To whoever requested this I’m so sorry but I just can’t find your commission no matter how hard I search 🥲
You know sometimes when I read over my work and I see the huge amount of spelling mistakes I’m like ohhhh my god because kinda embarrassing that even with auto correct I can’t spell right
Anyway have a great day and enjoyyy!!!
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The last light of sunshine illumated the field ahead as the sun set for the day. The sky was now glitterd in specks of sliver with hints of pink and orange from the setting sun.
On the field, Daring Charming was saddling his dragon Legand as his princess waited patiently with an excited smile on her face. “If I had known you’d be this excited to ride a dragon I’d have offered sooner.” Rosabella chuckled as she came behind him.
“Well i guess it just never came up.” Daring hummed in agreement while buckling the last strap on the saddle. As he did, he first made sure it was secure and tight before he offered his hand in a perfectly princely manner to Rosabella.
“If I may my lady.” Rosabella giggled while taking his hand as she mounted the dragon with a bit of help from him. Before Daring mounted, he walked up front to Legend, grabbing the reigns and making the dragon look at him.
“Ok Legend we have to behave today. You have a very special princess riding on you, and I’d be damned if anything happened to her.” He peered at an oblivious Rosabella who was gazing around the the field with the wind blowing her hair.
Daring would say the sight was breathtaking but then that seemed like an understatement for what he thought. The dragon, as if hearing him huffed out and he gave Legend a small pat on the nose before heading back to the saddle.
He mounted effortlessly thanking the years of dragon riding to not embarrass him in front of his princess. “Shall we?” He turned to look at Rosabella, his breath staggering as her eyes caught a soft ray on sunlight, igniting her eyes in an amber flame.
“More than ready.” He nearly didn’t hear her as he grabbed the reigns and kicked of. Legend soared in the sky without a second thought and Rosabella gasped in surprise her arms instinctively wrapping around Darings waist as the dragon accelerated in altitude.
From behind him he heard Rosabella softly laugh as they broke through the clouds, the sound was so sweet he thought he’d have to bottle it up and listen to it whenever he wanted. “It’s… it’s so beautiful. You can see the whole of Ever After from here.”
Rosabella sighed as she leaned down and ran her hand against some clouds before coming back up, as she did their eyes met in a trance as she took a small breath before leaning forward ever so slightly. Daring was entranced with her rose red lips, plump and soft as he to started to lean forward.
But before they could meet in a kiss, Legend suddenly swooped down making Rosabella scream and her arms to wrap impossiblely tight around him while her hair blew in the wind. Daring internally cursed and pulled the dragon to a steady level as he turned to Rosabella in a panic.
“Rosa are you ok? I’m sorry I don’t know-.” She abruptly cut him of with a tight hug and a feathery kiss on the cheek, he gave her a confused look as he saw her excited expression. She was practically bouncing in her seat.
“Are you kidding! Do that again!” Daring laughed but did as told, sometimes he’d forget that Rosabella was the cousin of the dare devil Briar Beauty. But in situations such as this he was remind all over again, I mean what princess other than a Beauty would enjoy this.
He broke through the clouds again and turned to look at her one final time. “Hold on!” She shuffled closer to him and rested her chin on his shoulder while letting out a small sigh. Daring thought that his heart had never pounded so fast.
He stirred Legend in a dive and Rosabellas exhilarated screams filled the air, he smiled as she leaned on him laughing while her eyes glowed in the darkness of the moonlight. He pulled the dragon steadily again while peering behind him.
Rosabellas hair was now very messy from the wind and her dress was wrinkled but she didn’t care, the only thing on her mind was that rush she got when Legend dove and the way Darings muscular body moved against her arms.
“Thank you Daring.” She lay a soft kiss on his lips before resting her cheek back on his shoulder. Daring, although glad for the kiss, looked at her confused as he let Legend fly freely for the meantime. “What for?”
She gestured to the dark sky around them, to the clouds, and the specks of light coming from Ever After below them. “This. You didn’t have to take me dragon riding.” He wrapped his hand around her own that was still on his waist. “But I wanted to.” He then chuckled before continuing “besides what sort of prince would I be if I didn’t make your wishes come true.”
She rolled her eyes at him but still continued to hold on as Legend effortlessly glided through the sky. Everything seemed to be perfect, the silence was comforting and there were no awkward moments and Daring wished that it just stay like that. Him and Rosabella alone and undisturbed from everything else.
Rosabella thought the same as she found herself dozing of while taking in the serenity of the night, but Legend seemed to have other ideas as the dragon started to pick up speed before diving down again. This time Rosabella let her arms go from around Daring waist, instead out stretching them as the wind blew by her.
Daring in the meantime tried to find a suitable place to land as he got an idea. Once he did, he steadily brought Legend down before getting of. Rosabella looked at him confused but took his hand nonetheless as her feet hit the ground.
“Why did we get of?” She followed Daring as he came in front of Legend who immediately ignored him and went straight for Rosabella. “How would you feel about riding Legend?” She gave him a rather perplexed look.
“Wasn’t I already?” Daring chuckled and walked her towards the saddle, he grabbed the reigns and handed them to her with a confident smile. “No I meant how about you ride Legend.” Finally understanding Rosabella looked at him with uncertainty as she put the reigns down.
“I’ve never flown a dragon before.” He shrugged and wrapped his arms around her waist as he backed them up until her back hit the dragons side. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.” He gave her an encouraging nod as she bit her lip and grabbed the reigns again.
“Are you sure?” He hummed and helped her back up on the saddle before sliding behind her. Rosabella took a deep breath as she clutched the reigns tightly, sure she’d never flown a dragon before but how hard could it be?
Seeing that she was still nervous, Daring leaned forward and wrapped his hands around hers “kick your feet gently on the side and Legend will fly.” Rosabella nodded and did as told, sure enough the next second Legend was soaring high in the sky again.
“See not so hard!” She turned to him with a smile while still keeping her focus on the stirring, “I know! Maybe I should join the dragon games team.” Daring hummed while watching with content as Rosablla flew Legend nearly perfectly.
They continued like that for a while, Rosabella opting to go a bit lower so she could see the view from below better. Daring didn’t complain, he was happy with just enjoying the solitude of him and Rosabella and nothing else.
“Wow. Is that… an other dragon?” Daring perked up after having been lost in thought, he was getting way to comfortable with Rosabella practically using him as a pillow. He squinted in the darkness, suddenly even more glad they were lower to the bright lights.
Sure enough in the distance he could see a dragons form fastly approaching, he immediately grabbed the reigns from Rosabella who gave him an annoyed look for not only just suddenly doing that but now being trapped between his arms.
“What was that for?” He didn’t reply immediately as he stirred them of the left, the dragon ahead did the same and now he was getting concerned. “It might be a rogue dragon. One of those aggressive ones.”
Rosabella gave him an unconvinced look, “so close to Ever After? I don’t think so. Besides I think I see someone on its back.” She grabbed the reigns and picked up speed, true to her word Daring could now see a figure on the dragon.
But suddenly, as they were about to pass one an other a blaring blue and red light lit the dark night and the sound of sirens filled the quietness. “Shit.” Rosablla pulled Legend to a stop as the police dragon started to make a turn for them.
“Oh my grimm. What will my parents say if I get arrested for flying without a license.” Seeing her distress, Daring grabbed her chin and made her look at him and he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll do the talking.”
The officer on the much smaller dragon pulled up beside Rosablla with his hand outstretched “license.” Rosablla bit her lip while turning to look at Daring. He squeezed her hand while giving his own license to the officer.
“Don’t want yours. I want hers. She’s the one flying.” The officer turned to look back at Rosabella, taking a deep breath she put on her most perfect princess smile. “I’m sorry officer but I don’t have it right now.” She fluttered her lashes from beneath her glasses for effect.
Daring stared intently at the officer watching as he instead inspected his own license, “Daring Charming?” He hummed while pulling Rosabella closer, “why are you not the one flying?” Daring flashed the officer his signature smile “Rosabella here really wanted to practice a bit. And besides officer it’s not a crime to go dragon riding with two when one has a viable license at hand.”
The officer pursed his lips but handed Daring his license as he turned his attention back to Rosabella who put on her princess smile again. “What was your name?” She fakely giggled while playing with her hair. “Rosabella Beauty.”
The officer nodded once more, giving the pair a once over before he started to fly away. “Don’t let me see you flying again ms Beauty that’s the man’s job!” Rosabella scoffed while turning to look at Daring in disbelief. “The audacity of some men.”
Daring sighed and pulled her back into him as they started to fly ahead again. They switched so that it was him flying again once they found a suitable place to land and now they made their way back to Ever After High.
The fly back was peaceful, so peaceful that Rosabella found herself dozing of and nearly falling asleep. Daring noticed this aswell and made sure to fly as smoothly as possible, which didn’t seem to be a problem seeing as Legend seemed to be tired aswell.
He also took the time to admire Rosabella, how her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, how her soft hair danced in the wind and how her rose red lips parted ever so slightly. But he also admired her kindness and determination, her courage and strength to see beyond what was presented.
He found it truly admirable.
Rosabella stirred into a more awake state as Daring landed Legend down gently and while he dismounted and brought Legend into the stables she stretched her arms before sliding of. Daring caught her as she stumbled forward before they started to leave.
“I want to thank you again.” He gave her an exasperated look as he wrapped his arm around her waist and led them to the dorms. “Rosa I already told you I wanted to.” She nodded and shrugged as she laid her head on his shoulder.
“I know. But still I’m grateful that you did this for me.” They walked the rest of the way in peace and quiet, the moonlight shining down on them and the wind kissing their skin.
Overall Daring Charming knew one thing, he’d do anything to see that smile and exhilarated look on her face again.
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Guys don’t come at me if dragon police aren’t a in eah but I needed to get the plot moving
Anyway I hope you enjoyed expect a new Dizzie fic tomorrow or Thursday which is ironic considering who the fics couple today is
Ever After High Book PDFs (and how to access them yourself!)
