saw it towards grandfather, to Yuji, to Uraume, and even yourself.
That man scoffed at the prospect of cheating, believing it to be a cowardice act.
And Sukuna was no coward.
Even in prior relationships, he was always clear about where he stood. If he couldn’t commit to something, he made it perfectly known. You still didn’t know what it was about Mei that had him finally let his walls down. But when they were together, he looked perfectly content. Every desire and every fantasy he dreamt up in his youth had finally been accomplished. But all you knew about their break up was that things weren’t working out, and Sukuna wasn’t willing to share more than that.
You were being respectful of his privacy, understanding firsthand how tough this kind of heartbreak can be.
He called you when the Mei's video first broke out, his voice strained.
“You know it’s not true, right?” He questioned before even saying hello.
“Ryo, of course I know that-”
“I’m not a little bitch who would cheat. I would never do that. Nor am I that fucking stupid thinking I would ever get away with it-”
“I know…” you reassured, hearing the apprehension laced through his words. “Ryomen, I know you. I know you better than anyone else in this world.”
He breathed a long sigh of relief. “I was just wondering if you might have been convinced otherwise”
Your stomach tightened.
“But if you believe me, then I don’t give a fuck about anyone else.”
Something about that conversation clung onto you, it sat like a weight on your shoulders that you couldn’t quite possibly shrug off. The tabloids, news outlets and social media accounts were throwing ingredients upon ingredients into the rumor pot that was bubbling and boiling over. On top of that, a new rising star had just entered the boxing world, and Sukuna was suddenly dealing with brutal comparisons to the younger, hotter talent that was Satoru Gojo.
You were the one who offered to take him out to dinner to get his mind off of things, not realizing just how bad it actually was for him.
When a gossip magazine posted the photos of you both huddled together (as you have done many times before) while having an ordinary dinner, it spun your world inside and out. Though the pictures were quite blurry, there were a few people who were able to recognize you. You were being harassed at your work, interrogated by your friends and were even being accused of being “the other woman”.
The worst part is was when Mei fed into the chaos, making a follow up post and stating that “a woman always knows, and is always right” in regards to her break up situation with Sukuna.
She may not have explicitly said it, but her fingers were pointing at you.
You don’t know how your address got leaked, but when you started finding paparazzi stalking you in your own home it became far too much for you to handle.
Sukuna, on the other hand, was infuriated.
This whole time he was disengaged by what was going on, but once you were caught in the mix of this mess, it seemed that he was suddenly ready to cause equal destruction.
He sued his ex for defamation, sued multiple media outlets for harassment. He had Higuruma Hiromi, one of the top lawyers in his field, at the helm of this take down, and the second he shot back, it had everyone scurrying in retreat.
The tabloids, blogs and magazines all redacted the photos of you, reducing your digital footprint.
His ex, under pressure of Sukuna’s threats, came out with a public apology so that he would drop the charges against her and help her avoid her own PR nightmare.
The rest of Sukuna’s anger was taken out on the ring, with people seeing another side of what The King could unleash.
His match against Hajime Kashimo was one of the bloodiest in boxing history, his opponent left crimson and defeated despite seemingly holding a strong front in the beginning.
They dubbed him: “The Monster of The Ring” after that.
The damage was already done, and the stress of it all was starting to hurt Sukuna’s focus. When he nearly got disqualified in a match, that is when Uraume intervened, and felt it was necessary to include you in the discussion.
You’ve always had a complicated relationship with Uraume. They respected you, but you know it’s only because of your mutual relationship with Sukuna. Uraume, however, has made snide remarks towards you when you were both alone - about how you were merely a distraction when dangled in front of his champion’s eyes.
“I think some time apart would do you both good,” they said. “They are never going to stop hounding you because they think there is something more going on, and besides…we can’t have Sukuna fucking up with Gojo now in the mix. We need to show the world that he’s still as strong and as relevant as ever…”
“It’ll die down,” Sukuna stated with frustration.
The both of them bickered over it. It was the first time you have ever witnessed them in a heated exchanged. Your heart started to hurt because you were aware how all of this was only making your best friend see in shades of red.
He wasn’t himself.
He wasn’t thinking clearly.
This was impacting him.
You getting involved in this was impacting him.
“Ryomen,” you said seriously, placing your hand over his. “I think Uraume is right…”
The man turned to you, his fingers lacing between your own subconsciously as he squeezed it tightly in disbelief.
It was the first time you’ve ever seen him hurt.
“It’s just a short time apart,” you said with a comforting smile, “once everyone gets bored we can resume our lives in peace. But right now, I can see this taking a toll on you…”
He furrowed the front of his brows.
“Uraume is looking out for you, and I think what they are saying makes sense. Don’t you?”
“No, I fucking don’t…” he snapped, his eyes glaring at his manager who remained stoic as ever.
“Don’t let your emotions get the better of you,” they remarked, “I know a part of you agrees with what I have to say.”
“You’re not in the right state of mind, and you need to be”
“It’s for your own good,” Uraume insisted. "You are gambling with your career. With your legacy"
The decision was mutual but entirely heartbreaking all the same. Sukuna drew the circus away, and it broke you when you realized that in order to protect you, he had to sacrifice something in return.
The comfort of your friendship, the sanctuary of your company.
It was the price of fame, and one that he was willing to keep paying.
As a result of this tough decision, Sukuna had grown cold. Not because he was being mean or cruel, but because he thought he was offering you some peace of mind. Because he thought that by withdrawing from you, it would make the pain of the separation easier. He wanted this distance to be a clean break for the both of you, and while he honored keeping in touch, it was just at the bare minimum because his calls and texts were few and far between.
The most you saw of him was on a screen, and you could see that Sukuna was miserable.
He was turning into something vicious in the ring, a violent machine that people glorified. He wasn’t moving with the fluidity of an artist that you used to admire when you first started watching him fight. There was a sense of brutality that was now a part of his make up.
Sukuna was no longer a man, he was a beast.
His persona was dwindling into only intimidation. Every interview, every guest appearance, and every social occasion was met with detachments or disinterest. He was growing snarky and irritable, no longer willing to charm the people around him.
