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Megumi wip
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Forgot to post this a while back
Please credit me if you decide to use or repost somewhere else 💕
Not a Gold Digger, Just Traumatized
Oneshot
Pairing: Playboy! Sukuna x Reader
Synopsis: After a few years since your messy break up with Sukuna, you sit down for a popular talk show interview to finally tell your side of the story.
Genre: exes, ex relationship, bit of comedy, angst, modern setting, reader is about to stir some shit, sukuna being a piece of shit.
Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, mentions of violence, mentions of cheating.
Art Credits: @679sora
Masterlist
“This episode is presented and partnered with Cursed Energy Drinks. The only energy drink bold enough to taste cursed, just like the man we are about to start discussing today. So if you’re down for a drink, just make sure you sip responsibly. Now let’s get into today’s interview.”
“Joining me today is a very, very special guest. The one who had firsthand experience with the walking red flag himself. Depending on how this goes, we may get into some deep tea about one of our most notable playboys in the scene. Who knows, maybe we will get hit with a cease and desist. Please welcome our brave guest on today’s show.”
The interviewer motions towards you with a wide grin on their face and you could only reply with a shuffle on the small couch provided, waving awkwardly towards the camera and the crew behind it.
While the nerves are kicking you all over your body, you’re ready to expose it all.
And you mean allll of it.
With everything that man put you through—the constant cheating, the constant half-assed apologies, the constant flow of anxiety from having the paparazzi bombard your life with their loud questions and bright flashes.
You were done.
Over it.
Anyways, enough with reading the inner dialogue. Back to the interview.
The interviewer leaned towards the mic, body language filled with enthusiasm as they’re thinking about the charts they’re about to hit with this tell-all. You could tell that they were waiting their whole life for this moment.
I mean… It didn’t take much to get into contact with you. Even though you were widely known to the public, a simple dm was all it took.
’Cause, why not? You don’t have shit else to do.
After Sukuna left you high and dry, the brand deals slowly stopped coming in, and articles featuring you on a scandalous cover were almost rare to find now. Paparazzi still harassed you from time to time, but if you really wanted attention from them, it was at a point where you would have to call and hire them yourself in order for them to get a picture of you.
You were almost back to that small-town college student who had high hopes and dreams.
Almost. Because college left you years ago and you dropped out in order to be with him.
So now you’re just a small-town, regular person with a reputation attached to your name.
Anyways, seriously, back to the interview.
“So. You have no idea how excited I am to have you here today. I’ve been your biggest fan ever since you stepped onto the scene with that iconic black dress with the bombshell blowout. Seriously, that dress was to die for back then—everyone wanted to be you in that moment.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. If only they knew what happened on the ride to the event that required that black dress to be worn.
Well, they’re about to find out.
“That day was actually the day Sukuna punched his driver because he simply stepped in to deescalate a situation.”
The interviewer was taken aback for a bit. “Oh, I see that we’re getting right into it. Oh my God, so the blind item was true!? What could possibly even lead to that?”
The memory replayed in your head like it just happened yesterday.
You were staying at Sukuna’s penthouse when he brought you that black dress to wear. The same dress you’d seen on one of his ‘other’ women he was fucking around with.
When you brought it up, a huge argument began. Vases thrown, plates shattered, threats of violence against one another.
It was quite the time.
I mean, even though your relationship was far from perfect, you couldn’t leave. At least not at the moment. You had planned on gathering enough evidence to put his pockets out of commission for the rest of his life.
You didn’t tell that last part to the interviewer though.
The plan was that he was going to pay for your brand new mansion, with a black BMW parked out front. With a pool in the back, with 6 bedrooms and 4 baths, and a nice, nice walk-in closet with all designer items.
That you didn’t get.
He was going to pay for your future therapy sessions.
That you’re currently paying for.
And you were definitely going to find a better partner who would treat you a million times better.
Satoru wasn’t interested.
That was the plan. And the plan fucking failed.
Anyways, you and Sukuna basically argued your way into the car, stressing out the driver more and more with each shout thrown into the air.
“I don’t even know why you care so damn much! That dress cost over $1,000. You should be grateful I even thought about you. I could’ve left your ass wearing that cheap ass dress you picked out.” Sukuna directs at you.
You twist your face in shock that he would even say something like that, but at this point, you’re crazy to even be surprised that he did.
“You know what, fuck you! Fuck you, and fuck all those other women you keep bringing into this relationship. I’m tired of it and I’m tired of you!”
The driver looked in the rearview mirror in worry as the argument just kept escalating. They’re not even sure if you’ll be able to make it to the event in one piece without anyone intervening.
And poor driver. Oh, poor driver, bless their heart. They decided to intervene at the worst possible time.
“Um, hey. I know I shouldn’t insert myself, but please let’s try to come to a middle ground. I don’t want either of you to arrive at this event like this.”
The driver shivered, thinking about the next few words that are about to come out of their mouth. “And M-Mr. Sukuna, you shouldn’t speak to your girlfriend like that, or at least please do it in the privacy of your home.”
Both you and Sukuna freeze.
Oh no.
You could almost see the smoke blowing out of his head.
“What did you just say?” Sukuna asks in disbelief, as he begins to unbuckle his seatbelt.
The driver grips the wheel tighter, frozen in fear as they await the next moment to come. They didn’t say anything in response. Just looked forward and continued to drive.
“Hey. I just asked you a fucking question. What the hell did you just sa—” Before Sukuna could finish his sentence, anger got the best of him and he punched the driver in the face.
Your screams to stop echoed throughout the vehicle. And boy, oh boy, did the driver have a nasty black eye when he dropped you both off at the event. You couldn’t even begin your apology as Sukuna pushed you out of the vehicle with cameras and flashes awaiting the both of you.
“I really want to apologize to that driver for that day. I heard that they quit their job because of the incident. If you're watching this, I sincerely apologize,” you say as you finish recounting the memory to the interviewer.
“What a total shit show and what a total asshole. I’ve heard rumors about Sukuna, but actually hearing it from you just makes it all so real.”
You nodded at their statement. “Yeah. I mean, there’s so many so-called incidents I’ve had with that man throughout our time together. It wasn’t always like that though, the first few years were good, almost perfect even. I could literally see myself marrying him, but ya know, it just didn’t work out like I hoped.”
