love is blind ! or perhaps, silent ?
⤷ ゛ ✮ sukuna’s wife gets
some godawful advice . . .
you wanted to be the perfect partner for sukuna, naturally. which in turn meant doing exactly what the wives of the court insisted: learning the sacred art of not speaking to your husband for as long as you can to, “cultivate intimacy” . . ? or so you were told.
unfortunately, much to your displeasure, you had only lasted until the third hour. reason being—to put it quite plainly—ryomen sukuna is quite the relentless man . . .
he let out a sigh. a very loud, obnoxious sigh.
“i wish for my wife to talk to me.”
nothing.
“i wish for my wife to deign to speak to her husband.”
. . .
“i wish for my wife to cease such an absurd performance, and speak to me how she normally does. it is tiresome. the silence. do you not agree?”
your footwear scuffed softly against the cobblestone path as you came to an abrupt halt. the warmth that normally lingered in your gaze gave way to mild annoyance, though not enough to be mistaken for genuine displeasure.
try as you might, you could never remain upset with your beloved for long.
“i have heard you the first time sukuna, what is that you want?” you huff, the words drawn out in mild exasperation. tilting your head back to look up at him, your lips pressed into a faint pout, brows knitting together in a questioning glance.
sukuna only halts with you, standing a few feet ahead of you. “sukuna?” he repeats, perplexed, his gaze narrowing slightly at the unfamiliar distance between you.
usually, you referred to him by far gentler names. my beloved. simply, husband. my lord, when you wished to pester him. simply “sukuna” was a new low he had never imagined he would reach.
he scoffs, “to engage in conversation. i thought it to be rather obvious, was it not?”
you inhale sharply, as though it were painful to neglect your husband in such a way. perhaps it was. and yet, it was for the better.
“well, i cannot.”
“ . . . you, cannot?”
“i cannot.”
….
“have i done something to displease you? or wound your honor?”
you look at him with quiet seriousness, a sorry attempt to stand your ground.
“no. you are disturbing the ritual,” you say, voice a mild but firm whisper, as though the contents of your speech were not meant to fall upon the ears of another.
“the ritual…”
“yes, the ritual.”
“what ritual do you speak of?”
“the one i am attempting to complete it.”
you huff under your breath. “or rather, the one you are making rather difficult. i have already spoken too much, and you are not helping.”
you attempt to resume your way down the path, tucked between silk-draped garden pavilions, only for your unreasonably large husband to step in front of you. all four arms are crossed over his bare chest, a black haori draped over his broad shoulders.
when you finally glance at him, to your surprise, there is a deadly seriousness in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.
“where are you going? i believe we are in the middle of a conversation, are we not?”
you only suck in a sharp breath, splaying a fan to cover the lower half of your face, your eyes darting toward a nearby patch of cherry blossoms, anywhere but his own. “i cannot speak with you.” you reply softly, a gentle warmth rising to your cheeks, soft as ripened plums, taking a small step back from him.
his gaze narrows slightly, studying your unusual timidness, along with your peculiar mannerisms. “you do see how you are poking at my nerves, yes?”
“well, that only means it is working. so if you would only let me complete it to its entirety—”
“working…?” he scoffs, only taking another step forward until there is nowhere left for you to retreat.
you take another step backward, then another, then another, until your shoulders brush against the wall behind you. only then do you finally stop. sukuna places a hand beside your head and stares down at you, all four eyes narrowed.
“wife.”
the single word causes you to blink. “you will explain this ritual to me. at once.”
you let out a groan as you raise the fan to cover your face entirely. “why is it that you cannot respect my privacy?” your voice slipping out in a low, uncertain whisper.
sukuna lets out a low chuckle at that.
well, you believe. you cannot see his face after all, but there is no trace of displeasure in it.
shortly after, you feel his warm heavy hand, one stained with years of work and war, gentle to the touch, lowering your wrist, and therefore the fan. his voice is low and soft, as if coaxing an answer out of you:
“you do not actually wish to be apart from me like this. do you?”
you only let out a soft groan as you give a small shake of your head; eyes soft and pliant, though a small frown lingers over your features.
“ah . . i see,” he hums, eyes scanning over your face before his lower hand comes up to cradle your chin. “and, who, has forced you to do such a thing? because it certainly has not been me.”
you sigh. “i have not been forced.” shrinking back behind your fan.
“i had wanted our marriage to be more intriguing, so i sought out the other wives for advisement.” you pause, watching him carefully. “they said i should not speak to you, so that things would be calmer . . and more . . intimate . . between us once we reunite. though i have heard little of the latter.”
you look up at him once more, lashes blinking uncertainly, as though searching his face for approval. except instead of any shocked or amused reaction, he simply stares at you for a long moment, then exhales slowly through his nose.
“please do not speak to those women again,”
“they are fools.” he says flatly. “you do realize we are as intimate as can be, correct? i have seen you cry. i have seen you without your robes. i have seen you at your most unguarded, and yet you still think there is more to achieve.”
you only smack him lightly with the spread of your bamboo fan. “you cannot just say that!”
“the reason this ‘ritual’ of theirs works is because they do not love their husbands,” he continues, unbothered. “that is why there is peace when they do not speak.”
. . .
“oh.”
and then, a small snicker escapes him, causing your head to whip toward him. an everso slight frown pulls at your lips before he promptly falls silent.
“you mock me.”
“i have said nothing.”
“you are smiling.”
a soft silence spreads between the two of you, lingering, to that of a breath being held for too long . . . before a low burst of laughter escapes his throat. a quiet, unrestrained cackle that makes your chest loosen despite yourself.
his hand comes up to rest over his mouth, while the other remains crossed over his chest, his shoulders shaking with each contained laugh.
“do not laugh!” you insist, though your voice wavers with lingering amusement. “i have done this for you!”
“must you look so aggrieved? i am only laughing with you.”
you huffed, loud and dramatic; “how can you laugh with me when i am not laughing at all?”
“very well”, he began, an infuriatingly smug smile working onto his face, “i’ll wait for you to start then.”
and then, as though a switch had been flipped; every trace of amusement vanished. the smile disappeared, his features settling back into the impassive countenance of a ruler, as if nothing at all had been amusing.
unbelievable.
but only after a moment does it slip from you too: soft at first, almost disbelieving, your laughter spilling out in quiet, uneven breaths before settling into something gentler. you cover your mouth with your fan, though it does little to hide it.
“i would prefer this be forgotten.”
“unfortunately, wife, i cannot grant you that mercy.”
and while you hated to admit it, the advice had been sound; simply at the expense of your last shred of dignity.
⁕ 2.5k words ⁕ taglist open!! ⁕ banner by mangmango.art on instagram ⁕ dividers by @saradika-graphics ⁕ masterlist ⁕
There’s something so odd about change. It springs up on you at the last moment and grabs you before you have a chance to react. No matter how long you live, you still can’t get used to it.
You tap the arm rest of your Dad’s sedan, squished against a pile of two boxes and a duffle bag in the backseat as your parents chat in the front. Scenery whizzes by as city skyline comes into view. The rest of your luggage is already at your new home, mostly unpacked after last weekend when you and your mom spent the day sorting boxes. It should only be a little longer now till you arrive.