Satoru Gojo was the first to shoot at Sukuna with his words, dredging up his painful break up and even dragging you back into the fold with his commentary. The two of them grew to have a very intense rivalry. They exchanged heated arguments on social media, smack talked the other person in live interviews and had tense interactions in public.
The press and the people were eating up every single second of it.
On the eve of his thirty-first birthday, you received a call from Uraume.
“We are back in the city,” they said, “Sukuna needs to start training up for his match against Satoru Gojo.”
You swallowed the uncomfortable lump in your throat.
“Why didn’t he tell me he was back?” You asked softly.
Uraume sighed, “I don’t have to tell you that he’s been in a fowl mood. The agency is throwing a huge birthday party for him tonight which he is refusing to attend…”
“So, why are you calling me?”
“Because…” Uraume sighed, “he’s about to fly to close to the sun, and I can see he needs an anchor to bring him down to Earth a little bit…”
Your cheeks burned at the statement. “Are you saying I am his anchor?”
“I am saying it’s been almost a year since he last saw you…” Uraume explained, “And I don’t want him feeling awful on his birthday. I care about him too, you know?”
You nodded your head, “No, of course. I know that.”
“I told him that I would stop by to pick him up for the party, but I think giving him a nice surprise might do him so good. Remind the guy to enjoy himself a little…”
“You’re sweet,” you said with a smile.
“As are you, my dear,” Uraume replied tenderly.
“My, my, are you actually giving me a compliment?”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” they remarked playfully, and you felt a hint of ease realizing that things might not be as cold between you both as you thought.
That Uraume was really only ever considering Sukuna's well being first, just like you.
₊ ⊹ .
Uraume made sure that you got to Sukuna’s place in one piece and without anyone knowing that you were even there. You clasped your best friend's present between your fingers, your exposed body shivering from the cold air as you rode the elevator up to his penthouse apartment.
It felt right to dress up; you wore a white mini dress with a mesh overlay that had little embroidered detailing on the fabric. There were cut outs in the back, with an adjustable strap from behind cinching the bodice perfectly to your shape. Your kitten heels clicked against the floor, the nerves suddenly tingling their way up your legs as you thought about what Sukuna’s reaction might even be.
This year felt like a century in the timeline of your friendship.
You knocked on his door gently, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.
You could hear the trudge of footsteps from behind the frame, Sukuna’s voice bellowing as he spoke.
“Uraume, for the last fucking time, I told you I am not going, and if you force it I will fire you on the spot-”
He swung the door open and froze.
“Surprise!” You squeaked lightly, awkwardly lifting the gift in your hands. “I got you a present!”
Sukuna blinked once and then twice, his lips parting as if he’s seen a ghost.
“Uraume asked me to come,” you explained. “They told me that you guys were back…”
He stood there dumbfounded, for once rendered completely speechless.
You cleared your throat, feeling a warmth rippling over your skin as the man gave you a once over. His eyes flickered down your body, hovering over all the parts of your exposed skin. Your bare thighs, your décolletage, and up the nape of your neck.
“T-they wanted you to have fun on your birthday,” you added on with an apprehensive grin, “they actually suggested maybe a quiet night in and thought you might just want to spend it with an old friend instead of a bunch of people you probably don’t even like…”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a firm line.
He looked…upset.
Was he not happy to see you?
“Uhm,” you mumbled, your fingers toying with the ribbon at the odd dismissal and lack of enthusiasm, “I-I don’t have to stay, but I did just want to wish you a happy birthday…”
You took a small step forward, holding the present up as an offering. “Happy birthday, ‘Kuna…” you said with a quiet warble in your voice and feeling like a complete idiot for showing up. The disappointment of his response sat heavily on your chest.
He lifted his hand, gripping the present as he plucked it out of your grasp. You cleared your throat, anxiously scratching the back of your ear as you lifted up the strap of your dress which fell on your right shoulder.
“I’ll just…” you added on in defeat, gesturing behind you to indicate that you were leaving.
You didn’t even notice his arm sling behind your waist when your eyes fell downcast.
Suddenly you were pulled over the threshold, the door closing behind you in a bang before your back was pressed up against the wooden frame. Your gaze lifted up to Sukuna, your pupils widening when you you were met with his menacing stare.
“You know,” you said with a gulp, hoping to the ease the tension as you tried to catch your breath. “You really do look like a dragon when you scowl like that…”
“Are you stupid?” He spat with irritation. “What if someone saw you come over? We just got the press off our backs…”
Your pulse hit the base of your throat. “Uraume ensured that no one was around…”
“I thought we agreed to take time apart…” he argued, ignoring your words. “You agreed.”
“You’re mad...” You pointed out, the tip of your nose wincing as you pursed your lips.
“I’m not mad, I’m furious…” he said with irritation. “I’m trying to keep you out of this fucking chaos and you just waltz in, in this sorry excuse of a dress, like everything is perfectly fine?!”
You looked down at your outfit, and folded your arms over your chest.
“I…” you spoke, your voice trailing off as your shoulders slumped.
You didn’t even know if you should apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong and this wasn’t even your idea to begin with. You’ve also never seen Sukuna speak to you this way before, and your confidence bubbled when you recognized that this...wasn’t him.
You straightened your back, tilting your chin up to face him with defiance.
You’re the only person in the world who willingly challenges him.
You don’t even have to raise a fist to watch him break.
He was pushing you away, the same way he did when you found him on the ground of that kindergarten because that’s what Sukuna does when he’s hurting the most.
“God, you’re just as miserable as look…” you pointed out with a quirk of your brow.
His jaw twitched.
“I don’t give a shit who catches me here,” you boldly claimed, “I miss my best friend…” you added before shoving his shoulder, “and you, you asshole, have no excuse for not telling me that you are back home. Just because I agreed to us spending some time apart, that doesn’t mean you get to just...cut me off like that. To not call me, to barely answer my texts, and to just push me away like I don’t matter to you…”
Sukuna winced, taking a step closer to seal the gap of space between you both. He brought his head lower, dipping his forehead to press against your own. Your spine seized in that moment, your lips parting feeling the heat of his breath on your skin.