I’ve finally finished collecting and converting the books! This is a masterpost, so strap in. First, the goods:
LINK HERE: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/16a4rl7u4QxGD-8T06ZTnuUnyxPr7hovA?usp=sharing
This will take you to a Google Drive folder with both Ever After High book series! They are all PDFs, meaning you can easily download them and read at your own leisure. They’re free, completely safe, and yours to share! And of course, I ask that you keep this within the fandom so I don’t get any copyright notices.
Pictures below to show you what’s available!
Order: I’m providing links that show you the correct order to read the books. They are not in order here!
Ever After High I: https://everafterhigh.fandom.com/wiki/Ever_After_High_(book_series_I)
Ever After High II: https://everafterhigh.fandom.com/wiki/Ever_After_High_(book_series_II)
ADDITIONAL BOOKS
Mattel released more books (like the pet books), but I didn’t download them because it was too much already! But I’m happy to report that you CAN access them from the same website I did. I’ll show you how to do that (and download the EPUB files if you want those).
HOW TO ACCESS THE BOOKS YOURSELF
1. Go to libgen.is
This is what you should see. Make sure that “Fiction” is selected underneath the search bar.
2. Type in “ever after high”.
All the books should come up. If you don’t see the title of the book you’re looking for, try searching the actual title or one of the authors (Shannon Hale or Suzanne Selfors).
Note: Fairy’s Got Talent and Fairy Tale Ending by Suzanne Selfors both come up under the name Ever After High. They look like this:
Make sure to read the Series name to know exactly what book you’re getting!
3. Click on the name of the book you want, under “Title”. It will take you to this page:
Now, PAY ATTENTION. Go to where it says “Download” and click on “[Libgen.rs]” ONLY. Nothing else. Do not torrent. That will get you in trouble. Do not click any other link than the one I’ve circled here. It is the only one I use, and the only one that I have personally ensured will not get you into pirating trouble or give you any viruses.
4. Click “Get”.
You will then wait until your computer has downloaded the document. It will appear as an EPUB.
MOST COMPUTERS/WEB BROWSERS CANNOT OPEN EPUBS!
So how will you be able to read it, you may ask? Stay tuned! There are 2 ways to do it.
HOW TO OPEN EPUB FILES
Easy Way
The easiest way to read your book is to turn it into a PDF first! I used this website to change all the EAH books into PDFs. It’s free, simple to use, and very safe. Link here: https://www.pdf2go.com/epub-to-pdf
The area with instructions has also been underlined. It automatically downloads for you! Just save to your computer and start reading!
Harder Way
If you truly want to read it as an e-book, here’s how to do it. These instructions only work for Chromium-based web browsers like Google Chrome or the NEW Microsoft Edge, so if you use Firefox, Opera, Safari, or something else, I’m sorry to say you’ll have to either look it up or do it the easy way.
1. Search Google for “chrome extensions”
It will take you to this site.
2. Search “epub reader” scroll down until you find this:
Exactly this one, not a different one. I haven’t tried those and I don’t know how they work.
3. Click on it and add it to Chrome.
I use the new Microsoft Edge as my browser, but it’s based on the same thing as Chrome and thus you can download any Chrome extensions. Once you do this, it will now be an extension on your computer. Accept any permissions it asks for.
4. Click on the extension in your browser.
It shows up as a gray book. You will then see a blank page with this folder on the top. Click on the folder to open your file explorer.
5. Click on the EPUB you want.
If you move your mouse down to the gray line at the bottom, this strip at the bottom will appear. You can change settings, look at the Table of Contents, change the font size, and more!
CONCLUSION
That’s it for now! Hope you enjoy this. I’m tagging users who expressed interest in reading these books: @wehiddendesires, @deerdeardarling, @baiorettoldicno, @eahshipper. Feel free to share, reblog, or just pass the link around!
College is A Scam [Bakugou x Reader College AU] Ch.10
Regret
“C’mon dude hurry up! We’re gonna be late!!!”
Bakugou groaned at the whiny tone of his electric blonde companion. With his hands shoved deep in his pockets, back slouched over like he had 20lb weights on his shoulders, it was obvious that the ash blonde was already dreading this night.
He already didn’t want to go to this party, but with the added complaints from his roommates only made him hate everything even more.
And of course it didn’t help that he only agreed to go because he knew you were going to be there.
“We’re fucking 10 minutes early dunce face we’re not gonna be late. Why the fuck are you in such a rush anyways dumbass.” Bakugou grumbled.
“Because!” Kaminari threw his hands in the air for emphasis, “We gotta get to the hot chicks first before they get snatched up!”
| thinking ab the look on sukunas face when she says “dada!” 1st !
the competition starts off as a joke. mostly.
you’re lying on the floor one afternoon, baby between you and sukuna, all squirmy limbs and drooly grins. she’s nearly one now — chubby cheeks, curls in every direction, her favorite hobby is throwing expensive things off tables and laughing like she’s done something groundbreaking. she’s also been babbling nonstop for weeks: ba ba ba, ga ga, ahh!
“any day now,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of her face. “come on, sweetheart. say mama. you know you love me more.”
sukuna snorts from the other side of her, one hand propped under his chin. “in your dreams. she’s a daddy’s girl. always has been.”
“she literally bit your finger this morning and laughed.”
“because she’s my daughter. feral and mighty.”
you roll your eyes, but your heart’s too full to argue. especially when your daughter blinks up at you both, fists curled tight, mouth opening and closing like she’s almost got it.
from that day on, the war begins.
it’s ridiculous. every spare second, one of you is whispering sweet nothings into her ears like she’s a tiny, impressionable oracle.
“mama,” you say sweetly as you rock her to sleep. “say ma-ma, baby. you can do it. ignore the big scary man.”
“dada,” sukuna whispers like it’s sacred, holding her in one arm while pouring juice with the other. “you wanna say dada, don’t you? you love your old man.”
he even cheats — you catch him once holding her favorite stuffed animal hostage until she says something even vaguely “da”-adjacent. she just smacks him in the face with it and shrieks.
score: baby 1, sukuna 0.
but then—one lazy sunday morning—everything changes.
you’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, trying to pour cereal with one hand and not burn toast with the other. your daughter is sitting in her high chair, hair wild, cheeks puffed out like a tiny chipmunk, watching sukuna pace around the room shirtless and still half-asleep.
he stops to lean against the counter, eyes still heavy-lidded, and yawns out, “hey, gremlin, what do you want? you hungry?”
and then—
“dada!”
the spoon in your hand clatters into the sink.
sukuna blinks. straightens. turns to her like she’s just summoned a divine prophecy.
“…what did you say?”
“dada!” she squeals again, tiny hands smacking the tray. “dada dada dada—!”
and sukuna — sukuna, the king of curses, the war god with enough arrogance to swallow cities — makes the most inhuman noise in the back of his throat. and you see him smile like never before.
he grabs her from the high chair, lifts her high into the air like she’s made of gold and sunlight. “say it again,” he begs, spinning her in a circle as she giggles, squeals, clutches at his face. “again, princess. say it again for dada!”
“dada!” she shrieks, absolutely thrilled with herself.
“that’s my girl,” he breathes, cradling her close and pressing his forehead to hers. “that’s my girl!!”
you’re watching from the doorway, arms crossed, heart squeezing painfully.
you should be annoyed. you should tease him, remind him how smug he’s going to be for the next forty years. but you can’t. not when he looks like that — glowing, flustered, borderline emotional. his hands are so gentle. his voice is just a whisper.
he turns and sees you watching. freezes.
“…don’t,” he says quickly, brows furrowed. “don’t make that face.”
“what face?”
“that face.”
you smile. “not my fault you’re a big softie.”
“shut up.”
“you’re blushing.”
“it’s warm in here.”
he’s still holding her like she’s the world’s most precious artifact. she’s started chewing on his shoulder now, drooling through his shirt.
“dada,” she says again, this time softer. like a secret.
and you swear you see his throat bob.
“…you win,” you admit quietly, walking over to kiss the top of her head. “but only because that was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”
“damn right i win,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles. “she knows what’s up.”
“guess we both do.”
you press a kiss to his cheek this time, and his ears go pink.
| thinking ab the look on sukunas face when she says “dada!” 1st !
the competition starts off as a joke. mostly.
you’re lying on the floor one afternoon, baby between you and sukuna, all squirmy limbs and drooly grins. she’s nearly one now — chubby cheeks, curls in every direction, her favorite hobby is throwing expensive things off tables and laughing like she’s done something groundbreaking. she’s also been babbling nonstop for weeks: ba ba ba, ga ga, ahh!
“any day now,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of her face. “come on, sweetheart. say mama. you know you love me more.”
sukuna snorts from the other side of her, one hand propped under his chin. “in your dreams. she’s a daddy’s girl. always has been.”
“she literally bit your finger this morning and laughed.”
“because she’s my daughter. feral and mighty.”
you roll your eyes, but your heart’s too full to argue. especially when your daughter blinks up at you both, fists curled tight, mouth opening and closing like she’s almost got it.
from that day on, the war begins.
it’s ridiculous. every spare second, one of you is whispering sweet nothings into her ears like she’s a tiny, impressionable oracle.
“mama,” you say sweetly as you rock her to sleep. “say ma-ma, baby. you can do it. ignore the big scary man.”
“dada,” sukuna whispers like it’s sacred, holding her in one arm while pouring juice with the other. “you wanna say dada, don’t you? you love your old man.”
he even cheats — you catch him once holding her favorite stuffed animal hostage until she says something even vaguely “da”-adjacent. she just smacks him in the face with it and shrieks.
score: baby 1, sukuna 0.
but then—one lazy sunday morning—everything changes.
you’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, trying to pour cereal with one hand and not burn toast with the other. your daughter is sitting in her high chair, hair wild, cheeks puffed out like a tiny chipmunk, watching sukuna pace around the room shirtless and still half-asleep.
he stops to lean against the counter, eyes still heavy-lidded, and yawns out, “hey, gremlin, what do you want? you hungry?”
and then—
“dada!”
the spoon in your hand clatters into the sink.
sukuna blinks. straightens. turns to her like she’s just summoned a divine prophecy.
“…what did you say?”