The interviewer’s brows shoot up, their hands held out, posing in a stopping gesture like they just heard the most shocking thing ever.
You guess to some it may be shocking. With all the rumors surrounding your past relationship, you could see why.
“Wait, hold up. Marrying him? Like actually settling down, having joint bank accounts, and maybe having some kids.”
Seriously, why is it that shocking? You wouldn’t have been with him for years if you didn’t plan on being his life partner.
Oh yeahhh, that’s right. He isn’t exactly the best apple in the bunch.
You sigh, realizing that you actually just admitted to wanting to marry him. Damn, can a person dream?
“Let’s rewind a bit. How did you even meet him and get to that point? You two were together for almost 6 years. That’s a longgg time.”
Meeting Sukuna? Eh, wasn’t that extravagant as many may possibly think. All you two did was meet at Hooters (yes, you used to work there).
Sukuna already came from an established family. The Itadoris, to be exact. Famous for their… actually you don’t even exactly know what they’re famous for, all you know is that Sukuna’s great-grandfather invented some new type of phone.
Or was it home appliances? A toaster maybe?
Whatever it is, all you know is that they made bank from it.
You know, even after all those years of being with him, you never looked into his family like that. Surprising, I know.
But that may be because he decided to keep his true identity a secret from you a few months after you two started dating.
Something about, “I want to see if you’re not a gold digger. I want to see if our love is real,” blah, blah, bullshit, blah, blah, excuses.
But you’re not going into that right now.
The interviewer is still amazed at your story despite it not being anywhere near special at all. “Okay, so you two meet at Hooters. You have to explain.”
You whistle. “Where do I even start? It was so long ago that I have to think for a bit.” You inhale slowly and begin to recite your first meeting as the memory comes back to you, “Alright, so picture this.”
It was a late night, on a weekend, and the place was packed with a rowdy crowd as the main sports game was on that day. You were so ready to clock out, already tired of the pulled smiles and rehearsed lines over and over again.
These tight-ass shorts were starting to irritate your thighs and the white shirt sticking to your chest was beginning to make you feel claustrophobic. You just wanted to get out of everything, out of the damn restaurant, out of sight, out of mind.
Talking with a bunch of married men claiming that their wives know that they're here and a bunch of college students making a ruckus like they were raised with no manners.
But then there was him.
Pink hair and tattoos following behind the hostess who just sat him in your section. It was just him, no one else was in his company that night. You were an honest person. You thought he was one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in your entire life and you could tell others thought the same too because of the way the other waitresses stared intensely as well.
And thank God for your section being deemed the chosen one of the night. Because you are about to walk up to him, greet him with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, ask him his order and…
And instantly be turned off by his answer.
“Yeah. I’ll take your number.”
You blinked.
What kind of frat boy answer was that?
He raised a brow at you, tapping his finger on the table, awaiting an answer like he already suspects that you’ll give it to him.
Maybe if he gently guided himself into asking for your number, then you probably would’ve given it to him. (Spoiler alert: Eventually you did, because how else would you keep in contact with him.)
Oh, to have a man’s ego and confidence.
Instead of answering, you deadpanned, “Um, I’m sorry, but that’s not on the menu.”
He still looked at you with a blank expression, nothing more, nothing less.
“Didn’t ask if it was.”
Is this actually happening? This can’t be happening, right?
You look to your left, then you look to your right, then look back at the man sitting at your table, in your section, in your presence. You exhaled sharply through your nose. The kind of exhale that says I’m begging God for strength right now.
“So we have wings, burgers, fries,” you said curtly, “What would you like to eat?”
He grinned. A grin that you started to hate over the years because of the way he would make the expression when he was about to be a smart ass.
“You.”
You almost walked away right then and there. But you had bills to pay and when you looked down at him earlier and saw that he was wearing a Rolex paired with the smell of the all-familiar Tom Ford cologne, that’s all you needed to know to know that you may get left with a hefty tip tonight.
“Here’s the deal. If you leave me a big tip tonight, I may just give it to you.”
You really needed the money.
He tilts his head to the side. “C’mon. With service like this, you should be grateful I’m even still asking.”
“You wouldn’t have service like this if you didn’t ask me in the first place,” you retorted. He laughed. A real, amused, deep laugh that made you hate him even more that night. And somehow, that was just the beginning.
“And that,” you say, finishing the story with a shrug, “was how we met.”
Like you said, it was nothing special. If anything, it should’ve been a blaring red flag to not get involved with him.
The interviewer is frozen. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. Microphone dangling loosely between their fingers like they forgot how to hold it.
Finally, they exhale sharply.
“I—okay. Okay, WAIT.”
They put a hand on their chest for emphasis. “That was your first conversation with him? You verbally bodied him in front of the wing specials?”
You sway your head from side to side. Not necessarily agreeing with that statement.
“I wouldn’t say that, but I tried to put him in his place. His ego was stronger though.”
The interviewer leans in, dramatically lowering their voice. “Please tell me he left you alone after that.”
You stare at them knowingly.
They gasp.
“Now you know I gave that man my number.” You shake your head with a smirk on your face.
The interviewer is absolutely delighted now.
“Oh my God, this is better than I expected. So how long did it take before you two actually got together?”
You roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair.
“Honestly? Longer than you’d think. At first, I just thought he was stringing me along, but eventually he asked me to be his girlfriend after 2 months.”
The interviewer wheezes.
“Well clearly, he picked the right girl.”
You laugh despite yourself.
“Yeah… I guess he did. At least before all the bullshit came along.”
The interviewer leans back, eyebrows furrowed, clearly enjoying the ride so far.
“Okay, I need to ask this. You survived the Hooters saga, you became his girlfriend, there was eventually trouble in paradise as he was clearly impossible to deal with… so how did it end? How did you two break up?”
Now it’s about to hit you. The final saga in this book.
Remember that article from 2 years ago of that grainy-ass picture of you and Satoru captured together leaving the gala?
You don't remember?
Well… apparently the universe thought it would be a great idea to caption it, ‘New Power Couple of the Year? Has Sukuna Been Dumped for His Competition?’
As if. You barely knew him at that time, and somehow the camera caught you walking in sync. I mean, you two are really good friends now, but during the time that photo was captured, Sukuna and Satoru were like mixing oil with water. The two just didn’t mix. They were always competing with each other, and they could barely stand being in the same room with each other (at least on Sukuna’s end).