You were expecting a rebuttal, but this…this wasn’t what you thought would happen.
“You are a pain in my ass…” he whispered, closing his eyes as he circled his free arm around your waist, “and the only thing that matters to me…”
He nudged his face closer, so close you swore to yourself that he might kiss you, before tracking his lips along your jaw and cradling his forehead in the crook of your neck instead.
Your right hand moved him to touch his shoulder, your face contorting with a hint of concern.
You felt it then, something wet on your skin where his forehead lay, and you took in a sharp breath as Sukuna tightened his arm around your waist.
“You shouldn’t have come…” he took a deep inhale against your neck, smelling your skin before clearing his throat from any shakiness.
“You said that already…” you grumbled unamused.
“Stubborn woman, you never listen...” he breathed in once more, “God, I fucking missed you.”
₊ ⊹ .
Sukuna opened his present once everything was settled, and once he finally embraced the reunion without questioning any other factors. He laughed at your little DIY stress kit that you put together for him. You both ordered in pizza, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa with the open cardboard box between you. You talked, and talked, and talked into the late hours of the night. Until there were only crumbs on the bottom of the box which Sukuna placed on the coffee table. The bottle of champagne that you have both been nursing was nearly empty.
Drunk on each other, with a belly full of food and simplistic joy settling in. Sukuna leaned against the arm rest, sprawling his long legs and patting his thigh sweetly.
“C’mere…”
Your heart hammered, and you bit the rim of your champagne glass before obliging.
You stood up, swaying a little and watching his hungry eyes blatantly check you out as you sat on his lap. Sukuna adjusted his position, before dropping his palm on your thigh, his touch stroking up and down your skin.
“What’s going on with you?” You inquired, placing your elbow on his shoulder as you rested your warm cheek against your palm.
You were looking at him with concern, noticing his face sink.
He rubbed one hand over the exhausted expression, an intoxicated blush painting his cheeks.
“The press are worse than ever. After Mei, it’s been…relentless. The stories they are coming up with, the things that they are saying about me. I went from being on top of the world to being the guy everyone loves to fucking hate. And with every fight I go into, people are just waiting for me to wash up. The cherry on top of this whole fucking thing is Satoru Gojo, who won’t stop running his fucking mouth. I want cut the little shit in half…”
You smiled, not to be condescending, but out of gratitude that you both easily slipped back into the shell of your own comfort. “Ryomen, he’s twenty-one years old. Do you not remember how you were at that age?”
He rolled his eyes. “I had more class than he did…”
“But you were aggressive,” you reminded, “You weren’t afraid to tear down the legends that predated you.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that maybe Satoru drew inspiration from somewhere…”
You placed the champagne glass on his chest, your fingers holding the stem as you swirled the liquid around gently. The silence hung in the air because Sukuna knew you were right, but there were other lingering questions pressing you at the same time. And thanks to the alcohol, you had all the courage you needed to ask.
“What happened with Mei?” You wondered, shifting your gaze to meet his.
Sukuna’s index finger tapped up and down your thigh in contemplation.
He closed his eyes and shook his head before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Nothing.”
You quirked your brow again, taking a swig of your champagne.
Sukuna used his free hands to wrap around your own, and he pulled the glass away from you to take a sip himself.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
He chugged the rest of your drink, and placed it on the ground beside him.
“Ryomen…”
“Don’t push me, brat…”
“But why not?” You wondered, “I just…it just seemed like you both were so happy and then all of a sudden…”
He dropped his head back against the arm rest and stared up at the ceiling. From underneath his black shirt you saw the silver chain poking through.
Your heart tightened.
You drew one hand on the locket, your finger curling underneath as your thumb tracked over the texture of the necklace.
“You’re still wearing it…” you mumbled.
Sukuna faced you. “I never take it off. Only when I have to get in the ring…” His eyes shifted to your exposed, naked neck, and you mindlessly reached for the silver chain that you were currently not wearing.
“I don’t wear it on certain occasions…” you explained guiltily, “only because I am afraid that I might lose it.”
“Plus, it wouldn’t go with this dress...” Sukuna nonchalantly added on and you laughed at his comment.
He sighed in defeat. “The necklace was a small reason,” he opened up. “Mei hated that I wore it all the time. She would badger me about taking it off. The time I spent with you after Sousuke didn’t help…” he added, treading the delicate topic with as much sensitivity as he could, “she accused me for cheating. I told her she needed to back off because you and I had a history that predates her. I told her that if the roles were reversed, you would be there for me because you have always been there for me…”
Your body froze.
“She would pick fights with me over everything about you. Finally I had enough, and told her she needed to fucking trust me if this was going to work. But things never went back to the way they used to. It was always up and down with Mei. Finally, when she had enough, she told me that I had a choice to make. Either I cut you off for us to happily together. Or…she leaves…”
You sat up, staring at him with wide eyes and shock.
“I’m…” you gasped, “I’m the reason why you both broke up?”
The guilt struck you harder than you expected, and you looked down at Sukuna’s torso shamefully as you recalled the state of yourself post-break up, thinking of all the moments where you might have potentially stolen precious time away from his former lover.
“Ryomen, I am so…I am so sorry…”
Two fingers brushed underneath your chin, and Sukuna lifted your head so you could see him.
“I picked you,” he confessed, “I picked you.”
“But-”
“There is no “but”,” he said with a shake of his. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for over two decades. You are my person. You are my family. You…”, he sighed, “you didn’t deserve what happened afterwards...”
His hands trailed up until his digits caught the hem of your dress.
“I’m keeping my distance to protect you..."
“But you loved her,” you gasped, “I saw it. I saw you both. I would’ve…I would’ve stepped aside. If I was causing any issues, I would’ve…respected your boundaries. I love you, Ryomen. I just want you to be happy, and if that means that I take a step back-”
“I did love her,” Sukuna interjected, the heat of gaze flicking upward, the rims slightly red from the alcohol he consumed. “But I love you more…”
He drew all the air out of your lungs with the slip of his tongue, making you perch yourself up so you were actually looking directly at him. His pupils were dilated, widening as if to give you access to the depths of his soul. In all your years you’ve known him, you don’t think the two of you ever actually exchanged those words. It was always veiled with “I care for you,”, “I adore you,” “You’re my person,” and “this is why we are best friends.”