It’s been an interesting last few months. You graduated college spring of last year and spent a few months resting afterwards. During the fall after college your dad got a job offer and from then it’s been figuring out where you’d live, when the move would be, and packing up your childhood home. It was bittersweet, but you weren’t unhappy with it. This would be good for you–there would be more jobs available to you, new experiences to be had, and so many things to learn. And change, lots and lots of change.
The car sputters as your dad makes a turn, stalling as it creaks around the bend. “Shit.” He presses the accelerator, just managing to make the turn and keep driving onwards. You frown, a tad uneasy at the idea the car might give out at any moment. Your dad had a habit of saying issues with his car were much smaller than reality and only taking it to the shop when it gave out on him. You’ve always been of the mindset that life would be easier if he took preventative measures, but you and your dad have very different levels of life experience and very different opinions on car upkeep.
Despite the consistent stalling and sputtering, you manage to make it to the apartment building and safely park in the lot behind it. As you slowly open the car door, careful not to let the luggage inside topple down on you, you listen to your parents’ conversation.
“No—I’m saying I want you to find a shop and take the car in…today. We just arrived and I refuse to start on a bad foot!” Your mother’s voice is stern as she rummages through her purse, making sure everything is inside before slamming her car door closed.
You stretch outside the car, turning in a slow circle and taking in the parking lot, one you’ll be getting very familiar with in the near future.
“Alright–fine. We’ll take the car in.” Your father, exasperated, calls your name as he shoves his car door open. “Find an autoshop somewhere, please. Your mother wants us to drop off the car so you’ll take her car and I’ll take mine then drive us back.”
You pull your phone from your pocket, “‘kay.” A quick google search tells you there’s a few scattered around the city. You click on a location that looks promising and check the reviews. They’re positive and praise the service for being “thorough and reliable”, among other compliments. It’s enough to convince you you should try this location, rather than the others which are much longer of a drive for the poor, dying car.
“Uhh, here, there’s one fifteen minutes away. Reviews are good so we can try that.” His phone buzzes after you send the address to him. The duffle bag you’re pulling from the car sags on your shoulder while you grab a box as well. “Let’s just unpack this stuff first.”
Your mom takes the second box out of the back and your dad pulls the last of the luggage from the trunk. The building shades the parking lot, so it’s not as hot as the main street where the sun beats down with abandon.Your shirt clings to your back with sweat, the uncomfortable drips only getting worse when the cool AC of the apartment building hits your back. The elevator ride is quiet, the three of you going silent as you become lost in thought.
Your thoughts drift to your old home, it’s not hard to miss your suburban house when you’re currently carrying a box into an apartment in the middle of a bustling city you don’t really know. It’s not like you’re unhappy to be here, or hate the city, it’s just so…odd. The change hasn’t hit yet, but it’s starting to with every ding of the elevator.
You think to your few siblings and college friends who all seem to have their lives figured out, while you’re still living with your parents and basically jobless since none of the places you applied to have even responded. It’s disheartening, to say the least, but you’re trying to be optimistic. This will be good for you, maybe change is what will set the ball in motion and start you rolling to where you need to go.
—
The car hums down the road as you follow your map’s guidance to the shop, Itadori Auto Repair was the name. You didn’t really put much research into the actual place other than checking the reviews. For all you know it could be run by a bunch of psychos, something you doubt, but something that is always possible.
A few cars’ length in front of you is your dad, puttering along in his poor, overworked sedan. You can hear it screech as it makes the turn into the repair shop’s parking lot. Your car slows as you follow him in and pull into a parking space on the right. You exit the car and approach him as he pulls to the front. He’d called ahead at the place, but insisted on also seeing the shop in person beforehand and meeting the employees, much to your dismay. So here you are, standing awkwardly in the parking lot, practically melting from sweat, looking like you’ve been in a car for seven hours–which you had been since you’d literally just been on a road trip.
You grimace as he hops out of the driver’s side, confidently walking to the front of the shop and opening the door to a small reception desk with a door off to the side leading into the garage. A person with a white bob sits up and turns to you, revealing a halo of red hair along the back of their head, almost like a koi fish. Probably the last kind of person you’d expect to be sitting at a desk at an auto repair shop.
Your dad approaches, mentioning he’s the caller from before and asking if he could meet a mechanic to talk about the car before leaving it here.
They blink at him, nodding slowly before standing up from their seat, “I can take you to see Choso, the boss isn’t in right now.”
Your dad follows them out the door, motioning for you to come along too. “How long have you guys been in business here?”
The door squeaks as they hold it open for the two of you, waiting for you to enter the garage before leading you a bit further into the shop. “The original owner, Wasuke Itadori, started it with his dad around 50 years ago, but his son took it over 6 years ago. Choso is one of Wasuke’s grandsons.”
“Gotcha.” Your dad is looking around the shop as he follows, “Who are you? One of the grandkids?”
“No, I work here part time when they need someone at the desk.”
The conversation fades as they approach a man in a baggy black T-shirt with spiky twin space buns standing over an elevated tool box. He turns when he hears footsteps and nods at the white haired receptionist, “Hey Uraume.”
Uraume gestures to your father, “Sir, this is Choso. Choso, he’s new to the city and wanted to talk to a mechanic before repairs.”
Choso approaches your dad, shaking his hand and introducing himself before your dad launches into a series of questions. At this point you’ve tuned it out and begun dissociating. It quickly turns into fascination, however, as you watch the other mechanics mill about deeper in the shop. There’s another man with a bun, this one neater and not a space bun, talking animatedly with a blonde man who just yelled something about…boxing, maybe? They’re both yelling actually; you notice Choso looks very exasperated as he leads your dad a bit closer to the entrance of the garage where it’s less noisy.
You follow them, walking much slower so you have time to examine the different posters hanging from the wall. If you’re not mistaken, that's either a Kpop or Jpop idol right there, and someone has a framed photo of what looks to be a steak dinner. There’s also music posters, lots of those. You recognize a lot of the albums, including a weathered Alice in Chains poster that looks like it’s been glued to the wall. Somewhere in the back of the shop someone is playing what sounds a lot like Jpop. You wonder if it’s the guy with a bun or the blonde one with the piercings and patchy mustache–
“Who the fuck is working on the CR-V and left all this shit on the ground?” Someone bellows from the front of the shop, loud enough you jump a few inches in surprise.
Your head whips towards the entrance of the garage and you see an enormous man with thick bands of black tattoos adorning his arms, salmon pink hair, and the most beautifully chiseled face lined with sharp, black tattoos that’s twisted into a deep scowl…who seems to have just noticed you.
You raise your hands, feigning innocence, “Wasn’t me.”
He looks at you with deep red eyes, dumbfounded. “Uh-huh…Is that your car in the front?”
“No, it’s my dad’s.” You actually want to be run over right now–literally any of the cars in this shop will do. Anything to hit you hard enough you get amnesia and forget you ever made that joke.