“dada!” she squeals again, tiny hands smacking the tray. “dada dada dada—!”
and sukuna — sukuna, the king of curses, the war god with enough arrogance to swallow cities — makes the most inhuman noise in the back of his throat. and you see him smile like never before.
he grabs her from the high chair, lifts her high into the air like she’s made of gold and sunlight. “say it again,” he begs, spinning her in a circle as she giggles, squeals, clutches at his face. “again, princess. say it again for dada!”
“dada!” she shrieks, absolutely thrilled with herself.
“that’s my girl,” he breathes, cradling her close and pressing his forehead to hers. “that’s my girl!!”
you’re watching from the doorway, arms crossed, heart squeezing painfully.
you should be annoyed. you should tease him, remind him how smug he’s going to be for the next forty years. but you can’t. not when he looks like that — glowing, flustered, borderline emotional. his hands are so gentle. his voice is just a whisper.
he turns and sees you watching. freezes.
“…don’t,” he says quickly, brows furrowed. “don’t make that face.”
“what face?”
“that face.”
you smile. “not my fault you’re a big softie.”
“shut up.”
“you’re blushing.”
“it’s warm in here.”
he’s still holding her like she’s the world’s most precious artifact. she’s started chewing on his shoulder now, drooling through his shirt.
“dada,” she says again, this time softer. like a secret.
and you swear you see his throat bob.
“…you win,” you admit quietly, walking over to kiss the top of her head. “but only because that was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”
“damn right i win,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles. “she knows what’s up.”
“guess we both do.”
you press a kiss to his cheek this time, and his ears go pink.
he’s your slutty frat-boy-best-friend and you’re his sweet, bubbly angel* who has no idea that he’s been in love with you for months. he hasn’t fucked a single soul since he realized his feelings, not one. pretending he’s fine while you curl up into his chest at parties like it means nothing is slowly driving him insane.
!!disclaimer!! best friends to lovers, soft slow-burn, mutual pining, best friends who don’t know how to talk, and a love that’s been there the whole time! angst!!!! comfort!
the rager’s already in full swing by the time you get there.
someone’s shitty bluetooth speaker is blasting throwbacks in the living room, half the frat’s gathered around a beer pong table like it’s the olympics, and the air smells like weed and overpriced tequila. classic friday night.
you don’t even bother knocking. just push open the front door, step over a passed out freshman in a toga, and make a beeline for the couch you always end up on.
and sure enough, he’s already there.
sukuna’s got one arm slung lazily across the backrest, a red solo cup balanced on his knee, and the cockiest smirk you’ve ever seen stretched across his face. his hair’s a mess, his shirt’s riding up slightly at the hem, and his rings glint every time he lifts the cup to his mouth.
you roll your eyes and collapse beside him anyway.
“took you long enough,” he says, nudging your knee with his own. “i was about to send out a search party.”
“maybe i didn’t wanna see your ugly face tonight.”
he grins. “liar.”
and you are. but you don’t tell him that.
because this is your ritual. your thing. it doesn’t matter whose party it is, which frat’s throwing it, or how many people are packed into the house, you and sukuna always end up here. same couch. same banter. same rhythm that’s been beating between the two of you since freshman year.
you lean back, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. his thigh is warm where it brushes yours, and you try not to notice it.
“how many girls have you hit on tonight?” you ask, reaching for his drink and taking a sip without asking.
he hums thoughtfully. “define hit on.”
you raise a brow. “sukuna.”
“what?” he says, mock innocence dripping from his tone. “i’m just being friendly.”
you scoff. “you’re incapable of being just friendly.”
“you wound me, princess.”
you shove his shoulder and he laughs, head tipping back, throat exposed. and for a second, just a second, your brain short-circuits.
because sukuna’s hot. like, really hot. the kind of hot that should come with a warning label. tattoos and sharp smiles and sleepy bedroom eyes. he looks like every bad decision you’ve ever avoided on purpose.
and he’s your best friend.
your completely infuriating, manwhore of a best friend.
he’s the guy who once had a threesome during finals week and then showed up to study group with glitter in his hair. the one who keeps condoms in every coat pocket and probably knows the names of every bouncer on campus. the same guy who used to text you from girls’ beds, complaining about how their playlist sucked.
and somehow, despite all of that, you adore him.
maybe because he listens when you talk too much, because he knows all your dumb fixations and lets you rant about them for hours. because no matter how many people he flirts with, he always ends up back here, next to you.
“you thinking about me?” he says suddenly, smirking when you blink at him.
“i was thinking about how many diseases you’ve probably caught from this couch,” you deadpan.
he throws his head back again and laughs, loud and unbothered.
“god, you’re mean.”
“you like it.”
“unfortunately.”
you nudge his leg with yours again, more gentle this time. the party rages around you, but this little bubble, this spot on the couch where it’s just the two of you, feels untouchable.
you’ve known sukuna for almost three years now. met him during your first week at university, at some wild frat party you barely remember. you were tipsy and rambling to someone about your favorite childhood tv show and he cut in just to mock your taste. and never left you alone after that.
he’s been a part of your life ever since. group hangouts, movie nights, drunk phone calls at 2am. he’s there. always.
and somewhere along the way, you started telling him everything. even the stupid shit. especially the stupid shit. like how you spent two hours last night researching the mating habits of deep-sea anglerfish. or how you’re pretty sure your TA is in love with the guy who sits next to you.
you talk, and sukuna listens.
sometimes he teases. sometimes he gets this look, soft around the eyes, like he doesn’t even realize he’s staring. and then it’s gone. back to smirks and sarcasm.
you’ve tried not to think too hard about it.
you’re practically tangled up on the couch, like limbs and laughter and shared space all wrapped into one. sukuna’s arm is draped over your shoulders, loose but protective, and your head is tucked just beneath his chin, warm against his chest. his heartbeat is steady, slow, something grounding beneath your ear that feels like a secret only the two of you know.
it’s not flashy or dramatic. it’s the quiet kind of intimacy that’s grown over late nights and early mornings, over inside jokes and too many half-remembered conversations. it’s the softness behind his usual sharp edges, the way his hand casually rests on your arm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you reach up and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. he tenses for a moment, then relaxes, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “you’re such an annoying pest,” he mutters, voice low and rough, but you catch the warmth underneath like a whispered promise.
“you love it,” you say softly, the words a little breathless, like you don’t want to break the moment.
the party buzzes around you, loud, messy, chaotic, but it all fades into white noise. out here, pressed close to him, none of that matters. no flashing lights, no drunken shouts, no prying eyes.
just you and sukuna.
and somehow, even after all the teasing and the bickering and the ridiculous banter, this is where the real stuff lives. in the easy silence. in the way your fingers find his hand without thinking. in the quiet understanding that you’re both exactly where you want to be, even if you don’t say it out loud.
it’s the kind of closeness that’s almost too much and not enough all at once, like your hearts are so tangled up they might burst, but you don’t have to do anything about it. not yet.
because this is your truth. your safe place. the quiet love that’s been hiding behind all the noise from the very start.
“you see who maki came with?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“nah,” you say, glancing around. “who?”
“some guy named dan. total finance bro. talks like a podcast.”
you snort. “god. maki deserves better.”
“everyone deserves better than a dan.”
you hum in agreement, stealing another sip of his drink. he doesn’t complain. he never does.
“what about you?” you ask. “eyeing anyone tonight?”
it’s a casual question. one you’ve asked a hundred times. but this time, he pauses.
“nah,” he says finally. “not really feelin’ it.”
you frown. “you? not in the mood to flirt? is the world ending?”
he shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.
“maybe i’m growing up.”
you snort. “you literally mooned someone from a moving car last weekend.”
he grins. “growing up gradually.”
you laugh, and he looks at you again. and this time… he doesn’t look away.
“you know,” he says slowly, “you’re kind of the only reason i come to these things anymore.”
your heart skips.
you try to play it off. “because i’m the only one who tolerates you?”
“because you’re the only one who gets me,” he says, voice low. quieter than before. “like… actually gets me.”
you blink. your stomach flips.
but before you can respond, someone calls his name across the room.
he sighs and leans back, rubbing a hand over his face.
“hold that thought,” he says, standing. “gotta go break up whatever stupid shit gojo’s doing.”
you watch him disappear into the crowd, smiling as you watch his back muscles flex with each swing of his arms, you understood the appeal, he was a sexy man. in his own little fashion, he thought of you the exact same way, a drop dead gorgeous girl with a heart of gold, but you’d never even guessed he thought of you as such, after all, what would give you any sort of sign that he was into you when the latest rumour was that he was sleeping around with hot sorority chicks every weekend?
~
the party’s died down hours ago. the house is trashed, half-lit, and still pulsing faintly with leftover bass through the walls. the beer pong table’s been abandoned, someone’s hoodie is hanging from the ceiling fan, and there’s a questionable stain on the rug no one’s talking about.
geto’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-empty bottle of tequila, choso’s sprawled on the loveseat looking like he’s already halfway to sleep, and gojo’s perched on the arm of the couch with a wine glass he definitely didn’t bring himself.
sukuna’s nursing a beer. slouched in a worn-out recliner with his head tilted back, eyes closed, shoulders loose in that i’m relaxed but still kind of pissed way he always gets when he’s overthinking.
he hasn’t said much since reader left.
“sukuna, man,” gojo starts, words slurring a little, “are you going fucking celibate? you haven’t fucked a chick in damn near two months.”
geto snorts, tilting his bottle toward sukuna. “what, you give it up for lent or something?”
“maybe he got neutered,” choso mumbles into a throw pillow.
gojo gasps. “don’t say that, that’s so sad. think of all the women out there missing out.”
sukuna doesn’t open his eyes. just raises his middle finger in their general direction and takes a slow pull from his drink.
“i’m serious,” gojo continues. “you used to be the first one out the door with some girl pressed up against the wall. now you’re… what, sitting on a couch all night with your weird little bestie and dodging blowjobs like they’re the plague.”
geto leans back, watching sukuna over the lip of his drink. “she’s not just some bestie though, huh?”
that gets sukuna’s attention. his eyes crack open, dark and unreadable. “don’t start.”
“not starting anything,” geto says, smirking. “just saying. you used to be all about the sorority chicks with fake lashes and daddy issues. now you’re glued to sunshine incarnate.”
gojo lets out a bark of laughter. “please. she’s too sweet for him. sukuna’d ruin her. he needs someone who can keep up with the slut energy.”
sukuna’s jaw ticks.
choso blinks at the ceiling. “she did bring cupcakes to the last pregame.”