But love…
That felt forbidden to say out loud, even though you both knew that the root of your friendship was only built on love, it shouldn't have come as such a shock to you for the confession to slip so naturally.
You gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, in a way that you haven’t since you were both sixteen years old.
Wondering…
Considering…
“I don’t…” you said quietly, sitting upright as he shifted beneath you.
You wound up straddling him, both your hands resting on his shoulders while his own continued to tease the hem of your dress.
“I don’t know what to say…” you exhaled.
Sukuna pinched the fabric between his thumb and index finger, allowing the silence to hang for a few minutes before switching the subject.
“Did you dress up for me?” He joked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his devilish mouth. He slid one hand underneath your dress, making you gasp as his touch moved dangerously high up your thigh.
“Wanted to look cute,” you murmured, your words lacing tightly together as the champagne danced across your tongue. You felt a pulse radiate between your legs, and you unknowingly clenched much to Sukuna’s amusement.
“Cute for me?” He coaxed.
“Cute in general,” you remarked.
His other hand sprawled across your back, and you knew he was testing his boundaries.
“Ryomen…” you warned, but it only made him break out into a full grin. His irises were drowning in lust and inebriation, and your own were falling in suit.
The hand on your hip dragged up further, until his fingers brushed over the string of your underwear. You scratched your nails down his chest, feeling your back arch into his palm as you mindlessly rolled your hips.
His lips moved to your ear, that mellifluous voice dangerously close. “Let’s play a game…”
He squeezed the fat of your hip, his weight lifting you up and the entire room spun as he pinned you underneath him when he switched your positions. He locked you against the plush sofa with his thighs, a throaty laugh coming through from your sudden squeak of surprise.
“Let’s see you try to get out of this one, Princess...” He teased, his teeth nipping at the side of your throat. “Or you’ll end up being my dinner…”
Your body vibrated from the sensation of his touch. You gripped his jaw firmly and pulled his face towards you, your brows furrowing at the proclamation of a challenge.
“It’s not fair to go against a boxing champion,” you argued, your spine curving as Sukuna slipped his other thigh between your legs.
He dropped his head to the base of your throat, his teeth catching the sensitive spot just above your collar bone, “don’t worry,” he soothed over the gentle bite, “I’ll play fair…”
“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled through gritted teeth.
“You’re fault for waltzing into the dragon’s lair…” he alerted, quoting the very same line he used to when you would both play this silly fantasy game together.
But you’re not wielding plastic swords and entering into the enemies domain with a sense of courage. Now, it felt like playing with fire. Your skin was burning at the contact, at Sukuna’s weight over your throbbing body. When he nibbled on your neck again, your hand gripped onto the back of his head, tugging his hair a little roughly as you pulled him away.
Sukuna purred.
“You’ve never been able to beat me…” you teased, giving into the world of make believe just one more time but speaking the truth regarding this fact. “I’ve always been your biggest challenge…”
“Watch me win tonight,” he pushed with confidence, reaching for your wrist and pinning it above your head.
“And what are the rules here exactly?” You quipped, your tongue tingling and your body buzzing with excitement and curiosity. “Am I supposed to kill the dragon and win back my castle?”
Sukuna laughed, his eyes darkening as he pressed his forehead to yours once more.
“No need to draw any swords. Let’s play a game of submission…” he boldly claimed, and your attention flickered to find his brazen smile burning even brighter on his face. “First person to cum loses”
“Are you making a move on me?” You light heartedly disputed.
“Not at all,” Sukuna maintained, but you can tell from his tone that he’s veiling the truth.
There was something hard pressing up against you, and you had a feeling it was a nudge for some relief.
“It’s the dress isn’t it?” you giggle.
“If you even call it a dress…”
“Can’t handle a little skin?”
“I don’t want to shock you by telling you got me half hard just showing up,” he confessed, something unfolding in your drunken stupor.
“I can feel you…” you sighed, and the man hummed as he molded his body into you.
You felt him twitch, and it made your thighs tremble.
“We had too much champagne,” you informed.
“That we did”
“We should probably stop…” you exhaled, your lashes fluttering when you felt his thigh flex against your cunt.
“Do you want to?” Sukuna asks, his voice growing serious. His hand on your hip tugs at the string of your underwear, and he releases it with a snap as it pinches back against your skin.
You licked your lips, your brain too fuzzy to contradict what your heart wanted. “You know I will never back down from a challenge with you…”
“That's what I like about you,” Sukuna adoringly praises.
“And we both know you’re going to lose, right?”
Your throat shrinks, Sukuna’s hand gliding over your pubis to press the drenched spot against your underwear.
“Don’t underestimate me, Princess,” he advices ominously, “we’ve never played a game like this before.”
₊ ⊹ .
Clothes had to stay on - that was the rule you both agreed with.
To keep things fair.
To keep it…playful.
Your nipples pebbled, poking hard against the fabric of your dress as Sukuna sucked on the skin of your neck. You knew for a fact that he was leaving a mark there, and all you could do was bite back as his mouth trailed down the column and over the slope of your breast. You whimpered when he tugged at your clothed nipple with with his teeth, making the muscles in your leg seize from the sudden contact.
You had to do something, and so you reached your hand between your legs to lightly graze over his erection pressing against his sweats.
Sukuna groaned, and you sniggered at the reaction.
You lifted your head and neck, bringing your mouth to his own ear.
“You know,” you seductively stated, your fingers outlining the length of his hard member. “The first time I ever touched myself was after watching you practice in the ring…”
Sukuna cursed under his breath, your fingers squeezed around his length. You proceeded to stroke the heat of his member, striking hard for your first blow. “And I always do whenever I watch you fight. I get so hot and bothered seeing you in the ring. I even have a a specific vibrator I use…I named it after you…”
“Fucking hell,” he hissed when you snuck your hand underneath his waistband, bringing your touch even closer as you palmed him over his boxers.
