Word count: 14,605 (more dialogue than typical for me)
Tags/warnings: Angst to comfort, fluff, my most suggestive/sexual story but no actual smut, mentions of painful/toxic past relationships, discussions of coercion, hypersexual undertones for Sukuna, avoidant attachment undertones for reader, weird passages of time, flawed characters, discussions of drug usage and addiction (side character), unhealthy coping mechanisms, culturally accurate misogyny, retiredteabag's first scary adventure into dialogue-heavy storytelling
When Harry Met Sally AU: (see summary)
Recent College graduates share a contentious car ride from their hometown to the big city where they have been newly employed, during which they argue about whether men and women can ever truly be strictly platonic friends. Years later, they meet again, and in the company of their respective friends, attempt to prove the lifelong question one way or another. Can they move from unwilling to deep friendship without sex becoming an issue between them? And after the pain of their previous relationships, are either of them even fit for love?
The two of you met in late spring.
The car ride from your hometown to the big city stretched ahead of you, the excitement laden with an unwanted obligation. You shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Sukuna's beat-up sedan, already regretting your mutual friend's bright idea to carpool the six-hour journey.
Itadori Sukuna had been sat beside you, having agreed to drive "the first leg of the journey", which ended up as him driving the whole way. His music was loudly playing through the speakers, one hand was draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
He had that look about him, the kind of casual confidence that you really only ever saw on a man like himself. Though you both were recent alumni of the same university, and by some insane chance actually had a connection through one of your roommates, you had never hung out with his crowd.
Even so, post graduation, you were headed to the same city. So there you were, buckled into his carpeted seats.
His girlfriend had sadly said goodbye with a messy kiss before he hopped in, embarked toward a full-time job, and coincidentally, your boyfriend waited for you in the very same direction.
It was supposed to be convenient, sharing the trip.
The first hour passed in relative silence, punctuated only by occasional comments about traffic or which exit to take, maybe a short story about mutual classmates here and there. Somewhere around the first rest stop, after you'd both stretched your legs and grabbed terrible convenience store coffee, the conversation shifted into something more substantial.
"So," Sukuna said, merging back onto the highway, "how long have you and what's-his-name been together?"
You lean down to untie your shoes and hum, "Kenji. and three years now. We met in Yaga's class, actually, he graduated last year." You sipped your coffee, wincing at the bitterness. "What about you and...?"
"Misa. A little over a year, I guess." He glanced over. "You think you'll marry him?"
The question caught you off guard; Not only did he seriously not seem like the type to marry, but he also did not seem like the type to think about it or care. "Uhh, I don't know. Maybe? We haven't really talked about it."
"Talked about it?" Sukuna's tone suggested what he thought of that. Chuckling, he continued, "I mean, either you know, or you don't, right?."
You didn't like the idea of being stuck in the car with someone you were arguing with, so you just sighed a bit and murmured, "I don't know, I don't think it's that simple."
"It kind of is, though." He switched lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. "Three years... I mean, you either want to spend your life with someone, or you don't. That should be communicated up front."
You turned in your seat to face him properly. "Really? And you know you want to spend the rest of your life with Misa?"
Something flickered across his face, "Hell no." Laughing, he merged back.
You gaped open-mouthed, "Wha- how could you say that!"
He turned a moment to look at you, smiling, you had smacked your hand on the console between you both in shock, the man turning between you and the road before speaking, "Are you kidding? You think she wants to marry me, either?"
You paused, "You are incredibly unromantic."
"You're the one saying, 'oh, I don't know' when I asked." He shrugged, mocking your tone with a casual gesture that seemed to dismiss everything. "Romance is more about finding someone you don't want to strangle after living with them for a year."
You smiled a little despite yourself. "Is that really your bar for marriage? Tolerability?"
"You say that like it's nothing." He glanced at you again, and there was something almost defensive in his expression. "Most people can't even manage that. They get married because "they're in love", or the sex is good, but then six months later, bam, they realize they hate how the other person chews their food or whatever, and suddenly they're divorced."
"So you're planning to just find someone you tolerate well enough? Man, I feel bad for Misa..." You shake your head at his implication and stretch your legs in front of you.
Sukuna shakes his head, "I'm saying love isn't enough. You need more than that." He paused, considering. "You need to at least be somewhat" he adjusts the visor, searching for the word, "...friends, too. They gotta be someone who you want to be with even when they're driving you crazy." He used his hand as an air quote on "friends".
"Does Misa drive you crazy?"
"No." The answer came quickly, a higher tone. "But that's just cause our thing doesn't allow for the crazy to come out, we're not serious like that. Just comfortable."
You settled back into your seat, processing this. "I think I'd like more than comfortable, actually."
"Yeah?" Sukuna's smirk returned. "Good luck with that. Let me know how it works out for you in twenty years when you're still chasing some perfect fairy tale instead of building a real life with someone."
The comment stung more than it should have. Who was he to say something so harsh to someone he had just met? How come he was so abrasive? You couldn't tell why he wouldn't just concede. "At least I'll know I didn't settle."
"Settling." Sukuna shook his head. "That's what people say when they're holding out for something that doesn't exist. Every relationship is settling in some way. You think there's some perfect person out there who matches everything you want? That's a fantasy."
"I think there's someone out there who makes you want to be better. Someone who... I don't know, challenges you and supports you, and makes you become like the best version of yourself." You crossed your arms. "And I don't think that's settling."
He is still for a moment, and you think you've won, until he just flattens his mouth, almost rolling his eyes, "Sounds exhausting, or like counting on a whole lot of luck."
You groan, "It sounds like actually being in love."
The man was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that suggested irritation. "You know what your problem is?"
"Please, enlighten me."
"You know, your friend told me that you're gonna be a personal assistant. No wonder, cause I bet you overthink everything." You squirm in your seat to face him, and he murmurs something along the lines of "right up your alley".
You turn away, watching the countryside blur past the window. "I would be willing to wait for the person I'm meant to be with."
"Give it a few years. You'll change your mind."
You were done fighting, eventually, he caught your drift, and the conversation shifted, moving into safer territory like your new jobs, mutual friends, and professors you had. But an undercurrent of tension remained.
Somewhere around hour four, Sukuna pointed out something in your line of conversation that would become the cornerstone of your argument. Only at this time, you didn't know how important it would become.
"You have a lot of guy friends, huh?" He asked it casually, but there was something leading in the question.
"I mean... a few. Why?"
"Just wondering." He paused for a long moment, but eventually he said it. "You really think men and women can be friends?"
You rolled your eyes, having heard it all before. Clearly, to you, this man was trying to be annoying, "Oh, please, of course. I have plenty of male friends."
Sukuna snickered, and for some reason, it bothered you more than anything else in this whole discussion. "No, you don't."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm saying, you might think they're your friends, but I guarantee at least half of them want to sleep with you." He said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. You gasp, and he continues, "That or they're closeted," when you were stuck looking for a reply, he added, "That's just how it is."
"That... is so not true."
"It absolutely is." Sukuna merged into the exit lane as signs for a rest area appeared, landing the final blow with certainty. "Men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."
"That's ridiculous." You felt heat rising in your face, annoyed by his finality. "Not everything is about sex."
"I didn't say everything was. I just said it gets in the way. Even if neither person acts on it, the thought is there. One person catches feelings, or wonders 'what if', and suddenly the whole friendship thing is compromised."
"So you're saying it's impossible? Under any circumstances?" He nods. "Nuh uh, no. They all know I have a boyfriend, they don't see me like that."
"I'm just saying, I've never seen it work." He pulled into the rest area parking lot, cutting the engine. "One person always wants more. Or they sleep together, and it ruins everything. Or one of them gets into a relationship, and the friendship fades because their partner is uncomfortable. I'm surprised your guy is cool with it." He turned to look at you directly. "Show me one example of a real, lasting friendship between a man and woman where neither person has ever thought about it."
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Ran through your mental list of male friends, you didn't hang out with a bunch of single guys but you would definitely call them friends.
"Itadori. Literally all of my guy friends."
"Kid," He shakes his head, "that's just not true."
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "First of all, we are the same age; secondly, just because you don't respect women enough to want to talk to them unless you're boning, doesn't mean every man is the same."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who says I don't respect women?" He unbuckled his seatbelt too, following your lead. "Come on, let's just grab dinner. We've got two more hours of this."
You followed him out of the car, still worked up, not responding to his last words.
"Sure, sure, I can tell by how you treat Misa that you're really quite the feminist." You draw out your words, hoping that the poor girl wasn't in love with this bastard.
Sukuna turned, looking down on you with an arched brow, "Oh? And how do I treat her?"
You scoffed a laugh, "'Oh hell no, I'm not going to marry that!' 'Our relationship doesn't allow for her to bother me', blah blah blah. You're such a womanizer!"
For some reason, Sukuna did not seem upset; in fact, as you spoke, his little grin grew more and more. "Listen, lady, I treat Misa exactly how she likes being treated; you don't think she sees what we've got the same way? She doesn't want something serious with me, and I've got no complaints."
After a few comments about you passing judgment on him, he pushed open the diner door, a bell chiming. At the table you were seated at, you scanned the menu while your road trip buddy went to the bathroom.
You ordered off the 24 hr breakfast and got a cup of caffeinated tea. You massaged your temples, confused as to how your roommate had ended up hanging around a man this insufferable. Smug and cynical and so certain he had life figured out when clearly he was a player and incapable of mature relationships.
When he returned, the waitress was ready for his order. He dropped down in front of you to grab his mug of coffee. After a few awkward moments of not looking at him, he leaned back in the booth.
"Look," he said, less antagonistic. "I'm not trying to piss you off."
"I'm not pissed off?" You said. Clearly, pissed off.
"I'm just saying-" he laughs again, "this idea that men and women can be close, like proper friends, uncomplicated companions... it's... I mean, it's a little naive. That doesn't mean you can't have guy friends. But there's always going to be that thing underneath it." He raises a brow, "I'm tellin' ya to look out."
"That thing?" You ask, ignoring his mocking care for you.
"Attraction. The possibility. The knowledge that you two could be something else if circumstances were different." He gestured with his finger as if pointing between you and some invisible man, took a long drink of his coffee, and sighed, "Even if both people are in relationships, even if neither one would ever act on it, it's there. And that changes things."
You considered this, turning your water bottle in your hands. "So what you're saying is that you've never had a female friend."
He looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think, "No. Not a real one at least." When he saw your unamused face, he continued, "Hey, I know they haven't seen me as a friend either." He put his hands up, as if being ordered to by a cop and took a bite of his hash browns. "I've had plenty of women I was friendly with, but pure friendship? Get out of here." He shook his head. "That's different. That's intimate in a way that crosses lines."
"You..." You paused to think, "Are so full of yourself." He looked up from his heaping fork, a brow raised, "You really think every woman who has called you a friend just wants to sleep with you?"
"Let's be honest here." Sukuna gestured at himself. You scoffed. "Better to acknowledge what it is than pretend it's something else and end up hurting people."
You started to eat quicker, ready to be done with this trip and never see this man again. The last two hours of the drive passed with less conversation. You both retreated to your own thoughts, the weight of the disagreement sitting heavily on your mind.
"You know, Itadori, this is really a shame, cause you were gonna be the only person I knew in the city."
Sukuna shook his head, "Nu uh, aren't I taking you to your man's place right now?"
You rolled your eyes, "My only friend."
He sucked on his cheek, "Ahh, I see...friend."
When he finally pulled up outside your boyfriend's apartment building, you grabbed your bag from the back seat, eager to escape the confines of the car and his frustrating certainty about everything.
"Well," you said, not quite meeting his eyes, "thanks for the ride."
"Yeah." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Enjoy your stay."
You hesitated, hand on the door handle. Some part of you wanted to say something more, to end on a better note. You were here in a new city, with a new scary job, with nobody but your college lover to know you. It was such a shame to leave like this, but the words wouldn't come.
"I hope things end up well with Misa," you finally said. "That it works out the way you both want."
The man's expression softened just a smidge, "Sure, I hope you find what you're looking for too. Even if I think you're chasing a fantasy."
"It's not a fantasy." You sing-songed, turning, you shut the passenger door.
He rolled down the window, "If you say so." His tone wasn't unkind. "Take care of yourself."
You climbed up the stone stairway to your boyfriend's apartment complex buzzer, pulling your bag up after you. As Sukuna drove away, you found yourself annoyed at how the weekend had started. Six hours in a car with someone who seemed determined to be wrong about everything.
You were certain you'd never voluntarily spend time with Itadori Sukuna again.
--
Two years later
Time carved its changes into both your lives in ways neither of you could have anticipated. The occasional argument would occur, but you still loved your boyfriend deeply. And truthfully, arguments were perfectly natural for critical thinkers, and you had always been attracted to a talkative man.
You had actually invited your boyfriend to stay with your family this year, the prospect of your first Christmas together bringing the first set of butterflies you had felt in a while. He had politely declined, though. It was alright, he wanted to be with his parents. You understood, but there was a small tickle of pain when he did not ask you to join them.
That was neither here nor there; now you were on your way back from your hometown, post-Christmas chills in the air.
It was at the gate that you spotted him. Certain your eyes were playing a trick on you. But no, how could you forget the distinctive smirk, the pink hair, and ever broader-shouldered frame? He was unmistakable even in a crowded airport.
Even though you had only known him for six hours of your life.
Sukuna Itadori was stood near the window, looking out at the planes on the tarmac, and for a moment, you considered walking up to him, but decided against it, ultimately pretending you hadn't seen him at all.
But fate seemed determined, and as you approached the gate, he turned and caught sight of you too.
Recognition dawned slowly just as you turned away from his face. Boarding, you shook the idea away, certain he would pretend as well, or, more likely, he wouldn't have recognized you at all.
Once you were seated, a flight attendant asked if you would like a drink. You agreed after the gentleman beside you mentioned how good his tea was. That was something you simply could not pass up.
After ordering, the strange gentleman beside you maintained a steady conversation. Just as you were starting to hope that he wasn't planning on talking the whole flight, you felt a tap on your shoulder.
"Say it isn't so." You heard his foux shock.
And even more to your surprise, he remembered your name. Of course, you remembered Sukuna; how could you not with such a good memory... but why would he remember you?
You stutter, "Hey, wow, it's been a while..." You nod, looking back at the man to your right.
"Oh," The stranger grinned, "do you two know each other?"
"We're actually childhood friends," Sukuna interjected, grinning, and the man seemed elated at the idea.
"Oh... we're definitely not." You sigh, sliding a hand down your face.
The man did not seem to hear, "Would you like to take my seat? Catch up?"
"You're too kind." Sukuna beamed coming in to take the man's seat at your side.
He whispered your name, "Well, well, well, how have you been?"
"Itadori. Good. Busy." You set down your tea. "You?"
"Same. Work's been hectic." You paused, then there was a brief exchange of 'how were the holidays', and 'what are you doing now?' before he eventually stumbled upon it. "So, how are you and your guy? I'm sure you have a partner."
"Yeah, we're good. I'm actually on my way to seeing him now." You left out the part where Kenji worked long nights and recently never made time for serious conversation that didn't involve him raising his voice, but Sukuna didn't need to know about that.
"And you?" You asked in turn, he looked at you with a wry smile, as if waiting for you to explain, you couldn't remember the name of the woman he had been messing around with before, so you just asked, "Are you seeing anyone?"
"You could say that." You leaned back, and he spread his legs wide, "We're engaged and all.", wiggling the ring in your area of vision.
"Oh! Congratulations." You paused, trying to avoid saying "wow, you?". Something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. How was it that he was getting married? "I'm happy for you." And somehow, you meant it.
"Yeah." He looked down at his hands, and you noticed he was more considerate of his volume now. "It's been good. Different than I expected, but good."
The intercom dinged to let you know you could unbuckle your seats.
"So, tell me more, how are things with you and the lucky guy? You must be glad to be on your way home."
You didn't want to really talk about it, for some reason, you were feeling a bit jealous about his upcoming marriage, so you tilted your head, "Yeah, you could say that." You laughed, but there was no humor in it.
You had some difficulty keeping your eyes trained on his; he had acquired several new tattoos over the years that kept drawing your attention, but you didn't want him to think you were checking him out or anything. After some mildly awkward catch-up about work and hobbies, Sukuna hummed, "So," and after a short silence, "Executive assistant. I guess you made your little Type A dreams come true."
You roll your eyes, "I did." You felt a small surge of pride despite knowing he was teasing you.
"That's great. Really." He seemed genuine. "I remember you talking about that. In the car."
You bring your eyebrows together, "You remember that?"
"Oh, I can remember most of that drive." He accepted a tomato juice from a passing cart, making a face at the taste. "You were funny."
"I was?"
"Sure you were." He turned to look at you properly.
And you spent a horrible length of time trying to remember when you had last been complimented so easily like that.
--
Late the next spring
It would be almost another full year before you saw Sukuna again, and just like before, you wouldn't be looking for him. You had thought when you last spoke that the New Year would be filled with good fortune, but as it would turn out, your lives would take many turbulent shifts in the time it took for the winter to come back around.
You were walking into your neighborhood's bookstore on a rainy and windy Saturday afternoon. You were looking for a birthday gift for a colleague, something thoughtful but not too personal, and the small independent bookshop near your new apartment seemed like an easy place to browse.
You were in the romance section when you heard his voice.
"You've got to be kidding me."
You turned to find a certain salmon haired man standing at the end of the aisle, holding a couple books, the top one appeared to be on sports training. He looked as surprised as you felt.
You squinted, trying to find some words before landing on, "Is this going to become an annual thing?"
"That can't be right. I can hardly remember the last time I saw you." He moved closer, glancing at the book in your hands. "'Cowboy needs a little lovin' '?"
"It's not for me." You shudder, showing him the cover of the half-naked model. "It's for a colleague, I'm sure she'll love it."
"...I believe you," he said with an unconvincing tone, "sure you don't want a copy for yourself, though?"
"Oh, yeah," You look down at the cover, "just my type." You rolled your eyes and set the book down, fond of his smile that didn't mock. "How've you been?"
He looked around the shop before answering, "Busy." You traced a finger across the casing you were leaning against.
"Just busy? I haven't seen you in over a year, the flight back, right?" You knew you were right, but asked anyway. Cringing when you think back on that time, how you waited for your now ex to come and pick you up, eventually realizing too slowly that he had forgotten, and you would need to figure it out yourself. How he hadn't told you he had "stayed home" for New Year's, and how you had tried to make it work for months after that.
"That's right..." The man's expression shifted, became something more guarded. "Ehhh...a lot's happened since then."
Something in his tone made you pause. "Yeah, same. How are you? You had your wedding, right?"
"No, yeah, I definitely did." You scrunch up your face at his cadence; he doesn't seem happy about it. He knocks his knuckles against a bookcase. You were just starting to get the uncomfortable notion that an early divorce was in his voice when he proceeded.
He looked around again, like someone might hear, like the weight of something was pressing on him.
"My wife, well, she and I aren't together anymore." He said it bluntly, shaking the thoughts out of his head.
Well, that had not at all been what you had expected. "Sukuna, I'm so sorry. That must be hard."
"Sukuna...." He wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, staring down at it. "That's a first, you've only ever called me by my last name."
You didn't know if that was true but it didn't feel like the time to ask, "I don't know what to say."
"Nobody does." He finally looked up, sighing, and you could see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "People want to help, but there's nothing I can do without airing out her business, and I'm not really interested in doing all that.
You looked down at your shoes, not even pretending to know what he meant. "I'm sorry." They're the only words you can get out. You were hurting too, as much as you wanted to pretend you weren't, but you knew this must be different. Kenji hadn't even proposed... not really at least.