When the article landed on Sukuna’s computer, he couldn’t do it anymore.
He felt humiliated. He felt the public laughing at him.
It wasn’t an explosive argument like you had suspected. He was cold, and that cut deep into you.
You can take a bit of arguing, but to feel as if you’re not someone to care about, or to even argue over, hurt you more than anything else. You’d spent your entire 6 years being with him. With shared secrets, shared love, and shared memories that you couldn’t just let go of. He was all you knew, he was your person.
Yeah, call it toxic, but you were used to it by this point. That’s all you knew.
A cold tone and a few words was all it took:
“We need to break up.”
The feeling of dread and anxiety was the only thing that took over your body. Did you even feel sad? Or was it the fact that you had attached yourself to this person that made your body turn into fight-or-flight mode? Whatever it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree with him.
You begged, pleaded. Pretty much you would be seen as pathetic in the eyes of many people.
But you didn’t care. You loved him despite everything.
You were eventually kicked out of his penthouse, with all of your stuff moved into storage until you could find another place to stay in.
It took months to a year to even get over it. And surprisingly, you’re still not.
They say that there are 7 stages of grief:
Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and hope.
Right now you’re between the acceptance and hope stage. Accepting that it is what it is, and you’ll never get that time back. You’ve learned and you continue to grow.
And for hope… well.
You hope you’re able to watch Sukuna suffer from public scrutiny after this interview comes out. Maybe get a little pocket change from it because he owes you for all the mental turmoil.
You didn't say that to the interviewer though.
“Wow,” the interviewer breathed, leaning back in their chair, “what a journey you had to go through. The emotional aftermath of surviving Sukuna.”
You let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“What can I say? Therapy works. Shoutout to my therapist Kenjaku by the way. He told me this would be a great way to let it all out.”
And he also helped you plan how this could all possibly go against Sukuna.
You didn’t say that to the interviewer though.
“Well,” they said, clasping their hands dramatically, “I think the world is going to have a lot to say once this interview is posted. And honestly? I don’t blame you for wanting people to finally hear your side.”
You shrug, trying to look modest instead of vindictively satisfied.
“I’m just telling my side of the story. If I’m met with negative reception, which I probably will, then it is what it is. That chapter is finally done.”
They offer you a sympathetic smile, folding their notes.
“Well,” they say, “I think it’s safe to say this has been… enlightening. And probably the closest we’ve ever come to needing legal counsel on set.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head.
“Thank you for bringing me on, really. I appreciate it. Oh, and let me know if you need a lawyer, I can always give you mine.”
You and the interviewer have one last laugh before they turn back to the camera, with a smile bright and polished.
“And that wraps up today’s episode. If you thought this interview was wild, just wait until you see what we have lined up next week. Same time, same place. Make sure you tune in, and as always…”
They lift the Cursed Energy Drink can with mock elegance.
“We’ll see you next time.”
A/N: May turn this into a series with the reader doing a tell all with various characters from different series.
Punk Sukuna?
Okay I ended up rushing through this because I realized the proportions was off halfway through the render and just gave up.
This did not turn out the way I wanted it to… but practice is practice I guess.
Please credit if use or repost somewhere else 💕
Satoru Gojo
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Gojo WIP
(A gradient/value study)
Fight club
Taiyaki
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Tomato, tomahto?
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Gojo Egg 🍳
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The Fine Print | Chapter Four
Pairing: Producer! Sukuna x Pop Star! Reader
Synopsis: Is there a God? You hope so. I mean you think so. Because one day, it felt like he tapped you on the shoulder, sprinkled a little divine chaos on your life, and said, “Good luck, kid.” If there is a God though, he definitely has a twisted sense of humor. You didn’t know who he was (Spoiler: turns out he wasn’t just “some guy”.) and somehow, without even trying, he didn’t just get your food in the door–he barged in with the whole body and suitcase. Looking back, maybe you should send him an autograph that he can sell off as a thank you gift. Because this? This is how one stranger, one bad introduction, and one mistake snowballed you into becoming a popstar. Oh, and how you almost let a man completely fuck up your entire life.
Genre: Enemies to lovers, comedy, a bit of fluff, angst, modern setting, sukuna being a piece of shit.
Currently Ongoing
Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, harrasment, sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.
Art Credits: @jessie735l
ao3
Taglist: @bearchermer @pillowprincess4him @getosshampoo
Masterlist
(Unedited)
You ended up at the spot that Kenjaku chose to meet at because why not? The spot wasn’t flashy, it was a regular cafe for the average person.
Actually you lied, the place looks like it hasn’t seen sunlight since the 70s.
It was definitely not where you pictured meeting the so called record company owning, “big shot” business man. You’re honestly surprised he even chose this spot out of every cafe in the city. Like c’mon, you’re in one of the most highly gentrified, celebrity crowded areas in the country. You know there’s at least twenty better options (within walking distance, mind you), that serve oat milk and fancy foam decorations.
But Whatever, that’s not important. What matters is this.
You’re here to meet with Kenjaku—the owner of a record label. Something you’ve been waiting on ever since you began your singing career. You’ll do whatever it takes, and if this meeting has to happen in a dingy looking cafe, then fine. You can deal with it.
“Heard the demo,” Kenjaku says, breaking the silence between you two. He swirls the drink in his hand, but doesn’t take a sip from it. “Honestly? I can’t say I disliked it.”
I mean “not disliking” is already a compliment to you, but even though he said that he didn’t dislike it, the way he phrased it made it seem like he wasn’t even the slightest bit impressed.
“Okay…” You urged on, waiting on him to say more than just that.
“There’s definitely something there and there’s no mistake when I say that you have potential. Whether it’s worth the headache of dragging it out of you is another question.”
Cool. Love that.
You feel yourself sink into a puddle of humiliation and force yourself to look down at your drink. What were you supposed to say to that?
He sees the potential, but in the same sentence he’s trying to figure out if you’re worth it. Okay… think, c’mon think. What if you cried and begged him to give you a chance? You can’t say no to a girl's tears.
He chuckles, “Don’t misunderstand. I’m just being realistic here. I’ve worked with a lot of talent during my time of owning a record label. Some make it. Some end up stuck in debt, owing me more than they’ll ever earn. Can you take a wild guess which group is the majority?”