“I’ve never told you that secret…” you declared, bringing your own teeth to his earlobe which you tugged mercilessly.
Sukuna lost himself for a moment, making you think this was going to be an easy win. But you heard him steady his breathing, could his muscles flexing as if to tame his own body back from giving in.
“I heard you once…” he stammered suddenly, closing his eyes as he recollected his memories. “Back when you were living in the dorm. I came over to drop off something, and you…ugh, fuck-…you were in the bathroom…moaning. I thought you were in pain at first, until I realized…”
Your own cheeks burned at his confession, the surprise making you ease your grip.
Sukuna grabbed your wrist then and pulled you away from his crotch. He placed it on your breast, and you absentmindedly pinched your nipple as he slid his hand between your legs. He lowered himself down, slithering underneath you and making your ears sting with vexation. He pushed your dress over your thighs, exposing your light colored underwear. The noticeable wet patch made his eyes glitter with satisfaction.
“I would have jacked off on the spot, but I left. I was clearly intruding on a private matter, but that didn’t stop me from blowing a load the second I made it to my place,” he carries on, bringing his nose and pressing it against your slit. “So fucking sweet…”
You tried to push his head away, and in response he dragged his tongue over the moist patch on your underwear.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, your hips bucking from the sensation.
“You’re the first person I think of when I touch myself,” he revealed, humming as his tongue lewdly licked over your underwear.
Your whole lower belly tingled, your arousal only slicking the fabric.
You needed to distract him from carrying on, but Sukuna hooked two fingers underneath your underwear and tugged them to the side.
You sat up on your forearms, pressing your thighs against his cheeks to stop him from diving in.
“Don’t cheat,” you sternly addressed, but Sukuna only scoffed vindictively.
“You’re still wearing them, Princess…” he pointed out, and the loophole made your core pulse with anticipation. “This isn’t cheating…”
With your panties tugged aside, Sukuna used two fingers to spread the lips apart.
He was staring at your pussy, studying it like it was the first one he’s ever looked at.
You wanted to say something, to ask what he was doing. But to your surprise he just placed a gentle kiss on your clit before murmuring sweetly into your sex. “You’re beautiful,” Sukuna complimented, as if expressing a blessing before a meal then finally dragging his wet tongue up along the slit of your exposed pussy.
“You’re ch-cheating…” was all you could think of blubbering out in the haze of lust, feeling the vibration of his laugh as he slung one of your legs over his shoulder.
It hits you then - the fact that this man indulges in going down on women. Though he never explicitly shared all the lewd details with his past partners, he did mention how it was “his favorite thing to do”. After all these years, you finally get to experience it for yourself. Feel how he latches onto your pussy as your arousal drips like he’s pouring honey out of the jar and slurping the sticky, creamy essence. You whine when he prods his tongue between your folds, expertly sliding the muscle as he rolls it in gentle waves to stir a budding orgasm. Your fingers intertwine around his locks, reading to yank him off until he slurps and sucks in just the right spot that has you simply massaging his scalp instead.
“…’kuna~…” you mewl, your nails dragging over his scalp.
The man circles his mouth over your tender clit, sucking on the bud before pressing another kiss on the nub.
Your pussy throbs when he pulls away, but you were proud for holding back.
It was your opportunity to distract him, and you shrugged off one of your straps to pull down your dress to expose your left breast. Sukuna’s attention flickered upward, watching you tweak at the hard nub as you gave him a shy grin.
“The felt really good,” you breathily whined.
He began crawling his way back up, and you used this opportunity to lift your body upright. He was distracted, wasn't even thinking about you finding a way out of this position. His lips instantly latched onto your nipple, his hands gripping the fat of your ass as he sucked on the point feverishly.
You licked your lips, doing everything in your power not to fall back into the black hole of his gripping dominance.
When he released you, you instantly pushed his back against the couch and climbed on top of him so you were safely straddling him again. You forcefully dragged your wet cunt over his erection, leaving a little trail of you to stain the fabric of his pants. Sukuna grunted with pleasure, bucking his hips as you ground yours.
“You’re not as sharp with me,” you giggled, languidly gliding your cunt over his begging member.
“Because you’re fucking distracting,” Sukuna grieves, his hands clenching into tight balls by his side as he refuses to grab onto your ass and push for more friction.
You felt him sink, using his shoulders as leverage to keep you perched in just the right position so your pussy was rubbing over his cock. You bit back a sound of pleasure from leaving you, and instead exhale softly as you continue rocking back and forth.
“You’re big everywhere aren’t you,” you tantalized, noting the way his jaw tense as a rumble erupted from his chest in a deep groan which morphed into a slightly sinister laugh.
“Let me show you.”
He lifted his hips, making you pause at the sudden awkward shift. He pushed his sweat pants down just to meet the end of his boxers. The removal of the first layer was a small relief, but your eyes widened as he settled back down. His erection was tenting, pressing up against the thin black material and making you see a clear distinction of his balls and thick shaft.
“Go on then,” he tempted.
Your could feel yourself getting wet. The tightness in your belly only contracting further.
You stared him down, knowing full well that he was manipulating you at that very moment.
“Why stop there?” You rebutted.
You helped pulled out the weight of his heavy cock from the restraint, watching his length smack against his lower belly as the tip dribbled with cum. Sukuna moaned when your thumb pressed against the slit, your touch dragging back and forth as you aligned yourself.
The sounds of your panting breaths were far too loud in this quiet room. You hesitated for a minute before lowering yourself, pressing the fat tip at your entrance. You gulped down air from the stretch alone, your arousal enough lubricant for your take him. You sank, your attention on Sukuna’s whose eyes were honed in on the point of contact of your sexes.
When your pelvis finally kiss his own, when your bodies were merged into one, you felt two hands seek your waist as you trembled in his arms.
Your dress had fallen back over, covering him buried inside you. You were looking up at him now as his chest rose to press yours.
A puzzle piece finally connecting.
He twitched inside you, and you clenched around his length, but neither of you moved. You forgot, for a moment, that this was just a game. That the two of you were probably going to wake up tomorrow morning not being able to face the other person. Your heart was racing, your body begging for movement but you couldn’t snap yourself out of the bold decision you already made.