"I kinda wish none of it had happened, almost felt like a waste of both of our time."
You shake your head. "It doesn't have to be a waste. This stuff isn't linear. You can be sad about losing someone even if the relationship wasn't working."
"Yeah, that's what people say." He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair. "Her family hates me. They think I changed her for the worse and left her because of it."
You don't understand, so you can't exactly console him. You just mutter, "They probably would've sided with her regardless."
"Yeah, that's true, logically, I know that." He took a shaky breath. "But I feel like I let them down, not sticking it out."
You sat in silence for a moment. This bookstore trip had not at all gone according to plan. The café hummed with other conversations, other people living their normal lives, while the both of you silently seemed to mourn people who weren't even dead.
It suddenly hit you, like it randomly will, that feeling that everyone is living their own lives, and even though you live in the same city, you never really know what anyone is going through.
"Are you seeing anyone?" You asked carefully. "A therapist, I mean."
He chuckles,"Yeah, actually, pretty much once a week. Apparently I'm supposed to sign up for some Nar-Anon family group."
You pause, a little bit more of his story coming out, "For what it's worth, I'm sure you're handling this better than you think you are."
He tilted his head, and a smirk came across his face, and for a moment, he looked exactly like he had when you first met him, "I'm standing in a bookstore unloading on someone I barely know, but thanks." He ties your name to the end of his sentence, and it feels like a sweet reminder that you both weren't technically strangers.
"We spent six hours in a car together arguing about the nature of love." You returned his smile. "I think that counts for something."
Sukuna appeared to consider this. "You know, you're probably the only person I've talked to who doesn't speak to me like I'm about to freak out any given moment."
"Do you...want people to look at you like that?"
"God, no." He took a loud sip of his coffee and grimaced. "This is terrible. Why do bookstores always have the worst coffee?"
You can see he is ready for a change of subject, "It's part of the aesthetic."
"Pretentious literature requires pretentious bitter coffee?"
"Something like that." You smile.
The two of you went on to talk for another hour, the conversation flowing easier than it had any right to. Sukuna told you about moving out of the apartment he'd shared with Emi, the woman who was now his ex-wife, about his work, and trying to find some kind of normalcy. You told him about your recent promotion, about the project you were heading up that was consuming all your time, but you did not mention Kenji, and thankfully, he did not ask.
When you finally left the bookstore, rain still falling softly outside, Sukuna actually walked you to your car.
"Thanks," he said, hands shoved in his pockets. "For listening. These types of conversations are always weird."
You squint up at him, never having anticipated him of all people finding a strange conversation uncomfortable, "Hey, not at all." And you meant it. "I'm serious, Sukuna, if you wanna catch up or want someone to talk to, call me."
"Yeah?" He looked almost vulnerable, something you'd never seen from him before. "You want to give me your number?" He makes a weird face at you, "That's not going to complicate things?"
You paused and rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone. "I think we're way past worrying about complications."
And the smile he gave you felt perfectly natural. After you'd exchanged numbers, Sukuna hesitated before turning to leave.
"Hey," he said, "that thing I said in the car. About men and women not being able to be friends."
"Yeah?"
He shrugged, "I'm pretty sure I was wrong about that."
There was something very mature about admitting when you're wrong, and as you watched him walk away, disappearing into the rain, you felt with strange certainty that something had shifted between you. Maybe he had come back into your life for such a time as this, and you into his, after all that had passed, to be a friend.
--
That Summer
It started with text messages. Simple things at first, Sukuna sending you a photo of truly terrible coffee with the message "Even worse and somehow $7". You would respond with pictures of your latest project and "entirely optional purchase btw", asking his opinion on design elements you knew he wouldn't understand but somehow always had thoughts about anyway.
Then came the phone calls. Late-night conversations were surprisingly easy with someone who held such strong opinions so weakly. When neither of you could sleep (which, unspoken of but very present, your loneliness appreciated), the two of you would always have something to go on about. Sukuna told you about his experience with group therapy, about this slow process of untangling the pain and guilt of loving someone you didn't want to. And you told him about the disastrous rejections you had made to the poor men who asked you out.
And slowly, you opened up a little about how you and Kenji had ended.
For some reason, you liked to pretend it was some other guy who had torn you up so humiliatingly. You didn't lie exactly; you just never said Kenji's name. And besides, Sukuna didn't ask for details; he knew if you wanted to, you would share.
The thing was, you had been with Kenji for so long, it felt embarrassing for Sukuna of all people to hear about the specifics. The shame you felt, some of it valid, some of it overkill, drove you to extreme individuality, or maybe independence.
"So what was wrong with this one?" He asked during one of these calls, his voice rough with after-work exhaustion, but still actively engaged in the most recent guy you turned down.
"Nothing, really. He was nice. Successful. Good-looking." You sighed, curled up on your couch with tea and a bowl of pasta. "There was just no spark, you know? No connection."
"Hey, maybe you're being too picky." You heard something in a pan sizzling on his line.
"Sorry, not really interested on taking love advice from you."
"Ouch." But he was laughing. You had both become comfortable enough to joke around with one another. "Fair point." He must have turned on the sink to douse the pan and after a pause, he asked, "So what are you looking for then?"
"I don't know. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone I can talk to naturally." You paused.
"That is a tall order." He chuckled.
"Is it though? Shouldn't that be...like the bare minimum?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Of course it is, actually, I would say that should be pretty standard."
--
A month after the bookstore, the two of you had dinner. It happened after a conversation about the new place that opened up nearby, and it had been such a fun change of pace in your mutually boring lives that you decided there would have to be another. And after that, the dinners became almost a weekly tradition, usually it was a hole-in-the-wall place that Sukuna found with incredible food and questionable ambiance.
"How do you even find these places? I've lived here for over three years now and never heard of it." You asked, looking around at a ramen shop that seemed to consist entirely of a counter with eight seats.
"It's a gift." Sukuna slurped his noodles. "Also, I'm a cheap bastard and this place is perfect."
You chuckle because he was cheap, "You're not cheap. You're frugal." What a lie.
"That's what cheap people say to feel better about themselves."
"True." You hum, only after having kicked his shin under the counter, and he grinned.
It was a nice change of pace, these dinners, and somehow, after weeks and weeks, the two of you still had things to talk about.
It was during one of these dinners that Sukuna brought up your ex.
"So," he said, pushing into a steak, one of your fancier picks, "Whatever happened with the guy you were with during our lovely introduction?"
"What?" You looked up from your pasta. "I told you. We broke up, you know that."
"Yeah, but why?" He waves his fork around, "I've told you everything, can't you spill about this? I mean, the two of you were together three years. That's not nothing."
You considered how much you even wanted to share, you hadn't told hardly anybody, hell, even your family knew not to mention his name. You never made it a rule or anything, but nobody dares. Most days, you tried to just avoid anything that would make you think of him and how pathetic it all made you feel.
But Sukuna had proved to be someone easy to speak with, and quite objective, no matter your feelings, and besides, maybe it was time you were able to talk about it. You took a bite of your food, as casually as you could, admitting, "We were together over six years...actually."
Sukuna squinted, a confused expression, "No...hold on, how can that be?"
"Uhhh, it can be because that's how long we were dating, duh." You reach for your glass of water, and for some reason, your heart was beating rather fast.
"But that would mean you were together... like... recently?" He shook his head at you, as if you didn't understand your own life's timeline.
"I wouldn't exactly call it all that recent." You clinked your fork into the bottom of the dish, skewering more pasta.
"Hold on. You were together for six years?" He seems shocked, only not realizing you were telling the truth.
"Yes." You exasperate, rolling your eyes at his expression.
"You were with that one guy all this time... like... when you were telling me about that breakup... it was with him all along? College boy?"
You blink up at him.
He straightened up, "I mean... damn you dodged a bullet." It was a nice way for him to put it.
"Eventually, I guess."
Sukuna's hand found the counter after he set his own fork down; all too invested now, he seemed quite serious. "Jesus, girl, you were with him for over six years?"
"Thank you, Sukuna, for repeating it." You grin before pulling away, tucking any other explanation into the back of your brain. "What about you? Any relationships between Emi and now?"
He rolls his eyes because he knows you know the answer, "God, no." Horrified by the thought, he groans, "I'm a mess, you know that. I'm not bringing that into a relationship."
You sigh, "You are not a mess."
He calls your name, teasing, "I'm in therapy with Narcotics Anonymous, where even I feel unwelcome because I decided to leave when things got tough."
"That's a pretty extreme glossing over of your story." You flagged down the server for the check. "But you're a functional mess. That counts for something."
"I'll definitely be putting that on my dating profile. 'Functional mess seeks patient woman with low standards.'"
"You'd get more responses than you think."
Walking back to your cars afterward, Sukuna brought up something that had clearly been on his mind.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you thinking of seeing anyone right now?"
"What? No, why?"
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Just wondering if I'm monopolizing your time. If you need to cut back on these dinners to make space for someone. I mean... I wanna encourage you to do that."
"Sukuna, if I had someone I was serious about, I wouldn't be calling you all the time, and we wouldn't be having these dinners anyway; you're not 'taking up' my time."
He's still for a moment, thinking, "Okay. Good." He paused by his car. "Because this... hanging out with you. It's like, a fun part of my week. It'd be a shame to not have someone to complain to."
"You can always count on being able to complain with me." You bumped your shoulder against his. "That is what real friends are for."
"Yeah." But something in his expression was uncertain as he chuckled to himself.
--
That Fall
The restaurant was nicer than your usual spots, a sleek place in the city with low lighting and expensive-looking cocktails. You'd suggested it for several weekends now, having wanted to try it after hearing your friend rave about the food after her disastrous date there.
Sukuna had agreed without complaint, even though you knew it was more than he was usually willing to spend on himself.
"This place is fancy," he said, looking around with amusement. "Are we celebrating something?"
"Do we need a reason?"
"I guess not." He picked up the menu, "Though my wallet might have some complaints."
"My treat."
He dropped the menu right back on the table, "Absolutely not."
"Kuna-"
"Girl, it's not happening." He was clearly not amused. "If you want to go to expensive places, that's fine. But don't go offering to pay my share."
You knew better than to argue when he got that look. "You may be a big shot EA, but even I can afford a few expensive meals once and awhile." He teased. You knew he made more than you did.
The food, when it came, was just as good as you'd hoped. You shared plates, wanting to try his order too, and you talked about everything on your mind, and also nothing at the same time. The easy comfort of your friendship wrapped around you like a comfy sweater.
It was somewhere between the main course and dessert that the conversation shifted.
"Anyway," Sukuna said, swirling the drink in his glass. "I went out again last week."
"You always make that sound so ominous." You knew about him and his coworker, Toji's antics.
"It wasn't really a date." He shrugged, as if you needed the clarification..
You felt something in your chest, quick and unexpected. "And how did that go?"
"Fine. She was nice." He took a drink. "We slept together, and she got mad when I was less than keen on spending the night." He seemed so matter-of-fact about it all, but you saw how he almost shuddered when setting his drink down.
This wasn't weird, you told yourself; the two of you had talked about his one-night stands before. "That's... to be expected, I think." You raise a judgmental eyebrow at him. Not knowing what else to say, you ask, "Did you at least have a good time? Any plans to go see her again?"
You knew there weren't.
"I don't know if it was good or bad. It just was." He ran his finger along the condensation of his glass, and there was something almost clinical in his tone. "I'm not gonna call."
You blinked. "Of course not."
He rolled his eyes, finally smirking again, "It's not how it sounds." Sukuna ran a hand through his hair. "It's just easier this way. There aren't expectations or complications. It's more like...just physical..." He pauses when he sees your face and quickly adds, "for now."
"That doesn't sound healthy." You murmur. This was a topic the two of you had touched on. Sukuna seemed averse to a relationship, but never said no to a woman who hit him up at a bar.
"Says who? You know I'm upfront about it all. I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious. If they're okay with that, what's the harm?"
You didn't want to say that you were starting to think he used sex as a way to avoid actual intimacy in such a nice restaurant with such nice service when the conversation was so light, so you just rolled your eyes.
"Aren't we both just enjoying being single without the pressure of a relationship?" His tone had a question to it now.
You weren't judging him... or are you? You don't know, but you shrug, not believing him when you say, "Yeah, I guess we're both just casual for now."
But he laughs at you. "No, no, you're not fine with casual. You're still worried about getting hurt again."
The ease of his saying it shouldn't have surprised you, but even now, his bluntness caught you off guard, it helps you know where your tone comes from when you say, "Wow, okay. Are you my therapist now?"
"I'm your friend." Sukuna leans back in his chair, something hard in his expression. "Let me ask you something. When's the last time you had sex?"
You felt heat rise in your face. You had talked about pretty much everything with Sukuna, but for some reason, this topic always left you feeling a bit scandalized. "That's none of your business."
"Exactly. So maybe don't judge my choices when you're clearly not making any of your own."
"And what does that mean?"
He leaned forward. "You spend all your time working or hanging out with friends. You always avoid actually putting yourself out there. I'm constantly hearing from you or your girls about the latest boy you rejected. I'm just saying, don't judge me as if you're perfect yourself."
The words hit harder than they should have, or maybe you just didn't understand why you cared, "I'm not avoiding anything. I just haven't met the right person."
"Or you're scared. Just like you're accusing me of being."
You both fell silent, the tension thick between you. Around you, other diners laughed and talked, oblivious to the argument playing out at your table.
"Look," He finally said, his voice softer, he rolls his eyes, "whatever, that was probably out of line."
"No, you're right." You agreed, although you wished he hadn't said it, you would settle for him admitting his own flaws. You pushed food around your plate. "Every time I think about dating seriously, I remember how stupid I was with Kenji. I don't feel like doing it again, and besides, I just haven't been able to catch feelings."
"Great. So we're both fucked up."
You think about denying it, but you had wondered the same thing for a while now, "Apparently." You managed, "Great friendship we've got going on here. Two emotionally stunted people enabling each other."
At least the two of you were honest. Sukuna grunts,"No way am I enabling you, I'm counting on you getting over this weird phase you're in and falling in love."
"Good luck." You meet his eyes.
Sukuna didn't seem to have an answer for that.
The rest of dinner passed with forced lightness, both of you trying to recapture the easy comfort from earlier and not quite managing it. When the check came, Sukuna grabbed it before you could, ignoring your protest. He probably felt bad for taking things too far.
Outside the restaurant, you stood on the sidewalk, neither of you quite ready to leave but not sure what to say.
"I'm sorry," you finally offered. "I don't want you feeling like I'm judging your dating life."
"No, you were right, I don't know why I am this way." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Maybe I'm just a mean fuck, I don't know. But if I trust anyone to tell me, it's you."
"Maybe you just have to be aware of it so you can grow from here."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I have a smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."
Sukuna's laugh was genuine this time. "I'm pretty sure that's an insult, not a compliment, but okay."
"It's both."
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. It was weird. You two never did this, and he stiffened when your hands found his back. For some reason, you just felt like it was the right thing to do. Neither of you had been particularly emotional tonight, but something seemed to have changed in between the words neither of you had said. After a second or so, he returned the gesture, and his weight felt almost unrealistically gentle for his size.
"We're going to be okay," you said into his chest. "Both of us."
It was out of nowhere, he didn't seem to have expected it, but he also didn't seem to mind, "Yeah." His arm tightened around you. "Of course we will."
But neither of you sounded entirely convinced.
--
That Winter
Sukuna sat across from Toji in their usual bar, nursing a beer and only half-listening to his friend's story about some disaster at work. His mind kept drifting to you. That afternoon, you had texted him about finding a new spot with coffee that was "aggressively mediocre." It reminded him of when you two started getting close.
"Are you even listening?" Toji asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Yeah, sorry. Our boss is an idiot, the job is impossible, the usual." Sukuna took a drink. "What were you saying?"
"I was asking about your girlfriend."
Sukuna pauses, beer in hand, squinting. "...I don't have a girlfriend."
"Right, the woman you spend every waking moment with but aren't dating." Toji rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to call her."
"She's my friend."
"Uh-huh." Toji's tone was deeply skeptical. "And this is... what, a booty call you text constantly, have dinner with multiple times a week, and apparently think about enough that you can't focus on my very important story."
"It's definitely not like that with her."
"Then what's it like?"
Sukuna considered how to explain it. "She's... I've just known her for a while, we just talk. About anything. Like I'm talking to you, but..."
"But she's a woman."
"That's not what I meant."
"But it's true, isn't it?" Toji leaned forward. "Look, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with having female friends. But the way you talk about her... man, that's not friendship. That's something else."
"No, seriously, we're just friends."
"Okay, fine. Let me ask you this." Toji finished his beer, signaling for another. "If she called you right now and said she met someone, that she's in a serious relationship... how would you feel?"
The thought made some surprising feelings twist in his gut. "I'd be happy for her."
"Bull. Shit."
"Nah, you don't get it, I would-"
"You'd be devastated. Don't lie to me." Toji accepted his new beer from the bartender with a grin. "I've known you for years. I can tell when you're full of shit."
Sukuna was quiet, turning his own beer in his hands. "It doesn't matter how I'd feel. I'd be happy for her to find someone good after all this time."
Toji pauses, "And you don't suppose you could be that person?"
"I know I couldn't." Sukuna's voice was suddenly firm. "Toji, I was married, you know that, I'm divorced in my 20's. I'm fucking around with random women all the time. You really think I'm in a position to offer anyone a real relationship?"
Toji rolls his eyes, "Ah, not this shit again, you know, I think you'd be ready if you just let yourself be."
"You, Toji, really are not one to talk."
--
Spring, the next year
"What exactly is it that you do with these women? You just get up out of bed and leave?"
You're sitting across from him at the burger place that reminds you both of your old college town. Sukuna is adding ketchup to his bun as he shrugs, "Sure."
"Well, explain to me how you do it." The man raises his brow as if your request made no sense. You continue, "What do you say?"
"I say I've got an early meeting or an early haircut, an early tattoo appointment, who cares-"
You stop him, "You don't take meetings. You said the one thing you like about your job is that you never have to sit through meetings."
He puts a finger up, taking an egregious bite, "They don't know that, they've just met me."
You just stare at him with your mouth agape. Sukuna begins to grin. "That's disgusting." You shake your head and dip a fry into your shake. You always regret doing it; it's never as good as you hope it will be, never as good as it once was.
"I know, I feel terrible." He shows no remorse at all.
"You know, I am so glad nobody I cared about ever got involved with you. They just would have ended up being some other woman you got up out of bed and left at 3 o'clock in the morning to the excuse of..." You fish around for something, "...needing to mow the grass- mind you, you don't even have a lawnmower- not that they would know that."
Sukuna chuckles, stealing one of your fries, "Why are you getting upset? This has nothing to do with you."
"Yes, it does." You say matter-of-factly, setting your smash-burger down. "You are an affront to all women you come across, and I, believe it or not, am a woman."
The man before you sighs, "Hey, I don't feel great about this, but I don't hear anyone complaining."
You scoff, "Of course not, you're out the door too fast."
He turns as if to look agast at the other customers, a silent audience who weren't listening, then he looks back at you, pauses strangely,
"...I think they have an okay time."
You meet those eyes, his ego always has this way of bugging you, "And how would you even know that?"
"What 'dya mean, how do I know? I know."
"What?...because they..." You flounce about for the word, shaking your hand about, but childishly, you can't bring yourself to say it.
Sukuna shakes his head, seemingly amused, "Yes, because they..." and he waves his hand around, mocking your own unconscious movement.
He's actually starting to bother you now, "And how do you know that they're really-" You waggle your hand again, and Sukuna stops you by grabbing it in his fist, laughing now.