His expression is completely unreadable, but with the way his eyes are boring holes into you you’re gathering he probably hates you and wants you thrown from the shop immediately.
“Is he the guy that called in earlier?”
You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah, about a half hour ago.” Your eyes flit down for a moment and catch sight of a Jar of Flies tattoo on his left forearm. He must have been the one to glue that poster up.
He clicks his tongue, shifting his weight to his right leg and crossing his arms as he examines the car parked outside the garage’s entrance. Somewhere behind him, the man with a bun is laughing as he starts neatening up around the CR-V.
You find yourself staring at the pink-haired man, embarrassed at how attractive you find him. With a barely concealed gasp, you remember how terrible you look right now. Your clothes must be so rumpled, and you took a nap in the car so there’s no way your eyeliner isn’t smudged right now. Shit. This is perhaps the hottest man you’ve ever seen and of course you look like a sewer rat. Your nose is scrunched as you pinch the bridge of it, promising you’ll never go to a new place after a car ride again without changing into a nicer shirt first.
Heavy footsteps approach you and you almost jump again, whipping your hand downwards and clenching it at your side. You look up slowly and see the man standing a few paces closer now. You make eye contact again and he extends a hand.
“Sukuna Ryomen. I own the shop.”
With a silent curse to your abhorrently sweaty hand, you take his in yours and shake it. “Nice to meet you.” For some reason you introduce yourself too, but you trip over your name and end up pulling your hand away because you realize you’ve been gripping his with the kind of tightness one would usually exert when rock climbing rope or something like that. You don’t rock climb often so you wouldn’t really know.
You grit your teeth, refusing to seem like a bumbling idiot. “I like your tattoo. The jar of flies.”
Sukuna looks down at his arm, his scowl lightening just a bit. “Thanks.” He’s looking at you with this gaze you have no idea how to interpret, his voice didn’t sound angry though, maybe it’s RBF.
You realize you might be scowling at him too and offer a small smile, “That’s always been my favorite of their albums.”
He crosses his arms, tapping on his bicep. The silence goes for so long you think he won’t reply, but he does after a pert nod.
“Facelift for me. My brother liked Jar of Flies.”
“Oh! Cool. That one is really good too!” You respond earnestly, happy to have found a common ground.
Silence falls between the two of you again and you’re not sure if you should try and continue or if he stayed silent because he hates you and wants you thrown from his shop. You really want to get run over by that car now…
“Oh! There you are.” Your dad’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you blink, breaking eye contact. “The car is all set so we can go.”
“Uhh…yeah!” You quickly reply, spinning to face your dad.
He approaches you and catches sight of Sukuna. For a moment you see a look of disdain, probably in reaction to the tattoos, but he masks it quickly.
Sukuna t urns, the motion languid despite his impressive stature. He pulls his hand from his pocket and shakes your dad’s firmly, introducing himself again.
It’s not like you’re incapable of being normal, but something about this guy has you staring again as he moves, just narrowly darting your eyes away when you realize he’s glancing towards you. It’s probably because he’s hot, and jacked, and huge, and currently talking with your father about exhaust pipes so you should really steer your thoughts somewhere else. The weather. Yeah. Wait no, fuck the weather, it’s too hot and it’s only May. Fuck the weather, fuck the car, and fuck that guy. NO!!
“Alright, thanks for the help. Take care of yourself.” Your dad is shaking his hand again, pulling you from your very dangerous thought process.
You nod at Sukuna, “Thanks! Have a good day.” You’re uncomfortably close to stumbling over a word, but you manage to avoid that and walk–without tripping–back to the car. As you’re climbing into the passenger seat you glance back at the garage and watch as he recedes further inside the garage and just out of sight.
Even so, the little interaction you had has your stomach somersaulting and a thousand “what-if’s” beginning, as if you didn’t just meet the guy today. Doesn’t matter, though, you miss every shot you don’t take, right? Besides, you’ve already made up your mind–you’ll be coming back here in two days to pick up the car.
❀.ೃ࿔* Getting out of bed is no easy task with Heian!Sukuna
˚ . ✧ ˚ . ✧ ˚ .
Your eyes gently flutter open to view the dimly lit room that you and your husband share. The sun gently shines into the room through the partially cracked screen leading outside. You make a feeble attempt to stir before you realize you're trapped under the weight of several heavy arms. "Tch, every morning." You do your best to turn your head and look back at your husband who's still sound asleep behind you. "Gods give me strength."
You decide to asses how exactly you're trapped before attempting to escape. You find that theres two arms over top of you, one at your hip and the other on your midsection, both with an iron grip. Another arm is underneath your side relatively out of the way. The final arm is below your head providing a sturdy but comfortable pillow. Now that you know where all his arms are you begin trying to break free.
Gently, you lift the first arm off your hip. Surprisingly, it moves with no resistance. You move on to the second arm. Again, you're met with no push back. Just as you're about to drop the arm, you're yanked backwards forcefully as he rolls to lay on his back with you on top. You let out a shriek of surprise before groaning at the realization you've been caught. "Trying to leave already, little wife?"
You lie back in your new position with your back flat against his chest. "No, I was simply repositioning your arms." You lie and he knows it. "Is that so?" He asks against your ear. "How's this for a new position?" He tightens his grasp for just a moment but long enough to squeeze the air out of you. "It's-" You pause to regain your breath. "-fine." "Then you should have no problem going back to sleep."
"I don't." You quickly reply. "Good." He matches you. "Perfect." He hears the sarcasm in your voice but doesn't comment on it. You lie there for a few minutes, long enough for you to think you feel his breathing even out again. Then, you start to slowly slip off of him. Little by little until you're beside him on your stomach. Quietly, you scoot yourself over to the edge of the bed. Soon you make it far enough to stick a leg out from the covers.
With as much carefulness as you can muster at this point you lightly place your foot on the ground. The second you do, you feel the weight of what seems like a boulder come down on your back. "Going somewhere?" His words are teasing against your back as you struggle under him. "Ryo-" You breathe in as deeply as you can. "Please." He lets up at your stuttering.
You feel majority of the weight come off but he leaves enough to keep you stuck in place. "I just want to make myself some tea! I'll come back!" You tell him after finally regaining the ability to speak in proper sentences. "Uraume can do such menial tasks, you shall remain with me." You scoff at his reply. "Do you see Uraume here? No. Even if I had them do it I would have to get out of bed to tell them. At that point I may as well do it myself!"
"Must you have an answer for everything I say?" He asks in an attempt to change the subject. "Yes." You laugh a little. "If I didn't you'd grow bored of me." This makes him laugh. "Growing bored with you would be like breathing without oxygen. Impossible." He lays his head down on your back, careful not to put too much weight on you. The two of you lay there in silence for a bit.
"Ryomen?" You call out gently. He grunts in response. "May I please go make some tea?" He lets out a deep, long breath. "I suppose. Begrudgingly, he rolls off of you. You hop out of bed but not before placing a sweet kiss to your husband's cheek. "Thank you, Ryo. I'll be back before you can begin to miss me." He watches as you leave, knowing if you're gone longer than he deems acceptable he'll drag himself out of bed to find you and bring you back to lie in his arms once more.