Sukuna was looking deep into our eyes, the sparkle behind his own irises making you think of embers on winter night.
His hands slipped up your waist, over the curves of your breast and up on the length of your neck. He held your head between his palms, the tips of his thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks, with his fingers to the back of your neck. He tilted his head down slightly, his nose brushing against the bridge of yours and he did something that caught you entirely off guard.
His lips were warm on yours, the kiss the softest gesture you’ve ever experienced from him. He held a firm kiss at first, long enough until you were crumbling apart. You parted your mouth, granting him entrance and he swiped his tongue to lick the inside. He was tracing your own, his wet and wanting mouth only growing more hungry as you eagerly accepted his kiss. Your heart hammered heavily in your chest, and goosebumps peaked all over your skin when you felt his thumbs gently caress the soft skin of your cheeks.
You’ve never been kissed like this before. Never felt bursts of light erupt from behind your eyelids or your stomach explode with fireworks. This always just fun foreplay for you, but nothing that would make you quiver in heat. You almost came on the spot from this one little act that you’ve imagined since you were sixteen, the one which you thought would never occur because of an unspoken rule on boundaries. But it was finally happening, and it was far too magical for you to even comprehend.
He swallowed your moan, tasted how sweet your desire actually was. The kiss was getting heated, your walls tightening around his cock His lips wrapped around your tongue. He sucked on it, before sliding his own back over yours.
You felt so weak; were reminded that you truly were just a fragile thing in his arms and nothing more.
He pulled away, a string of saliva sticking from his lips to yours but you shook your head as you circled your hands around his wrists.
“More,” you cried desperately without thinking.
Sukuna smiled against your mouth and obliged.
You don’t know how long you both sat there making out. But every time he tried to pull you away you sighed “again,”, or moaned “don’t stop”. You didn’t even consider kissing to be an option on the table, but the more you were getting turned on the further your guard went down. Your hips started to bounce lightly, your pussy so bothered that it wanted some relief. You started fucking yourself over his length, your mouth battling with lips, teeth and tongue in a very heated stand off. Sukuna relaxed his body against the sofa, noticing you melt over him like you were wax. Your hips were moving up and down, your tongue languidly rolling around his mouth. You could feel Sukuna moving with you, bucking his hips in return. His jerks were growing sharper, his hands dropping back down to your hips to keep you in place. Your foreheads were touching, lips parting, panting heavily as you climbed and higher. The two of you were lost in the moment, forgetting everything else that led up to this.
You were going to lose this one, you thought, and you didn’t even care.
Your head was spinning, your heart bursting, and you reached to hold his jaw in your hand out of desperation, hoping that by clinging to him it meant that you wouldn’t disappear into the haze of it all. Entirely overwhelmed by the feeling, by this particular connection, your eyes started to water, with tears falling as your nose grew stuffy.
“Ryomen~” you begged, your dulcet voice full of affection. The tip of his cock hit your sweetest spot and at that point you knew you were done for.
But Sukuna jerked his hips, the groan that ripped out of him made your belly spasm. He pulled out fast, shooting his cum all over you. Your orgasm collapsed into you just seconds after, and the two of you were shaking against one another as you tried to reorient yourselves to the present.
You were a mess, and so was he.
Two hands found your thighs as your torso collided into his. You placed one hand on the base of his neck, and rested your cheek against the crook.
“You lost,” you joked with a sniffle, because you were unsure what to say, and because you realized you had just fucked your best friend and had no idea what that meant.
Sukuna just grinned, flashing you a knowing smile and a devilish smirk.
He perched your chin under his fingers, tapping the end sweetly.
“Doesn’t feel like I did,” he breathed, and your eyes glittered once more.
You arched up to kiss his cheek, “I didn’t know a dragon could kiss this well…”
Sukuna chuckled, bumping the tip of his nose to yours affectionately as he tilted his head down. “I’ve had time to practice.”
You sighed into another kiss, “What did we do, Ryomen?”
“Something we should have done a long time ago…” he responded in between.
“You love me…” you breathed.
“And you’re surprised?” He interrupted with another kiss.
“I don’t know what that means…”
He nipped at your bottom lip. “It means what it means. I love you. Fuck, enough that I nearly fucking came inside you without thinking. You haven’t been around and I feel like I've lost my goddamn mind in just a year…”
Your nails dragged down his chest your heart leaping its way up your throat.
“I love you too,” you revealed. “I love you, Ryomen. And I missed you too."
You both fell asleep on the sofa, waking up the next morning and replaying the events of your drunken stupor. After you both cleaned up and showered, you had a serious conversation over two cups of coffee. Though, you aren’t quite sure how "serious" it was, considering that Sukuna had you sitting on his lip while you were gently stroking his hair.
He revealed that the reason why he didn’t tell you about his return was also partially due to the fact that he was leaving that very night to hop on plane and fly halfway across the world. He couldn't bring himself to see you for only a short stint when he knew he needed far more time together after everything.
“Uraume is right,” he bitterly admitted, “You are a big distraction for me right now, and I have to be in the right headspace for this fight with Gojo”
“You sound worried,” you pointed out with a furrow of your brows, your hands dragging back his locks as you threaded your digits between the strands to push his hair back from his forehead.
“If he beats me then I am done,” Sukuna blurted, “what I have built will diminish into nothing. I can’t lose to him. It’ll cost me my career…”
Disappointment wrapped its arms around you just as Sukuna loosened his own grip. But you could hear the hint of tiny, tiny fear behind his words was enough to you feel hollow. Sukuna has never felt threatened, but this was a serious fight for him. He’s worked so hard for all of this, and he was not willing to give it up to some punk who just shot into the scene.
“Why don’t we revisit this after the fight then?” You offered.
He glanced at you.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..." you exhaled, "what if maybe we just need to wait a little longer before we allow ourselves to have this..."
Sukuna paused for a moment. “You’d wait for me?” He asked.