He lifts his cup and takes a slow sip from it, smirking at you as he looks over the rim. “I’m not here to discourage you, but understand if I invest in you, I need you to triple that. That way, we’re not wasting each other’s time.”
Surprisingly, you still had nothing to say. You’ve been sitting here for the past fifteen minutes, and with the weight of the conversation, you feel small around him. Now you see why he was able to get Sukuna to work with him—he definitely knows how to control a situation.
“So tell me. Why do you want this?”
Startled by the question, your mouth opens, but nothing comes out right away.
Why do you want this?
Yes, this was your passion. Yes, you’ve been dreaming of this. Yes, you want to get out of your shitty apartment, along with your shitty job.
But was there more to it?
“What would you sacrifice to keep going? Time? Money? Your morals?” His eyes narrowed, the corner of his lips slightly lifting. “You’re a pretty girl. I’m pretty sure you could navigate yourself around the industry well.”
What the fuck? This doesn’t feel like small talk. He’s digging. Digging for what and why? you don’t know, but you have a feeling whatever answer you give, it’ll come back to bite you later.
So you make the decision to not answer any of his questions.
He’ll just have to see for himself. Because part of you doesn’t really know either.
When he leans back, he shifts the conversation with ease. “Sukuna is cruel and I’m sure you know that by now. But he’s efficient and that’s why I keep him by. Like I said earlier, only a few make it big, and instead of taking a gamble like me, he only invests in those who can keep up.”
Okay, you get it now. Blah, blah, invest. Blah, blah, sacrifices. Blah, blah, Sukuna. Can we get back to you please? What’s the next step for YOU?
You sigh, a little frustrated with how long this conversation is going without any insert from you yet.
“I don’t mean to change the subject or anything, but what does all of this mean for me? You speak as if I’m already signing a contract with you, but you haven’t specifically told me if you’re thinking about taking me under your label. Do I need to prove myself to you a bit more?”
Kenjaku was silent. Clearly thinking about his next words carefully. He lifts his cup again, voice smooth as ever. “I don’t mind signing you. In fact, your potential outweighs the negatives. But paper and ink mean nothing if the artist isn’t worth the trouble. A contract doesn’t guarantee you success and to me, it just makes you an expensive bill that I need to get rid of,”
“So the real question isn’t whether I’ll sign you. It’s whether you can convince me that you’re worth the risk. I need to know that when the pressure comes, you won’t fold.”
You looked away from him, feeling tense under his gaze. You’re unsure if you should back out of this, or take the risk and do whatever it takes to reach the spot you’d been dreaming of.
You came this far. There’s no way you can back out now.
Underneath everything, his words, every syllable that came out of his mouth dripped with warning. The contract might as well take the form of a leash. One tug, and you’re done.
You try not to squirm in your seat, but your brain won’t stop spinning. Your name could potentially be added to the list of failed artists he shrugs off like a bad investment. From a business standpoint you could see why, but these are humans who had a passion and a dream just like you.
It feels like he’s testing the waters to see how much you can handle. How much pressure you can take before you crack.
But one thing about you.
You’re that bitch.
“I get it. I’m not here for a free ride and if I can’t prove myself, then I don’t deserve to be here in the first place.”
Your voice comes out steadier than you expected, though on the inside you're screaming at yourself to not go on a tangent. “If you’re saying I need to earn it, fine. I’ll earn it. I’ll work twice as hard, three times if that’s what it takes. Just give me the chance to show you I’m not someone who you’ll later regret. I’ll be your best earning artist, and that’s a promise.”
The air between you two feels heavier. Your words are hanging there, waiting to be crushed or welcomed with acceptance
Kenjaku doesn’t react right away. He just studies you, as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle to what you just said to him.
“Confidence,” he chuckles. “We’re off to a great start.”
“I’ll give you a chance, but let me make something clear once again. If I put money into you, that debt will sit on your shoulders until it’s paid back. It’s called an advancement.”
You can’t help but feel a thrill crawling up to your chest. Sitting across from you is this weirdly suspicious business man with a stitch tattoo across his forehead (you actually think it’s kinda cool), offering a music deal with you.
With you and not anyone else.
Oh my God. You really have to thank that man at the convenience store next time you see him. Give him a big fat kiss or better yet, give the first autograph of your singing career to him so he can try to sell it on eBay someday.
You listened to Kenjaku continue on, trying your best to hide your giddiness.
“And until then, I decide the creative direction. The songs you record, the image you sell, what gets released, and what gets buried.”
And just like that, your excitement dies.
You open your mouth, but he’s already lifting a finger, silencing you.
“When you pay back your debt, that’s when you’ll earn your freedom. Until that day,” His lips curl into that stupid, sly smirk once again. You’re seriously getting tired of seeing it.
“Your career is mine to shape.”
Kenjaku lets a few moments of silence stretch, then lets out sighs as if the conversation tired him out.
A soft ding rings from his pocket, interrupting the moment. He glances down, then back at you with a composed expression. “Well,” he says, standing to grab his jacket that was hanging on the back of the seat, “I’ve got somewhere to be. It was nice talking to you.”
You instinctively stood up as well, grabbing your purse and keys that sat on the table. You’re honestly relieved that the conversation didn’t drag on any longer. You weren’t sure how much more you could handle hearing about how you weren’t in control of the creative direction of your potential career.
After a small brief, awkward goodbye, he calls for your attention again, cutting you off mid step.
“Oh, one more thing,” he adds, pausing just long enough to make your stomach drop.
What more could he possibly want?
“You’ll also be working with Sukuna for the majority of your projects. Consider yourself lucky. You don’t need him to like you. You just need him to use you.”
Use?
All you could only nod your head as you wave goodbye, but inside, your mind is racing. Use me? Really? That’s… terrifying. But somehow, you’re kind of intrigued by what he means by that.
Kenjaku’s words linger in your thoughts as you make your way to your car. You feel a weird mix of excitement and panic.
Sukuna. The same man who brings nothing but irritation every time you think of him.
Brilliant, yes. Genius, probably. Asshat, most definitely. And apparently allergic to basic human manners and decency. You just can't wait to be in the studio again with him, let alone breathe the same air as him.
You can practically hear your intuition screaming at you to stop being a dumbass and accept the fact that it’s okay to continue to work a 9-5, in a shitty apartment. But you know what.