"What are you saying? That they fake their orgasms?"
You yank your hand away, and a crawling feeling shivers over your neck. You lean back in your seat to look at him. You shrug. "It's possible." You don't say what you're thinking, which is (based on your own experience) that it's more likely than not.
Sukuna chuckles and hits the table this time with his palm when he tries to choke his laugh; it catches the attention of those at other booths. "Get out of here." He cackles.
"Why?" You bend your face to try and catch his eye as he goes in for a big bite, "Most women, if not all, have... absolutely done it."
"Well, they haven't faked it with me." Sukuna's voice has finality in it, like he wants this conversation to be done with now, but his behavior is actually bothering you now.
"How. Do. You. Know."
Sukuna grabs a napkin and wipes his fingers, holding your gaze for a long moment before simply, "Because I know."
You're now officially too annoyed to actually carry on, so you just huff, deciding to let it go. But, like he usually does when you give up on things like this, he just refuses to let you. "What? You don't think that I could tell the difference?"
You shake your head, wiping down the table a bit unnecessarily before mouthing a silent, "no".
"Get out of here." He just shrugs, like it doesn't bother him.
You're not sure if it's because he doesn't care about all those poor women he takes to his bed, or if he really just has that enormous of an ego.
--
Almost Winter
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, hear me out." You passed Sukuna the bread basket across the table at your usual place. It had finally become the case that you were sick and tired of hearing about his late-night escapades, and it just so happened that your co-worker, Fushiguro, was into his type.
Large, a bit broodish, and good for a chat. "She's perfect for you. She's also a physical therapist, so she's into fitness like you are. She's funny, she's stable, she's-"
"Not interested." Sukuna hummed taking a piece of bread just to have something to do with his hands. "I don't need you setting me up."
"Why not? You need to date someone seriously. This fuck boy stuff really isn't doing you any favors. Trust me, she'll like your tattoos too."
"Yeah, sure she will. You know what would help me?" He leans back in his seat, "You getting laid."
You nearly choked on your water. "Excuse me?"
"I'm serious. When's the last time you even went on a date? Like, an actual date, not drinks with coworkers that you pretend isn't networking."
"I literally do date, and what exactly does that have to do with my friend?"
"Name one guy you've seen in the last eight months."
You opened your mouth, then closed it. A while ago, you actually had tried to go out with a guy. The prospect of...liking someone, it had gnawed at you so painfully leading up to your evening that you almost backed out. Later that night, you were overcome with this frantic anxiety when he had reached out to hold your hand, something so small and simple. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to do it. Everything had been fine, but any emotional closeness he tried to bring seemed to trigger an ever stronger need for distance.
You never talked about it with Sukuna, which was weird because these days you told each other everything.
As of late, it became clearer and clearer that you were convincing yourself something was just wrong with every potential relationship that came along, you would go out of your way to find flaws in order to not grow attached. Every time, even with friendships that grew closer, when things began to get too serious, it's like you needed space. Your independence felt much safer than any vulnerability, and receiving affection -- to you-- was more vulnerable than giving it.
You had left early from that date, stricken with shame, and deciding never to talk about whatever this problem you had was, "That is so not the point. I can see you deflecting." You reply to the man across from you.
"That's exactly the point." Sukuna leaned back, arms crossed. "Don't tell me to go out with your girlfriend, you'll only be mad at me about how it ends up."
"Ew." You didn't want to think about what he meant by that.
He licks his fork, "I'll gladly take her out once you finally loosen up with some guy."
"Don't drag me into this." You sigh. Knowing that you would never allow yourself to be in a position to beg for fondness ever again. Maybe you were just frightened of abandonment, but something in you had changed with the humiliation of Kenji. Now, you were safe to never need another man again, and the idea of it had a confession coming out.
"You know," You grin strangely, "you were right all those years ago. I used to have a problem with chasing a fantasy, but I don't think I'm really interested in a relationship anymore."
Sukuna stops whatever he was doing. He squints for a moment, his brows coming together in a way you rarely ever see. There is a long pause before he says, "I didn't want to be right about that."
"Sure you did."
His mouth slightly quirks. "Okay, maybe a little, but not really."
You tap your foot, remembering how sweet Fushiguro (your coworker) had begged to meet your "beefy tattooed friend". You pulled out your phone. "How's this: I'll let you set me up if you let me set you up,"
Sukuna's eyes jump up from his plate. You quickly add, "and you have to take it seriously."
"That's a terrible idea."
"Scared?"
His eyes narrow. "Of what?"
"Of putting yourself out there. Of actually letting yourself like her instead of running away the morning after."
He squints at you, his jaw tightened, a little smile, a little ego, but after a long moment, he nods. "Fine. One date. But I get to pick the guy for you."
"Of course, you know I've already picked your date."
"Deal."
You shook hands across the table, both of you trying to ignore the fact that the gesture felt more like a challenge than an agreement.
Three weeks later, you found yourself sitting across from Toji Zenin, a guy Sukuna knew from work (and had told you all about). He was handsome in a conventional way. He had nice dark hair.
You liked dark hair. He also had a flirty smile and big hands; you should like him. He would have been a good catch, but as hard as you tried that night, you just couldn't seem to be at ease.
"So, Sukuna tells me you're into fitness too," you said, cutting your steak with precise movements.
"Mm-hmm." He pushed himself forward, chewing quickly before speaking, "Tell me a bit about what you do."
You launched into a detailed explanation of your latest team development project, and he nodded at appropriate moments while your mind drifted, explaining what an Executive Assistant even does. You wondered how Kuna's date was going. Fushiguro was a coworker, but also a friend. She was smart, funny, and also quite beautiful.
A part of you was distracted thinking about whether they would sleep together. If he would bring her to his place, if he had cleaned, how he would do it, if tomorrow she would tell you about how mean he had been, or maybe if she would say...something else...
The thought of it made you feel a bit weird. You hoped he didn't mess it up with her.
"Don't you think?" Toji asked, and you realized you'd completely lost the thread of conversation.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said, the future of sports betting is pretty unsustainable in comparison to regular gambling, don't you think?"
"Oh. Yeah, for sure." You took a drink of your wine and tried to focus. How on earth had you landed on sports betting? "I've actually heard about the analytics of it...I'm pretty sure that stuff is more and more like slot machines..." Your words were getting quieter; you didn't really care to talk about this stuff, but then again, you wouldn't mind talking about it with Sukuna.
Maybe it was exactly what you had feared, maybe you just didn't like the fact that you were on a date. Maybe you were wrong when you thought you were over all this stuff. Maybe none of this would ever be enough for you.
Suddenly, you were feeling a bit upset, but it wasn't an angry feeling; it was much worse than that.
You blink hard, remembering how Kenji had looked at you when you said you wanted to be married. It had been after months of arguments; he was hardly home, he was always irritable, you never asked anything of him because it was too burdensome, you knew it.
He had said some variant of, "Fine, we will." He had sounded annoyed, and he had seemed to think it would make you happy.
You had felt like it should have been. But it hadn't.
This love thing just didn't work for you, you know that now. You had learned a long time ago that shutting down is the best response to any of these strong emotions, especially when you know they are coming out of nowhere. You know how to rely on yourself; you no longer wanted any kind of emotional support.
And now you feel silly.
"Well, the key is finding the right people, people who have like... mules, you know, that's where the long-term value is." He smirked up from his plate. Poor Toji, he hadn't done anything wrong, but you felt you needed to go now, slink off and apologize about whatever came to mind.
You nodded, letting him talk, though.
When the dinner came to its end, the two of you had officially slipped back to "polite conversation", and as you drifted nearer and nearer to the exit, you said some variant of, "I'll call you."
He smiled noncommittally, and you had a feeling he was aware you would not call.
--
Inside your apartment, you immediately texted Sukuna.
That was terrible, how could you do this to me.
He hadn't done anything wrong; you just wanted to tell him how you were feeling, and even though you knew you couldn't get into the details of why it would never work, you wanted to open the possibility for your next conversation. After a moment, you add,
How was yours?
And then,
Be nice to her
His response came quickly after, surprising you:
I'm always nice.
Followed by,
Ehh, leaving now. She's sweet, but not really for me.
You're so lucky I'm not banging her.
You sigh,
Please do not. Not if you're telling me she's not your type.
He "thumbs-up"ed your message, and instead of replying directly he offered,
Want to come over? I have beer.
You consider it. Something inside of you wanted to hear about his date. About what they talked about, what he had said to her, why he didn't think she was 'for him.'
Be there in 20.
When you arrived, he was already on his second beer, you curled up on your couch in the comfortable clothes you had quickly changed into.
"So, Toji was that bad, huh?" He asked, dropping down beside you, handing you a sweet cider.
You consider joking, but you can't seem to find it within yourself, "Not actually, no." You hold back on saying 'I wish it had worked', because it's not as if you had tried, "You forgot to mention he's a gambling addict."
Sukuna chuckles, "He's not."
"Could've fooled me." He chuckles again. "How was Fushiguro?"
"Beautiful." He rolled his shoulders back on the cushions, spreading his thighs out. If he still had shoes on, you envision him knocking them off and lounging like a jungle cat, "she laughed at my jokes." Sukuna shrugged, and you turned to face him. "Felt nothing."
You pause, "Nothing?"
"Nothing." He leaned his head back against the couch. "We had dinner, we talked, she's cool. And the whole time I just kept thinking..."
"What?"
He turned to look at you. "I kept thinking I'd rather be here." The silence almost killed you. What did he mean by that?
"Home." He clarifies.
The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning neither of you seemed ready to examine. But then his words were flowing out, "I didn't really... want to sleep with her."
That drew you up short, surprised you, "Really? I mean... You didn't anyway..."
"Yeah, I didn't." He pursed his mouth, adding, "It was weird to not have that expectation. I knew you wouldn't want me to. But it was nice all the same."
You didn't know what it was that he was saying exactly, "It's not that I 'didn't want you to', I just didn't want you hurting her."
"Right." He takes a gulp.
"There's no expectation to sleep with the women you're around, you know that, right?" It seems too obvious to you, but he scrunches up his face.
"I don't know, I'm kinda a slut, you say it yourself." And you do, but you wouldn't say it right now, not when you're being honest with one another. "I don't really know why I go out and do that shit."
"I mean..." You look out the window, because he wasn't meeting your eyes anymore, "I guess because it feels good?"
He shrugs, "I guess."
The truth was, Sukuna felt he had very little control over his own choices; he was a promiscuous guy, he had been in college, and he had been when he met his ex-wife. But when he was in a real relationship, he was loyal.
He hadn't even minded the fact that she would only show her affection with sex when they were together. He had loved her, he had loved being with her, had loved making love to her...maybe not so much in the end.
But he had loved when she loved him, though. No matter what.
"Well," you finally said, trying to keep your tone light, "at least we tried."
"Yeah." He had a lot of breath in his voice, his eyes were looking somewhere far away. "At least we tried."
People always talk about how those who fall into addiction do so to cope with a poor family life, or maybe a toxic relationship, a dissatisfaction with their current predicament, but that hadn't been the case for Emi. Maybe she had tried them for fun, maybe it was boredom, he could never really be sure; everything had fallen apart so fast.
It didn't take long before it bled into their relationship, taking its toll on her, making her... different. Everything about the two of them had always been passion, from start to finish. They had gotten married young, fallen so quickly into each other, but eventually the nights they shared had Sukuna feeling like there was this... well of affection he could no longer draw from anymore.
All too quickly, she only ever seemed to maw at his body like a hungry animal. Maybe it used to be fun, but he couldn't seem to remember that time.
He would stumble onto eggshells at first, but eventually, he had learned not to turn her down. One night, she had come home, her touch had been so slow and heavy, it didn't feel like her anymore. And when he placed his palms against her cheeks and kissed her so intently, whispering a questioning, "maybe not tonight?", she had just burst into tears.
And he just couldn't understand.
She was hurting so terribly, and it wasn't him, it wasn't her family; it wasn't even her job that she was getting closer and closer to losing, it wasn't anything at all, but to her, it felt like everything was caving in.
That night, he hadn't wanted to, but she made him.
He must not love her anymore. That's what she had wailed to him that night. She wept, but it wasn't true. He would do anything for her. Anything to make her know. And so he did it, to prove it to her.
It wasn't so bad. He had been much stronger than she was; she couldn't have forced him to do anything even if she tried.
The women at the bars couldn't force him into anything either,
Still, somehow, he felt this tight lack of control in his chest; he didn't like being this way. Sometimes he enjoyed it, sure, he liked pleasuring women, that had always been true.
But when he had been with her, he knew now that was when he started to crave it as if it were love itself.
To her, it had been just that.
It had been all the love she could give, and thus, all the love he received.
And that night, quietly drinking with you curled up on his sofa, Sukuna decided what he really wanted was to stop, even if it took some time.
--
Some time later, New Year's Eve
The party was everything you usually hated: crowded, loud, full of people you barely knew, making forced conversation while waiting for midnight. But Fushiguro had insisted, and you were trying out this exposure therapy thing, and besides, you'd also completely run out of excuses to stay home alone.
You were watching her across the room, mutual friends and strangers around, but in the moment, you're focused on how she's dancing with Kuna's friend, Toji. They looked so good together. It was funny how it happened. You and Sukuna's best friends might genuinely be perfect for one another.
You couldn't deny you were a little jealous.
It comes and goes in waves. You love your independence, but sometimes you're lonely, you refuse to rely on someone, but there's still this hole in your heart that wants something, something you refuse to give it.
You had been propositioned the night before, inviting you to a different party, but you had said no.
Recently, you started to wonder more and more about what your problem was. Even now, you were contemplating a graceful exit when you spotted Kuna across the room.
He was alone, holding a drink and looking about as comfortable as you wish you felt. When your eyes met, his expression shifted, his eyebrows raised, and he wiggled a finger in a "get over here" kind of way.
"Fancy seeing you here," you said, working your way through the crowd to his side.
"You weren't just about to leave, were you?" He handed you his cup without being asked, and you took a grateful sip, giving him a nod. "Say it isn't so. Let's get out of here?"
"God, yes."
You didn't discuss where you were going, just let him walk you through the quiet streets until you began to come upon a familiar park you both had visited these past couple of summers. It was empty at this hour, the playground equipment casting strange shadows in the streetlight.
You couldn't deny it. You and Sukuna were getting older.
You always felt like this during the new year, this panicky feeling you couldn't ever give a name.
Thank God, Sukuna was here with you.
The desires you kept hidden sometimes peaked their head up, but it was comforting to remember that you had him. You had each other.
The two of you walked around for a bit, and the outside air started to leave a chill on the back of your neck. Eventually, you came upon the swingset and took a seat.
Sukuna brought up New Year's resolutions, and you just chuckled.
Maybe the stress from the holidays was getting to you, maybe you had taken a few too many sips from his cup, but you said what you had been wanting to say for a while now. Honesty was always easier with him; you found it more helpful, too, with this new maturity he had developed.
"I just wish I wasn't like this... but I feel like I can never change."
Anytime you teetered on the edge of bringing it up, your friends would talk about how it wasn't a big deal, that you were just self-sufficient, but Sukuna didn't say anything. Not for a long while.
"Remember that conversation we had?" Sukuna asked as you both sat on the swings, the metal chains creaking gently. "In the car. About whether men and women could be friends."
You look over at him, his feet were firmly placed on the mulch, you stop the slow kicking of your legs, "Hard to forget. You were pretty adamant."
"I was wrong." He kicked at the wood chips beneath his feet.
"Am I getting deja vu or have you said that to me before?"
"I'm trying to say people can change, you know?" He pauses, looking at you seriously.
You felt so glad you could have someone like him. He just...understood you, he would listen without making you feel crazy,
"You think so?"
"I do...at least... I'm trying...you know that.." He sighs, and you turn back to look at him.
You know it's true. You've seen it. You pointed it out after Toji and Fushijuro got together because Sukuna doesn't go out to drink anymore, he doesn't bring girls home, or at least, he doesn't tell you about it.
And there was something so raw in his expressions recently. He spoke with less certainty these days, but somehow that made him seem more level-headed.
He threw his hands out of his pockets, admiring the winter air, "You know I can't imagine my life without you in it." You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.
That was sudden. What was he saying?
He didn't stop, "Talking to you is the best part of my day. Don't act like I haven't told you that before. When something happens, good or bad, you're the person I want to tell."
You pulled back from him mentally, unsure of how to respond, "Kuna..." You stand up and slowly pace away, requiring the comfort that it brought.
"And I know we said friends. You're my best friend."
You stop, how had you not expected this? You start to feel sick to your stomach, because deep down, you had always known this was coming; you had been teetering on the edge of it for forever, and somewhere deep inside you, you had hoped it could stay that way. Tucked away and safe. A dark fantasy you never shared even with yourself. Something, that in your moments where you were the most honest with yourself, you allowed yourself to find romantic.
"...I... you know I feel the same-"
"No, listen," He shakes his head like he's in pain. You stop pacing and face him. He's looking down at his shoes, hands in his lap, "Toji asked me something a while back, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."
You watch as he leans his head against the swing's chain, staring, waiting for you to ask, so you do, "What did he say?"
"He asked how I'd feel if you met someone. If you got into a serious relationship." His hands tightened on the swing chains. "And the truth is, I genuinely think that it would kill me." He sounds like someone is choking him. He doesn't have enough air, even though he's heaving.
Sukuna purses his lips, shaking his head, "The thought of you with someone, it makes me want to....I don't even know." He sighs your name because you are starting to cover the sides of your head with your hands. "I want you to know you can be loved... like that. I want to see you safe and comfortable with someone, I want... I want to show you."
You couldn't breathe either. Exhaling, you dig your nails into your palm. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm tired of this weird thing we have going on. And because I want to tell you the truth? And because... I want to show you it can be good. That it doesn't have to be scary. I'm..." He shakes his head again, finally getting off the swing, running a hand over his mouth, "I'm saying it because I'm tired of lying to everyone. You know it. You have to." He's shaking his head, like he expects you to finish his sentence, "I'm in love with you."
Sukuna throws his hands up, a "what now" type of gesture, and then there is just the moon and stars in the space between you. Little puffs of warm air that are clouding the chilly night. He keeps going, maybe because you haven't said anything yet, and he needs to fill the space.
Maybe it's because you're hurting him just like you hurt everyone else who gets close. "...and I know that's probably the worst thing I could tell you because it ruins everything, doesn't it? but I can't-"
You take a step back, shakily breathing.
You're not some wounded animal, but he's looking at you like you might dash, a scared little deer.
"I really don't think it would have to be that different. We can be honest with each other, can't we? Haven't we been? I swear I'll do whatever you want, I'll be whatever you need. You know you can trust me....you know that."
In some deep recesses of your mind, you wonder if you would have ever allowed yourself to envision this happening. It doesn't feel real. Of course, you think, how had you not seen this coming?
It's scary, your hands are shaking, and every part of you is telling you to haul ass and get away from here, to text the next morning that the two of you were drunk, knowing he was dead sober, maybe pretend this never happened, to forget, or maybe, to never allow closeness with Sukuna again.
But louder than any fear, there's a crashing wave of realization that you cannot let that happen. With your wobbly feet, you tiptoe nearer, reaching for his hand.
He had been waving it around just a moment ago. You don't know why you do it, you just feel as though you should.
You and Sukuna rarely touched. It just wasn't really your thing, and he didn't mind. But right now, in this moment, it felt like the most correct response.
You stood up as straight as you could and closed the distance between you both and pulled him by his back into your arms. If you hadn't, maybe you might have actually sprinted. For a second, he froze, shocked, and then his arms came around you in turn, pulling you closer, almost painfully so.