A/n: Took me way to long to get this out of the drafts but at least I got it out
⁕ 2.5k words ⁕ taglist open!! ⁕ banner by mangmango.art on instagram ⁕ dividers by @saradika-graphics ⁕
There’s something so odd about change. It springs up on you at the last moment and grabs you before you have a chance to react. No matter how long you live, you still can’t get used to it.
You tap the arm rest of your Dad’s sedan, squished against a pile of two boxes and a duffle bag in the backseat as your parents chat in the front. Scenery whizzes by as city skyline comes into view. The rest of your luggage is already at your new home, mostly unpacked after last weekend when you and your mom spent the day sorting boxes. It should only be a little longer now till you arrive.
It’s been an interesting last few months. You graduated college spring of last year and spent a few months resting afterwards. During the fall after college your dad got a job offer and from then it’s been figuring out where you’d live, when the move would be, and packing up your childhood home. It was bittersweet, but you weren’t unhappy with it. This would be good for you–there would be more jobs available to you, new experiences to be had, and so many things to learn. And change, lots and lots of change.
The car sputters as your dad makes a turn, stalling as it creaks around the bend. “Shit.” He presses the accelerator, just managing to make the turn and keep driving onwards. You frown, a tad uneasy at the idea the car might give out at any moment. Your dad had a habit of saying issues with his car were much smaller than reality and only taking it to the shop when it gave out on him. You’ve always been of the mindset that life would be easier if he took preventative measures, but you and your dad have very different levels of life experience and very different opinions on car upkeep.
Despite the consistent stalling and sputtering, you manage to make it to the apartment building and safely park in the lot behind it. As you slowly open the car door, careful not to let the luggage inside topple down on you, you listen to your parents’ conversation.
“No—I’m saying I want you to find a shop and take the car in…today. We just arrived and I refuse to start on a bad foot!” Your mother’s voice is stern as she rummages through her purse, making sure everything is inside before slamming her car door closed.
You stretch outside the car, turning in a slow circle and taking in the parking lot, one you’ll be getting very familiar with in the near future.
“Alright–fine. We’ll take the car in.” Your father, exasperated, calls your name as he shoves his car door open. “Find an autoshop somewhere, please. Your mother wants us to drop off the car so you’ll take her car and I’ll take mine then drive us back.”
You pull your phone from your pocket, “‘kay.” A quick google search tells you there’s a few scattered around the city. You click on a location that looks promising and check the reviews. They’re positive and praise the service for being “thorough and reliable”, among other compliments. It’s enough to convince you you should try this location, rather than the others which are much longer of a drive for the poor, dying car.
“Uhh, here, there’s one fifteen minutes away. Reviews are good so we can try that.” His phone buzzes after you send the address to him. The duffle bag you’re pulling from the car sags on your shoulder while you grab a box as well. “Let’s just unpack this stuff first.”
Your mom takes the second box out of the back and your dad pulls the last of the luggage from the trunk. The building shades the parking lot, so it’s not as hot as the main street where the sun beats down with abandon.Your shirt clings to your back with sweat, the uncomfortable drips only getting worse when the cool AC of the apartment building hits your back. The elevator ride is quiet, the three of you going silent as you become lost in thought.
Your thoughts drift to your old home, it’s not hard to miss your suburban house when you’re currently carrying a box into an apartment in the middle of a bustling city you don’t really know. It’s not like you’re unhappy to be here, or hate the city, it’s just so…odd. The change hasn’t hit yet, but it’s starting to with every ding of the elevator.
You think to your few siblings and college friends who all seem to have their lives figured out, while you’re still living with your parents and basically jobless since none of the places you applied to have even responded. It’s disheartening, to say the least, but you’re trying to be optimistic. This will be good for you, maybe change is what will set the ball in motion and start you rolling to where you need to go.
—
The car hums down the road as you follow your map’s guidance to the shop, Itadori Auto Repair was the name. You didn’t really put much research into the actual place other than checking the reviews. For all you know it could be run by a bunch of psychos, something you doubt, but something that is always possible.
A few cars’ length in front of you is your dad, puttering along in his poor, overworked sedan. You can hear it screech as it makes the turn into the repair shop’s parking lot. Your car slows as you follow him in and pull into a parking space on the right. You exit the car and approach him as he pulls to the front. He’d called ahead at the place, but insisted on also seeing the shop in person beforehand and meeting the employees, much to your dismay. So here you are, standing awkwardly in the parking lot, practically melting from sweat, looking like you’ve been in a car for seven hours–which you had been since you’d literally just been on a road trip.
You grimace as he hops out of the driver’s side, confidently walking to the front of the shop and opening the door to a small reception desk with a door off to the side leading into the garage. A person with a white bob sits up and turns to you, revealing a halo of red hair along the back of their head, almost like a koi fish. Probably the last kind of person you’d expect to be sitting at a desk at an auto repair shop.
Your dad approaches, mentioning he’s the caller from before and asking if he could meet a mechanic to talk about the car before leaving it here.
They blink at him, nodding slowly before standing up from their seat, “I can take you to see Choso, the boss isn’t in right now.”
Your dad follows them out the door, motioning for you to come along too. “How long have you guys been in business here?”
The door squeaks as they hold it open for the two of you, waiting for you to enter the garage before leading you a bit further into the shop. “The original owner, Wasuke Itadori, started it with his dad around 50 years ago, but his son took it over 6 years ago. Choso is one of Wasuke’s grandsons.”
“Gotcha.” Your dad is looking around the shop as he follows, “Who are you? One of the grandkids?”
“No, I work here part time when they need someone at the desk.”
The conversation fades as they approach a man in a baggy black T-shirt with spiky twin space buns standing over an elevated tool box. He turns when he hears footsteps and nods at the white haired receptionist, “Hey Uraume.”
Uraume gestures to your father, “Sir, this is Choso. Choso, he’s new to the city and wanted to talk to a mechanic before repairs.”
Choso approaches your dad, shaking his hand and introducing himself before your dad launches into a series of questions. At this point you’ve tuned it out and begun dissociating. It quickly turns into fascination, however, as you watch the other mechanics mill about deeper in the shop. There’s another man with a bun, this one neater and not a space bun, talking animatedly with a blonde man who just yelled something about…boxing, maybe? They’re both yelling actually; you notice Choso looks very exasperated as he leads your dad a bit closer to the entrance of the garage where it’s less noisy.
You follow them, walking much slower so you have time to examine the different posters hanging from the wall. If you’re not mistaken, that's either a Kpop or Jpop idol right there, and someone has a framed photo of what looks to be a steak dinner. There’s also music posters, lots of those. You recognize a lot of the albums, including a weathered Alice in Chains poster that looks like it’s been glued to the wall. Somewhere in the back of the shop someone is playing what sounds a lot like Jpop. You wonder if it’s the guy with a bun or the blonde one with the piercings and patchy mustache–
“Who the fuck is working on the CR-V and left all this shit on the ground?” Someone bellows from the front of the shop, loud enough you jump a few inches in surprise.