“exactly,” gojo says, dramatic as ever. “she’s, like, wife-coded. sukuna doesn’t do wife-coded.”
“maybe he’s bored,” geto says. “maybe he’s finally fucked so many girls that his dick gave up and retired.”
that gets a laugh from the others, loud and easy.
sukuna doesn’t laugh.
he doesn’t say a word.
he just sits there, beer forgotten in his hand, staring into the dim space between the couch and the coffee table, jaw clenched, heart beating a little too loud in his chest.
because they don’t get it. they don’t know.
they don’t know how it feels to sit beside someone who trusts you with everything and have to pretend you don’t want to kiss them every time they smile.
they don’t know what it’s like to want something real for once. something soft. something that doesn’t taste like regret the morning after.
they don’t know how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone else. how the thought of it makes his stomach turn. how no one else even registers anymore. how she ruined him for all of it without even trying.
and he’s not gonna tell them.
because they wouldn’t believe him anyway.
so he just shifts in his chair, downs the rest of his drink, and says, flat and final, “maybe i’m just waiting for the right girl.”
it shuts them up for a second.
then gojo laughs again and geto raises his brows like he’s not sure whether he’s joking, and choso mutters something about being too high for this conversation.
but sukuna’s not joking.
not even a little.
the teasing eventually fades, replaced by the quiet clink of bottles and the hum of low music someone forgot to turn off. choso’s officially half-asleep, sprawled sideways across the loveseat with a blanket someone definitely didn’t offer him. geto’s back to nursing the tequila bottle like it personally wronged him, and gojo’s now laying upside down on the couch, legs dangling off the back like he’s trying to cause a scene with gravity.
“so,” choso mumbles, voice thick and lazy. “that mixer next weekend still on?”
“yeah,” gojo says without moving. “gamma’s throwing it with phi sig. should be decent. free drinks and better music than last time. they’re renting actual speakers this time, not just hijacking someone’s spotify on a jbl.”
“can i bring shiu?” choso asks, blinking slow like it takes effort.
“yeah,” gojo says, waving his hand. “he’s in delta nu, right?”
choso hums something that might be a yes or might be the sound of sleep taking him.
sukuna sits up slightly, beer bottle still hanging from his fingers. “can i bring y/n?”
gojo doesn’t even hesitate.
“nah.”
sukuna’s jaw clenches. “why not?”
“you know why not,” gojo says, finally flipping over to sit upright. “it’s a greek-only mixer. she’s not in a frat or a sorority.”
“she’s basically in this frat,” sukuna says, a little sharper than he means to. “she’s at every party. she knows everyone. she’s closer to you assholes than half the pledges.”
geto sighs, not looking up. “that’s not the point. the chapters are paying for the event. they want it to stay within the system. it’s political.”
“it’s bullshit,” sukuna mutters.
“you think i don’t agree?” gojo says, more gently now. “i love her. she’s our friend. but if one non-greek shows up, it opens the door for more, and then it’s a whole thing. alumni get pissy. mixers stop happening. and for what? a night where she already has better places to be?”
sukuna’s quiet for a second.
the air goes still.
because yeah, maybe you do have better places to be. you’re always buzzing around campus, always getting invited to every little thing. somehow you’ve charmed everyone without even trying. the girl who bakes cookies for your friends and brings tupperware to parties. the girl who’ll sit and talk with a drunk freshman for forty-five minutes just to make sure she gets home safe. the one everyone trusts, everyone likes.
but you’re not one of them.
not on paper.
not enough to be invited.
and it stings in a way sukuna can’t explain without sounding like he cares too much.
“she wouldn’t even care,” geto says after a beat. “she probably wouldn’t wanna go anyway.”
sukuna shakes his head slowly. “she would. not for the party. just to be around us.”
“then invite her to the after,” gojo says, too casually. “she can come once the official stuff’s over. like always.”
and that’s what gets under his skin.
like always.
like you’re some shadow they keep waiting in the wings. welcome, but not official. close, but not close enough. always there, always giving, and never asking for anything back.
but sukuna knows you.
knows you’d never say it hurts. never ask for an invite. never press your nose against the glass and say you want in. because you’re sweet. because you don’t want to make a scene. because you think you’re lucky just to be included at all.
and maybe that’s what kills him most.
sukuna doesn’t respond right away. just rolls the bottle between his hands and nods once, like it doesn’t bother him. like it’s fine.
but it does bother him.
because you've been at every party, every hangout, every busted-up couch gathering like this one. you're as much a part of this group as any of them, maybe more. you're the glue, the heart. the one person who always shows up and always makes it better just by being there.
and suddenly you're not allowed?
he gets it. he does. house rules. dumb frat politics. whatever. but still.
he’s never wanted to bring someone to one of these before. never even thought about it. but the second it came up, your name was already halfway out of his mouth.
and now it’s stuck there, burning.
gojo reaches over, clinks his glass against sukuna’s bottle. “next time, yeah?”
sukuna forces a tight smile and tips his drink back.
“yeah,” he lies. “next time.”
~
the next night.
it’s late when you hear the knock.
past eleven. campus is quiet outside your window, the kind of stillness that only happens after a long day of classes and too much caffeine. your desk light’s still on, laptop humming, a playlist playing low as you scribble in the margins of your notes with a pink pen you definitely didn’t borrow from sukuna and never give back.
you blink up at the sound, confused, and push back from your chair just as the front door swings open without waiting for you.
sukuna steps in, keys jingling between his fingers, sweat clinging to the collar of his black t-shirt.
“jesus,” you say, raising your brows. “you ever heard of knocking?”
he shrugs, already kicking off his sneakers. “you gave me a key.”
“for emergencies. or bringing me food. this is trespassing.”
“it’s not trespassing if i live here part-time.”
“you don’t.”
“i do, emotionally.”
you narrow your eyes, watching as he kicks the door shut behind him and rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair. he looks irritated. flushed. like he’s been fighting someone or about to.
“you coming from a girl’s place or something?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the words slip out a little more bitter than you mean.
he pauses, one foot halfway out of his sock.
“something like that,” he mutters.
it wasn't something like that. he'd been running, something he'd been doing a lot lately instead of his nightly rendezvous with his copious amounts of side chicks. after he went non intentionally celibate, he'd started putting the excess energy he wasn't using in basketball to do laps around campus.
but he couldn't tell you that. couldn't just say, 'yeah, i've been running marathons lately because my dick goes limp at the thought of even touching another women.' so he just chalked it up to whatever your mind was thinking.
you blink, surprised he didn’t throw a joke at you or roll his eyes. didn’t make a crack about what kind of position she had him in or if he should shower before sitting on your bed.
instead he just pulls off his shirt and flops down face-first into your comforter like he’s lived here forever.
you stare for a second at the smooth line of his back, the tribal tattoos, the way he exhales like your room is the first place he’s been able to breathe all day.
“…you okay?” you ask, stepping toward the bed.
he grunts.
“great conversation,” you mutter, crawling up onto the mattress and poking him between the shoulder blades. “what’s with the dramatics, need to talk?”
he rolls onto his side, arm flung over his eyes, voice muffled. “i’m not allowed to bring you to the mixer.”
you blink. “hm?”
you knew of the mixer and you knew you weren't going, you weren't in a sorority.
“they said no,” he says, finally lowering his arm just enough to squint at you. “strictly greek. no exceptions. even though choso’s dragging that freak shiu and he’s barely greek. and even though you’ve been at more of our events than half the guys actually in the frat.”
you go try not to giggle at his display.
“i see,” you say. “it’s fine ryo. i didn’t expect to go anyway.”
“yeah, well, i wanted you to,” he snaps, sharper than he means to. he cleared his throat abit embarrassed before continuing. “was kind of the only reason i was looking forward to it.”
you stare at him, taken aback.
he groans and throws an arm over his face again. “god. it’s so fucking stupid. i don’t even wanna go if you’re not gonna be there.”
you sit beside him, folding your legs under yourself. "hey don't say that, i'm sure you'll get your entertainments worth with what're dumb thing gojos bound to do there."
he rolls his eyes but a smirk pulls at his lips.
“you have to though, right?” you ask quietly. “frat rules?”
he grunts again, bitter. “mandatory attendance. gotta show face, shake hands, do shots with people i fucking hate. can’t just hang out with you like a normal person. it’s bullshit.”
you watch him for a second, hes clearly very upset on your behalf and it tugs at your heart to see him so sad for you.
the frustration in his shoulders. the tension still in his jaw. how tired he looks even though he won’t admit it. and how different he’s been lately, even if he tries to hide it.
it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him leave a party with someone. months since you’ve gotten a dumb flirty text from him at two in the morning about some girl with lip gloss and a sorority pin. instead it’s been this, late nights of cooking and movies at your place, quiet mornings where he'd crash on the couch, showing up sweaty and worn out without explaining why.
you don’t know what’s going on with him.
and you don’t ask.
because he’s still your best friend, he’s still sukuna, you never know what's going on with men like him. not really.
even if you wish sometimes he’d let you see past all the noise and into whatever he’s keeping buried under his skin.
“you could skip,” you offer after a long pause. “say you’re sick.”
he lifts his arm just enough to peek at you. “and miss out on disappointing every alumni watching the insta stories? unthinkable.”
you laugh.
and he smiles, barely.
then closes his eyes again, and says, quieter this time, “just wish it wasn’t like this.”
you don’t ask what he means.
you don’t have to.
you watch him stew for another minute, sprawled on your bed like a kicked dog, jaw tense and brows furrowed. you can tell he’s stuck in his head again, spiraling over something he can’t fix, so you do what you always do when sukuna gets like this.
you get up and go to the fridge.
“what are you doing?” he calls after you, but there’s already the tiniest lilt of curiosity in his voice.
you peek back over your shoulder, smiling shyly. “making you un-grumpy.”
you return with a container of the cookies you baked the night before, still soft from the fridge, the chocolate chips slightly hardened but perfect for biting into. you plop back down beside him and wiggle the container in front of his face.