He was trembling. How strange.
His grip was relentless on your body, cradling you so close that you wouldn't have been able to escape, unless you asked.
He felt like he must be breaking you; he knew how you got, how you just...couldn't let someone in, not if it meant love. So when you finally broke apart, he took the moment to rest his forehead against yours.
"I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't, but I'm in love with you, and I need you to believe me,"
"I just..." And you're doing it all wrong; the words aren't coming. You love him, too. Of course you do, how could you not? He's the safest place you have. He's so worried, you're sure, that in telling you his feelings, he's ruining your safety, but as he holds you there, you realize he hadn't. Not really.
He cannot see your face, you look down, forehead no longer on his, tuck yourself into his chest, and hiccup some air. "You know I..."
And he's nodding, and his shaking hasn't stopped, so you try to speed it up. "No! No, I'm saying.... that I... oh, Kuna, how could I not love you?"
And you've crumpled to your knees now, but he's falling after you, as if he hadn't heard the words. Holding your shoulders, you gasp, "You know I'm horrible at this, I'm so bad, I could never be what you deserve-"
His grip tightens, he's frantically shaking his head, but he doesn't interrupt, "Damnit, Sukuna, of course I love you too."
And right there in the empty park, at quarter till midnight on New Year's Day, you feel a weight unlike anything you've ever felt come off your shoulders as Sukuna drapes his own over yours.
It hadn't been easy; the sickness did not depart, but at least you weren't hiding anywhere but his chest anymore.
The two of you sat there too long to tell, a stupid laugh or a mildly agonized whimper joining the quiet.
After a while, you pulled back a bit wetly just enough to see his face properly. "What do we even do now?"
"Well," Sukuna said, and he was being very soft, very genuine, wiping a stray tear off your cheek, "it's almost midnight. We could kiss at the stroke of the new year like everyone else at every other party."
And the idea of Itadori Sukuna offering you a kiss was genuinely so bizarre that you covered your warming face in your hands. You let your weight rest against his, and he takes it on completely, without complaint. In fact, for him, it's a great pleasure. You mutter into his coat, "We're not at the party."
"No...we're not."
In the distance, you could hear fireworks starting early, people too impatient to wait for midnight. It appeared Sukuna was too; his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.
But now it was just his cheek that had a tear.
"I'm not good at this," he said quietly. "It hurts to want you this badly."
"I know." And although it was different, you really did.
"I'm going to fuck it up, almost certainly."
"Almost certainly." You covered his hands with yours, for the first time, allowing an inkling of hope to bubble to the surface. "You know I will too."
Will. What a definitive word. So committed, but you know you meant it.
"We're going to be fine. We have been all this time."
He nods, and quietly, he feels like this might be a dream. "We have." He seems like he's testing out new words, trying them out on his tongue. "I want to make this official. I want you to know you can trust me with this. I want to be good for you."
You're shaking your head, and all you can utter is, "So long as it's you and me."
Perhaps it had been so frightening because the idea of losing him was so much worse, but it was Sukuna. You could trust him to hold this tender part of you. You knew he would take care of it.
When midnight came, you were still in that park. He had dragged you to your feet, and as if you were still teenagers, with an expression of anxiety and excitement, a gentle nod his way, he quickly bent himself to meet you, and a quick and over-too-soon peck was placed ever so softly on your lips.
You were so inexperienced, so repressed, the feel of him caused another swell of panic to crest, that perhaps it wouldn't work. And how terrible that would be. But then he was covering his face. A stupid grin barely hidden, and his presence alone soothed you once more.
Both of you were near laughter at the absurdity of it all. All these years of friendship, of circling around what you both felt, of pretending that what you had was simple when it had never been simple at all.
You wrapped your arms around him again, if nothing else but to feel his heat. Now that the seal was broken, it was easier to allow yourself this closeness. "You know," you said eventually, wrapped in the man's jacket as you both saw fireworks bloom far away. You're chuckling strangely, "What was that you said about men and women not being able to be friends?"
"Huh?" He's a bit dazed, "I took those words back."
"I think I recall you saying all those years ago," you leaned back, his arm automatically wrapping behind you, "that you would need a lover who is also a friend."
"...Did I say that?"
You're not so sure, "I think...I mean, it's probably for the best that we're so close."
Sukuna smiled, nodding. He grasped the back of your hand up to his face to press a kiss there. "Probably...When did you get so wise?"
You whisper, "I have a very smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."
His tone was teasing now. "I thought I got promoted."
You furrow your brows until, "Ahhh, wow....Boyfriend?"
"Almost sounds too plain," He pulled you closer.
You agreed, it sounded way too casual, you shake your head, smirking, the ease of conversation returning, almost as if nothing had changed al all, "Sukuna Itadori, are you proposing to me in a park at twelve-thirty on New Year's Day?"
He hadn't been, he was going to spin something about how perhaps friends were always more romantic than lovers, but he's grinning now, "Would you say yes if I were?"
You turned to look at him properly, at this man who had gone from an irritating stranger to your best friend to the person you couldn't imagine living without.
You hadn't expected his response, and you flounder a bit before just choking, "Ask me again in a couple of years."
His spine straightens up promptly, "Years?" Your eyes did not sway and he runs a hand through his hair, "Fine. Deal, I'll wait." He kissed your hand again. "Clearly, you know I'm good at that. But I'll have you know I'm never letting you forget you said yes."
As the two of you stand, walking back in the direction you came, you think about all that had transpired this night. Leaning against him, you smile, "Oh, I'm counting on it."
Around you, the city celebrated the new year, full of noise and light and promise. But in that quiet moment, just the two of you, it felt like the only thing that mattered was right here. The secret hope you'd both been searching for, the one that had been obvious all along if you'd just been brave enough to see it.
He had been with you this whole time. Sometimes love was friendship itself, and sometimes, the most important thing was recognizing when that couldn't be enough anymore, and having the courage to reach for something more.
They say when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
For Sukuna and you, that had started far before romance had joined the equation.
Only now, whatever the answer to the age-old question, you and Sukuna sadly never solved it.
The sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes is filling the air, and you are currently standing at the stove, flipping a slightly burnt blueberry pancake.
Sukuna is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, his damp pink hair falling into his eyes. He’s scrolling through his phone, sipping his black coffee, completely relaxed.
“Hey,” you say, not looking away from the frying pan. “Can you grab the syrup from the pantry?”
“Yeah, I got it babe.” Sukuna rumbles. He stands up, his massive frame easily reaching the top shelf of the pantry. He sets the bottle on the counter next to you, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to your bare shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Thanks, babe,” you smile, leaning into his touch.
It’s a normal morning. A perfectly domestic, quiet morning. And then, the patter of tiny, bare feet echoes down the hallway.
Yuji waddles into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, his spiky pink hair sticking up in every possible direction. He’s clutching an empty plastic sippy cup in one chubby hand, looking incredibly serious for a toddler who just woke up.
He stops in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks at you. He looks at Sukuna.
Then, he takes a deep breath, puffs out his little chest, and yells, “Babe!”
You freeze. The spatula in your hand halts mid-air. Sukuna stops mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes blinking in confusion.
“Did he just…” you whisper, slowly turning your head to look at your husband.
“There’s no way,” Sukuna mutters, his brow furrowing. He looks down at the two-year-old. “What did you say, little man?”
Yuji marches over to Sukuna. He stops right at his father’s bare feet, tilts his head all the way back to look up at the towering 6’4” wall of muscle, and holds up his empty sippy cup.
“Babe,” Yuji says, his voice completely clear and demanding. “Juice. Pwease.”
Sukuna’s jaw drops.
You slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”
“Did you…” Sukuna stammers, looking from Yuji to you, completely bewildered. “Did he just call me babe?”
“He definitely just called you babe,” you wheeze, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.
Yuji, growing impatient with the lack of service, turns his attention to you. He waddles over to the stove, tugging on the hem of your pajama shorts.
“Babe,” Yuji insists, pointing a chubby finger at the frying pan. “Pancake.”
A loud, booming bark of laughter erupts from your husbands chest. He throws his head back, his massive shoulders shaking as he braces his hands on the kitchen island. “Holy shit,” he wheezes.
“It’s not funny!” you scold, though you are biting your lip so hard to keep from laughing that it actually hurts. “He’s going to go to daycare and call his teachers babe!”
“The kid’s got swagger, what can I say?” Sukuna laughs, wiping his eyes. He crouches down, bringing himself to Yuji’s eye level. “Hey. Buddy. Who am I?”
Yuji looks at him like it’s the stupidest question in the world. He reaches out, patting Sukuna’s tattooed cheek with a sticky hand. “Babe.”
Sukuna bites his fist, his face turning red from the effort of holding in another hysterical laugh. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Stop swearing!” you hiss, swatting Sukuna’s shoulder with the spatula. You kneel down next to him, putting on your most serious, gentle mom-face. “Yuji, sweetie, look at me.”
Yuji blinks his big, golden eyes at you. “Yeah?”
You let out a long groan, dropping your head into your hands. Sukuna is practically vibrating next to you, completely useless.
“No, baby,” you say, looking back up. You point to yourself. “I am Mama. Ma-ma.”
Yuji stares at you.
You point to Sukuna, who is currently trying to compose his face into something resembling a responsible parent. “And he is Dada. Da-da. Not babe.”
Yuji looks at Sukuna. He looks at you. His little eyebrows furrow in deep toddler concentration. He’s processing the information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Mama,” Yuji says slowly, pointing at you.
“Yes!” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Good boy!”
Yuji then points at Sukuna. “Dada.”
“Exactly,” Sukuna nods, looking incredibly proud. “Nailed it, little man.”
Yuji smiles, a massive, gummy grin that lights up his entire face. He looks thrilled with himself. He holds up his sippy cup again, looking right at Sukuna.
“Dada babe! Juice!”
“I give up,” you sigh, standing back up and walking over to the fridge to get the apple juice. “We’re raising a tiny frat boy. This is entirely your fault.”
“My fault?!” Sukuna gasps from the floor, trying to catch his breath. “How is this my fault?!”
“Because you call me babe every five seconds!” you argue, pouring juice into the plastic cup. “You never use my actual name! You never call me mama! He literally thinks ‘babe’ is a universal pronoun!”
“You call me babe too!” Sukuna defends himself, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. He looks entirely too amused by the situation. “I haven’t heard you call me ‘dada’ unless we’re in the bedroom, and even then—”
“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you shriek, your face flushing a shade of red as you shove the sippy cup into his chest. “Not in front of the child!”
“What? He doesn’t know what that means,” Sukuna smirks, standing up and effortlessly pulling you by the waist until your back is flush against his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.
Yuji happily takes his juice, taking a long sip before waddling over to the living room to watch his cartoons, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis he just caused.
“We have to actively start calling each other Mama and Dada around him. Seriously. I am not having my two-year-old walk around the grocery store yelling ‘babe’ at me.”
“Alright, alright,” Sukuna chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. He presses a soft kiss to your hair. “We’ll be better. Strictly Mama and Dada from now on.”
“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him.
“Yes, mommy..” he laughs, kissing your cheek. You groan, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “I hate you.”
an: i'm laughing my ass out with the tiktoks of toddler calling their parents babe! please let me marey Sukuna :c art by: umeka ryomen on pinterest here! the dividers and GIF i got from pinterest! please let ne know who the owners are if u know!
The King of Curses sat upon his throne, and yet you had no issue glaring up at him. As if it were your stare that could cleave. Your hands that could ignite his shrine into blitz and ember.
Bundled in a silk blanket and babbling up at you with eyes as ruby as her father's, your daughter chewed on her thumb. Blissfully oblivious to the tyrant from which she came.
Sukuna refused to hold her.
It was subtle, at first. When she was born, he claimed that it was vital for a baby to stay close to its mother. For warmth, food and comfort.
It had been four weeks, and your husband hadn't so much as grazed her tiny pinkie.
"Why?" You asked, anger blooming in your throat like the flowers he had planted in the gardens for you. He would sully his knees in the soil and his hands in the mud for your benefit, but couldn't bear to hold the life that he had created?
Sukuna's face was hard in a scowl. Each maroon eye glaring into your soul.
A beat of silence.
"I do not want to."
You flared, clinging your baby closer. "Are you ashamed? Ashamed of the life we created?"
"No, damnit woman—"
"Then why!?"
"Because I will mar her!"
The shrine shook as he shoved himself out of his throne. Standing now. It was at his full height that you recognised the being thousands feared. Four arms, two faces, and a stature that rose from hell.
His glare burned, but it wasn't anger. Face twisted in an emotion you hadn't seen enough from him.
"I will— hurt her. Is that what you want?"
Vulnerability.
Your daughter startled. Sniffling at the booming voice that rattled the floors. You watched her face squish and her lip quiver, before a broken, hiccuped sob filled the air.
His shoulders sunk. The fight seeping out of him. You watched his eyes swell with many things you'd never seen before.
Guilt, sadness.
Fear.
Rocking your startled baby, you held her close with soft shushes, but her sniffles soon turned into wails. Sukuna's stood frozen, sullen.
You understood, now.
Cradling the small girl, you stepped forward. Up the stairs to the platform of his throne. Even as he took a step back, you persisted.
"Sukuna. . ." You called to him. Soft in the way that only you were capable of being with him.
He almost flinched.
"This child, she's ours. Our daughter, made with love."
You stood right in front of him now. Taking in his wound up muscles and squared shoulders. Looking more like a deer ready to sprint than a father.
A father who feared that his hands were too rough, too evil, to nurture his own child.
"You won't hurt her. Because she's ours." Reaching forward, you held out the sobbing bundle. Watching his face and the several shades of uncertainty it turned.
You had never seen him so. . . frightened.
You pushed past his hesitancy, carefully placing your daughter into a set of his hulking arms. She was tiny compared to him. Seemed he was processing that too.
Aiding his position, you slipped one of your hands to tenderly hold him by the bicep as he, for the first time ever, held his daughter.
His breath was hitched. All of his eyes gaping at the small bundle in his arms. Watching her as if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain.
Your daughter's sobs stirred into sniffles, then hiccups, until. . . silence.
As big, ruby eyes stared up at her father. Taking him in. His face, his warmth.
And then, she beamed a toothless smile.
Sukuna tensed. A shaky breath hitching.
"She's— she's smiling. Why is she smiling?"
He quickly looked to you. Brows pinched. Looking lost, looking scared.
You offered him a smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Because she knows that her father loves her." Tickling her neck, you hummed as she squirmed a bit and giggled, pressing more into him.
He instinctively held her closer. Eyes unblinking.
You watched as Ryomen Sukuna, The King of Curses, melted. His heart swelling as he stared at his daughter. Even bringing one of his fingers closer to her, so that she could grab at it. Hugging around it with that big, bring smile.
His mouth quirked at the corner. Faint, but tender.
"Yeah. . ." He whispered, voice thick with emotion. Centuries worth of affection for his child, his daughter.
"Your father loves you. More than anything. More than life."
Baby!Yuji realizing his resemblance to dad!Sukuna.
°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔
You noticed that six-year-old Yuji had been looking in the mirror a lot lately. He was constantly studying his face and playing with his hair. As he did the exact same thing right now, a fond smile touched your lips. You walked up behind him, resting your hands gently on his small shoulders.
"Looks like someone really loves looking in the mirror."
He turned to you and smiled.
"Mommy! I look like Daddy!" he said.
"Ah, so that's why. You were discovering how much you look like your dad."
"Look, my eyes and my hair... just like his!"
His excitement made you giggle. You ruffled his hair and kissed his rosy cheeks.
"Yes, baby. You're a mini version of your dad."
Lately, everyone who saw him kept saying how much he looked like his father. The boy had heard it so many times that he actually started to notice the resemblance himself.
When Sukuna walked into the room, Yuji shared his discovery with him too.
"Daddy, look at me!"
He widened his tiny eyes as if to prove it and pointed at his pink hair.
"Look, we're exactly the same!"
A small, smug smile appeared on Sukuna’s face.
"You're your father's son, kid."
Hearing his dad's words, Yuji's face lit up. But then, a sudden thought about you seemed to cross his little mind.
"I don’t look like Mama."
You pouted slightly.
"You didn’t have to say that right to my face, Yuji."
Sukuna let out a short chuckle, a lazy, playful smirk on his lips.
"Sorry about that," he murmured. "My genes are just a bit too stubborn."
You rolled your eyes.
Encouraged by his dad's laughter, the little boy turned back to the mirror with a proud grin.
"My lips, my nose... all Daddy!"
You let out a soft laugh.
"Yeah... You really do look like your dad."
"I didn’t know you loved your father quite this much," Sukuna teased, a hint of deep amusement in his voice.
Yuji hugged Sukuna's legs tightly and looked up at him.
"I love my daddy sooo much!"
Sukuna ran his hand through Yuji's pink hair, ruffling it gently.
you insisted on going to the horror movie night with your new boyfriend, sukuna, after overhearing his idiot frat brothers whispering about you.
“she’s really soft.”
“i've never seen ryo with a girl like her.”
“watch her piss herself at the first jumpscare.”
laughter all around.
and maybe it was stupid, but you wanted to prove them wrong. prove you could handle the same things as the girls he usually kept around. cool girls. confident girls. mature girls who didn’t cling to their boyfriend’s sleeve every five minutes.
so you sat beside sukuna and in that freezing theater, chin lifted stubbornly, pretending your stomach wasn’t already twisting from the opening music alone.
for the first thirty minutes, you held it together.
barely.
you got by closing your eyes at the scarier parts and subtly whispering to sukuna to tell you when it was over.
then the movie hit you with the most horrific, satan-spawned jumpscare imaginable.
you shrieked so loud the entire row flinched.
your hand jerked violently.
and your ice cream launched directly into satoru gojo's face.
silence.
then satoru yelling, “WHAT THE HELLY?”
suguru and toji snickered.
and suddenly you were crying.
partly because you’d just assaulted sukuna's friend with matcha soft serve after you'd spent a whole minute outside the theatre convincing all of them you weren't scared in the slightest before you'd gone in.
partly because that was some really good ice cream you'd just wasted.
partly because everyone was staring.
but mostly because that movie was fucking terrifying.
sukuna immediately grabbed your wrist and stood up. “aight, we’re leaving.”
you hid your face in his arm while his friends snickered behind you. humiliation burned hot in your chest as he guided you out of the theater, your legs still shaky.
outside, the cold night air hit your cheeks.
“sorry…” you mumbled miserably.
sukuna snorted. “it's fine, baby. gojo deserved it, he was being an asshole."
you whined, covering your face. "i wasn't talking about that!"
he laughed under his breath, but there wasn’t an ounce of cruelty in it. just amusement. then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, “i’ll take you home, yeah?”
you sniffled and nodded. “that was scary.”
“i know, babe. i'm sorry,” he opened the passenger door for you, buckling your seatbelt himself with surprising gentleness. “should’ve known that shit would freak you out.”
“it was my idea…” you hiccuped.
“i still shoulda said no.” he shut the door and rounded the hood of the car.
the few seconds you sat alone were awful. your eyes immediately darted to the rearview mirror. the backseat looked way too dark. you stared at it, fully convinced some horrifying demon woman was about to crawl over the seats and kill you.
the driver door opened and sukuna slid in and caught you staring.
“…you looking at your little friend back there?”
you gasped, “kuna, don’t SAY that!”
he barked out a laugh while starting the engine. “you want another ice cream?”
your watery eyes widened hopefully. “…yeah.”