Your head whips towards the entrance of the garage and you see an enormous man with thick bands of black tattoos adorning his arms, salmon pink hair, and the most beautifully chiseled face lined with sharp, black tattoos that’s twisted into a deep scowl…who seems to have just noticed you.
You raise your hands, feigning innocence, “Wasn’t me.”
He looks at you with deep red eyes, dumbfounded. “Uh-huh…Is that your car in the front?”
“No, it’s my dad’s.” You actually want to be run over right now–literally any of the cars in this shop will do. Anything to hit you hard enough you get amnesia and forget you ever made that joke.
His expression is completely unreadable, but with the way his eyes are boring holes into you you’re gathering he probably hates you and wants you thrown from the shop immediately.
“Is he the guy that called in earlier?”
You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah, about a half hour ago.” Your eyes flit down for a moment and catch sight of a Jar of Flies tattoo on his left forearm. He must have been the one to glue that poster up.
He clicks his tongue, shifting his weight to his right leg and crossing his arms as he examines the car parked outside the garage’s entrance. Somewhere behind him, the man with a bun is laughing as he starts neatening up around the CR-V.
You find yourself staring at the pink-haired man, embarrassed at how attractive you find him. With a barely concealed gasp, you remember how terrible you look right now. Your clothes must be so rumpled, and you took a nap in the car so there’s no way your eyeliner isn’t smudged right now. Shit. This is perhaps the hottest man you’ve ever seen and of course you look like a sewer rat. Your nose is scrunched as you pinch the bridge of it, promising you’ll never go to a new place after a car ride again without changing into a nicer shirt first.
Heavy footsteps approach you and you almost jump again, whipping your hand downwards and clenching it at your side. You look up slowly and see the man standing a few paces closer now. You make eye contact again and he extends a hand.
“Sukuna Ryomen. I own the shop.”
With a silent curse to your abhorrently sweaty hand, you take his in yours and shake it. “Nice to meet you.” For some reason you introduce yourself too, but you trip over your name and end up pulling your hand away because you realize you’ve been gripping his with the kind of tightness one would usually exert when rock climbing rope or something like that. You don’t rock climb often so you wouldn’t really know.
You grit your teeth, refusing to seem like a bumbling idiot. “I like your tattoo. The jar of flies.”
Sukuna looks down at his arm, his scowl lightening just a bit. “Thanks.” He’s looking at you with this gaze you have no idea how to interpret, his voice didn’t sound angry though, maybe it’s RBF.
You realize you might be scowling at him too and offer a small smile, “That’s always been my favorite of their albums.”
He crosses his arms, tapping on his bicep. The silence goes for so long you think he won’t reply, but he does after a pert nod.
“Facelift for me. My brother liked Jar of Flies.”
“Oh! Cool. That one is really good too!” You respond earnestly, happy to have found a common ground.
Silence falls between the two of you again and you’re not sure if you should try and continue or if he stayed silent because he hates you and wants you thrown from his shop. You really want to get run over by that car now…
“Oh! There you are.” Your dad’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you blink, breaking eye contact. “The car is all set so we can go.”
“Uhh…yeah!” You quickly reply, spinning to face your dad.
He approaches you and catches sight of Sukuna. For a moment you see a look of disdain, probably in reaction to the tattoos, but he masks it quickly.
Sukuna t urns, the motion languid despite his impressive stature. He pulls his hand from his pocket and shakes your dad’s firmly, introducing himself again.
It’s not like you’re incapable of being normal, but something about this guy has you staring again as he moves, just narrowly darting your eyes away when you realize he’s glancing towards you. It’s probably because he’s hot, and jacked, and huge, and currently talking with your father about exhaust pipes so you should really steer your thoughts somewhere else. The weather. Yeah. Wait no, fuck the weather, it’s too hot and it’s only May. Fuck the weather, fuck the car, and fuck that guy. NO!!
“Alright, thanks for the help. Take care of yourself.” Your dad is shaking his hand again, pulling you from your very dangerous thought process.
You nod at Sukuna, “Thanks! Have a good day.” You’re uncomfortably close to stumbling over a word, but you manage to avoid that and walk–without tripping–back to the car. As you’re climbing into the passenger seat you glance back at the garage and watch as he recedes further inside the garage and just out of sight.
Even so, the little interaction you had has your stomach somersaulting and a thousand “what-if’s” beginning, as if you didn’t just meet the guy today. Doesn’t matter, though, you miss every shot you don’t take, right? Besides, you’ve already made up your mind–you’ll be coming back here in two days to pick up the car.
sukuna is unexpectedly affectionate in private (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
it’s quiet except for the low tapping of rain against the window and the occasional rustle of blankets every time sukuna shifts against you.
which is quite often.
for someone who acts like affection is beneath him, he’s currently half sprawled across your chest like an oversized cat, one arm heavy around your waist.
you look down at him for a second, making sure his eyes are still closed, before reaching for your phone as carefully as possible.
“mhmm, keep scratching riiight there,” he mutters lazily.
you bite back a grin. “hmm, you like that?”
his grip tightens, pulling you closer until your legs tangle together beneath the blankets. one of his hands lazily traces shapes against your hip.
he’s completely relaxed— nobody would ever believe this version of him exists.
which is exactly why you start recording.
the phone captures the way his face softens, the way he leans into your touch, and the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth when you scratch lightly at the right spot.
“you’re sooo spoiled,” you whisper.
“tch, by who?”
“me, duh.”
he hums thoughtfully. “suppose you’re useful for something.”
“wow. you’re sooo romantic.”
“you know how i feel about you, woman,” he mutters. “don’t make me say it.”
you just grin down at your phone screen.
especially when he shifts upward just enough to press his face against your chest dramatically after you stop petting his hair for two seconds.
“jeez,” you whisper. “clingy much?”
“careful.”
“hm? or what?”
“i’ll remind you who’s in charge.”
despite the threat, his voice is rough with sleep, quieter than usual. affectionate in that awful sukuna way where every sweet thing sounds vaguely dangerous.
you’re still smiling at the screen when his gaze suddenly flickers upward, and straight to your phone.
you watch the realization hit him in real time.
“…are you filming me?” his expression twists into horror first, before hardening into his usual glare as he jerks upright.
“delete it.”
“no.”
“delete it now.”
“you were being cute.”
his eyes widen a fraction. “give me the phone.”
you scramble backward across the bed before he can grab you, laughing when he lunges and misses by inches.
“nuh-uh!”
“you insignificant—”
“maybe.. i’ll show uraume.”
dead silence, and the look on his face is murderous.
“you wouldn’t dare.”
your grin turns evil. “oh, i would.”
he’s off the bed instantly, and so are you.
you shriek laughing as you sprint out of the bedroom, nearly tripping over your own feet while sukuna storms after you.
“get back here, now!”
“uraume deserves to know you’re secretly pathetic—”
“i’ll burn that device if i have to.”
“you were totally acting all soft!”
“THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED.”
you’re wheezing by the time you dart down the hallway, clutching your phone to your chest while he gains on you with terrifying speed, then suddenly strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you yelp as he lifts you clean off the ground.