“i come bearing peace offerings.”
he raises a brow. “what are they laced with?”
“love and all things happy and awesome,” you say sweetly. “now shut up and open.”
you settle onto his knee, the position so familiar it doesn’t even register as odd anymore. you’re perched sideways, comfortably pressed against him as you hold up a cookie to his mouth like you’ve done a thousand times before with different snacks, different moods, different nights.
he sighs like he’s being tortured, but opens his mouth and lets you push a bite past his lips.
and then he goes still.
you try to hide your smirk. “good, right?”
he chews slowly, then nods once, eyes flicking down to the cookie still in your hand. “fuck,” he mutters. “why are these better than the last ones?”
“because i added cinnamon this time,” you say proudly. “i’m a genius. a visionary. a baker ahead of my time. no need to lay it all on me at once.”
“you’re a menace,” he says, reaching for the container and grabbing one for himself. he takes another bite, then leans his head back with a groan. “jesus christ.”
you beam, satisfied. “mood improved?”
he glances down at you, his arm sliding a little more securely around your waist, holding you in place like it’s just instinct. “a little.”
you twist to face him more fully, still sitting across one of his legs, knees bent and shoulder pressing into his chest. “well, i accept your gratitude. payment accepted in the form of continued affection and possibly letting me pick the movie tonight.”
“you say that like you weren’t going to pick it anyway,” he says, but his voice has gone soft.
you don’t move, just rest your cheek lightly against his shoulder. it’s quiet again, in that comfortable, lived-in way. his fingers drift absentmindedly along the hem of your shirt, not even thinking about it, and you feel the shift before it happens.
he sets the cookie down and wraps both arms around you, pulling you fully into his chest.
you blink in surprise as your face smushes into his neck, but your arms slip around his waist anyway, your cheek settling against his skin with a tiny, surprised smile.
this… isn’t unheard of.
but it’s not common either.
not like this.
not this long, not this full-bodied, not this quiet. not this careful.
he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. just breathe in sync, slow and even, held together in the kind of closeness that feels like it means something more than either of you are ready to admit. it doesn’t feel playful. it doesn’t feel casual.
it feels like everything unsaid is pressing in between the space of your bodies.
and still, you don’t pull away.
you stay wrapped around each other, soft and steady in the glow of your little kitchen light. the rest of the world fades out. no frat politics, no mixers, no rules. just your warmth against his chest, the scent of cookies on the air, and his heartbeat pressed right against your cheek.
you smile against him, a little giddy, a little shy, and squeeze your arms around him just a little tighter.
he squeezes back.
"such a softie."
"shut up."
~
friday night, gamma.
the music’s already shaking the walls by the time sukuna and gojo pull up to the house.
the lights are low, the windows are glowing purple, and there’s a line of girls on the front lawn taking pictures against the greek letters like they’re on the fucking red carpet. half of them are laughing too loud, the other half are posing like they’re about to sell flat tummy tea. it’s a mess.
gojo whistles low under his breath. “god damn. they went all out tonight.”
sukuna says nothing, just shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and follows gojo toward the front door, already wishing he’d stayed in.
inside, it’s worse.
the house smells like weed, body spray, and some kind of mango-flavored vodka someone definitely spilled on the carpet. the bass is pounding. the lights are cycling through seizure-inducing colors. and the living room is filled wall to wall with girls in the tiniest outfits he’s ever seen.
crop tops so small they’re practically bras, skirts that could pass for belts, dresses that ride up with every step. legs, boobs, glitter, perfume. like a scene out of a movie, only louder and stickier.
gojo grins, elbowing him in the side. “this is what i’m talking about, man these chicks are drooling.”
“mhm,” sukuna mutters, eyes skimming the crowd without interest.
gojo keeps going, clearly amped. “look at her, jesus. i could write a poem about that ass. might get it tattooed.”
sukuna hums, tuning him out. lets the words wash over him without meaning. he’s good at that now. nodding, smirking, pretending to be the guy they all think he is.
“oh my god,” gojo says again, eyes glued to another girl passing by in a see-through mesh top. “this one’s not even wearing a bra. she’s doing the lord’s work.”
“praise be,” sukuna deadpans.
gojo laughs, already drifting toward the drinks table like a moth to flame, eyes darting everywhere.
sukuna doesn’t follow.
he stands near the door, shoulder against the wall, letting the party swirl around him. girls brush past him on the way to the kitchen, one of them flashing a smile he doesn’t return. he watches two of them grind against each other like they’re auditioning for attention, and someone tugs on his hoodie in passing, trying to get his attention.
he doesn’t even blink.
because all he can think about is how quiet your apartment was last night.
how your laugh sounded when he tried to talk with his mouth full of cookie. how you looked sitting on his knee, eyes crinkling, fingers brushing crumbs from his shirt.
how easy it was.
how real.
and this? this feels like a joke.
he used to love this shit. the noise, the chaos, the attention. he used to thrive in it. let it fill him up, drown out all the parts of himself that didn’t make sense.
but now it just feels loud.
pointless.
empty.
he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it without thinking.
no texts.
you’re probably curled up on your couch right now with a mug of tea and some documentary about weird animals. maybe wearing one of your oversized sweaters. maybe thinking about him. maybe not.
he sighs, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes for a second.
wishing, more than anything, that he was with you instead.
meanwhile...
your dorm was quiet tonight.
just the low hum of your mini fridge, the soft whir of the fan you’ve wedged into the corner by the window, and the occasional clatter of your own movements as you putter around your tiny kitchen.
you’re barefoot on the tile, hoodie sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your hair pulled back haphazardly. the playlist you always turn on while baking is playing softly, the comfort stuff, the songs you don’t have to think about. your body moves automatically, reaching for ingredients, measuring out flour and sugar like muscle memory.
but your mind’s somewhere else entirely.
you keep thinking about last night. about the way sukuna looked when he walked through your door, sweaty and annoyed and tired, like the world was grating against him. and how he softened when you sat on his lap and fed him cookies. how he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.
that long hug.
you can still feel it.
his arms wrapped around you, your cheek against his chest, the quiet warmth of his body pressed fully into yours like he didn’t want to let go. it wasn’t playful. it wasn’t some joke. it felt like something else. something deeper. something you’re too scared to name.
you missed him the second he left.
you always do.
but tonight, it aches a little more. hell, it aches a hell of a lot.
because you know where he is right now. or, at least, where he’s supposed to be — at that mixer with gojo and the rest of the guys. shoulder to shoulder with every sorority girl on campus. probably surrounded by glitter and perfume and girls in backless dresses.
you try not to picture it.
you try not to imagine him pressed up against someone in a dark corner, hands on her hips, whispering something smooth into her ear. it’s what he used to do, after all. it’s what everyone still thinks he does.
you’ve never asked.
but it’s easier to believe he’s still out there being sukuna, your charming, cocky, slightly feral best friend who fucks around and never gets attached. it’s easier than hoping for something more.
you sigh and lean your hands on the edge of the sink, staring out the window for a moment before pushing off again and turning back to the counter.
if he is out there right now, tangled up with some girl, then so be it. it’s not your business. he’s your friend. he’s always been your friend. and that’s enough.
you shake away the little ache curling up in your chest and reach for the eggs.
he likes custard tarts.
you remember him mentioning it months ago, offhanded, when you were watching some cooking show together and he snorted at a pastry challenge. 'that shit’s easy,' he’d said, and then casually added, 'my grandma used to make those all the time. i could eat like five in one sitting.'
so you’re going to make him some.
you don’t know if he’ll even come by tomorrow, but if he does, it’ll be waiting for him. warm, golden, sweet. something quiet to show him you were thinking about him, even if you won’t say it out loud.
you dust your hands with flour and start rolling out the pastry crust, humming under your breath, praying this suffocating guilt in your chest will soon subside.
back with the man of the hour.
the kitchen is hotter than hell.
bodies packed in tight, music thudding through the walls, the floor sticky with spilled drinks and god-knows-what. it smells like tequila, sweat, and cologne, like every mixer always does. sukuna’s perched at the corner of the counter with a half-empty shot glass in his hand, the burn of whatever cheap liquor they’re using tonight still clinging to his throat.
he’s a few drinks in, not drunk, but warm. loose. not enough to forget, just enough to blur the edges.
“yo,” someone says, slapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “you still out here slaying or what?
it’s ino, one of the phi sig guys. bleach-blond, grinning like a golden retriever, drunk enough that his words are dragging a little.
sukuna doesn’t answer right away.
he can feel the pause stretching. can feel the weight of it. because he knows exactly where this is going.
“what?” ino says, laughing. “don’t tell me the infamous sukuna went soft on us.”
he’s joking. mostly.
but nearby, sukuna catches gojo’s eyes.
he’s leaning against the wall with a drink in one hand, watching the conversation like a hawk. and when their gazes meet, gojo raises one brow, just slightly. the look is clear.
'just lie to them.'
gojo doesn’t say it out loud, but he doesn’t need to.
because sukuna’s got a reputation. one the frat’s leaned on for years, their golden weapon. their sexed-up, reckless, untouchable president’s right-hand menace. the one who sets the tone at parties, the one who doesn’t hesitate to bang anyone, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t change.
and if word gets out that ryomen sukuna hasn’t laid a hand on anyone in months, that he’s been skipping hookups to hang out with you in your tiny dorm room, baking cookies and trading sleepy smiles? well.
it wouldn’t look good.
not for him. not for the frat. not for the image.
so he swallows the sick twist in his gut and flashes a grin that feels so disgustingly wrong on his face.
“you know how it is,” he says smoothly, rolling his neck like he’s already bored of the conversation. “been busy. but yeah. still getting mine.”
ino laughs and passes him another shot, already leaning in. “anyone good?”
“couple girls from chi o,” sukuna says, shrugging one shoulder. “blonde one — i forget her name. maybe claire? she was loud. pretty sure half the floor heard us.”
ino hollers and claps him on the back, and someone nearby chimes in with a “my fucking guy.”
sukuna downs the shot.
he keeps going.
“hooked up with that junior from zeta last week too. the one with the snake tattoo.”
“mia?” ino gasps.