A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth. “Yes, because you always come back to me”
“That I do” he responds
You brush your fingers under his chin, tilting it upward once more to receive another kiss. “I’ll wait for you,” you ensure. "Because I'll always come back to you too."
₊ ⊹ .
One hand slides into the front pocket of your denim skirt, and Sukuna rests his chin on top of your head. You smile to yourself, though he can’t see it, because he’s busy watching you slice bits of fruit as you place it into one of his ceramic bowls. When you were kids, Sukuna would have to look around your arm whenever he hugged you from behind. The years show the evolution of this gesture, from him suddenly perching over your shoulder until he could simply see over your crown.
He sighs, his other arm curling over your belly as he embraces you.
“Don’t add the blueberries,” he mumbles.
You oblige, your back leaning into the breadth of his chest.
The two of you haven’t touched one another since that faithful night.
Up until the fight, you and Sukuna simply returned back to the way things used to be. Except this time there were little alterations in your day to day conversations that indicated a shift.
For one, Sukuna was a flirt.
You were use to this commentary, but now that your friendship has taken a turn you find your cheeks growing heated more often around him because his words weren't gray. What he says toward you, and the way he compliments you rings very, very true. There is also a deep tenderness for one another that you both are finally allowing to express freely. You don't dull your affection, and instead allow it to overflow. And last of all, the longing to be back together was pathetically obvious.
You placed the strawberries, sliced peaches and peeled oranges into the bowl, your fingers a little tacky. “I need to wash my hands,” you indicate, and Sukuna begrudgingly releases you from his hold.
You’re surprised that he didn’t pounce on you so quickly.
The two of you only had one other sexual moment just a few months ago.
Sukuna video called you one evening, his face tight with frustration.
He was exhausted from training, and even more drained by the press.
They were claiming that his new “pumped physique” was due to steroid use, and one little rumor had the representatives of the boxing association hounding him like he was a real culprit in this make believe story. Suddenly, his hard work and training was being reduced to the thing that the press claimed him to be: a cheater.
He called you to ensure you that everything was alright. That he was forced to take tests which all came out negative (obviously) and and effectively proved his innocence.
“I can’t wait to be home,” he breathed with annoyance. “I’m fucking sick of this shit…”
You were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, gently patting your moisturizer onto your face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you stated, offering him only an apology because it's all you could give. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better?”
Sukuna arched his brow, his attention hovering in front of the screen.
“Yeah, you can take off that robe you’re wearing…” he teased.
You jerked your head to the camera in surprise, noting his cheeky tone.
“Ha-ha…” you remarked.
“I’m being serious,” he answered back, his mouth dropping into an instant frown. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I can’t even do the one thing I want to help me relax…”
You arched your brow. “And what might that be?”
He revealed his canines, a wolfish grin brightening that handsome face. “Fucking my girl...”
Your heart thumped, and you swallowed the sudden tightness in your throat. You picked up your lip balm and dabbed your finger into the ointment before gliding it over your bottom lip.
“Your girl, huh?” You reiterated casually, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t quite pick up on the catch in your throat.
“You’re always my girl, even when you weren’t mine to call that…” he added softly, his voice pulling your attention back towards him.
He wasn’t kidding around, with the look on his face entirely serious. The tips of your ears stung with a heat that you couldn’t explain, and you just had the sudden urge to reach through the screen and pull his face back towards you.
You wanted to kiss him, to tell him that you always felt like you belonged to him too.
The two of you an inseparable pair for a reason.
Instead, you stripped down to reveal your naked form. You perched the camera towards the back for a wider shot, and allowed your body to speak to Sukuna instead. One of your legs was resting on the bathroom sink, the other grounding you on the floor. You had the camera facing your cunt, with your fingers buried deep inside. But it was nothing compared to the stretch of Sukuna’s digits, wasn’t filling you enough to reach you to the pleasurable climax you desired.
“It’s not enough,” you gasped in between breaths, watching Sukuna passionately jerk off from he other side of the screen, “Need you, ‘kuna~” you whined, “it’s not enough with you…”
The memory hits you, making your lower belly tighten.
You dry your hands off to face him, only to find the man standing with an expression of guilt on his face.
The same concern you had earlier when you left the elevator reappeared once more.
You pick up the fruit bowl from the counter, trying your best not to give the discomfort attention. You offer Sukuna a strawberry, lifting it towards his mouth but he instantly circles his hand around your wrist and pulls it back down.
“I need to tell you something,”
You scrunch your brows, and place the fruit bowl back onto the counter.
“What’s wrong?”
Sukuna closes his eyes, a look of shame washing over him.
You take a step closer, wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest.
“What’s wrong?” You repeat, coaxing him to speak.
“I nearly threw the fight tonight.”
You jerk your head up in shock, your lips parting as your jaw falls from the confession.
“You…what?”
Sukuna rubs his tired face with one hand, using every ounce of courage to look back at you.
“There was a moment in the ring when Satoru threw a relatively decent punch,” he explains, “I had the lights knocked out of me for a split second. When I turned to face him it hit me then...that I could fake dodging his next attack before giving him the opening that he needs to win. One more hit and I’d...collapse. Let the referee do his count, and that would be it…”
You knew the exact moment he was referring to. It was the point in the match where your ears were ringing because you truly thought that you would be witnessing a loss on Sukuna's part. The entire crowd was muttering in shock, all of them on the precipice of a potential shift in legacy.
“I didn’t follow through because I think Satoru noticed a change in my demeanor. It was only a few seconds, but the kid is fucking sharp. He wasn't smugly determined then, he was looking at me with...confusion. I couldn't do it then. I didn't want him to get a cop out on my end. So, I carried on the fight the way I would. After the match, I thought I could just let the moment pass but Uraume tried to bring it up later and I shut it down because I didn't want to admit it. Anyway, I needed to just get it off my chest…”
“You were going to give him that win?” You expressed with deep concern, tightening your hold around his waist as you watched Sukuna’s face to turn hard.
It hits you then - that the Champ, The Monster of The Ring, The Beast and King Himself was…burnt out. Sukuna’s fire had been gone for quite some time, you just thought it would reignite after tonight.
But it didn't.
You bring your hands to his biceps and caress your palms up and down.