“caught you.”
“i’m sorry— no, no, no!”
he pries your phone from your hands with annoyance while you laugh uncontrollably.
he glares down at the screen, pulls up the video, and watches exactly three seconds of himself melting into your touch.
“…this shall never be seen by anyone else.”
you grin. “but you looked adorable!”
“say another word and i’m never cuddling you again.”
⁕ 2.5k words ⁕ taglist open!! ⁕ banner by mangmango.art on instagram ⁕ dividers by @saradika-graphics ⁕ masterlist ⁕
There’s something so odd about change. It springs up on you at the last moment and grabs you before you have a chance to react. No matter how long you live, you still can’t get used to it.
You tap the arm rest of your Dad’s sedan, squished against a pile of two boxes and a duffle bag in the backseat as your parents chat in the front. Scenery whizzes by as city skyline comes into view. The rest of your luggage is already at your new home, mostly unpacked after last weekend when you and your mom spent the day sorting boxes. It should only be a little longer now till you arrive.
It’s been an interesting last few months. You graduated college spring of last year and spent a few months resting afterwards. During the fall after college your dad got a job offer and from then it’s been figuring out where you’d live, when the move would be, and packing up your childhood home. It was bittersweet, but you weren’t unhappy with it. This would be good for you–there would be more jobs available to you, new experiences to be had, and so many things to learn. And change, lots and lots of change.
The car sputters as your dad makes a turn, stalling as it creaks around the bend. “Shit.” He presses the accelerator, just managing to make the turn and keep driving onwards. You frown, a tad uneasy at the idea the car might give out at any moment. Your dad had a habit of saying issues with his car were much smaller than reality and only taking it to the shop when it gave out on him. You’ve always been of the mindset that life would be easier if he took preventative measures, but you and your dad have very different levels of life experience and very different opinions on car upkeep.
Despite the consistent stalling and sputtering, you manage to make it to the apartment building and safely park in the lot behind it. As you slowly open the car door, careful not to let the luggage inside topple down on you, you listen to your parents’ conversation.
“No—I’m saying I want you to find a shop and take the car in…today. We just arrived and I refuse to start on a bad foot!” Your mother’s voice is stern as she rummages through her purse, making sure everything is inside before slamming her car door closed.
You stretch outside the car, turning in a slow circle and taking in the parking lot, one you’ll be getting very familiar with in the near future.
“Alright–fine. We’ll take the car in.” Your father, exasperated, calls your name as he shoves his car door open. “Find an autoshop somewhere, please. Your mother wants us to drop off the car so you’ll take her car and I’ll take mine then drive us back.”
You pull your phone from your pocket, “‘kay.” A quick google search tells you there’s a few scattered around the city. You click on a location that looks promising and check the reviews. They’re positive and praise the service for being “thorough and reliable”, among other compliments. It’s enough to convince you you should try this location, rather than the others which are much longer of a drive for the poor, dying car.
“Uhh, here, there’s one fifteen minutes away. Reviews are good so we can try that.” His phone buzzes after you send the address to him. The duffle bag you’re pulling from the car sags on your shoulder while you grab a box as well. “Let’s just unpack this stuff first.”
Your mom takes the second box out of the back and your dad pulls the last of the luggage from the trunk. The building shades the parking lot, so it’s not as hot as the main street where the sun beats down with abandon.Your shirt clings to your back with sweat, the uncomfortable drips only getting worse when the cool AC of the apartment building hits your back. The elevator ride is quiet, the three of you going silent as you become lost in thought.
Your thoughts drift to your old home, it’s not hard to miss your suburban house when you’re currently carrying a box into an apartment in the middle of a bustling city you don’t really know. It’s not like you’re unhappy to be here, or hate the city, it’s just so…odd. The change hasn’t hit yet, but it’s starting to with every ding of the elevator.
You think to your few siblings and college friends who all seem to have their lives figured out, while you’re still living with your parents and basically jobless since none of the places you applied to have even responded. It’s disheartening, to say the least, but you’re trying to be optimistic. This will be good for you, maybe change is what will set the ball in motion and start you rolling to where you need to go.
—
The car hums down the road as you follow your map’s guidance to the shop, Itadori Auto Repair was the name. You didn’t really put much research into the actual place other than checking the reviews. For all you know it could be run by a bunch of psychos, something you doubt, but something that is always possible.
A few cars’ length in front of you is your dad, puttering along in his poor, overworked sedan. You can hear it screech as it makes the turn into the repair shop’s parking lot. Your car slows as you follow him in and pull into a parking space on the right. You exit the car and approach him as he pulls to the front. He’d called ahead at the place, but insisted on also seeing the shop in person beforehand and meeting the employees, much to your dismay. So here you are, standing awkwardly in the parking lot, practically melting from sweat, looking like you’ve been in a car for seven hours–which you had been since you’d literally just been on a road trip.
You grimace as he hops out of the driver’s side, confidently walking to the front of the shop and opening the door to a small reception desk with a door off to the side leading into the garage. A person with a white bob sits up and turns to you, revealing a halo of red hair along the back of their head, almost like a koi fish. Probably the last kind of person you’d expect to be sitting at a desk at an auto repair shop.
Your dad approaches, mentioning he’s the caller from before and asking if he could meet a mechanic to talk about the car before leaving it here.
They blink at him, nodding slowly before standing up from their seat, “I can take you to see Choso, the boss isn’t in right now.”
Your dad follows them out the door, motioning for you to come along too. “How long have you guys been in business here?”
The door squeaks as they hold it open for the two of you, waiting for you to enter the garage before leading you a bit further into the shop. “The original owner, Wasuke Itadori, started it with his dad around 50 years ago, but his son took it over 6 years ago. Choso is one of Wasuke’s grandsons.”
“Gotcha.” Your dad is looking around the shop as he follows, “Who are you? One of the grandkids?”
“No, I work here part time when they need someone at the desk.”
The conversation fades as they approach a man in a baggy black T-shirt with spiky twin space buns standing over an elevated tool box. He turns when he hears footsteps and nods at the white haired receptionist, “Hey Uraume.”
Uraume gestures to your father, “Sir, this is Choso. Choso, he’s new to the city and wanted to talk to a mechanic before repairs.”
Choso approaches your dad, shaking his hand and introducing himself before your dad launches into a series of questions. At this point you’ve tuned it out and begun dissociating. It quickly turns into fascination, however, as you watch the other mechanics mill about deeper in the shop. There’s another man with a bun, this one neater and not a space bun, talking animatedly with a blonde man who just yelled something about…boxing, maybe? They’re both yelling actually; you notice Choso looks very exasperated as he leads your dad a bit closer to the entrance of the garage where it’s less noisy.
You follow them, walking much slower so you have time to examine the different posters hanging from the wall. If you’re not mistaken, that's either a Kpop or Jpop idol right there, and someone has a framed photo of what looks to be a steak dinner. There’s also music posters, lots of those. You recognize a lot of the albums, including a weathered Alice in Chains poster that looks like it’s been glued to the wall. Somewhere in the back of the shop someone is playing what sounds a lot like Jpop. You wonder if it’s the guy with a bun or the blonde one with the piercings and patchy mustache–
“Who the fuck is working on the CR-V and left all this shit on the ground?” Someone bellows from the front of the shop, loud enough you jump a few inches in surprise.