You’ll survive.
You can fake it until you make it. Ride the wheels until it basically falls off.
By the time you slide into the driver’s seat, you’re already running multiple scenarios in your head of what your pop star life will look like, whether you’re ready for the chaos or not.
One thing is certain though.
Nothing in your life from this point forward will be ordinary again.
I know you see that break line right there.
Can you guess what you’re doing right now?
No?
Well, let me fill you in. You’ve been thrown straight into getting ready for an “industry event”, hosted by some random person who happens to be really good friends with Kenjaku. For God’s sake, you hadn’t even had a chance to sit your ass on a chair before your phone buzzed with a text,
“Industry event tonight. You’re invited. Don’t be late.”
Is this your life now? Constantly on the move, doing a million things in a single day? I mean, things were just set into motion today, but you weren’t even making real moves yet, but here you are looking at your reflection, checking to see if your appearance would make the right impression.
Your phone buzzes. It’s Shoko. You answer immediately because after telling her where you were going, you already know she’s about to lose her mind.
“Uh, what do you mean you’re heading out with Kenjaku?” She blurts out before you can even say hello.
“I didn’t say I was heading out with him. I’m just meeting up with him. He didn’t give me much information about it, just “don’t be late”.” you replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. But deep down, you did not know what to expect and that fact had you rethinking your whole decision.
On the other end, you can hear Shoko groan through the speaker. “You know what—just be careful please. Text me when you get there, text me when you leave, and don’t hesitate to call me if something feels off. I mean it.”
Your heart flutters at her words. You're grateful she cares this much, especially since you’ve had friends before who would’ve left you for dust.
“Relax, Shoko. You’re gonna worry yourself to a heart attack. Besides, I think I can wiggle myself out of trouble if it comes to that.”
Shoko lets out a heavy sigh and doesn’t say anything for a minute.
Oh no. Here it comes.
“Do you have your taser?”
“Yep.”
“Pepper Spray?”
“Yes.”
“Pocket knife?”
“Yes, Shoko…”
“And what did I tell you if some guy ever causes you trouble?”
“Stomp him in the balls until he lands in a hospital, so you can clock in, check his chart, and stomp him again.”
“Good girl.”
“Yeah yeah. You sound like my dad,” you tease, glancing out the window as you see headlights pull up to your apartment building.
You see a man step out of the vehicle waiting, dressed in a black suit and glasses.
Yep. That’s definitely your designated driver, the one Kenjaku insisted on calling for you, because apparently when you sell your soul for a contract, you also get a complimentary car service.
“Sorry Shoko, but I gotta go.” You say quickly, grabbing your purse and spraying on one last scent of your perfume.
“Dont forget to text me the second you get there.”
“I will mom.” you promise, knowing she’s going to blow up your phone regardless if you text her or not.
With that, you hang up, shoving your phone into your bag, and step outside where the driver’s already waiting. The driver greets you with a polite bow before opening the door for you.
Climbing into the back seat, you take a deep breath and remind yourself to play it cool.
It’s just an event. Nothing scary. Totally normal. Totally fine.
Or not.
The ride doesn’t take long, and before you know it you’re stepping into one of those nightclubs you’ve only ever seen on other people’s social media pages. Expensive isn’t even the word to describe what the inside looks like.
Gold lights were dripping from the wall and along a set of stairs. The walls were padded with grey like cushions that vibrated from the bass of the club. There were people all around dancing and drinking at the bar.
This sight hits you all at once. It was like walking into a room designed for bad decisions and regrets.
Through the crowd of people, Kenjaku spots you instantly, sliding through the crowd of people like he owns the place. He exchanges grins and nods with people who clearly recognize him. Meanwhile, you try to act as if you belonged but your shuffle between your heels continues to give away the awkwardness of standing in the middle of the room.
His voice shouts your name with a grin on his face.
“There you are,” Kenjaku greeted. “I’ve been telling everyone so much about you.”
Oh Godddddd. Not even ten minutes and you’re possibly the walking headline of the night.
“You have?” You replied with a nervous breath.
He tilts his head and there it was—that stupid smirk on his face. “Of course I have. Gotta have people become familiar with my new client.”
By hearing that, your brain is already creating an escape route. You’re really considering texting Shoko to come pick you up.
“But tonight,” he continued. “I invited you here to familiarize yourself with your peers. Tonight isn’t about contracts or deals, it’s about faces. I want you to meet those who run in the same circles you’ll be stepping into. Think of it as… joining one big family.”
Kenjaku comes beside you and rests his hand on your lower back. “I have some people that are excited to meet you, so if you would give me the pleasure of introducing you to them, that would be great.”
All you could do was mutter out a small agreement as he guided you through the club. Dodging others so you wouldn’t accidentally bump into them, weaving between waiters balancing trays of liquor, while you prayed you didn’t trip on your heels.
The music pounded through the walls as he led you down a corridor, away from the main floor of the club. The further you went, the more muffled it became. A few closed doors lined in the hallway, each one marked with nothing on them except a number.
You take note of your surroundings as a safety measure. The exits, the shadows underneath the doors, how many doors there were, and assuming how many may be behind them based on the sound of voices coming from them. Just in case.
Shoko’s voice echoes in your head. Taser. Pepper spray. Knife. Balls.
You both slowed when Kenjaku reached the final door that was located at the end of the hall. He glances over at you, with the corner of his mouth curling up to say,
“Ladies first.”
He pushes the door open, but doesn’t fully step in until you head in first.
The room you stepped in was dimly lit, heavy with cigarette smoke and the sweet, sweet, skunky smell of weed. Light pooled over low tables stacked with bottles of liquor that probably cost more than your rent. Chatter and laughter bounced throughout the room and you caught a glimpse of people hunched over a game of cards with tables stacked with money.
A couple of guys were arguing over a bet while another was too busy whispering into a model’s ear to even notice the game at all. Off to the side, someone had their phone out, recording snippets for their Instagram story. You also caught a girl in the middle of the room with a bodycon dress, dancing barefoot on the couch, glass in hand, shouting along to a song that played across the room.
Ugh. What a room full of egos.
Kenjaku found the small of your back again as he ushered you towards a table crowded with a group of people. As you approach, you already begin observing the people who are there.