“yeah,” sukuna half lies, licking his teeth. “she’s got this thing where she likes being choked. like, full hand, no hesitation. freaky as fuck, but she took it like a champ.”
there’s laughter. back slaps. someone throws him another beer.
and sukuna plays along.
he leans into the scumbag act. tells them about how he made her beg. how he didn’t even bother texting her after. throws in some bullshit about how she kept whining for round three and he just left.
and it’s easy, this was how he used to be after all.
his voice is smooth, confident, practiced. he says the words like he’s proud of them. like they don’t taste like ash and piss in his mouth. like they aren’t killing him from the inside out.
because the truth is, he hasn’t touched anyone since he realized he was in love with you.
sure he's fucked those girl before, just not as of late.
no blonde named claire. no snake tattoo. no begging, no choking, no careless sex with strangers who mean nothing.
just you.
just the way you looked at him the other night, eyes wide and sweet while you perched on his knee. just the way you made him feel full with nothing but a bite of cookie and a laugh. just the way your arms wrapped around him without hesitation. like he was someone worth holding onto.
but he can’t say that here.
he can’t be that guy.
so he keeps lying. keeps playing the role. keeps smiling through the noise and the heat and the taste of someone else’s expectations on his tongue.
and all the while, in the back of his mind, he’s wondering what you’re doing right now. if your oven’s still on. if your hands are covered in flour. if you’re thinking about him too.
god, he hopes you are. safe away from this performative monster he's so carefully curated.
later.
things have gone off the rails.
the house is sweltering now, bodies packed in so tight you can barely breathe. music’s still blasting, bass heavy enough to make your ribs shake, lights flickering red and blue and green over swaying heads. sweat slicks the walls, the floors are sticky with god-knows-what, and the air smells like beer, weed, and perfume way too sweet to be expensive.
sukuna’s sunk low into the couch in the middle of the living room, a drink sweating in his hand, head tilted back. his shirt sticks to his skin, his legs are spread, and his eyes are half-lidded, glazed over. he’s a few drinks deep, but not enough to be drunk, just enough to dull the headache that’s been building since he walked in.
choso’s next to him, nursing a blunt, and shiu’s perched on the armrest, scrolling through his phone with dead eyes.
“this party fucking blows,” shiu mutters, not looking up.
“wasn’t it your idea to come?” choso says.
“yeah, and i was wrong. fuck me.”
“everyone’s just trying to fuck each other,” choso says flatly. “like aggressively. it’s like a brothel in here.”
“with worse lighting,” shiu adds.
sukuna doesn’t say anything. just watches the way two girls are sloppily grinding against each other on the floor, their drinks spilling down their arms, mascara already halfway down their cheeks. somewhere across the room, someone’s moaning against the wall like they’re getting railed in public, which, honestly, they probably are.
he’s halfway through zoning out again when it happens.
a blonde drops into his lap like a stone.
he barely registers her until she’s already straddling him, arms looped around his neck, tits pushed up and glittering under the party lights.
“found you,” she purrs, loud in his ear. her voice is syrupy sweet, her lips glossed thick and shiny. she presses a wet kiss to his cheek without waiting for permission, then trails her mouth down to his neck.
his body locks up. 'ew.'
she smells like candy and sweat. her lashes are so fake they look heavy. her nails scrape his shoulder through his shirt like she’s trying to get a grip.
“you’re sukuna, right?” she asks, already moving her hips in his lap. “heard you’re fun.”
he wants to shove her off.
wants to grab her wrists and tell her to get the fuck off him, now. because nothing about this feels good. nothing about this feels right. she’s too close, too loud, too much. and all he can think is 'this isn’t you.'
but then he glances up.
and he sees them.
those same frat guys he took shots with earlier, ino and the rest. watching him from across the room with wide eyes and cocky grins. waiting. expecting. this was what they wanted, wasn’t it? the infamous sukuna he had bragged about not even an hour earlier. the legend. the sex god. they’re watching like they’re about to take notes.
and across the room, posted near the kitchen with a drink in hand, gojo is watching too.
his eyes lock with sukuna’s. one raised brow. jaw tight. a warning in his expression.
'don’t fuck this up. just pretend.' he mouths.
this is his job, after all. the frat’s bad boy, their wild card, the one who never slows down. his reputation isn’t just his anymore — it’s tied to the frat’s image, to the hierarchy, to the ego of every guy in this house who needs him to be that guy.
so sukuna doesn’t shove her off.
he lets her kiss his jaw. lets her whisper something slutty in his ear, lets her press her tits into his chest and grind against him like they’re already alone.
he lets her act like she owns him.
his hands rest loose on her waist. one slides down to her thigh, just for show. not tight. not real. just enough to make it look like he’s into it.
his skin crawls.
he doesn’t smile. doesn’t speak. he just sits there, dead behind the eyes, playing the part.
choso side-eyes him, a brow lifting. shiu’s halfway through another drink, watching the scene with a quiet kind of judgment.
sukuna doesn’t flinch.
but inside, he’s somewhere else entirely.
he’s thinking about you.
your dorm. your stupid cozy couch. your face lighting up when he told you your cookies were perfect. your hands brushing against his. your warmth.
the way you held him like you knew.
and now he’s here.
pretending.
surrounded by noise and bodies and fake gold glitter. kissing strangers in front of an audience, playing the role of someone he hasn’t been in a long time.
and all he wants is to be home.
with you.
the girl’s hands are everywhere.
on his chest, sliding under his shirt. in his hair, tugging hard like it’s supposed to be sexy. her mouth is hot and wet on his neck, and she keeps saying shit in his ear he can’t even hear over the bass rumbling through the floor.
he doesn’t want this.
hasn’t wanted this from the second she crawled into his lap.
but now she’s pulling him up off the couch, dragging him by the hand through the throng of sweaty bodies. she’s laughing, shrieking something about going upstairs, or maybe back to her place, either way, her grip is iron and her intentions are clear. and people are watching.
he can feel the eyes on him.
guys slapping him on the back as he passes, grinning, nodding, giving him looks that say that’s our guy.the same ones who were cheering earlier when she straddled him like a chair in the middle of the party. girls whispering, side-eyes thrown like confetti.
and gojo.
gojo’s standing near the bottom of the stairs now, cup in hand, watching sukuna get dragged toward the front door like some kind of prize.
they lock eyes.
sukuna hesitates for a beat.
gojo steps forward and claps a hand on his arm, grip tight for a second. he leans in, expression unusually serious beneath the usual shine of his grin.
“sorry, man,” he murmurs under the music. “i shouldn’t have made you do all that shit.”
sukuna doesn’t say anything. just nods once, jaw clenched.
“you’re a good soldier,” gojo adds, half-joking, half-sincere. “but you don’t gotta burn yourself out for the frat.”
sukuna’s too tired to respond. the girl’s tugging on his arm again, fingers clawed around his wrist like she thinks he’ll vanish if she lets go.
they step out the front door into the night.
the air outside is colder than it should be, sharp against his sweaty skin. it hits his lungs too fast. makes him dizzy.
she turns to him immediately, mouth already open. “so i live, like, five minutes away. unless you wanna go to yours? my roommate’s out, so—”
her hands are on his chest again. fumbling with the hem of his shirt, nails dragging over his stomach like she’s mapping him out with zero permission. she presses herself into him, mouth seeking his again, clumsy and insistent.
and that’s when it hits.
the disgust.
the wrongness.
the way it makes his skin crawl, makes his stomach twist. not because she’s unattractive, not because she’s done anything “wrong” by frat party standards — but because she’s not you.
and this? this isn’t him.
he jerks away from her touch as she snakes her hand over the bulge in his jeans.
“stop.”
she blinks, confused. tries to laugh it off, like maybe he’s teasing. “what?”
“i said stop,” he snaps, stepping back. “jesus fucking christ.”
her face falls.
“you can’t just—” she starts, but he’s already shaking his head.
“go." he almost yells. "go home,” he says sharply. “alone.”
her jaw drops like she’s about to protest again, but he’s not listening. he turns, already walking, the cold air slicing through his clothes, his breath fogging up in the dark.
he doesn’t look back.
the sounds of the party are muffled now, swallowed up by the night. but they still echo in his head. the music, the laughter, the voices cheering him on like he’s some kind of fucking mascot. the fake moans and the fake smiles and the way it felt to be watched like he owed everyone a show.
he lights a cigarette with shaking hands.
his stomach still feels sick.
and all he can think about, as the taste of cherry lip gloss lingers like poison, is how right it felt to be on your couch. how warm your kitchen was. how soft your hands were when you brushed his hair back from his forehead like he was something worth caring for.
he walks faster.
because if he doesn’t get away from all this now, he’s not sure he ever will.
his footsteps echo off the pavement, sharp in the emptiness, and his lungs burn with every breath. the cigarette is still between his fingers, barely smoked, the ember flickering weakly in the dark.
he can’t stop shaking.
his skin feels wrong. like something’s still crawling on it. like her hands are still there. he rubs his neck with the heel of his palm, hard, like he can wipe it off. the gloss, the heat, the fakeness of it all.
his stomach lurches.
he stops walking and bends forward instinctively, one hand on his knee, the other bracing against the cold brick wall of the nearest building. he spits once onto the sidewalk, tastes bile and tequila and something rotten.
he breathes through his nose.
in, out, in, out.
think of something else.
think of anything else.
but all he can think about is you.
the way you'd light up when you'd spot him on campus, how you'd always gravitate towards him at parties and hang outs. your stupid soft hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hands covered in flour, smiling like he was your favorite part of your day.
and god, all he wanted to was erase his entire past to start a clean, virgin slate with you.
he almost let some stranger girl touch him in a way he wishes only you would. he let her sit on him, kiss him, grab at him, and he didn’t stop it. didn’t stop it until it was nearly too late.
and for what?
some frat reputation?
gojo’s approval?
a bunch of guys who only know his name because of the stories he used to make up?
he could fucking vomit.
he dry heaves once, hard, and his whole body folds in. he grips the edge of a trash bin like it’ll keep him upright, knuckles going white. but nothing comes up. just air and guilt and the way your name sits on his tongue like a bruise.