“Ryomen,” you speak, licking your lips with hesitation before finally asking. “Is this what you still want?”
Contemplative eyes meet yours as his palms find both your cheeks. He drops his head down, his lips seeking yours as he takes into account the gash on the muscle, then places a careful kiss on your mouth.
“I just want you,” he hums.
“M’right here,” you murmur back, “Not going anywhere.”
“I’ve been waiting for this,” he adds on, “that’s all I could think about during the fight. Was just coming home to you, coming home to us…”
A shiver runs down your back, but your body vibrates with an innocent excitement. “We don’t have to wait anymore,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere no matter what happens. No matter what comes next…”
Sukuna looks at you then, knowing full well what your statement means.
Once news breaks out of the two of you being an actual item, heaven knows what might happen. If the paparazzi have been plaguing Sukuna like a curse this whole time, it was only going to get even more complicated with you so intimately intertwined in his world. And now that he was back on top as the champion, he knew full well that all eyes were going to remain on him.
From when he was a child, no matter what he believed about his life that would deter you from him. His broken home wasn't enough to push you. His anger wasn't enough to push you. His detachment wasn't enough to push you. The chaos that is his world wasn't enough to push you.
You have always remained solidly by his side.
His constant. The only thing in the world that he can rely on.
“I love you,” he states under his breath, leaning in to peck you for a second time.
“I love you too,” you repeated with a smile against his lips.
There was no epic moment around this sober reveal, no exceptional circumstance other than the privacy of it being spoken with no one else to hear it other than the two of you.
You loved one another, in the deepest possible way you could love a person. From there your lips parted, and you carefully kissed the man before you as he scooped you up in his arms.
He repeated the phrase again when he placed you on the kitchen counter, with his fingers buried deep within the folds of your wet pussy.
You moaned it back to him after he carried you into his bedroom, with your fists tangled between his hair as he ate you out.
He grunted it out one last time, with his hand gripping the headboard as he watched your body melt into the matters when he thrusted his dick in and out of you as he made love to you feverishly.
And you mumbled it back one last time while he held you in his arms, the two of you falling asleep from a very long night of unbridled passion.
Sukuna was the first to wake at the crack of dawn. He rolled over to grab his phone from the side table in an attempt to turn off his alarm before it woke you up as well. As he looked at the device, his heart sank.
A number of notifications were blowing up his phone and it was making him feel dizzy.
News articles were already painting him in all his glory after his fight with Satoru, with his opponent looking battered in defeat. The press had finally flipped, and suddenly began to revere him the way he deserved to be. There were text messages from an influx of people, either congratulating him or wanting get his thoughts on the match. Sukuna feels the tremor in his hand build as he starts to scroll through the notifications.
He places the device on the blanket in front of him, his eyes looking out to the large windows as he watches the sky shift from a deep violet to a lilac blue. He turns this head to gaze at you. This image of you by his side, in a position that he’s seen multiple times in his life, feels different now too. The soft glow of new daylight washes over your body, and the stillness of the hour has him believing that he actually made it to heaven. Sukuna places a soft kiss on your forehead, then carefully kicks off the blankets. He searches for his boxers, then pulls on the pair before stepping out into his balcony.
He calls Uraume.
Usually they pick up quick, but Sukuna counts down the rings until they do.
“My King,” they tease, their voice a little groggy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Sukuna watches a bird fly across the horizon, the ease in his chest an affirmation to what he’s about to say.
“I’m retiring,” he announces. “I’m done.”
The silence hangs in the air, streaks of orange and yellow begin to tint the clouds.
“I had a feeling you were going to say that…”
“is that why it took you long to answer my call?”
Uraume huffs out a laugh. “I guess I was hoping for another piece of news…”
“Are you mad?” Sukuna asks, only honoring Uraume with his worry because he knows how much they have done for him to begin with.
Uraume sighs, “I’m not actually. It’s the smartest decision you can make. You retire now and you basically leave the game while sitting at the top. You’ve earned that throne, and it won’t be easy for these rookies to take it from you so quickly…”
Sukuna chuckles, “you’re right about that…”
Uraume lets the quiet overtake the conversation. “I’ll give it a few days before I break the news to the press.”
“And then what?”
“There’s definitely going to be a lot of interviews, and a retirement party that you will have to attend wether you like it or not…”
“And what about you?”
Uraume hums, “You and I had a good run. If it’s the end for you, then I guess I can finally retire too..”
Sukna furrows his brows, his nails scratch over the rail on his balcony. “I don’t want you doing that because of me…”
Uraume laughs, “You’ve earned my loyalty, what can I say?”
“Thank you,” Sukuna breathes, “For everything you’ve done for me. You’re more than just a manager, but I think you already know that...”
“I know it,” Uraume answers back. “And I also know that this is the right decision because you sound…relieved.”
He hears you then.
You were calling out to him, “‘kuna, where are you?~”
He turns his back to face the railing, missing the sun breaking through the horizon at the sound of your voice. He smiles thinking about the adorable, frustrated look on your face when you probably reached out and couldn’t find him, and he slowly begins making his approach back into his bedroom.
“I am,” he speaks to Uraume, “I’ve got to go. Will talk about this later.”
He hangs up the phone, and returns to the shadow of deep, restful slumber. He places the phone back on his side table, and smiles at the exact disappointed expression that he pictured when he was outside.
The second you feel his warmth back in your presence, you snuggle up into his frame.
“Where did you go?” You mumble with a yawn, and Sukuna wraps his strong arms around you as he nestles back into your body.
“Nowhere,” he breathes, easing back into your embrace.
“Heard you talking,” you add on, you eyes still shut but your arm slinking around his neck to keep him close.
It’s taken you both over two decades to get here, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to come in the way of that. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he reassures, keeping his loving eyes on you as he clutches onto his bright, new future with his favorite person.
A life that you both will now get to live in peaceful happiness.
₊ ⊹ .
:note: hi, everyone! long form fics has been really draining for me these days but these one shots feel like a great refresher. I know this is a monster of a fic, but I hope you enjoy the story. comments and reblogs are appreciated!