Wait a damn minute. Tattoos? Pink hair? I know that's not who—
“Here she isss.”
And just like that. Every head at the table turned to look at you.
Including Sukuna’s.
You swallowed your nerves and straightened as Kenjaku nudged you closer to the table. A small wave of a hand with a simple, “Hey.” was enough for you.
Kenjaku pushed out a chair for you and ushered you to sit down as you still felt numerous eyes on you.
A voice breaks in, sounding whiny, but playful at the same time.
“Mahito,”
A man with grey long hair and stitch tattoos all across his body says, leaning forward to smile in your face. “I heard so much about you already. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” He winks, and you can’t tell if you should feel disgusted or creeped out. You chuckle nervously nodding at him, returning your acknowledgement.
“Choso,” another introduces himself, also with a tattoo aligned around his bored expression.
What’s up with all these damn tattoos? And on the face too?. Not judging, because they are attractive with them, but still.
A few others such as Jogo and Hanami, greet you as well, but before you can introduce yourself properly to the group, a deep, irritating, grating voice throws their two cents in.
“Cut the shit. The hell are you here for?”
Your mood instantly sours.
Oh hell no. He’s not about to humiliate you in front of all these people. Sure, you’re feeling nervous. Sure, you feel intimidated by this room full of people you don’t know, but you're prepared to hold your ground.
“Excuse me?”
Sukuna continued to taunt you. “You heard me. I’m not going to waste my time repeating myself.”
Oh.
He thinks he’s hot shit.
“Well, congratulations," you snapped, matching his energy, “you just did.”
Now that you think about it… “Since you’re so caught up with wasting time, what the hell are you even doing here? Cause it seems to me that you need to go and be useful somewhere else instead of using your precious minutes on me. Go be productive, or keep talking shit for all I care. But, either way, stop wasting my time on your ass.”
You looked down at the watch that you were wearing. “Oh, look at that. You owe me ten seconds of my time back.”
The entire table was silent.
Wait… where did the music go?
Matter of fact, the whole damn room is silent. All you could hear was a faint cough from somewhere behind you.
Sukuna just glares at you without a single word.
Everyone else in the room freezes. They are shocked to see that someone dared to argue back with Sukuna. I mean, it’s Sukuna. No one in their right mind would try to get on his bad side. Doing so is almost setting yourself up for career suicide. Not that you know that though.
Sukuna scans the room, glaring back at those with shocked faces.
“The fuck are you all staring at?”
People immediately turn back around and the noise begins to slowly fill up the room again.
Mahito laughs and whistles towards the two of you. “Wow. Do you two need to fuck or something?”
You snapped your head towards him, making a face that showed disgust. Offended, you stated, “Never. He would have to beg just to step ten feet near me.”
Sukuna leans back in his chair, and for the first time, a smirk makes an appearance on his face.
“Oh… then I’ll just stand nine feet away and see how long you last.”
You shut your mouth, cheeks burning up from embarrassment, trying to keep the not-so-nice words from leaving your mouth.
Like you would ever…
Kenjaku intervenes, raising his hand in a mock peace gesture. “Okay, okay. Let’s calm down. I brought her here to enjoy herself and get familiar with what’s to come.”
He glances at Sukuna, voice calm, but firm. “She’ll be working with you mostly anyway—”
Sukuna scoffs, cutting him off. “I’m not working with her.”
Kenjaku doesn’t look phased at his decline. “I’ll triple the offer. Whatever you need. Just mold her into something that’ll put her on the charts.”
Sukuna considers, falling silent to think on his answer, then finally gives it, “Triple.”
Kenjaku nods, leaning back with that same smirk. “Good. Now, everyone else, keep an eye on her. She’s the one to watch.”
You glance around the table, taking in the small deal that just took place. Somehow, despite the tension, you could feel yourself getting used to this.
Someone walks by, holding out a small bag. “Anyone want a hit?”
You stare at the bag like it didn’t come from this earth. Is that… coke?
Some take it, some shake their heads. Sukuna doesn’t, Kenjaku doesn’t, but Kenjaku raises an eyebrow at you.
“Want some?”
You’ve never been so quick to deny something offered to you. “No… I’m okay.”
But you did have a few drinks though.
By few, you mean A LOT.
Because now you’re drunk off your ass.
You sway slightly as the club lights blur into streaks of different shades of neon. The bass thumps in your chest, and you had no care in the world. But all good things must come to an end.
The club announces that they’re closing soon and Kenjaku’s already disappeared into the crowd to handle… whatever it is he handles, leaving you to stumble your way toward the exit.
You fumble in your purse, realizing with a sinking feeling that you forgot to ask Kenjaku if someone could drop you home. Great. Shoko must’ve been asleep by now and you didn’t want to disturb her sleep, so now your final option was to wait on an uber to pick you up.
Before you can even finalize your plan to get home, a guy walks up to you, a grin plastered across his face. “Hey. I saw you on the floor earlier. Did you need help getting home? I’ve got a car out in the front.”
Typical male behavior. You’re not dumb. You know what he wants, but this was not the time to be hooking up and flirting. You just wanted to get home.
You blink at him, taking a steady breath. “No, thank you. I don’t want that,” you slur slightly, but firmly enough to make your stance clear.
He chuckles and leans closer, ignoring your words. That’s when you feel a firm grip on your arm.
“What the fuck!? Let go of my arm!” you shout, stumbling on your heels, trying to fight off the person holding you against your will.
And they do just that.
You fall onto your hands, and push yourself up onto shaky feet, brushing at your legs. “The hell is wrong with you? I told you to let go, not—”
And before you could fully look up, hands immediately grip around your chin, forcing your face to meet with Sukuna’s. The scent of alcohol lingers on your breath, but he doesn’t flinch from it.
“You’re drunk, brat. Don’t act like I didn’t just save your ass back there.”
You slap his hand away, too tipsy, and tired to fully be irritated. “I didn’t ask you to play hero.”
“Hero? Don’t kid yourself,” he spits, “I should’ve just left you there if you’re gonna act like that.”
Your glare up at his towering height, even as your legs wobble beneath you. “Then leave me the hell alone,” you snap, your voice just loud enough for him to hear as you walk away.
You stand still for a moment, thinking for a moment of what you needed to do again.
Yeah, right… A ride home.