'you’re not even mine.'
he reminds himself of that again and again. you’re not his. you’ve never kissed. never fucked. never even admitted how you feel.
you’re just friends. best friends, maybe. roommates in a different life. partners in crime when things are light.
but he knows what this is. knows what’s happening to him.
you’ve ruined him.
your gentleness. your kindness. the way you hold his face when you’re teasing him and don’t even realize it. the way you hug him like he’s worth something. like you see him, all of him, and still choose to stay.
and now he’s here. shaking and fucked-up in the street, gagging over the ghost of a girl who doesn’t matter, while you're sitting at home in your dorm when you could of been here with him, that way, he'd never of let another girl get close, he's speaks the night sitting on the porch, with you.
he sinks down onto the curb, elbows braced on his knees, cigarette hanging limp from his fingers. his vision swims, hot and sharp, his head tipping back to stare at the stars he can’t even see through the city haze.
he should’ve stayed with you.
he should’ve just stayed home, with you.
his hands are trembling when he reaches into his pocket. he fishes blindly past his lighter, crumpled receipts, a folded-up flyer someone handed him earlier, until his fingers close around metal.
your dorm keys.
he pulls them out slowly.
they sit in his palm, warm from his body heat. a pink little charm you’d added dangles from the ring, a squishy cartoon animal he never bothered to learn the name of, even though you told him three times. it jiggles as he stares down at it, breath catching in his throat.
he clenches his fist around them.
tight.
like it’ll keep him grounded. like it’ll make you real again.
the night presses in around him. too quiet, too still. but that ache in his chest, the sour twist in his gut, it all starts to blur the second he stands up and starts walking.
~
your apartment smells like vanilla and nutmeg.
you pull the tray from the oven with slow, tired movements, fingers twitching slightly through the worn edges of your oven mitts. you place it carefully on the cooling rack, your shoulders drooping.
they turned out perfect.
golden brown, smooth custard centers with just the right shimmer. they look like something out of a recipe book. the kind of thing you’d proudly serve someone you care about.
someone who promised he’d come over this weekend.
someone who’s probably in a stranger’s bed right now.
you press your lips together and exhale through your nose, eyes fluttering shut.
that ache in your chest still hasn’t gone away. it’s not sharp anymore, not like earlier, when you imagined his hands on someone else, but it’s still there. dull. tight. like a bruise that refuses to fade.
you try to distract yourself. start wiping down the counter. humming softly. pretending.
and then—
bang.
a clatter at the door. a commotion, keys fumbling against the lock. your head snaps up, heart slamming into your ribs.
before you can move, the door bursts open.
a heaving sukuna stumbles inside.
he’s wild-eyed, flushed, sweaty, like he’s run the whole way here. his shirt’s wrinkled, his jacket half-zipped, one sleeve rolled up and the other down. his hair’s a mess. his knuckles are scraped.
he looks terrible.
and he looks right at you.
for one beat, just one, everything stops.
your eyes meet, and it’s like all the oxygen rushes back into the room. the ache in your chest disappears, the weight behind his eyes fades, the tension that was tearing both of you apart evaporates the second you’re locked into each other’s gaze.
you smile first. a smile he so dearly loved to see.
small. instinctive. like it slips out before you can stop it.
and that’s all it takes.
sukuna moves fast, like something in him finally gives out, and suddenly he’s in front of you, arms wrapping around your body like he needs you to breathe. his chest crashes into yours, hard, and his arms hook tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
your hands flutter up, half-startled, and you steady yourself against his shoulders.
he’s holding you like he’s drowning.
“jesus,” you laugh softly, trying to ease the weight, “what, some girl give you blue balls or something—”
you don’t finish the sentence.
because his grip tightens.
his arms squeeze harder, fingers fisting into the back of your hoodie like he’s trying to climb inside of you.
his face buries into your neck. and then you hear it.
a sniffle.
not a dramatic one, not obvious, not loud, but small and choked off, like he’s trying not to let it out at all.
your breath catches.
his body trembles once, a subtle shiver that passes through him like a quake, and suddenly your joke feels cruel, your smile falters, and your heart lodges somewhere in your throat.
your voice drops, softer than you’ve ever used with him.
“ryo…”
you pull back just enough to see his face.
his eyes are glassy. rimmed red. lashes damp like he’s been holding it in for a while. and when he blinks, slow and heavy, a single tear finally falls, trailing down the sharp angle of his cheek.
your heart cracks clean in two.
like your body just knows, like it feels his pain before you can even register it, your own eyes burn immediately. you try to hold it in, but it stings anyway. wells up fast, like your chest doesn’t know how to hold all the ache that’s suddenly there.
he sees it.
his lips twitch, and he forces out a quiet, watery chuckle. “of course you're that kinda person” he murmurs, voice thick. “the type to cry when someone else cries. like it’s a reflex or something.”
you swallow around the lump in your throat. “i've only done it for you.”
that makes him go still.
your hand lifts to his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye, and your voice trembles with the weight of it all. “because i care about you, ryo. so much. more than i can even explain.”
his breath stutters.
and for a second, he doesn’t say anything.
he just looks at you, like you’re something he’s been waiting for his whole life. and then he smiles, soft and small and cracked open, and leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours again.
you close your eyes.
you fall into each other like instinct.
your arms wrap around his neck again, and his circle your waist. tighter this time. not desperate. just sure.
you still don’t know why he’s crying.
he hasn’t told you anything. hasn’t explained the bloodshot eyes or the tremble in his hands or the way he stumbled through your door like you were home.
but none of that matters.
because he’s sad.
and that makes you sad.
so you hold him. and he holds you back.
"y/n. i love you."
you freeze.
like your whole body forgets how to move.
his voice is quiet, broken at the edges, low and raw like it got scraped out of his chest just for you. you feel it before you even fully process it. like the words ripple through your bloodstream faster than they hit your ears.
you pull back just slightly, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in your throat.
“h-huh…?”
his gaze is already on you. steady. not flinching. his brows are pinched like he’s terrified, like he’s bracing for the worst, but his hands never leave you. they stay right where they’ve been, one at the small of your back, the other cradling your side like he’s holding something fragile.
“i love you,” he says again, firmer this time. “i think i’ve loved you since the first time you told me about some weird show you liked and forgot to breathe because you were talking too fast. i didn’t know it then, but—fuck, y/n. it’s you. it’s always been you.”
your eyes sting.
you’re not sure if you’re breathing.
his thumb rubs absent circles at your hip. his voice is shaking.
“i haven’t touched anyone since i figured it out. haven’t even looked at anyone like that. i tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. i told myself i could just be around you like normal and it’d pass. but it didn’t. it just got worse. everything felt worse without you.”
you press your lips together, hard.
your chest is aching so sweetly it almost feels like pain.
“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds quickly, eyes flicking over your face. “i know this is a lot. i just—i couldn’t keep lying. not after tonight.”
you open your mouth, then close it again.
you’re not even sure what expression’s on your face, shock? relief? some impossible mixture of everything you’ve ever felt for him suddenly rising to the surface all at once.
but eventually, finally, your voice comes out.
quiet.
“say it again.”
his brows lift.
you lean in closer, eyes shining. “please. just say it one more time.”
he swallows.
and then he breathes it like a vow.
“i love you.”
you surge forward, arms around his neck, and kiss him like it’s the only thing you’ve been trying not to do for months.
and this time, he doesn’t tremble.
he melts.
like he’s been waiting his whole life just for this.
your lips part from his just enough to breathe.
his eyes are still closed, like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way your fingers feel curled into the back of his neck. and you watch him for a second — the way his lashes tremble, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s never been kissed before.
and then you say it.
soft.
barely more than a whisper.
“i love you too.”
his eyes open slow.
like he needs to see your face to make sure it’s real.
and when he does, when he sees the truth of it in your eyes, your smile, the way your hand lingers over his heart like it belongs there, he laughs.
it’s small at first. breathless. disbelieving.
then you start laughing too.
and it bubbles out of both of you, giddy and bright, like it’s been waiting there under the surface all this time, the kind of laughter that spills into kisses, that makes your foreheads knock together, that leaves you smiling so wide your cheeks ache.
you’re both a little teary still. a little overwhelmed.
but it doesn’t matter.
because when he kisses you again, deeper this time, fuller, with both hands cupping your face like he’s never going to let you go, it’s not heavy. it’s not hard. it’s not desperate.
it’s just good.
it’s just right.
like the floodgates have finally opened, and everything you’ve both been holding back comes pouring out in warmth and wonder and wonder and wonder.
you’re still holding the edges of each other when he pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips.
“you’re it for me.”
and you smile.
because he’s it for you too.
you’re both still smiling, flushed and warm and tangled up in each other, when he suddenly sniffs the air.
his nose scrunches. he blinks. then his head slowly turns toward the counter behind you.
“…wait.”
you already know what’s coming.
he sniffs again, exaggerated and dramatic, eyebrows lifting higher with every inhale. “is that—?” he gasps, stepping around you to look.
“your favourite?” you finish, barely holding back your grin.
his eyes go wide. cartoonishly wide.
“you made them?”
you nod, biting your bottom lip, and gesture toward the cooling tray like you’re unveiling the secret ingredient in a baking show. “fresh from the oven. made them for you, actually. figured you might come by after—”
you don’t even finish the sentence before he lets out the softest noise, like a choked gasp of joy, (very uncharacteristically cute for him.) and practically tackles you in a hug.
“you’re so cute,” he says, spinning you around like it’s instinct, like you’re weightless. you squeal, laughing into his shoulder, clinging to him as he twirls you once in a giddy circle. “you made me custard tarts? i could eat you up right here, i swear to god.”
“ahh i see, so you're gonna eat me and the tarts? someone's getting greedy.”
“absolutely.”
you laugh breathlessly, hands braced against his chest as he sets you back down. “god you perv, did you have to ruin it?”
“sorry, sorry,” he mutters, grinning like an idiot.
he leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet, then cups your cheeks like you’re something precious and kisses you again, deeper, like he can’t help it, like you’re his favorite dessert.
“always wanted to thank you like this,” he murmurs against your lips. “for all the stuff you do for me. the baking, the hugs, the late-night pep talks. all of it. i just never had the guts.”
you giggle, your hands sliding up his arms as you melt into him again.
and as he dips you backward like he’s about to marry you right there in your tiny kitchen, you decide the tarts can wait just a little longer.