“thought so.”
by the time you reached your apartment complex, you were clutching a drive-thru soft serve with both hands while sukuna walked beside you toward your door.
you were finally calm again.
until he kissed your forehead, patted your ass lightly, and turned away. “see you tomorrow, babe.”
terror immediately flooded your face. you grabbed his arm so fast he almost stumbled back.
he looked down at you with a blink. then sighed. “…should’ve expected that.”
your eyes welled up again. “y-you’re leaving?”
“nah.” he unlocked your apartment and walked in beside you. “just wanted to see your face.” sukuna lied smoothly.
you blinked. “…oh.”
“cute reaction though.”
you huffed at him before setting your ice cream on the counter. “um… i need to pee.”
“okay?” he said, lifting a questioning brow, not quite sure what this has to do with him.
you awkwardly twisted your fingers together before looking up at him nervously.
a beat passed.
then sukuna sighed the sigh of a man accepting his fate.
a minute later, he was inside your bathroom aggressively yanking the shower curtain open .checking the cabinets. looking behind the door.
“there.” he deadpanned. “no demons.”
you stood in the doorway anxiously. “is it safe?”
“yes.”
“…promise?”
“baby, if something attacks you while you piss, i’ll personally beat its ass.”
you considered that seriously.
“…okay.”
you stepped inside cautiously.
“stand by the door.”
“stand by the—” he repeated in disbelief, before he stopped himself with a long exhale. “fine.”
“and turn around.”
“baby, i’ve literally seen you naked—”
“TURN AROUND.”
“bossy as hell,” he muttered, turning around anyway.
“and cover your ears.”
he stared at you over his shoulder in disbelief. “why?”
"i don't want you hearing me pee!"
sukuna sighed slowly. then lifted two resigned hands to his ears.
“not all the way though,” you continued nervously, “or you won’t hear me scream.”
sukuna closed his eyes and covered his ears, “that all, princess?”
“mhm!” you chirped brightly, kissing his cheek. “thanks honey. you’re sooo brave.”
he looked up at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for strength.
“next time we’re watching finding nemo.”
supa kyoot dividers by my fave @anitalenia !!
perm taglist: @dreamydaredevil @paparaysstuff
[ a/n ] : if u liked this one, i'd super duper appreciate if u checked out the prequel i wrote where kuna and reader a fwb (before they become official) !! love u guys sm THANK U FOR THE SUPPORT ON THIS i didn't expect it at all c,:
The confused frown on your face triggers a slight frown on his as well, as Tendō’s words echo in his head: ‘You know, Waka-kun, you have to make yourself clear. But don't be too straight—you can sort of come off as rude sometimes, so be really careful.’
“My apologies. That must have been rude of me. Assuming the gender of your partner. Please allow me to rephrase that. Do you have someone you're in a relationship with? Or someone you like?”
You stare straight at his unblinking face from across the table. The notebooks and textbooks you two were working on are still spread open on the desk. You both even have your pens in hand, having previously been writing in the quiet space of the library. At least, that was before he dropped that question just like that. Without a single warm-up. He suddenly raised his olive-colored eyes to you across the table, fixing those unblinking, intimidating eyes on you as he patiently waited for your response.
“What?” is the only thing that can come out of your lips again.
The frown on his face gets deeper.
‘I don't believe I said it wrong the second time. Could it be that she simply doesn't understand?’
“I mean someone you're dating—” he quietly offers further explanation, until you interrupt him, raising your palm into the air.
“I know what you mean, Ushijima. I just don't know why you're suddenly asking me that question while we're having a lesson.”
“Ah, I see. I should have waited until after the lesson was over,” he agrees, nodding his head understandingly while you seriously shake yours.
“No. That's not what I…” You let out a soft sigh before bringing your raised hand to your forehead, resting your elbow on the surface of the table as you slowly massage your temple.
It isn't the first time you are tutoring a fellow student at Shiratorizawa, but it is definitely the first time you have been this stressed out by a single student. Just one.
A third-year student at Shiratorizawa Academy, captain of the boys’ volleyball team, wing spiker, team ace, number one in the Miyagi prefecture, and ranked among the country's top three aces: Wakatoshi Ushijima.
The boy who your homeroom teacher specifically requested you to consider tutoring, just to keep him from falling behind in his academics while he continues rising in his sport.
That was fine and all, but tutoring Ushijima proved to be far more difficult than you thought. It isn't actually about the material—he is a good student who catches on to things quickly and always tries to clarify what he doesn't understand. They are all good qualities every tutor looks for.
But skipping past his intimidating aura and impressive reputation, there is also his communication style. It is… blunt, direct, rough, and straight to the point. Sometimes, it's just hard to take.
Take, for example, the day you first met. Not even five minutes in, he laid out his demands: “If after today's lesson you don't prove to be capable enough to guide me, I'll be letting the teacher know I require a replacement. I don't need someone who will waste my time.”
‘How rude,’ you had thought back then, mere seconds after you introduced yourselves. And now? He's asking if you're seeing someone? To say you think he's weird would be a massive understatement.
“No, Ushijima. I don't have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anyone I'm dating.”
He silently nods his head as he watches you get back to your notes, then returns to his as well.
‘That’s good.' he remarks internally, before Tendō pops up in his thoughts again: ‘But Waka-kun, wouldn't it be funny though if she had someone she likes? Hahahaha.’
His lips curl into a tight frown.
‘That would be very inconvenient.’
He lifts his head back up, but gets interrupted before he can even speak. You didn't even take your eyes off your notes. It is like you can see him without even looking.
“No. I don't have anyone in particular that I like either.”
“I see…” he responds.
You don't raise your head, but your eyes flicker to his side of the table as he returns to his books.
‘That must be all of his questions.’
Your eyes return to your own page, but you pause, staring at the lines, entirely unaware of where exactly you stopped thanks to the tall distraction sitting across from you.
Suddenly, he drops an even more surprising question that snaps your head straight back up.
“Then, would you like to become my girlfriend?”
A long, heavy silence passes between the two of you. His olive eyes remain unflinching as he patiently awaits your response. He is obviously dead serious.
“Probably” you shrug, casually shoving a few more things inside your luggage without a second thought.
Osamu watches the whole thing with a deepening frown.
“I hate this” he whines with a little pout, looking a little too much like Atsumu for comfort.
That earns him a bright laugh, shoulders shaking a little as you toss the bag onto the couch, “It’s only for a few days. I’ll be back before you know it!”
But it does absolutely nothing for the ache in his chest.
Because you’re leaving.
Not forever. Not even for long. Just some trip with your friends a few cities away, barely enough time to miss a person normally.
And yet.
He’s already miserable and you’re still here.
That’s when it finally hits him.
He’s clingy.
This is the exact kind of behavior he’s spent years making fun of Atsumu for.
The dramatic sighing, the sulking, following people around like a kicked puppy because he doesn’t wanna be alone.
Now he’s staring you down, pit in his stomach like you’re never coming back, all because you’re leaving for a few days.
He wonders if this is how dogs feel.
His stomach sinks further when you turn away to double check your charger, and before he can stop himself he blurts, “Ya could still cancel”
You glance back at him immediately, eyes rolling playfully, “Oh my god”
“I’m serious”
“No you’re not”
“…Maybe a little.”
“Did you forget you’re the one who encouraged me to go on this trip in the first place?”
He puffs out his cheeks a little, pathetic little pout on his lips, “Yeah well… That was before I realized ya’d actually be leaving me”
“You’re so ridiculous” you giggle out, walking past him towards the kitchen.
Before he can stop himself, he’s grabbing your hand.
He’s got this pathetic little look to him, something so far from his usual cool demeanor, “I’m gonna miss ya” he says so softly, so quietly, it actually makes your heart ache a little.
You simply offer the softest, warmest smile you can and pull him in close. You pepper every inch of his handsome face with sweet little kisses, leaving a few extra big ones on his lips.
He melts into you like putty, dopey little smile never leaving his face.
“I’m gonna miss you too handsome” you murmur against his cheek.
“Then don’t go” he whispers back, real sweet and oh so pathetic.
“I can’t just-“ but you’re cut off with a little peck and a loud, whiny sigh.
“I know, I know,” he grumbles, “I’m bein’ a baby”
Later that night, after you’re gone and the apartment feels far too quiet without you in it, he ends up sprawled across the couch with your favorite movie playing in the background more for comfort than anything else.
His phone suddenly buzzes and he can’t help the small smile that blooms across his lips.
Damn, I miss you already
It immediately starts soothing the ache ever so slightly.
Maybe he’s not too clingy after all.
But if loving you this much makes him pathetic, then honestly..? He can live with that.
Until you come back, he guesses he’ll survive off your texts, the smell of your perfume lingering in the cushions, and the memory of your sweet kisses still lingering warm against his skin.
you sat on the hood of osamu's truck in the empty parking lot overlooking the harbor, the city painted gold by the setting sun. it had been your idea to come here after closing up for the day. just to sit. just to watch. though the convenience store coffee had gone lukewarm twenty minutes ago.
osamu, however, had spent most of that time focused on the sandwich made by you in his hands and occasionally glancing over at you.
"what?" he finally asked around another bite, catching you staring.
you hesitated. "can i ask you something without you making fun of me?"
he frowned immediately. "i don't make fun of ya."
"you do, like all the time."
"...less than atsumu does."
you huffed out a laugh before your expression softened again.
"samu," you started carefully, twisting the sleeve of your sweater between your fingers. "have you.. loved other people before?"
he looked at you as if you'd asked whether the sky had always been blue. "no."
you blinked. "no?" you didn’t know what you expected to hear but it certainly wasn’t this. osamu had always been a good looking guy. as long as you remember he dated before you, he's also the perfect guy every girl wants, what does he mean he's never loved someone?
"no," he repeated simply. "like... no serious relationships?" you ask again. "had relationships." he says taking another bite of the sandwich but his eyes didn’t move from yours.
"but you were never in love with them?"
he shrugged. "didn't feel like this."
you stared at him. "wait."
osamu finally put down what remained of his food and gave you his full attention. "yer’ acting like i said something impossible."
"you're telling me that out of everyone you've met, dated, liked whatever i'm the only person you've ever actually been in love with?"
the confusion on his face deepened. "yeah."
"no, see, that's insane."
"why?"
"because people don't usually only fall in love once."
"says who?"
"says..." you gestured vaguely at the world around you. "everyone." he snorted. "sounds made up."
"samu." you turn your body to face his, the sun setting beside you two, glowing a yellow light on his face.
"hm?"
"how old are you?"
"thirty one." he shrugs, you know how old he is.
"you expect me to believe that at thirty one years old, you've only loved one person?"
his eyes stayed fixed on you, steady and unbothered in a way that almost frustrated you. "what?" he asked after a moment. "am i not the only person you've ever loved?"
you let out a short breath through your nose.
"of course not."
the answer came easily enough. too easily. you’ve lived a long life too. you have met many people, had many relationships, fell in love too. that's just how it is.
osamu went quiet.
"oh."
it was such a small response that you almost missed it. he nodded once to himself before turning his attention back toward the horizon. the sun had begun sinking lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reflected against the water below.
"oh, come on," you said immediately. you shifted closer, reaching for his arm. "samu-"
he caught your hand before you could touch him, not rough but firm enough to stop you. "no," he said, still looking ahead. "it's fine."
"yer an adult" he said with a small shrug, trying for casual and missing by a mile. "would've been weird if i was actually the first."
"that's not what i meant."
"didn't say ya meant anythin'."
you stared at his profile. the slight tension in his jaw. the way he suddenly found the sunset far more interesting than you.
"samu."
"i'm fine."
you studied him for another moment before nudging your shoulder against his.
"for the record," you said softly, "none of them mattered enough for me to remember them the way i remember you."
"that's supposed to make me feel better?"
"it's true."
he looked back towards you again.
"hey" you murmured, almost embarrassed by the sincerity in his expression. "we're not teenagers anymore."
osamu reached over, his fingers brushing against yours before intertwining them together. his thumb rubbed absentmindedly over your knuckles. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"yeah," he said softly. "i'm thirty one now and i have only loved you."
a/n inspired by that one scene from before sunrise and also an actual conversation i had with my previous partner <3 also this is part of the faisamu lore
osamu sighed at your answer, his head dropping backwards while he closed his eyes. the poor man’s been sitting in an uncomfortable chair for the past twenty minutes. all the while your fingers were tracing his hair. osamu had just went to get his hair done — which was very much needed considering how much time it had been since his last appointment. however what you did not expect was for your boyfriend to come home with his hair natural again. and saying that seeing him with dark brown hair for the first time didn't have any effect on you would be lying. for as long as osamu's been sitting here, you've been tracing and touching his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his undercut while you admired his new hair.
"i take it ya like my hair like this ?" he couldn't help the smirk growing on his lips, his eyes fixated on your face as he scans your reaction. "mhm" you tilted his head back as you hummed, nails grazing at the nape of his neck and his upper back. “you look so good ‘samu. . .”
and with that, you lightly bit his cheek, making him yelp in surprise.
SYNOPSIS 𓏲𝄢 Being a blind girl in a bustling village is not easy— especially when nobody was willing to be of help. You've heard stories about a curse frequently roaming around the outskirts of town. A folklore passed down from generations to generations of family inside the village, though nobody has seen this "curse" in person before, the stories were still told like it first surfaced. However, the night when the said curse finally emerged from the thick trees and vaporized the village, you were left behind to fend on your own.
PAIRING ✶ trueform! sukuna x blind! reader
CONTENT ✶ sukuna is a dick, what's new . uraume is also . . . mean here, but they will change . no smut . long oneshot . ik it is said that sukuna doesn't have concubines nor sexual partners, but there will be mentions of concubines in this fic . uraume cameo . ik sukuna probably doesn't eat human food too but it's said here that he does (begrudgingly) . reader gets hurt a lot (minor wounds like a cut or scratch) . mentions of blood . mentions of sex . derogatory terms for women . sukuna gets soft but denies it . a little angst if u realize . fluff ending (gosh im not one for angst rn)
NOTE ✶ divider creds to @/mieluno . it's been so long since i posted here omg. my first draft is almost done, surprisingly. saw how my blind! reader and trueform sukuna fic previously got so much love, i thought why not make another one. probably gonna dip again after this for a bit, then come back again. also, thank you so much for 4k while i was gone, i appreciate it so much. and i hope you guys like this one mwhehe :>
"My mother told me the curse arrives every decade to choose a woman of his choice," this is stupid, you thought.
Your ears twitched lightly at the gossip— the folklore has been around for many decades and it was still spread around like wildfire. Frankly speaking, you didn't think it was right, just something made by worried parents to get their kids tucked safely behind doors on time as the sun falls under the horizon.
For many years, you've heard people speak of the same curse around; but never did the curse showed itself to anyone also over the years, you've heard many different things about the curse:
One, it was said that the "curse" comes by every decade to choose a woman of his choice to be a concubine, or even worse, a wife. However, none of the women here has been chosen by him, nor did the curse ever did come by.
Two, it was said that the curse marries a woman, make her conceive a child, then eats her. Which . . . makes absolutely zero sense at all to you, do curses even engage in . . . bodily intercourse at all?
Three, it was said that when the curse comes, he chooses, and vaporizes the others, and leave. Which also . . . makes absolutely zero sense!
Clearly this was something made by people who felt like it was fun to be passed down for generations. You were born with no vision, so the wonders of the world are all held back in blotches of black, it wasn't the most handy in this life where you do labor for everything.
"Do you think he has disgusting features . . ? Maybe two heads . . . Oh, or four legs, like a deer. Maybe he's a deer curse since he ventures the forest," you wanted to chuckle hearing them speak— it has always been them, you had no sense of time which was pretty horrible in a way you'd need someone to actually remind you it's night while you were out.
And by "someone" it's the owl hooting and hollering loudly, announcing the beginning of its hunt. Along with the crickets by the evening. Oh, don't forget the sounds of doors clicking harshly into their locks or the windows slamming shut in fear that the "curse" would get them.
You have felt intense fear in life. For example, recalling back to the time you'd lost footing in a stream and had the ladies there help you from drowning only to receive a lecture on how you should be more careful. Second, this was pure hypocrisy, however when you tend to stay out after dark, the rustling that comes behind trees and snaps of branches sent shivers down your spine.
Because as much as you try to deny the possibility of the curse roaming around the outskirts of the village, somewhere deep inside you, a little part couldn't help but to indulge into the folklore like these people.
Your eyelids slammed open, the drumming in your heart was getting louder and louder. This wasn't a dream, you were sure of it. So, why the hell were people screaming and hollering outside? Your fingertips grazed over the wooden desk as you guided yourself out of bed, heart racing and the impending doom bubbling right under your chest— people don't scream like this unless something was happening.
Was there another break in? Or were the Shakkin-tori back? They weren't supposed to be back until next year (or so you heard).
Your fingers curled on the door handle and you twisted it slowly, the lock clicking under your command. The air outside felt humid— no, hot even. It felt like the sun had decided to come a little bit closer.
And it smells . . . Awful. Utterly, awful. It smells like charcoal. Were the kids burning wood again? The second your foot stepped out, you were on the ground. Someone had sped past you frantically, screaming bloody murder, and hence, you decided that this wasn't just Shakkin-tori nor a normal forest bandit visit— this was actually real. And you weren't sure what to make do of the lack of information.
"Hello—" Your voice was futile, drowned under the crackles of wood and the mix of agony wafting around.
Your head turned frantically, hoping for anyone, anyone to just notice you this one time. But to no avail, nobody came to your aid as they were also busy with themselves. Families running, clutching onto their little ones as they fled the village only to be a cluttered, lifeless mess the second they try to escape any further.
The smell of metal whiffed into your nostrils, it doesn’t take two and two to conclude that it was blood that you were currently smelling. Especially with this whole fiesta, you’d think blood might have been the first thing you could smell instead of burning wood.
You could make out kids crying beneath all the terrified screams and crackles of burning wood growing louder. It was bound to happen to your safe haven so you stopped yourself from getting back inside— navigating your way outside all based on pure memories and instinct. Your movements were ran by adrenaline at this point, and you disregard the bumping made to the corner of your shoulders, refusing to let it push you down this time.
“Anyone?” You call out, your fingers grasping the air, quietly hoping for someone’s hand to hold yours and bring you to safety.
But nothing came. And you were left to be alone, walking down with your arms stretched out, you felt like a fool.
You stumbled over the hem of your kimono slightly and cursed under your breath, using one hand to grip the fabric and pulling it up slightly so you could step better. However, the lack of stretched arms to navigate your way only allowed you to crash into a wall— no, it sure felt like a wall, but you aren’t stupid enough to know that walls don’t make noises.
“Hello?” Your voice comes out meek and careful, a bit relieved that this was someone you could ask for help from, “What is happening? Hello?”
“Uraume.”
Who is Uraume? You don’t recognize that name anywhere and you surely don’t recognize anyone with that name inside the village. You staggered back, they must be the perpetrators. You turned on your heels and tried to rush away, only for a force to tug you back by your forearm.
“My Lord?”
“Seize her.”
Seize? You try to pull your arm away— keyword: try. When it failed under the touch of the person named “Uraume”, you reason out, “I’m afraid I do not understand what that means, what is happening right now?”
“My Lord, she lacks the knowledge of seizing. She is quite unlettered,” your jaw dropped in offense at the words strewn about you, “shall I discard her away and search for a different woman for you—?”
“I am not unlettered! Forgive me for lacking the vision to see what is revolving around me right now,” you muttered under your breath.
“Seize her. Drag her back to the shrine.”
“Ow,” you wince out, your hair pulled back roughly.
“Hold still,” you didn’t dare move at the annoyance lacing in her tone— you still have yet to know what was happening and who “Uraume” and “My Lord” is.