Pulling up the Uber app, a prickling sensation crawls up your spine. You can’t shake the feeling of someone staring at you. And you weren’t wrong, because when you turned around Sukuna was still standing there, watching you the entire time.
You raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you? It’s rude to stare y’know.”
“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone surprisingly not holding an edge.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to get an Uber home.” You snap, pointing and waving the phone at him.
Before you could react, he walks up to you and snatches the phone from your hand.
"Hey! I need—”
“I’ll take you home.”
You were instantly taken aback by his offer.
Was this the same person who continuously insulted you and said that he should've left you with that guy earlier? Whatever, just because he’s being nice by offering doesn’t mean you’ll take it.
“Like hell I will. I wouldn’t get in a car with you even if it was my last day on Earth,” you snap.
Sukuna rolls his eyes, unbothered. “Okay, then go ask the other guy for all I care,” he says, walking away like your words didn’t even register.
You freeze for a moment. You don’t know anyone else here. Ubers cost money. And… ahhh, the hell. Why not?
“Actually, I take that back,” you mumble, shuffling your feet. “If you could… I wouldn’t mind.”
Sukuna glances back at you, expression unreadable, then turns away again. “Okay.”
You stand there for a full minute, staring after him. Was that a yes or a no?
“Are you going to keep standing there and look like a dumbass?” he calls from the door, waiting.
You glare at him, face burning as you hurry towards the door.
As you walk toward him, your mind races. You can’t believe you’re actually getting a ride from him. Part of you is worried. There are evil people in this world, after all, and he’s not exactly the safest option. The other part is just… mildly irritated at yourself for even agreeing.
Just remember what Shoko said. Taser. Pepper Spray. Pocket knife. Stomp on balls.
You take a deep breath, hoping for one thing above all else.
A silent ride.
A/N: Sorry for the late update! I’ve been so busy working on other projects, but updates should be back more frequently now.
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Masterlist
Tokyo Metropolitan Cursed Cafe
Please credit me if you decide to use or repost my art anywhere. 💕
Sukuna’s Strawberry Sunday
The more I look at this, the more I’m starting to hate the rendering.
The Fine Print | Chapter Three
Pairing: Producer! Sukuna x Pop Star! Reader
Synopsis: Is there a God? You hope so. I mean, you think so. Because one day, it felt like He tapped you on the shoulder, and said, "Good luck, kid." If there is a God, though, He definitely has a twisted sense of humor. You didn't know who he was. (Spoiler: turns out he wasn't just "some guy.") Looking back, maybe I should write him an autograph just so he can sell it later as a thank you gift. Because this? This is how your complaints led to one questionable stranger, and how the worst introduction of your life turned into the first chapter of you accidentally becoming a pop star. Oh, and how you almost let a man completely fuck up your entire life.
Genre: Enemies to lovers, comedy, a bit of fluff, angst, modern setting, sukuna being a piece of shit.
Currently Ongoing
Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, Sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.
Art Credits: @jessie735l
ao3
Taglist: @bearchermer @pillowprincess4him @getosshampoo
Masterlist
If hell had a waiting room, it would look exactly like your job.
With the air constantly smelling like mildew and trauma, the lights so harsh that you look like you’ve been dead for three days, and the drink coolers hissing like they’re one slammed door away from quitting their job before you can quit yours.
Oh, and you don’t even want to get started on the men who come in, treating this place like it’s Tinder. Like, sir, you’re 40, divorced, and paying in quarters. Please relax.
A few days ago, you were in a studio—mic in front of you, voice singing into it. Singing like it actually mattered. Not pretending. Now? You’re back to ringing up orders and occasionally dusting the floors.
There’s a strange feeling to it. The contrast between those few hours in the studio, where every moment felt heavy with potential possibilities. And now you’re back to your day to day, where life has slipped back into reality, unchanged. Kenjaku hasn’t contacted you since then, and that keeps the doubt lingering in your head.
You try to tell yourself to be patient. It was just one session. You didn’t think you did too badly—you actually thought you were pretty decent. But still, that doubt is there, and it’s possible he doesn’t see the potential in you.
But your body remembers how it felt. How alive you were in that room. You didn’t want to give up just yet.
The shift hours begin to catch up to you. Hours of scanning, bagging, sweeping—and repeat. The noise around you starts to wash over as your thoughts begin to circle around Sukuna.
At first, you tell yourself not to think about him, but his whole presence just screams trouble. Not that you want to give his silence or his dismissive comments any more weight than they deserve. But ignoring something hasn’t really had a good track record with you.
You were curious. Very curious.
And very curious you were.
As you sit in the car on lunch break, phone balanced on your knee and greasy fries in one hand, you do what anyone would do. You Google him.
As predicted, most results are useless. Just photos of him on the sidelines at music events, small interviews, and articles about “mysterious producers shaping the sound of the decade.” He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Never really visible himself, but present in someone else's success. Typical producer behavior.
But then you scroll a little further down, and something catches your eye. Buried beneath all the useless information is a link that makes you pause.
“Blind Item: A Certain Hitmaker Can’t Keep His Hands Off Other People’s Fiance’s.”
You click on the link and instantly feel like you’ve struck gold. The website looks like it hasn’t been updated since 2005, but the thread is endless. On the sidebar, there are even suggestions of other blind items about different celebrities. But you aren’t here for them. No, no. You’re here for the dirt, and dirt is exactly what you found. You’re absolutely thrilled.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the tea.
The thread opens with, “The supposed love obsessed pop star cheated on her fiance with a major producer. After working on her number one hit album, insiders say they’ve been meeting up on and off, even after her engagement went public. Though some say they’d been seeing each other before then.”
And it gets wilder from there. Some “sources” claim to have seen them together at afterparties, leaving clubs together, and even meeting in hotel lobbies under fake names. One post even says that the fiance knows but keeps quiet to protect her image. Another insists the affair is out and open information, already known in the industry, but the outside public is waiting for the receipts to drop.
Now, the comment section is where it gets even better. An absolute circus, guessing who the two are, and the majority are already mentioning his name:
@anon3452: okay but hear me out… sukuna and yoruzu??? this is why i can’t trust anyone in the music industry.
@Gojosfoot: i’ve literally seen them at the same afterparty together. not saying anything… just… connect the dots.