Your head whips towards the entrance of the garage and you see an enormous man with thick bands of black tattoos adorning his arms, salmon pink hair, and the most beautifully chiseled face lined with sharp, black tattoos that’s twisted into a deep scowl…who seems to have just noticed you.
You raise your hands, feigning innocence, “Wasn’t me.”
He looks at you with deep red eyes, dumbfounded. “Uh-huh…Is that your car in the front?”
“No, it’s my dad’s.” You actually want to be run over right now–literally any of the cars in this shop will do. Anything to hit you hard enough you get amnesia and forget you ever made that joke.
His expression is completely unreadable, but with the way his eyes are boring holes into you you’re gathering he probably hates you and wants you thrown from the shop immediately.
“Is he the guy that called in earlier?”
You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah, about a half hour ago.” Your eyes flit down for a moment and catch sight of a Jar of Flies tattoo on his left forearm. He must have been the one to glue that poster up.
He clicks his tongue, shifting his weight to his right leg and crossing his arms as he examines the car parked outside the garage’s entrance. Somewhere behind him, the man with a bun is laughing as he starts neatening up around the CR-V.
You find yourself staring at the pink-haired man, embarrassed at how attractive you find him. With a barely concealed gasp, you remember how terrible you look right now. Your clothes must be so rumpled, and you took a nap in the car so there’s no way your eyeliner isn’t smudged right now. Shit. This is perhaps the hottest man you’ve ever seen and of course you look like a sewer rat. Your nose is scrunched as you pinch the bridge of it, promising you’ll never go to a new place after a car ride again without changing into a nicer shirt first.
Heavy footsteps approach you and you almost jump again, whipping your hand downwards and clenching it at your side. You look up slowly and see the man standing a few paces closer now. You make eye contact again and he extends a hand.
“Sukuna Ryomen. I own the shop.”
With a silent curse to your abhorrently sweaty hand, you take his in yours and shake it. “Nice to meet you.” For some reason you introduce yourself too, but you trip over your name and end up pulling your hand away because you realize you’ve been gripping his with the kind of tightness one would usually exert when rock climbing rope or something like that. You don’t rock climb often so you wouldn’t really know.
You grit your teeth, refusing to seem like a bumbling idiot. “I like your tattoo. The jar of flies.”
Sukuna looks down at his arm, his scowl lightening just a bit. “Thanks.” He’s looking at you with this gaze you have no idea how to interpret, his voice didn’t sound angry though, maybe it’s RBF.
You realize you might be scowling at him too and offer a small smile, “That’s always been my favorite of their albums.”
He crosses his arms, tapping on his bicep. The silence goes for so long you think he won’t reply, but he does after a pert nod.
“Facelift for me. My brother liked Jar of Flies.”
“Oh! Cool. That one is really good too!” You respond earnestly, happy to have found a common ground.
Silence falls between the two of you again and you’re not sure if you should try and continue or if he stayed silent because he hates you and wants you thrown from his shop. You really want to get run over by that car now…
“Oh! There you are.” Your dad’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you blink, breaking eye contact. “The car is all set so we can go.”
“Uhh…yeah!” You quickly reply, spinning to face your dad.
He approaches you and catches sight of Sukuna. For a moment you see a look of disdain, probably in reaction to the tattoos, but he masks it quickly.
Sukuna t urns, the motion languid despite his impressive stature. He pulls his hand from his pocket and shakes your dad’s firmly, introducing himself again.
It’s not like you’re incapable of being normal, but something about this guy has you staring again as he moves, just narrowly darting your eyes away when you realize he’s glancing towards you. It’s probably because he’s hot, and jacked, and huge, and currently talking with your father about exhaust pipes so you should really steer your thoughts somewhere else. The weather. Yeah. Wait no, fuck the weather, it’s too hot and it’s only May. Fuck the weather, fuck the car, and fuck that guy. NO!!
“Alright, thanks for the help. Take care of yourself.” Your dad is shaking his hand again, pulling you from your very dangerous thought process.
You nod at Sukuna, “Thanks! Have a good day.” You’re uncomfortably close to stumbling over a word, but you manage to avoid that and walk–without tripping–back to the car. As you’re climbing into the passenger seat you glance back at the garage and watch as he recedes further inside the garage and just out of sight.
Even so, the little interaction you had has your stomach somersaulting and a thousand “what-if’s” beginning, as if you didn’t just meet the guy today. Doesn’t matter, though, you miss every shot you don’t take, right? Besides, you’ve already made up your mind–you’ll be coming back here in two days to pick up the car.
Tags: ⁕ WIP ⁕ Modern AU ⁕ Mechanic Sukuna ⁕ Fluff ⁕ Slight Angst ⁕
Synopsis: After moving to a new city and experiencing car trouble, you visit Itadori's Auto Repair in hopes of fixing your car, only to run into the callous owner of the shop.
Crossposted on Ao3 -- Artwork & banner by mangmango.art on Instagram -- dividers by @saradika-graphics
Chapter List:
Chapter 1: Change is a Jar of Flies
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
TBA...
TAGLIST OPEN!!
Author's Note:
I wrote this AU with a more American city in mind, rather than setting the story in Japan, where Jujutsu Kaisen is set. Additionally, Sukuna's tattoos are a bit modified since his original tattoos are actually punishments criminals would receive during the Heian era.
Of course, this is a fanfic and you, as the reader, can interpret/read it however you would like! If you'd rather imagine him with his original tattoos, that's completely fine!
As a last note, I did my best to keep a lot of the reader's storyline generalized, but it's a bit difficult to write a reader with no information so I've given her some backstory/hobbies/etc.!
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ ✿ GOOD @ GOODBYES ! ㅅ `͈ 𓏼 )ა
first kiss 𝑤. ͏͏ sukuna ac. su2kuna ಎ
⎯⎯ ✉️ awky ⨍ reader 2.2k
the only shocking thing about ryomen sukuna was that he was a surprisingly good boyfriend. like, embarrassingly good to you.
he was still the occasional dickhead, obviously. but at least he nice about it. he always went at your pace, never pushed when you got shy or overwhelmed, never made you feel stupid for needing reassurance. hell, he even showed up with a bouquet of lilies for your first “official” date with him.
and the date itself wasn’t anything extravagant either. no fancy rooftop reservation, no over the top attempt to sweep you off your feet. just a quiet little restaurant tucked between buildings, warm lighting spilling across wooden tables while soft music played somewhere overhead.
simple. intimate. perfect for you.
a secluded booth in the corner, sukuna sitting across from you with an unfairly soft look in his eyes whenever you got shy and toyed with your food.
and you were doing fairly well. right up until the date ended that is.
because now here you were, heart hammering violently against your ribs, butterflies wrecking your stomach as you hurried, nearly ran, toward your apartment door, leaving behind one very confused sukuna standing a few steps away.
which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the smoothest way to end a date with your boyfriend.