They had dragged you here without much fight from you. As much as you tried to stop them, their touch roughly screamed out strong and you weren’t brave enough to fight back. Not currently, to keep it short, “Uraume” had commanded a woman to hurl you into a quick bath so you’d look presentable.
“Why have they decided to bring in a blind girl? This is so troublesome,” she spat out, despite that, her fingers worked inside your hair, scrubbing it roughly, pulling the strands back.
Your wince and hisses of pain had gone unbothered by her. And you’d assume she worked under “Uraume” and “My Lord”. By her complaints, she’d rather be doing something else rather than bathing you. Mind you, you had the ability to clean yourself without help!
Don’t even start with the drying. She had used a rough fabric you couldn’t make out, it prickled your skin like needles; you try not to rip the fabric out of her grasp to do it yourself, but the curses she spat under her breath made you endure it. She had dressed you in a kimono, you assumed. The process equaled to the one you do everyday.
Although she had pulled the obijime tighter than how you do it, deliberately cutting the air slightly that you struggled to walk.
She pulled you along. No, she dragged you along her side and you complied. Before then, you’d stumble over wooden stairs she doesn’t inform you of until the sound the traditional shoji door sliding made you shudder. Once the door opened, the aura from the other side made your body felt lightweight.
The woman, you assumed, dragged you inside the room. Her hand lands on the top of your head, pushing it down. Your forehead kissed the rough tatami mat harshly at the force, and she murmurs under her breath; all hostility from before dissipating into one of fear and caution, “My Lord, she has been cleaned up like you assigned.”
“You may leave.”
Her hand disappeared from the top of your head and the footsteps fled, you internally screamed for her to bring you along. But, she doesn’t. The shoji door slid shut and you were left inside the room, on your knees. Slowly you brought your head back up from the mat, palms growing clammy at the silence.
“What is happening—?” Your question doesn’t vary from when they had found you roaming around like headless chicken.
“Silence. You are as of to shut your mouth when not given the permission,” someone solicited.
Again. You were offended. Surely they could have said it in a nicer manner, you fisted your hands on top of your lap. First, they had dragged you here. Second, made you shower with a woman who clearly doesn’t want to do it. Third, tell you to shut it when you needed closure.
“I have been stolen against my will,” you told in a matter of fact tone.
“Kidnap, I believe is the right term.”
“Yes. This is a crime. A felony. You will be severely punished for this,” you mutter under your breath, furrowing your brows, “they will put your head up on spikes and present it to the whole village!”
“Surely they wouldn’t go against someone who had vaporized your village,” you gasped in surprise, “and I made sure to leave the adults choked on their own blood. Who will have whose heads on spikes? I’d say not the adults.”
“I can’t tell if your naivety is laughable or pathetic,” the new voice, deeper, and hoarse made your head cast down slowly, “why so scared now? Where has that courage gone off to?”
The words were blown out of your mind. Whoever this was right in front of you smells of great danger and you weren't ready to deal with this until you've gotten your way around. A low chuckle escaped his lips at the sight of you so meek, "Uraume, show her the chambers."
Chambers? Your head snapped up, "Chambers? I will be detained?"
"Sleeping chambers," Uraume clarify.
You felt Uraume brush against you as they walked, you stood up slowly, trying to follow their footsteps; only to plant your face into the shoji door. A heads up would have been wonderful, you mumbled to yourself internally. Uraume kept his silence, watching you struggle with the fact that the Shoji door was on your way— they pushed the door wider for you to step out, and you did. our foot caught onto the sill of the door and your body jolted forwards slightly.
You would think that Uraume at least had the basic decency to guide you to follow them, but they had took a few steps ahead. No worries, you'd rely on your hearing for so long that you have grown accustomed to this kind of behavior. Your fingers laced against each other, following their steps and making sure that you hadn't lost them along the way.
"When you address him by 'My Lord', what is he? King of the forest? Head of village? Owner of a shrine?" You questioned in confusion, "And who was that lady? She could have been nicer to my hair."
"We do not do nice here. Be glad that My Lord has decided to spare your measly life unlike the adults there . . ." Uraume muttered back, turning around the corner.
Which you didn't hear. Hence, the loud 'thud' your body made as you fell off the end of the engawa, unknown about the sharp corner. Your palm dug onto the ground, little pebbles irritated the surface of your skin, digging into your flesh. A loud hiss escaped your lips at the sting and Uraume's footsteps close in, "This is quite troublesome."
"It would not have been if you had told me about that corner, Waraume."
"Uraume," they corrected.
"Uraume," you fixed.
They didn't help you up. You kept yourself stranded on the ground, one of the zori sandals you wore came off when you took a tumble and you had no idea where it had landed. After seconds, you brushed your palms onto the fabric of the kimono, tapping the ground to find the missing piece of footwear. This is humiliating.
When your fingertips grazed over it, you cheered internally, placing it upright. Uraume grunted, "Be quick, I do not have all the time in this world to wait for your tardiness."
"Tardiness? I am not being tardy. I need help, and nobody is willing to give me the help I needed," you grumbled under your breath, putting the sandal back on begrudgingly.
Uraume shuffled back onto the engawa, letting you climb back on yourself. This time, you try to keep quiet and put all ears up to listen to their footsteps, and you did. Horribly.
Uraume stopped right in front of a shoji door. Their fingers gripped onto the back of your obi, pulling you into a halt. They slid the door open widely this time, "This is where you will reside. You are to consume three meals a day —breakfast, lunch, and dinner— in the Ooku with the other concubines. They can be . . . distasteful, so keep your mouth shut at all times."
You stood there, "Ooku? Concubines? Surely your Lord wouldn't want a blind concubine, no?"
"He has not said anything about you being a concubine, a command is a command."
Uraume ushered you inside the chamber, "But I do not know when breakfast, lunch, or dinner is," your voice was timid, but Uraume isn't there anymore— They had walked away the moment you stepped inside the chamber, with your arms stretched out, you try to find your way around the room. It was spacious, maybe even bigger than your house in the village.
There is the cabinet. A dresser. A few tokonoma hung on the walls. An ikebana vase rested on the cabinet gingerly, and you hummed. Your fingers touched a circular handle and you slid it open— the oshiire, this was where the fluffy futon was tucked inside. And you touched the soft cotton based bedding, this was better than the thin mattress you used back at home.
Walking around the room, your shin bumped onto a small desk by the corner, a loud groan escaped in between your lips and you rubbed the area in the middle of your leg, "Who puts a table in the corner?" What a poor planning.
Like the usual, you only recognized it is nightfall by the time an owl began hooting right outside your chamber. The gargling in your stomach made you huddle down in pain, when was dinner? Right as you began laying down on the tatami, the door slid open.
"You are late for dinner."
"I don't know what is night. Or day. Or time at all. For one, the owls have been my night radar for . . . ever now," you muttered out, clutching on your stomach, "and I have no sense of direction. I do not know where the Ooku lays beneath all these walls and engawa. Nor do I know where the engawa ends," the reminder of the fall you took earlier made you grow annoyed.
Uraume blow out a soft sigh, they walked inside and lit the lantern by the corner of the room, "My Lord is requesting for your presence. The other concubines are not allowed to eat unless your presence is there."
"Is he supposed to eat with the concubines?"
" . . . Not usually," Uraume grappled onto your bicep, tugging you up, "it is an exception just for today."
"Why isn't he dining with his empress—"
"My Lord has no empress."
"Consorts?"
"No."
The walk to the Ooku is quiet. Uraume walked with purpose, often stopping to make sure you hadn't fall off the engawa like earlier— every time you fall back, Uraume stepped their foot once to notify his presence. You followed them down. And when the two of you reached the Ooku, Uraume took a good look at you.
"Make yourself look presentable."
"Do I not look presentable?"
"You look a mess."
"I am still presentable, am I not here to dine? I have no wants to woo your Lord," you smooth down the fabric of your kimono, puckering your lips slightly at how harsh their words are, "I am starving. I hope you served deer meat."
"Fish."
"Fish is delicious as well."
Uraume pulled the shoji door open, and the smell of food immediately caressed your nostrils. The smell made your stomach gargle even more, but you don't dare step inside— not when the whispers of the concubines made your stomach drop in a way not even the dread from the village did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, waiting for Uraume's next command.
"Step inside."
"Where?" Your whisper made Uraume grunt, they slowly grip the corner of your fingers, dragging you along the room. The tatami mat seemed to dig under your foot more as you walked. Before you could process it, they had helped you sit on the fluffy zabuton, right behind the table full of plates and bowls.
Sukuna's eyes watched you cautiously. He kept his mouth sealed, eyeing the way you sat on your knees on top of the zabuton, tucked to the right where a high ranked concubine should have been sitting. Instead, he had requested for you today. And his request was accepted in begrudging acceptance from the concubines.
Inside the Ooku, you sat there awkwardly. The whispers continue and you grumbled under your breath, you just wanted to dine in peace. A low voice came from your left side, "Eat."
The same voice you heard before. 'My Lord', you mumbled inside your mind. Bowls clanked, and you look around, tapping the table in search of your utensils. This was already humiliating as it is, but the fact that all these people have to wait for you to finish eating before being able to leave was even more humiliating— you end up discarding a lot of food just to make it all stop.
Uraume guided you back to your chambers under Sukuna's command.
You guessed a month passed by in a whim. You kept track of it, every single time the owls made their noise, you try to carve the walls of the chambers with a piece of sharp wood. The deep carve helped you counted the days you have been sitting here inside the chambers. It was ridiculous— the days passed by and every single thing in a day was always the same. Wake up, try to fold the futon, shove it back inside the oshiire as much as it could fit, shut the door and hope it doesn't bust, wait for Uraume to bring you to the Ooku for breakfast, bathe, dilly-dally, lunch, more dilly-dallying, dinner, bathe, bed.
"Dinner is served."
The walk to the Ooku was no longer awkward, you had accepted the fact that this will be your life from now on. 'My Lord'— or Sukuna Ryomen, you heard has made no attempt to talk to you at all, and you were glad. He was clearly occupied with the higher rank concubines, or that's what you assumed.
Exception for tonight, Uraume said. And Sukuna had been dining in the Ooku since you arrived here. Also, that explains why these ladies haven't been the nicest to you. By all means. Bath time was the worst, you wouldn't be surprised when one of your kimono pieces go missing, or your sandals, your socks. Even the soap. Or the wooden bucket you use frequently for water.
The constant bumps on your shoulder when you walked by the engawa, or the way you constantly trip on someone's foot as you walked by. They were doing a pretty damn good job at making you feel like chopped liver, not that you feel at home here anyways. You had no plan to get them to stop, nor do you want to be involved with the higher ranked concubines.
"Eat," Sukuna muttered like the usual.
Your fingers grasped the wooden chopsticks. You weren't a food connoisseur, but the cooks seemed to be in a mood to get married today— the salt made your throat ache, but you swallowed it nonetheless. At least the rice was delicious and it killed the over salty . . . everything.
"Uraume."
Every movement inside the dining hall collapsed. The silence is deafening and your movements stopped along with the others when Sukuna suddenly piqued out for Uraume, "Yes, My Lord?"
"Call the dokumiyaku."
The woman to your right speaks up, "Is there a problem with the food, My Lord?" her soft voice was wonderful— one of the kind you'd expect from a noble woman, although it would have been nice if her attitude matches the softness of her voice, "I'd say it tastes quite exquisite today."
Uraume went off and hoisted a dokumiyaku into the Ooku; you sat there, ready to shove your face inside the food, but your chopsticks were stolen right from your grasp at the last second, "I had not command you to eat, did I?" Sukuna's voice glowered.
You couldn't see his expression, but you stayed quiet. Sukuna faced the poison taster standing in fear right by the shoji, and he spoke out, "Taste this woman's food," he commanded.
And by woman, he meant yours. Everyone's eyes panned towards your platter of food. The only thing about this was somehow you were the only one unknown of all this, but you waited. You felt a presence right to your side and you scoot away in response.
"My Lord, there seems to be no problem with anything . . . Though," and then it hits you that the man was trying your food, your food. Sukuna had called a poison taster for your food for whatever reason he believed, "it is quite salty. A little more than . . . usual, and too much salt can cause complications to the body—"
"Hence, it is poison?"
" . . . If digested too much, yes."
"Uraume, discard the platter."
"My food," you mumbled, "surely I will be getting another platter, right?"
Sukuna grunts. He took a look at Uraume, gesturing to his platter as a hint to hand it to you, Sukuna hates human food anyways. Uraume complied, moving the platter onto your table. The concubines brows furrowed at the sight of his generosity— this was the first time Sukuna had done something as humane as this. The jealousy that had been brewing inside their heart boiled even more at the sight, the silence was there, but their hearts were noisy; sending knowing glances at each other as if to make sure every single one of them inside that room saw what just happened.
After Sukuna's command to continue eating, everyone continued. You chowed down the better tasting food and finished everything. How come he had notice something was wrong? Were your expressions saying too much?
Deespite that, you were thankful enough to finish the platter. Also, why does he have a poison taster? Aren’t curses immune to them?
A few months passed by slow, the concubines were being miserable. Especially the higher ranked ones, you would have thought mentions of them being pure evil were just myths— but they were right. You had been miserable all these months.
It started off small like a few months ago. Bath time problems. Missing clothing. Then it escalates to tampered foods, light framing. For example, last month, you had gotten framed for breaking one of the concubine's priced jewelry she custom made from one of the rarest gem in all of Japan. You took the judgement like a rock, with pointed fingers at you, you don't bother at all. Sukuna dismissed the problem, he doesn't sound like he cared enough to be bothered by a broken gem.
Or the other time another high ranked concubine told Sukuna about you somehow being a spy sent by your village to put an end to him. Sukuna blatantly shut down the ridiculous statement by saying he had killed every single person in that village and the said concubine was sent to the chamber . . . not for sleeping ones.
Sukuna doesn’t bother with measly troubles as this. Perhaps it’s the fact he was bounded to these women with lust— he has no problem throwing them away when they get too troublesome. Although, he did have to admit, you had done nothing but be troublesome for him.
Yet, you piqued his interest to the brim. Perhaps it is also the fact that you couldn’t see him that you were not spewing out words of disbelief. Most of his concubines fear him, they feared death. But you? You act like this was another trip around the village and lived life to the fullest.
He loathes dining in the Ooku, the concubines there —most of them— acted insufferable. The tone of their voice differ from the way they spoke to people of lower ranks. Now, Sukuna doesn’t bother with how they acted to the shrine maids or the workers, though his ears twitched every time he overhears them talking about you like you were just a hindrance to them.
The first time Sukuna laid his eyes upon your figure, he had been itching to kill you. To just slice you open and watch the crimson paint the ground like he did to every other people in the village that night, it took him by surprise that he had even commanded Uraume to bring you here.
These concubines were chosen by him, personally. Either that or . . . They had rightfully given themselves by their own want. Sukuna fixed his black hakama as he sat down inside his chambers, the darkness consumed him; and the only light were from the lanterns Uraume had forced inside the room.
“Uraume.”
“Have the concubines been giving that woman a hard time?” Sukuna questioned, shutting his eyes, “They will stop at nothing to get rid of that woman from the shrine.”
“Seems like the concubines are a bit . . . Envious.”
“Envy?” Sukuna questioned in amusement, he stared up the ceiling of his chambers, “Of what?”
“You seem to be favoring her.”
“That blind wench? Favoring? I’m just merely toying with her.” He scoffed.
“Mm.”
Sukuna grunted, “There will be time when I get rid of her— she’s utterly irrelevant and useless.”
Uraume hums softly, “She has no manners, no class, is never on time, takes long baths, mismtaches her outfits often, unable to take care of her looks, and is just . . . Terrible to look after. She is quite troublesome, I’d appreciate if you do get rid of that woman,” they finished in annoyance, “she go on about falling off the engawa and blamed it on me. How rude.”
“She lacks the vision.”
“And common sense.”
Sukuna leaned his chin onto one of his knuckles, his thought reeled back to the way you seemed to be all smiles despite the wrong-doings of the other concubines. He was right, you put no mind into the stuff that revolved around you right now and lived life like you always do— clearly, it shows how much you had been through to be able to accept these kinds of doings with open heart.
Uraume grumbled under their breath, “She lacks the knowledge of time. She lacks the knowledge of etiquette. She is quite the messy eater that even the maids get tired of scrubbing her outfits, it is about time that you get rid of her, My Lord.”
“It will come.”
A sliver of smile appeared on Uraume’s lips and they bowed their head down, “I will be waiting.”
You held back a light sneeze, idle on the futon. Your sleepwear tangled lightly, wondering how you were supposed to be sleeping in such complex materials— you thought of discarding them and sleep with just your skin on, but it would be shameful for Uraume to see first thing in the morning if you hadn’t wake up.
Your eyes were wide open, blinking. The darkness that covered your vision felt suffocating, and you breathe in softly and let the air back out loudly. Your back ached as the rough tatami dug into the futon. Today had been a bad day, you had managed to fall off the engawa once more when one of the concubines, you assume, had tripped you while you walked by.
Two, you spilled your grilled fish and didn’t get another one as change. You tried to complain to anyone. And three, someone had taken your obijime during bath time and you had nothing to hold your obi up. So, you walked towards your chambers holding up the piece of clothing your limbs turning into a makeshift obijime.
This was childish, you thought.
You stood up, the kosode faltering a bit and the oversized hakama Uraume gave to you were annoying. Not only were they too big, they had refused to change anything to fit you.
You slowly slid out of the room, tapping on the walls to navigate your way out. In all honesty, you were not supposed to be roaming out after dark. Uraume frequently goes on to check, but they stop after a certain amount of time— you walked down the hall, finding your way turning corners after corners trying to remember the directions to the garden you came across while exploring alone the other month.
“Running away so soon?”
You stumbled over your foot at the sudden voice and fell face first onto the wooden engawa, the pain registering seconds later into your nose and forehead. A hiss escaped your lips as you scoot aside, sitting on your knees, “Who is speaking?”
“Your Lord.”
“Sukuna?” You confirmed.
The no answer was an answer and you sighed, “How may I be as of help, My Lord?” You murmured out, rubbing the tip of your nose.
“You? Think I need help?”
“You might, which is why I am asking,” an amused scoff went past your lips and he raised a brow at your words, nobody dared to say that to him. Not even Uraume, “I was . . . Heading to the restroom.”
“Wrong direction.”
You freeze. He owned this place, of course he knew everything, a nervous laugh rumbled from the deepest part of your body, “Oh, it seems like I have made a mistake. Please, excuse me then, My Lord.”
He drawls out again, “You are quite the bad liar, wench.”
You retaliate, “Excuse me?” Had he just insulted you? Wench? Oh my goodness, if he weren’t so powerful, you would have your fist all the way up his bottom that it shows up when he opens his mouth! “Do not address me as such. I am not a wench.”
He scoffed, “You’re pitiful.”
“I am not.”
“All smiles under peer pressure, my concubines are giving you a hard time, are they not?” He hummed in amusement, adjusting his black colored kosode hanging by his broad shoulders, “I do not know whether you are being brave or foolish. You are a mere toy for me to enjoy, and until that enjoyment ends, I am to keep you alive and breathing.”
“And once it ends?”
“You will be discarded like every other person,” he spoke with such ease that it made vomit pile in your throat, you were kept here for the sake of his amusement while you were trying to stay alive, “nobody would choose a blind wench, not even humans. You would serve as nothing but a toy to anyone out there, surely you’d be appreciative of the royalty I give you?”
You gasped in horrid, “Appreciative? Over this?! You are insufferable, and terrible. Yes, you are terrible and disgusting.”