@conspiracyqueen69: okay but imagine the album was written while all this tea was happening… that’s some next-level emotional lyrics type shit.
@musicqueensss: LMAOOO the fact that people are pretending like this is new. sukuna’s been doing this type of shady shit for YEARS. genius producer, but always been weird.
You laugh in disbelief at what you just read. Now this is entertaining. And the best part? You believe everything that the blind item said. You’ve experienced enough from him to not even question if it’s true.
By the time you lock your phone, you check the time and realize you need to head back to work soon, or your boss will throw a fit again. You sigh and shove it back into your pocket.
Well, it was fun while it lasted.
Your takeaway from everything is that Sukuna is musically a genius, but he’s definitely toxic. You want to keep him far away if he ever brings that chaos into your life. You’re done with dealing with toxic men and honestly, dealing with men on a daily basis. All they do is stroke each other's egos, think about sex, and continue to make society a hellhole.
Dealing with Sukuna could be like dealing with the devil, and you don’t know if you want that kind of chaos in your life. Who knows what it comes with? Yeah, you may never become famous and live out your dreams, but the “what if” is still there and there’s a guarantee that it comes with risks.
You see it happen over and over. Artists chewed up by the industry, consumed by scandals, drugs, alcohol, sometimes jail. Just a repeat of bad choices. You could sympathize, unless they were a shitty person, in which case… not your problem. But you don’t want that for yourself. You don’t want to lose yourself.
There could be other career opportunities out there.
Okay, let’s see…
Hm. You could go back to college and become a nurse. Plenty of positions open in that field and you’d never run out of patients. You think you’re compassionate and caring, so that works.
Or you could become a stripper. But that’s the very last option. It’s on the table, but only if you truly couldn’t make ends meet.
You should’ve listened to your parents before moving out. You think about calling them soon, already picturing your mom’s worried tone and your dad’s never-ending lectures about “go big or go home” Like, what? You’re asking how to change the tire on your car, not how to turn it into a damn Transformer.
It’s strange. Realizing that even after moving out to prove you could handle things on your own, the feeling of home will always linger in your chest. You miss their advice, their grounding, having everything figured out before you could even ask a question.
You’ve made your choices, and you’ll keep making them. But part of you wonders if you should’ve stayed a bit longer. Just to remind them you’re still the same kid they raised, even if it feels like you’re going in a million different directions.
You push open the convenience store door, the jingle announcing your arrival. Before the door swings shut behind you, it’s stopped by a familiar hand.
The man who told you about the club event in the first place appears, pushing the door open once again before settling inside.
“Ahh, there’s my favorite doll,” he says, grin crooked to the side with that same scar stretching across his lips. You roll your eyes, going back behind the register, continuing your shift as usual.
“Did you go to that thing I told you about?”
And just like the first time you met him, you tell him everything. Abou the studio, the blind item thread, Sukuna, Kenjaku’s text. Honestly, you don’t know why you’re spilling it all to him. Maybe it’s easier to toss everything at a stranger than cope with it yourself.
Anyway, who cares? You’re not exactly the headline act. He could tell someone, and it would pass in one ear and out the other.
Toji leans on the counter, thinking, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know about them,” he says finally. “In social settings? Terrible. Financially? No one’s touching them. As long as they keep filling pockets, nobody cares what trouble they get into.”
What the fuck does that mean? You know what he’s saying, he’s not speaking in riddles, but you need more explanation. You blink, unsure whether to ask or leave it at that.
He shrugs. “Whatever. Not my business. As long as they don’t mess up my money, I have no problem with them.”
Curiosity runs rampant. “Wait… what do you do for a living? You know them and seem connected, so I’m just curious.”
His finger points at you. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I only know of them. I wouldn’t connect with those two unless they’re paying me.”
“To answer your question, I manage artists,” he says simply. His gaze flickers, softer for a second. “My wife wanted to be a musician too, but she gave it up once we had our son. I made it my purpose to help other artists. To push them, do for them what I would have done for her if I could at the time.”
For the first time since meeting him, respect washes over you. It’s not just business. It’s personal, meaningful.
But as quickly as the moment appears, it quickly goes away. The man cutting the topic short, placing his can of beer on the counter. “Anyways,” he shrugs as if nothing matters. “I just came in here to buy a can of beer.”
You ring it up as he reaches and looks through his wallet, and then he freezes. He looks at you straight in the face. “Oh. I don’t have any money to pay for it.”
Um. Okay?
You blinked. “Do you have a card at least?”
“I left it at home.”
“Apple pay?” You press further.
“I don’t believe in putting bank information on corporate made devices.”
You stare. He stares. The silence is more evident than ever.
“Okay…” you say finally. “It’s on me then, I guess.”
A small grin appears on his face. “Good choice,” he says, lifting the can. As he heads for the door, he glances back and calls over his shoulder, “Thanks, doll.”
Did you just lowkey get scammed? That son of a bitch. Now you’re stuck covering his drink. What’s up with everybody being shady or rude nowadays? You’re starting to have a feeling that over time, you’re going to meet more and more unhinged people.
Well… at least it’ll help you build lore and character.
As the day continues to progress, eventually your shift comes to an end. Just as you’re about to clock out, your phone buzzed. It’s a text from Kenjaku.
"Just heard the demo. Nice job, I must say. I think I can work out a few things with you. Meet me back at the studio?"
Yes! Yes! Yes! You don't even hesitate. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, replying with a “yes” before your brain even has a chance to think. You can’t contain yourself. Jumping up and down behind the counter, squealing like a school girl.
Your phone buzzes again with another message.
"Also, don’t think too hard about Sukuna. He notices more than he lets on. We’ll talk soon."
Now that stroked your ego a little bit. Actually, it did A LOT. So… Sukuna did notice you.
You giggle, the sound completely unrestrained, and you can’t help but get excited about calling Shoko and telling her all about this.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I know this chapter was a little shorter and didn’t feature much of Sukuna just yet. I mainly wanted to focus on some worldbuilding first. Don’t worry though, we'll get a lot more of him in the next chapter.
Next Chapter ->
Masterlist
Gojo was eating that burger like his life depended on it.
Please credit me if you use my art 💕
Kikufuku
Remember when Gojo almost let Megumi die because he was too busy buying kikufuku?
Malevolent Cookies
A quick little warmup sketch. Sukuna, but make it cookies.