Yuuji has so much potential as an older brother, if he wasn't the youngest of the first year he'd 100% act like an older brother. I've been thinking about this for the last hour so here are some scenarios for your consideration:
The first years get back after a rough mission, emotionally and physically drained, the other two pass out in their rooms. Meanwhile Yuji goes to the kitchen and makes their favorite comfort foods. He brings it to their rooms, softly knocking, waking them up to make sure they both eat.
Yuji staying up late to prepare breakfast for them because just because school is early doesn't mean you can skip, come on guys I made your favorite.
When either one of them go on a mission without Yuji he packs them a lunch. It's usually something simple and light that he knows they'll like and won't get soggy.
Yuji helping Nobara do her hair in the morning while she eats breakfast because she woke up late and Yuji is not letting her skip a meal.
Yuji letting Nobara try different make up looks on him.
Megumi bringing Yuji a toy that the Demon dogs ripped in half and asking him to fix it
Yuji repairing their uniforms, and yeah they could just get replacements but its only a small rip and he wants to practice his sewing anyway
He would 100% learn Megumi's favorite bands just so he could talk with him about them.
Would make everyone bento boxes with food shaped like animals
Makes megumi custom plushies of his shikigami
Goes to the gym multiple times a day so that each of his younger siblings have someone to spot them
Yuji has a backpack that he brings with him whenever he leaves the campus with either of the 2, it is the equivalent of a mom friend's purse. Inside is food, medical supplies (Advil, wipes, ice packs, ect), portable phone chargers, extra water bottles, any medicine they currently need, and fake IDs.
Forces the other 2 to have movie nights with him, they pretend to hate it but secretly love it
Yuji would make a list of things that he sees the other two look at for a long time in stores and then get it for them as gifts
Yuji is the only person the other two will willingly allow surprise hugs from, if Gojo tries it he will be hit
Yuji learns to make clothing/small accessories and makes cute things for Nobara based on photos she sends him of celebs wearing overly expensive accessories
Yuji carries them to bed if they fall asleep outside their rooms.
Yuji is easily swayed by "puppy dog eyes" from the other two. The puppy dog eyes in question are actually quite terrifying and anyone else would run screaming for the hills.
Yuji is a photographer, he takes the most pictures and videos whenever he is with the others. His camera roll is full of them doing the most random things together. He also has hundreds of polaroids and those picture strips from photo booths.
Yuji often does the bulk of the chores as he has lived alone and is used to maintaining a living place. While cleaning the bathrooms and communal areas is left to staff.
I have a bunch of details and ideas for this au so I may write some more stuff later. Maybe I'll finally make a story who knows.
cw ; based on what you know. f!reader. fluff! mentions of sex.
i definitely think wyk!sukuna would struggle with the idea of marriage. not because he doesn't love you or want to spend the rest of his life with you, he has no doubts about that- but because he's afraid. he never experienced the love of two married parents and he doubts his ability to provide for you, and he fears the idea of tying you down when he knows his life is a lot to handle. he fears it isn't what you want.
for that reason, it takes wyk!sukuna a long time to work up the courage to propose. when he finally does, he's beyond relieved that you say yes, overjoyed. he doesn't do grand gestures, he's not the type to make a big show of the proposal, but he does want it to be intimate, something memorable and special for you.
wyk!sukuna doesn't dress up often beyond slacks and a button-up, so seeing him in a full suit at the end of the aisle is just about the most jaw-dropping sight on the planet. his hair is freshly cut, his face clean-shaven, unable to stop fiddling with the sleeves of his suit. when he sees you, every fear fades away because nothing else matters anymore.
husband!wyk!sukuna is obsessed with you. he's not overly vocal about it, he's still the stoic and grumpy man you fell in love with, but it's clear if you're looking for the signs. no matter how quiet he is though, there's no greater pleasure than calling you his wife.
husband!wyk!sukuna is the type of man to show his love primarily through acts of service and physical touch. he's so accustomed to working himself to the bone that he's more than willing to do a few extra chores around the house if it means you don't have to. to him, it's still way less than what his schedule used to resemble, even if you complain that he never lets you help. you help him more than you could ever know, in other ways.
speaking of physical touch, husband!wyk!sukuna is touchy to an almost annoying degree. you're busy working? he'll come up behind you and massage your shoulders, but that quickly devolves into him trying to distract you to gain your attention. cooking something in the kitchen? there's a good chance he's there behind you, his lips on your neck and hands on your hips.
husband!wyk!sukuna has a high sex drive for sure, but the truth is that he just enjoys being the apple of your eye. he enjoys the intimate little pieces of love found within quiet moments watching movies with you held tightly against him. he's at his happiest when you give his foot a gentle nudge under the table at dinner, for no other reason than to shoot him your gorgeous smile.
husband!wyk!sukuna doesn't like to give you flowers. not because he doesn't value the thought behind it, but more because he doesn't like the idea of giving you something with an expiry date. his love for you will never die so why should he give you a gift that will? you're worth more to him than that, so he's more likely to give you a whole plant.
he can't get you too many plants though, because husband!wyk!sukuna wants to make up for all the experiences he missed out on over the years, and travel is absolutely one of them. he loves history and art and wants to visit all the places his dad mentioned when he was younger, but not without you there with him.
outwardly, sukuna comes across fairly cold, but you swear husband!wyk!sukuna melts when you visit paris and ask to do each and every romantic activity. he wants to visit the catacombs and the louvre, but you? you want to write your names on a lock at the pont des arts. he scowls the whole time, but only because if he doesn't, he'll be a big ol' mushy mess.
your house is filled with photos that husband!wyk!sukuna sneaks while you're traveling, though his favorite was taken beneath a waterfall. you caught him off-guard, his attention on the flowing water with his arms around your middle while you grin at the camera. it sits on his desk at work as well.
you're husband!wyk!sukuna's muse. he never stops drawing and sketching, he adores doing landscape pieces based on places he's been and photos he's taken, but you're a part of all of them, whether you're in the original photo or not.
anyone who meets you after college is caught by surprise when you introduce them to husband!wyk!sukuna. he's snide and cold-shouldered, while you're sweet and open. they don't know the bond you share, and honestly, you're more than okay with that. your husband prefers to keep the details of your life between you, anyway. his life is something he shares only with those he's closest to.
still, your new friends begin to warm up to husband!wyk!sukuna through his eye rolls and snarky comments when they get a glimpse of the person he is around you. all it takes for you to get his attention is a simple nudge and he's all yours. anything you need, he's at your service, even if he's teasing you or making a big deal out of it. it's all just a show, when it comes to you.
oh, and those who are privy to the fact he took care of his brothers? husband!wyk!sukuna becomes the go-to babysitter for them. he doesn't mind, either. he likes the opportunity to give his and your friends a break to go out, because he gets it. and although it might not have been the greatest point in his life, sometimes he misses when his brothers were younger and their biggest worries were who would get the last chicken strip. he may not want kids of his own, feeling as though he already has them in a sense, but he likes being an uncle of sorts to your friends' kids. plus, he's a great target for nerf darts. and when they get older? he's the cool uncle who takes them to paintball and horror nights at the local fair.
husband!wyk!sukuna is a dry texter, he's a man of few words both when chatting and texting, so it makes it that much funnier when he sends you a photo out of the blue, no caption. just a photo of a plush rabbit. why? "it's you," he texts back. this is an oddly common occurrence. anything that looks remotely cute and tiny to him, that's you. and when you're 6'11" and pure muscle, most things are small and cute.
husband!wyk!sukuna's prized possessions are the woven bracelets from his brothers and his wedding ring. As the years go by, the bracelets eventually tear and fall off, but Sukuna still keeps them. In fact, many years later, you notice there's a new ring that sits on his right middle finger, and upon closer inspection you find that the torn bracelets have been turned into a ring. nothing means more to him than family.
husband!wyk!sukuna knows he's a lot to handle, and he knows his temper is the biggest thing he needs to work on. he gets snippy easily, but he'll also own up to his mistakes before it gets anywhere. he's lost you once, he's learned his lesson. no amount of frustration is worth losing you.
your happiness is husband!wyk!sukuna's priority. he may be dense as hell when it comes to little signals (he begs you to just spell things out for him), but he's in tune with your discomfort and won't take it lightly. you're out with friends and your social battery runs out? expect his voice in your ear, telling you he's ready to go. he'll always present it to the group you're out with like it's him that wants to go as well, never forcing you to be the center of attention. he knows you wouldn't like that.
husband!wyk!sukuna tucks you so tightly to his chest while you sleep that you can't even get up to use the washroom in the middle of the night. and don't think about waking him up either, he gets so grumpy the moment he's half-awake and thinks you're trying to get away from him. and in case you're wondering, yes, summers are hell. you do need to get a/c.
husband!wyk!sukuna longs for nothing more than simplicity in life. nothing helps him wind down from a long day more than laying his head on your chest while you read, but he certainly won't turn you down either if you run your hand through his hair. he enjoys the silence, and finds joy in doing absolutely nothing, in particular if you're there with him. the greatest treasure for someone who once carried the weight of the world on his shoulders is doing nothing with the person he loves most.
husband!wyk!sukuna makes sure you know how much he loves you. he writes it on your skin in kisses and hickeys. he knows he isn't always the best with emotions, or showing his love, and he particularly knows his eloquence dissolves when it comes to words. sex with you isn't just about pleasure for him. it's the one moment where he feels like he knows what he's doing and can genuinely please you. maybe it's crass, but it lets him show you his love for you how he knows best, physically.
husband!wyk!sukuna is extremely secure with you. he trusts you to the ends of the earth, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like the look of hickeys on your skin. the sly bastard loves to show them off too. you've covered them in makeup? nope. he'll whisk you away for a makeout session and make a point of smudging the makeup, much to your dismay. yes, even at work. to him, it's about the way his love is written in the language that husband!wyk!sukuna knows best.
husband!wyk!sukuna is a quiet lover. You need to read between the lines at times to find the signs, but they're always there and he'll never let a day go by without showing you, even if he rarely uses words.