He barks out a rancid laugh, “That so?”
“Disgusting!”
You lift your hakama to prevent tripping and walked forwards only to step over . . . Nothing. And the tumble sent you face first into the ground below. Damn that engawa!
“Fool.”
Sukuna’s heavy footsteps began echoing as he walked around the corner, leaving you to complain on your own, blaming the hakama over your fall. The soil stuck beneath your nails as you pushed yourself up, holding the hakama in embarrassment. All that talk and you fall after, shame!
You stood there. The tremble in your legs stood you up there for a moment, graveling in your own shame. After a moment, you found yourself climbing back up onto the engawa, sauntering down the hall in continue to find the garden you accidentally came across some time ago.
Unlike the other concubines, you don’t care about that fiend. Fiend is the right word, he is now a fiend since you are a wench to him. How dare he degrade you like that? Even if nobody was there to witness it— still, how terrible of him. Maybe the folklore was right, maybe he is as terrible.
Ugh. You stomp your foot down on the engawa in annoyance. Not only did he manage to foul your already foul mood, you also did not find the garden even after an hour of roaming around endless corners, slowly lowering yourself onto grounds just to pat over the ground seeking for the familiar feeling of the bushes you touched and seeking for the slick rock that stopped you from toppling over the small pond.
You end up tangled under the blankets of your futon, angrily tugging on the warm sheet like your life depends on it. No, actually, you were channeling your anger towards Sukuna to the poor thing, cursing it under your breath as you kicked your legs in annoyance.
Before then, you had fallen asleep in fits of rage. The crease in between your brows deepened in your sleep, Sukuna plaguing your dreams. You woke up early like a fresh bucket of water had dampen you, earlier than usual. You slip out of your room with a towel and a change of kimono the maids had packed in sets so you wouldn’t mix the colors up— a warm bath without any of the concubines up felt like a breath of fresh air, you tied the obijime just right.
No missing sandals. No mismatched socks. You walked back to your chambers, tidying up the futon and shoving it into the oshiire as much as it could fit in. A low rumble of hunger reverberated and you held your tummy, sitting on your knees, waiting for Uraume to come fetch you.
And when they did, they were fairly surprised to see you up and dressed well. You feel their fingers curl around yours, pulling you out of the chambers. You trudged alongside them, entering the Ooku proudly. Chest puffed up, like you hadn’t been loudly cursing the pink haired curse into the sheets of your futon.
Sukuna’s many eyes panned to you, scoffing under his breath when you sat on your usual spot. Already reaching out for the chopsticks, “Had I given permission for you to eat?”
“I do not need anybody’s permission to eat,” yes, that was great, you thought already poking on the white fluffy rice in an attempt to rile him up.
And you sure did.
His brows deepened, “You dare defy me?”
“I dare!”
His concubines gasp in shock, surely Sukuna wouldn’t let you out of this alive. His maids and servants have died for various reasons— even the little ones, his outfit folded in a wrong way. Death. His room slightly dirty. Death. Caught shit talking him. Death.
Sukuna stared down at you, riled up. All while you were blissfully feeding yourself the warm rice. A delightful moan vibrating inside you, “This is delicious rice.”
Uraume blinked their eyes in surprise before actively trying to stop you. However, Sukuna waves one of his hand towards them, “Leave us.”
Uraume wastes no time ushering out the other concubines— some of them stifling laughter of satisfaction knowing you were in deep trouble after your stunt. They walked out elegantly, bowing down to Sukuna. You were blissfully unaware of the tremble on his shoulders, the way his nostrils fumed at your action.
“You dare shame me in front of my people?”
“In no way am I trying to shame you, I was just simply dining and appreciating how delicious this food is,” his arm swerved, hurling his platter of food aside. The loud crash echoed in the dining hall and you froze.
What the fuck just happened?
Your chopsticks hovered over the pickled radish on the side, the air blown out of you at the noise. Sure you were planning to rile him up, not to this extent though. You couldn’t see but the ominous aura he pushed out of him made you shudder in fear, the pressure on your shoulders added tenfold when his hand lands on your nape.
Oh, no. Is this the moment he crushed your neck and you die? Or is the moment he hurled you like he did to that platter? Or—
“You have the guts for someone who lacks the vision,” he spat out in annoyance, tone deep and brooding, “do you understand the position you are in? Know your place.”
“Respect is earned, if you do not respect me, I will not respect you,” you muttered out through gritted teeth, your chopsticks trembled from how hard you were holding it and you breath in heavily, “you dare address me as a wench, you do not know me.”
“I said, know your place.”
“I refuse.”
His hand clamped tighter on your nape, pulling your head back. You widened your eyes, “You dare—?!”
“Shut your mouth.”
You clamped your lips tightly shut at his command, briefly realizing how overpowerful this man is. You weren’t sure even 100 men could go against him. Sukuna leans in, his lips touching your earlobe, “You dare defy me?”
“ . . . No, My Lord.”
“Know your place.”
You stayed silent because you weren’t sure if you were to agree, you’d be able to keep your mouth shut next time. He’d surely have forgotten about this in a bit, no?
No. He doesn’t forget.
Patience and Sukuna don’t make a great pair, he has no time for patience. If he doesn’t like something, he gets rid of it quickly. Including humans, he has no single care for them. For him, they’re useless.
It was unnerving every time meal time rolled in because he has no idea what kind of stunt you’re planning. The concubines were surprised to see you still standing, they had even prepared tear works and nicely arranged compliments after the news of your death pass by. But, it never came.
Much like you did the other day, you continue to test his short string of patient. Sukuna waved at Uraume to drag you out of the dining hall before he takes a leave to blow his own steam off. Gosh, how can one measly human be so infuriating?
You have continuously succeeded in making him a fool out of himself. It was frustrating, at the same time, Sukuna couldn’t kill you. Not now anyways.
Hence the reason why he had arranged your meal time privately with him from today on. The concubines weren’t elated at the fact that Sukuna has yet again retracted back from eating with them— the reason he came in the first place was to keep his eyes on you anyways. None of the concubines mattered to him.
You were guided into his chambers, “Uraume? Are you sure you are guiding me to the dining hall? The walk today feels longer.”
“Shut it.”
“No. This is a felony.”
“What about everything in here is not?” Uraume snaps, sliding the door open and Sukuna was already inside, one leg up and his hand leaned onto his knee
You were sat next to Sukuna, reaching out for the chopsticks. Once again, that devious smile on your face plays out, “You never cease to annoy your Lord.”
“I do not understand you.”
“You are very stupid that you make animals look smart to me,” Sukuna rumbled, he watched you shove rice into your mouth happily in an attempt to rile him up, “you do understand that from now on you are to dine under my watch and my watch only?”
You froze. And he smiled in satisfaction, “Nobody would be there to assist you.”
A few moments pass by and you suddenly scrambled up, only to be tugged back down, one of his hands clamped onto your wrist, the other onto your ankle. They tugged you back ominously slow into a sitting position, you try to calm yourself in that fleeting second, “Why so scared now? Surely the courage is still left there as when you always shame me in front of the concubines?”
“Fiend!”
He rolled his tongue behind his lips in victory, “What is new?”
“Monster!”
“I have heard worse.”
“Ugly!”
“You are blind,” he deliberately copied a yawn out of people, leaning back to relax himself.
“I don’t need to see to be able to judge that you are ugly!” You point your finger accusingly towards him— no, to the space beside him that Sukuna coaxed himself to look at the space you pointed at slowly. A lopsided grin forming onto his lips, “You are wretched!”
One of his lower eyes shifted towards you, unnerving. And even if you couldn’t see, the shudder strikes you down once more, “Please, kill me now.”
“Careful of your wish, little wench.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll be your guest.”
You waited for the pain to hit, shutting your eyes. But it never did, and you looked around, it was still dark everywhere, of course. Had the action been so quick that you couldn’t decipher the pain before dying? Or had he not done it?
“For someone who dare to defy me, you seem pretty intent on dying, huh?”
How dare he! You narrow your eyes, “You are pulling laughter out of this,” he scoffed at your hypocrisy, he was doing what you were doing, “shut your mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Wretched fiend!”
He hums, “I heard you the first time you told me.”
Sukuna wanted to keep you for the fun of it longer, this was amusing.
“Uraume, does Lord Sukuna eat humans for a meal?” You questioned them.
“Yes.”
“ . . . Is blood equivalent to water for him?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
“What a disgusting fiend,” Uraume’s head snapped so fast towards your way that they could only let their jaw clench as they guided you down the hall, towards Sukuna’s chambers.
Nothing had change much for the past few months, you continue to pull at his string and he continues getting angry. But he has made no attempts to kill nor to get rid of you, “My Lord,” Uraume greets softly, sliding the door open for you to walk in.
You no longer fear Sukuna. Sure, he was a menace at times, testing your waters of fear. But strangely, you had gotten used to that practical that it doesn’t bother you anymore— he can try all he wants to be scary, it will never work.
“Tell me, are you a virgin?”
You sputter out the rice towards . . . God knows where. Cheeks warming at the sudden question, “What kind of indecent question is that? I suggest you to shut your mouth this instant,” you scolded in embarrassment.
“I have two. Which one?”
Two!? You would have thought that a curse being not so folklore was shocking enough, but he has two mouths. No wonder he eats humans for a living and slurps blood like a vampire, “That’s . . . Odd. In a very displeasing way.”
Sukuna grunt, “I have four arms.”
“Four!? What else? Two heads and nose?”
“Four eyes.”
“What?”
He grumbled, “You are not deaf, no?”
“So you are a monster,” it wouldn’t have been the first time Sukuna has heard the term, he could care less about it, because he himself agreed to it. He is a monster, what is there to be ashamed of?
“That is right,” he boasts out, chest puffed out.
“You sound proud.”
“I am proud.”
“Nobody would be,” you mumbled, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your kimono in a way that made Sukuna groan out, “what are you groaning about?”
“Even I, a monster, have better manners.”
“I don’t care.”
“You are doing terrific at pulling the end of me,” he tells you, watching you eat your food soundly like another walk around the estate. Your eyes shut in delight as you took a bite out of the grilled fish, Uraume serves them everyday but you don’t seem to be bored of it— unlike the concubines who has the time to complain about it every time Sukuna was not around.
Every single one Sukuna has heard. He doesn’t bother to indulge in it.
“Also.”
His ears twitched, already annoyed, “Speak.”
“Why do you have a poison taster?”
“According to the name—” you cut him off immediately.
“I understand what they do, though, I’m curious because are you not immune to poison?” Sukuna blinked, you were right. He is indeed immune to poisons, he has no idea how long that poison taster has been living inside the estate.
All he knew was that he had one. Apparently, Uraume had hired one to look after the concubines, it would be a nuisance to get rid of every single body all at once.
“I leave Uruaume do the estate handling.”
“So,” you conclude, “you are lazy.”
Sukuna raised a brow, your appearance has trained him patience. Something he has not been fond of for as long as he lived, the way your words nonchalantly flow out as you cocked your head to the side, “No. I simply cannot be bothered to do all that, why should I do such things when I can lay back?”
“Lazy and deluded.”
“Virgin.”
You stammer out, “I did not answer that!”
“You are defensive enough to tell me the truth,” he plays your game, “virgin.”
“Stop saying such things!” You slammed the table, letting the dishes clatter against each other in unison, “And why are we speaking of my sexual experience!?”
“Curiosity.”
You angrily asked, “And if I am not a virgin?”
“No man would want a blind significant other, not only are you a burden— you are too deluded to realize you are a burden,” he points out and you got offended at his words because clearly it hits close to home. Once realizing the effect, he smirks, “and no infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours.”
You clenched your fists. “If I am such burden, then I should leave. Have a good day, My Lord.”
The lack of “terms of endearment” from you made Sukuna wonder, has he finally pulled your strings? He smiled in victory watching you stumble out of his chambers like a chased fugitive, walking away, even leaving the shoji door open widely. How adorable.
You walked down the engawa in annoyance, the indescribable ache in your heart bloomed even more. No infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours. How could he say that? If he were to talk about your lack of vision, you would have retaliated because it is something you couldn’t change— but to say something so harsh.
It was to be expected from someone like him. Still, it aches.
A few days pass by. You blatantly refused to come out of your chambers, Uraume doesn’t bother, less work for them to do. You sat there facing the doors, you had been doing some thinking. Maybe if you declined meals, Sukuna would eventually get tired and throw you out. Or even better, end it all for you!
Despite the growing hunger, you kept yourself sane. Sitting on the same spot, dressed in the same kimono, not moving an inch. Days go by, you’d go out every once in a while to fetch water and leftovers to feed inside the privacy of your chambers. Sukuna hasn’t said a thing about the lack of your appearance.
Of course he hasn’t. He’s a monster, he cares of no one but himself! What were you expecting, (Name)? For him to come by, drop to his knees, and start apologizing for his wrongs?
He’s a curse for gosh sake.
You crossed your arms over your chest. And you hear the shoji door to your room slide open, you part your lips, speaking the default sentence you have told Uraume for the past few days, “Uraume, I do not want to—”
“I am not Uraume.”
You blinked, “You don’t sound like them.”
His voice trickles calmly, “You don’t wish to dine in my chambers? As you wish. From today on, we will dine right here in your chambers,” your jaw slacks and clenched over and over at the conclusion he made, “any denial?”
“I refuse. This is my chamber.”
“This is my estate.”
“Still!” You complained like a petulant little brat, “I do not wish to dine with a monster. I wish to dine in this humble abode myself.”
“Denied.”
You gasped, “You selfish—”
“Uraume, dinner,” Sukuna commanded boredly with a yawn, waving one of his arms.”
“Uraume, no dinner!”
Anxiety tightens in your body. He had blatantly ignored your request and you felt assaulted, your safe space was getting bombarded by his ruthless tendency! You stood up, “I command you to leave my chambers this instant,” you point your finger out, body taut.
Sukuna glowered, “You dare command your Lord?”
“You are not my Lord.”
Sukuna stepped towards you, his fingers curled against your wrist into a lock. And your facade falters against his touch, this was back to square one in a flesh— when you had anger him for the first time. The heaviness weighing in your throat grew and then you blow into fits of coughs, all the words caught up in a second. Sukuna pushed your wrist away from pointing at him, “You will dine with me, whether you want it or not. I will force feed you like a bird.”
“No.”
“You are confident the second my touch disappear,” he points out, his hand already hovering right above your throat, ready to pounce, “have the courage to say something with my touch.”
“I can too.”
And his fingers curled over your throat, pressing the sides of it tight enough for you to start gasping for air, “Let me go,” you manage to choke out before he lets go of your throat with a low chuckle, “you are sick in the head, Sukuna.”
“My Lord,” he corrects.
You blurt out, “You are no Lord of mine.”
Sukuna again, chuckles at the answer. Never in his years of life have he ever met someone as stubborn as a mule like you— oddly enough, he couldn’t find the heart to slice you open like he does to anybody else. The heart. What an odd thing to say, he doesn’t have a heart at all.
He’s utter crazy. If crazy had a definition written out, you’d see his name as an example. You stood there before sitting down on your knees. Sukuna sat down next to you; awfully close to you, the musky smell of earth clung onto him, and for once, you wondered if he bathes constantly or if it is just how he smells daily.
No men could smell that good with no bath. Right?
“Are you going to feed yourself or do I need to do the feeding for you?” He questioned, too daring. You know everything that comes out of his mouth was practically something he would do, and you somehow tested the waters once more.
“I am not hungry.”
“I can hear your stomach growling from three rooms away.”
“Do you have four ears too?” You annoyedly asked him, keeping your hands glued onto your lap.
Sukuna shuffled slightly on his spot. He notices the devilish crinkle by the corner of your eyes, as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, “Do I?” He hums softly. Puckering his lips, Sukuna stared down at you.
The way your feet shifted constantly under your weight, the way your fingers curled and uncurled. Or the way your eyelids flutter slowly, lashes batting against your skin. Your lips pucker and pulled back, waiting for his next move.
Gosh, Sukunq has never felt this annoyed. He’s a curse, he shouldn’t have feelings. For a mortal at that— he wiped his palm over his face, sobering himself up from the plaguing thoughts of you, “Eat or I will force it in you.”
“I said, I am not hungry.”
Your lips part to utter more complaints to him, but before the words could leave the tip of your tongue, Sukuna shoved a piece of radish into your mouth. Your jaw clamped shut, and you began crunching on it. The sour sensation bursts in your mouth like an explosion, it’s been days since you took a bite out of the pickled radish.
“It’s . . . Delicious.”
Sukuna scoffed, “Uraume is a good cook.”
“You made them cook?”
“For us. The concubines has too much time to tamper on your food,” he muttered under his breath, “are you going to dine yourself or do I have to feed you?”
“I don’t know,” you tease, “I do not feel like eating myself.”
Sukuna scowled, “You are making a fool out of me.”
“You gave the choice. I answered. You made a fool out of yourself,” you nonchalantly replied, “also, oh no, I struggle with my chopsticks. I think I will need help.”
“Uraume,” Sukuna calls out.
You stopped him, “I can eat by myself, My Lord.”
“I thought so.”
The fact that you’re still alive right now is a miracle. Sukuna had been stuck to your side for ages now— counting 6 months, according to Uraume. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to mind your presence at all.
Meals have been more relaxed. The teasing added up (on your side). Sukuna hadn’t let his concubines get away with fucking with you, his four eyes have come in handy with keeping tabs on you. Especially during bath time. He doesn’t follow you in, you had reprimanded him once for trying and he stopped.
Surprise.
From then on, he stood outside the bathe house. Arms crossed, concubines wonder what business he had waiting here. And were quite surprised when they find out you were the one he was waiting for— Sukuna commanded Uraume to get you the finest jewelries from all around, the finest fabrics to tailor into home wear, and the finest dine in experience.
“My Lord, do you not think that you are giving too much attention to that blind bitch?” One of the higher ranked concubines questioned in a sultry tone, her slender fingers rubbing Sukuna’s shoulder in a way he doesn’t enjoy.
In fact, he hasn’t been in bodily contact with any of his concubines even if they had indirectly suggested so. He brushed them off like they don’t matter more than a leaf on the ground, “Dare to repeat that?”
“We are neglected,” the other spoke, red kimono flowing elegantly along the tatami mat, “it is quite unfair for her to receive all your attention, and she isn’t even a concubine. Surely, you wouldn’t want to make love with . . . That.”
The way they spoke of you made his blood boil, but he kept his composure calm. Sitting there with two of them latched by his side, fingers tracing the shape of his chest languidly— their eyes screaming ‘make love to me, My Lord’. However, he paid no interest to them. Their fingers traced lower than he liked them to, and with a simple shrug, they were strewn off.
“I have no interest in making love with any of you.”
“My Lord—”
There was one thing he hates more than humans and that is weak humans like such. With a flick of his hand, the hall was blood filled. No screams of agony were fit in before these women’s lifeless bodies dropped loudly. Sukuna brushed his outfit, the splatter tattered his hakama, eliciting an annoyed grunt.
He wastes no time walking out of the chaos, Uraume eyed the condition of the room and instantly understood, “Get rid of them.”
“Understood, My Lord.”
“Inform me of (Name)’s presence.”
“She’s currently in her chambers, she had requested to be brought to the garden today . . .” Uraume bows his head down, retreating into the bloody hall. It wasn’t the first time they had to clean over Sukuna’s mess, and they know it wouldn’t be the last. To think that his Lord would do such things for a mortal was surprising, even surprising is an understatement.
“I will assist her,” Sukuna grabbed the napking Uraume offered, “get rid of the living concubines as well, I have no need for them anymore.”
“Get rid of them?”