“oi.”
you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.
yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.
“. . . what?”
he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”
your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.
lip gloss.
receipt.
wires.
a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?
everything but your keys.
normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—
“you regret comin’ out with me?”
oh . . .
for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.
“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.
sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.
“you heard me.”
your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.
his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.
“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”
“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”
“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”
well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.
“well, no! i just—” what an insufferable man. “i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”
“just nervous.”
“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”
your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.
sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.
“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”
you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”
sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.
“your call.”
and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.
“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.
“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”
“platonically,” you added after a moment.
. . .
his brows lifted slowly.
“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”
“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”
“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”
“that too.”
silence.
then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.
“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”
your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”
he kept walking.
not far. just enough to be annoying.
“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”
a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”
your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”
his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”
“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.
his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.
before you could overthink, your lips meet his.
it’s quick. chaste. shy even.
his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.
he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.
you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.
your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—
“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”
you pant, “what does that even mean?”
his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.
the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.
a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”
you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.
except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.
his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.
you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.
it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.
the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.
then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.
“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.
he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”
“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.
your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.
“here.”
you pause.
and there they were.
your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.
“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”
he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”
you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”
his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”
you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.
“…thanks,” you mutter.
“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”
and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.
you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .
“you alright?”
“yes.”
“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”
“i know!” you shoot back immediately.
the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.
“ okay . . . ” you hummed.
“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.
but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.
a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.
despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.
you liked it.
you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.
“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.
except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.
“fuck—”
you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”
and then, you’re gone.
the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.
outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.
The air is sharp and smells of damp earth and pine, but inside the Jeep, the atmosphere is pure, unadulterated adrenaline. Sukuna’s in a state of total, infectious joy, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he maneuvers the heavy vehicle through the rugged terrain.
Whenever a tire catches air or a spray of gravel hits the undercarriage, he erupts in loud laughter, and it’s a cheerful, hearty, boisterous sound you absolutely adore.
"Hold on, brat!" he shouts with a feral, wide-eyed grin plastered across his face.
He guns it toward a stretch of lowland that looks more like a soup of dark, sludge-like mud rather than a proper trail. For a few glorious seconds, the Jeep surges forward, its tires spinning and throwing massive plumes of dirt and sludge into the air. Then, with a squelching sound, its momentum dies. The engine roars, tires turn with a whine, but the Jeep keeps sinking until the mud reaches the doors.
Sukuna kills the engine, but he doesn't look annoyed. He’s just been handed a challenge he’s been waiting for all day.
"Stuck," he grunts, though he sounds almost pleased.
He hops out of the driver’s seat, his legs sinking knee-deep into the muck with a wet shuck. You watch from the dry, elevated safety of the passenger side as he trudges toward the front bumper. He’s already covered in filth, his tee clinging to his broad shoulders as he wrestles with the winch cable.
It’s a struggle. The winch is stubborn, the cable slick with mud, and despite the cool breeze, Sukuna sweats. He’s swearing loudly with every heave. His muscles strain as he pulls the heavy line toward a nearby oak tree, a streak of black grease across his cheek, looking wild and undeniably strong.
He pauses for a second to catch his breath, wiping a hand across his forehead and only leaving more mud behind. That’s when he catches you staring at him through the open window with unshielded adoration, resting your chin on your hand.
The thing is—he knows exactly how good he looks right now and that you’re impressed. So he stops his work, standing upright in the muck, and calls out with a smug, pleased smirk, “I know, I know—it’s the best I’ve looked all week. Take a picture. It'll last longer. But try to keep your tongue in your mouth while I’m working, brat.”
You huff out a laugh and lean out further, batting your eyelashes with exaggerated enthusiasm, flashing him a sickly sweet, condescending grin.
“Oh, Kuna,” you coo, your voice syrupy-sweet. Two can play this game. “You’re just so big and strong, aren’t you? Look at you, all muddy and manly, fixing the big, scary truck all by yourself. Such a good boy.”
The smirk vanishes from Sukuna’s face, and he stops abruptly, his hands frozen on the winch cable. He stares at you with a look that’s half a genuine laugh, half a vow to abandon you in the wilderness forever. The smugness is instantly replaced by a deep grumpiness.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ leave you in this swamp,” he growls, his voice dropping to what he thinks is a dangerous, dark rumble, but to you it’s just another Tuesday. “I swear to fucking god, I’m never doing anything manly in front of your ungrateful ass again. Fix your own goddamn struts next time.”
“Don’t pout, baby. Do you want a treat?” you tease, laughing at the pure indignation radiating from him as his ears turn bright red with embarrassment. “Is that what this is about? Come on, who’s my favorite boy?”
Sukuna’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t snap back immediately. Instead, his eyes dart away, and he lets out a sharp, jagged exhale through his nose. He tries to look busy with the winch, but his movements have lost their usual precision as he’s fumbling with the hook.
"Stop it," he mutters, though his tone has lost its edge and is now thick and strained. "I’m not a damn dog. Don't talk to me like that."
"But you’re doing such a great job with that heavy cable!” you chirp, seeing the way his shoulders go stiff. “And just look at those big muscles! I think I might have to get you an extra large pizza tonight just for being so hardworking."
He’s having a battle with himself not to storm over and pull you out through the window. Finally, he lets out a sound somewhere between a groan and a huff of suppressed laughter, and you catch him biting his lower lip to keep from grinning. He actually leans into the task with a sudden, renewed burst of energy, as if he’s subconsciously trying to earn more of that ridiculous praise even while he pretends to hate it.
“I’m done with you.” He turns his back to you to finish hooking the winch, his ears not just red now, but a deep, burning crimson that spreads all the way down to his neck. “Go find a stick and build a hut. You’re living here now.”
You can’t help it. You kick off your shoes and hop out of the Jeep, the cold mud squelching between your toes as you splash through the pit. He hears you coming and tries to stay focused on the tree, but you’re relentless. You reach him and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his head down.
He tries to stay rigid, to keep up the act of being over it, but as you pepper his grumpy, mud-streaked face with kisses, his resolve crumbles. After finally hooking the cable, his large, muddy hands instantly find your waist, and he hoists you a little too enthusiastically for a man claiming to be annoyed.
"Get off," he grumbles, even as he pulls you tighter against his chest and buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide the smug grin he can't hold back anymore, leaving massive mud prints on your back. "You’re getting filth everywhere."
"You love it," you murmur against his cheek.
"I hate it,” he lies, his voice vibrating warmly against your skin as he squeezes you. “But whatever. Just stay still so I don’t drop you in it, you menace.”
Little sneak peak of the header I drew for my upcoming fic series! 🥰 if you’d like to see more of my art you can check out my art Instagram @/mangmango.art
Edit: The fic has now been posted! Check it out here
Finally writing the backstory to this fic!!! I'm really excited to share, it's going to be a series so definitely stick around if you like BF!Sukuna turned domesticated Dad!Sukuna LOLL
This has been a passion project of mine for over a year so I'm really excited to finally share! Should have at least chapter one out by next week with a masterlist and taglist for anyone interested <33