“Kill them all.”
Sukuna took the fabric in between fingers, scrubbing off remnants of blood that etched onto his skin. His thundering footsteps echoed along the hall, the engawa shuddered under his weight as he sauntered down towards your chamber. He cleared his throat, sliding the door open.
There you were, sitting in the middle of the room. On your knees and fingers laced against each one of the other, he huffs at the pitiful sight, “Do you await for Uraume’s presence in that position?”
Hearing his voice made a small smile pop up on your face, your head bobs slowly, “I occasionally bump onto the furnitures here, and it doesn’t leave the most un-painful marks. I would rather sit here and wait.”
“Surely, you could have said something.”
“And bother Uraume? As much as I love bothering them with my constant nagging, I do feel somehow . . . Emphatic,” Sukuna blinked, his bottom pair of eyes looking around the room. Neatly made up, he had commanded Uraume to have the maids clean your room every morning during breakfast, “where is Uraume anyway? They are supposed to be assisting me to the garden.”
“Uraume is caught up in . . . An important matter as of currently,” the lie smoothly rolled out, “so, I will be assisting you today.”
“Really? I do not take you for a garden type of person— curse,” you correct yourself last second with a teasing smile.
Sukuna couldn’t hide the tug of his lips, he cleared his throat, “Shall we then?”
The invitation elicits a question, “Do you have your hand out? Because if I must remind you of the lack of vision once more, I will walk out by myself into the garden.”
“And fall off the engawa again?”
“I haven’t fall off in a long time,” you rolled your eyes, trying to find his hand, “and nobody cared to give me precautions over the estate’s turns. Am I supposed to learn everything by a miracle?”
“I would not let you fall.”
“How can I trust a curse?”
“By letting this curse prove you so,” you hummed when the warmth of his hand engulfed yours, slowly pulling you up onto your feet, “shall we?”
“I am unused to you acting so . . . Humane, it is quite odd,” you whisper out so softly that you couldn’t even hear it, almost.
His hand, so rough. Used to kill, used for the negatives of the world, now felt so little under your touch. The lingering warmth he felt under your fingertips made his chest flutter— he is a curse, he should not be getting attached to a mortal. In a way, he was signing up for heartbreak and heartbreak means weakness.
Sukuna and weakness don’t sit well together.
He averted his gaze out to the greens of his estate, guiding you around the corner, making sure your steps aren’t overlapping each other. Despite the brewing dilemma, he still handled you with care. Care. Odd feeling, his lower pair of eyes discreetly pan towards your form. Your dull eyes staring forward. If he thought about it, somehow be would love to thank your lack of vision.
Sukuna isn’t entirely attractive. To humans, at least. Two pair of eyes, two pair of arms, two mouths? For all he knows, even the concubines spoke ill of his appearance— they fear for their lives, and in his eyes they were just a flock of chicken prying for safety by going with the flow. The disarray look they had when he chose them proved enough. Pathetic.
"We have arrived," he announces out loud, "watch your step."
You took small steps on the wooden stairs leading down into the garden, his fingers curled against yours as guidance, "My Lord."
"Yes?" So soft, so unsuiting. He thought to himself, but the sight of you just made it come out.
"I do not know much about curses and their . . . Bathing schedules, do you not realize that you awfully smell of . . . Blood today?" Ah, yes. He swallowed slowly, his thumb caressed the back of your hand unconsciously, "do not get me wrong, usually you reek off earth and incense. Today however?"
"I heard you the first time, do not elaborate further," he hushed you in annoyance, "I killed the concubines."
You freeze. "Why?"
"That is what I do," he lied again, looking up at the sky. It was already a big blow to his ego that he dissected his concubines because they spoke ill of you— he does not need to elaborate further than that, no?
"I am sensing lies," Sukuna tightened his grip on your hand, "I don't want to pry."
Curse this. "They spoke ill of you," he fessed up, looking around the estate, "nobody speaks ill of you, but me."
"You are weird." So weird.
Sukuna grunt, "Am I now?" The teasing in his voice echoed softly into your ears. This is so unlike him at all that it scares you, the warmth in his voice differs from months before and you inhaled softly.
"I am a bit scared."
"Of me?"
"The new you."
Sukuna watches you step deeper into the garden, his steps followed behind yours slowly. Two pairs of eyes constantly looking left and right for any danger that lurked even in the estate, "Why do you attract yourself to such places as this? Quite boresome."
"It smells nice in here."
"Nice?" The sweet smell of flowers made his throat ache, it us anything but nice in here. But he held himself back from ruining the moment, arms crossed tightly.
You took small steps along the path, limbs stretched out to touch every single thing around the garden. Even if you have been here so many times, you were still one curious being, "Do you know what flower this is? Any knowledge?"
Sukuna spared a glance at the flower, "That is . . . A pink flower," he answered.
"I understand if you do not know the name of it, it has a funny shape," you touched the soft petals of it, and Sukuna's jaw slacked at the shame of not knowing his own flowers, "I like this one. I like this flower. Uraume is also quite clueless about the flowers around the estate. And they get pretty annoyed when I ask about it all the time."
You inhaled close to the flower, "Although I find it odd that it has no particular fragrance like other flowers."
Sukuna watched you from a good distance, the delicate touch against those flowers. And he took a good look at himself, the bloodied hakama, the way he looked. Surely, you wouldn't like how he looks . . . He remembered the shock on your face when he told you about the extra features. Monster. Fiend. Disgusting. It should have not bothered him that much, it didn't back then. But now that he's seen you in a different light, it does bother him to no end.
"My Lord."
"Mm?"
"I am ready to head back now, I think I'll ask Uraume to plant more of these flowers," you mumbled the first part to him and the rest to yourself, trying to find yourself back to him.
Sukuna lets you navigate on your own. And when you grasp his girthy arms, he felt himself relax, "Then we shall head back," he muttered, hiding the lower pair of his arms behind his back.
“Uraume.”
“My Lord?”
Sukuna looks out the window, grunting out softly, “I need a re-decor on that woman’s room, she keeps getting herself into trouble,” he muttered out, his eyes tracking down the birds flying around the estate, “and that pink flower in the garden. Plant more of those.”
Uraume raised their brow, “A re-decor?”
“A re-decor is what I said,” Uraume nods their head, unable to fight back. They had felt the softness that shaped around Sukuna gradually along the months, and as much as Sukuna tries to keep his sharp facade around you, Uruame isn’t stupid. They didn’t need long to put two and two together.
The curse, Sukuna Ryomen is in love with a mortal. Sukuna and love don’t go together, everyone knows that.
“I understand, I will have someone do a re-decor on her room,” they retracted away from Sukuna’s chambers, “and the flowers.”
Uraume lifted their gaze, the estate has been serene. Sukuna has not been furious once ever since you, he has been . . . Patient. Everything Sukuna isn’t— well, he is now. And it’s extremely odd! Swallowing back their words, they walked down the hall, feet slowly bringing themselves towards your chambers.
Following Sukuna’s orders, they had got rid of any living concubines from the estate. So, the estate was void of anyone besides the maids and well . . . You. Though, you were clueless of it. But you do wonder where all the concubines have went since you haven’t been exactly losing anything in particular.
Uraume slid the door open, expecting you inside. However, your chambers void of your figure, usually sat neatly in the middle waiting for them. Uraume furrowed their brows, “(Name)?”
“Uraume?”
Your voice came from outside. They tracked you down immediately, finding your form hunched over a bush, “I have fallen and I need help,” you tell them. Uraume took a good look at you hunched over the thick bush, green leaves stuck to your hair and outfit, you were a mess.
“How long have you been stuck there?” Uraume swallowed back a laugh.
“I do not know,” voice ripe with sheepishness, you wiggled your legs, “I cannot tell, I have lost count of it. I felt the need to guide myself to the garden alone today, but of course, this happens.”
“How have you managed to take a tumble?”
“I have fallen off the edge of the engawa yet again.”
Uraume had wasted no time informing of the matter to Sukuna right after they helped you up, brushed the leaves off your kimono, and made sure you spent a good time in the garden.
“(Name) has taken a tumble.”
Sukuna’s head panned up. He was quiet briefly, “The engawa, again?”
Uraume hums softly. “Yes.”
“Re-decor the whole estate,” he bluntly spoke, surprising Uraume mildly, “as fast as possible.”
So the whole redecorating begins, and as much as the maids and Uraume tries to keep their mouth shut about it. There will come the time when you find out the strongest curse has told the whole estate to shut their mouth about redecorating everything to favor you.
“Uraume,” you call out. Oddly enough, Uraume had moved you to a different chamber, much emptier, futon neatly folded and there weren’t any sharp corners at all. However, they did tell you this would be temporary.
It all started making sense when the maids would announce you about being careful around new things around the estate you do not remember anything of, “Mm?”
“Why has the estate change?”
You started the interrogation slowly, wanting Uraume to think you were this stupid and clueless woman asking innocent questions. Uraume grunted softly, “My Lord thought it needed some . . . Changes.”
“It is very (Name) friendly.”
“There is no point in fooling her anymore, she is not stupid.”
Mustering all the courage, Uraume turns their back to face Sukuna. His black hakama hung loose. Bare body, thundering footsteps, “Fooling me? You have been fooling me?” You gasped dramatically, throwing your hand over your mouth.
Sukuna glances towards Uraume, signaling for them to leave. And so leave they did, rushed footsteps leaving you behind. Sukuna’s hand brushed against the small of your back, guiding you back to your chambers. Your newly re-decorated chambers— very you, very carefully made, “I assumed you have done something to my chamber?”
“You assumed right.”
You blinked, “Tell me what is new.”
Sukuna’s eyes traveled around the new chamber, “Everything is new.”
“Which are . . ?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw before he spoke, “I made them rid of what could have been dangerous for you. Which were everything, the oshiire stays in the same place— I have made the maids search for the finest futon. They installed cabinets right here,” Sukuna’s hand brushed against yours, pulling your hand to touch the cabinet, “the corners are dull, hence, you would not hurt yourself,” he was right, the corners are dull, so dull that it made you stood there in awe.
“I had them move further into the chamber, so you would bump into them less, I hope.”
“You are quite kind.”
“Kind?” He scoffed, only to you.
A hum came from you, less convinced. You began making your way around the chamber, “Why?” Your one word question managed to rent the curse speechless, because he was internally asking himself the same thing, “Why do you go out your way to do this for me?”
“Courtesy.”
“Since when do you care about courtesy?” You questioned slyly, “The Sukuna caring about courtesy? I would think that you are excusing yourself, but truth to be told, I had not expect to still be alive by now.”
“Why would you think as such?”
“You said so, once I put up no use— I am a gone woman.”
The atmosphere shifts, he remembers clear as day. The words. Everything he told you in the past, “I misjudged you then,” he spoke, clearing his throat awkwardly, “it feels odd . . . Doing such things for a mortal. Believe me.”
“I believe you.”
Sukuna lets out a low chuckle, “Fool.”
“The garden has changed as well.”
“I commanded Uraume to plant a lot of the flowers you seem to like,” Sukuna replied, “I have learnt about it. They are called camellia. Do not question where I inherited that information.”
“Where have you inherited that information from, My Lord?” You asked him anyways.
“From the scrolls.”
“You ventured the scrolls for me,” your conclusion made his body jolt. His fingers tightened a fraction around yours, “that is very nice of you.”
Sukuna huffed, “I am a monster, I am not nice.”
“Did they tell you that?”
Sukuna raised a brow, “I announce myself as such,” he dragged his hand up towards your arm, “I am quite glad that you lack the vision to see me. I am hideous.”
“Do you announce yourself as hideous too?”
“The mortals address me as such,” he scoffed, “at least I am powerful.”
Your smile faltered. For a beat, you were quiet, unknown of what to say. But you start parting your lips, “May I touch your face? I’d like to feel what my kind concludes as hideous.”
Sukuna freezes. He contemplates, but at the end, he hunches himself in front of you slightly, “I suppose,” it comes out a timid whisper and you pat down his hair first— the thick strands of his hair, the maids spoke of how thick they are and how beautiful his hair is. It is soft under your touch, and your fingers grazed over his forehead.
“Big forehead,” you bluntly spoke, “people of my village wanted their offspring to have big foreheads because they symbolized high intelligence. I suppose they are right about it.”
Then your fingers grazed over his shut eyes, you remembered his revelation about having four eyes. Two of them smaller than the others and located on a hard structure protruding from the right side of his face . . . A bone? Or wood perhaps, “What color are your eyes?”
“Red.”
“I do not know, but it sounds suiting,” you comment again as bluntly as possible, his warm breath pushed into your palm. And your fingers traced the outlines of his lips slowly— tugged into a frown, typical of him, “I think you should smile,” and the corners of his lips began tugging upwards slightly.
Your hand pats down his face, down to his neck, “Thick neck, okay,” you remind him, “very muscle filled. That’s nice, you must work out a lot.”
Do not even start, his muscles were just wonderful. The outline of his bicep that you trace slowly made your stomach flip, “Are you shirtless?”
“I am always shirtless.”
“Creep.”
“You seem to enjoy touching my muscles,” he teased, letting your fingers traced onto his wrist, “what about my wrist now?”
“Big arms. Signifies strength,” and then you began patting the air around him.
Which for a bit, confused him, “What is it you are seeking for, woman?”
“Four arms.”
Ah. Sukuna tried his best to hide the two pair of arms but now that you had asked for it, he couldn’t help but to help guide your hands onto the bottom pair of arms, “It feels odd, no?” You elicit a giggle out of you, “What is so worthy of a laugh right now?”
“I can only feel two arms.”
Sukuna begrudgingly tucked the collar of your kimono neatly, covering your collarbone, and your hand shoots out to grab his hand, “Three.”
With the last hand, he grabbed your free hand, “Four. It feels disgusting, no?”
“You have an extra pair, where is the problem at that? I’d say you would work faster labor,” you whisper, wiggling your fingers gently as his fingers circled around your wrist, gently stroking your skin like a delicate glass, “I do not find any monstrosity on you, hence, you are not hideous.”
He stares you down. He isn’t hideous to the only human that matters, that is more than anything else. Sukuna swallowed the rest of his unknown insecurities inside. How funny, the curse, proclaimed strongest. Never had he felt insecure about his look until you— a blind mortal decided to drop by out of the blue, all of a sudden everything mattered more than usual.
“That so?”
“Mhm.”
He released your hand, “Then you are blind—” he stops himself, looking down at you. Who currently had a cheshire smile on your face, “Apologies. I seemed to have forgotten.”
“You? Apologized?” Only to you. Only to his woman.
“I did. We speak no more of that.”
“I will speak of it to Uraume.”
“Especially not Uraume.”
“I want to venture beyond the estate.”
Sukuna eyed you incredulously, you were safer behind the gates, right here with him. Why would you choose to venture out straight into the dangers of the world? He has made it clear to everyone that you belonged to him, here you were tucked inside the safety behind his arms, and you were asking such . . . Odd questions.
“Beyond? Elaborate.”
“I want to go outside and have fun,” you spoke out with such happiness that his heart swaggered, “I can take Uraume for precautions. I want to explore the world more, I do not want to be stuck here like a bird in a cage.”
“Why take Uraume when you can take me?”
“Uraume seems more loose on schedule.”
“I do not have schedules.”
You coaxed yourself to look up, “You do not? I would have thought royalty—”
“I am no royal.”
“You are king of curses, that is royalty,” your opinion flows out like an argument, he sighs at your stubborn tone, “victory is mine yet again.”
“Yes, yes. Why would you possibly want to put yourself in danger beyond the estate when you are safer in here?” You were stuck in the belly of his shrine, cringing from how frequent you walked down the engawa that you had remembered every route by now. You wanted more. The thrill of it, the fun, “I am not letting you step foot out of the estate.”
His lower pair of arms curled around your torso, pulling you back onto his chest. You sulked, “It is not the same, you are being selfish.”
“I am protecting you.”
“From what?”
“Humans. Predators. You do not know what is out there,” he spoke, tone laced with impatience, “I do not wish for you to get hurt, is that too hard to understand?”
“I will be fine, I am always fine.”
He should have known you, you have always been a rebel since the first time he commanded Uraume to drag you back here. So, it wasn’t a surprise when Uraume told him that you were not located in your chambers, “Locate her, Uraume. Surely she hasn’t gone too far.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
Sukuna stood up, a black haori hanging on his shoulders loosely. He stood up, should have known, you don’t back down. That’s one of the reasons why he had gotten so attached to you, “Prepare to set out, Uraume.”
You had taken a broom out, using the stick as a navigator. So far, you had successfully entered into biomes of trees outside the estate and you couldn’t tell how far you had gotten. The stick of the broom prevented you from bumping into the rough tree barks and tumbling over bushes. Uraume should make a stick like this for you, how could you not think of this?
A soft tune echoed in a form of a hum from you, curious fingers touching every single thing. Burying your nose into different things you could touch, “Mm,” you moaned, plucking the wild flower and shoving it into the obi of your kimono to show Uraume later.
What a vast mistake this is. No sense of direction, you should have brought a maid along with you. Every turn you took seemed the same, trees and bushes. Occasionally wet patches on the ground made your sandals sink slightly. When the owls began sounding their loud horns, a wave of panic washes over you.
The itch on your arms made you groan, fingernails digging to cease the feeling. Your brows pinched together, trying to find anything that could be of help, “Hello?” You call out.
But the trees are endless, every time you call out for anyone, your voice bounced back to you. And you were beginning to grow restless, the feeling of uneasiness creeping into your body. Your kimono felt heavier, and your sandals felt wobbly now. You cursed, you should have listened to Sukuna. You should have asked Uraume to come along to guide you.
On the other hand, Sukuna walks calmly through the trees, Uraume walking ahead. The darkness was his forte, he loves it. But he had lost track of the hours he spent walking around what seemed to be similar places, “Where has that woman off to? I tell her one time that she is safer inside that estate and she flees.”
“There are bandits residing in this forest, we should locate her quickly, My Lord.”
Bandits. Sukuna scoffed, they could never compare to him— but you? You were as defenseless as a newborn calf. And now that it was dark, the bandits were surely on the move to find income. And God knows what they could do to you. Sukuna grunted, crossing his arms.
You ran into the trees. Unknown of what was currently chasing you deeper, the adrenaline striking inside you made you lose your broom and all you could rely on was your limbs. You could make out the crude laughter from . . . People? Or were they animals?
A loud yelp escaped you when your foot dug into what seemed to be a trap, the pain dug into your ankle. No, no, no. You chant, this couldn’t be happening right now, your fingers dug onto the wet soil, trying to find the power to continue running, “There!” Ah, so they were humans.
Bandits. You assume. Back when you lived in the village, bandits frequently dropped by and chaos ensued. But there were so many people fighting back, now? It was just you.
“She’s dressed grand, surely she has a few dimes on her,” one of them spoke, the bushes rustling to your right and you clutch onto your hands in fear. Moving slowly backwards, crawling on the ground hopelessly, “her necklace looks pricy.”
“Just get anything that looks grand. We’ll get a price outta whatever.”
You shook your head, “Please,” your plead fell into deaf ears when you feel someone pull on the necklace Sukuna made for you, the string snapping under the force and you grasp the air, “no, anything but that. It means a lot to me, please.”
Your head snapped to the side, your cheek seared. Had one of them just striked you? You whimpered in pain, muddy hand flying up to touch the burning spot. They laughed. How could they laugh at the expense of you!?
“Get the hairpin. Looks like gold.”
You grabbed it before they could, “No,” you clutched it into your chest, another one of Sukuna’s gift from not too long ago, “this is precious to me.”
“Unfortunately, we do not care.”
The gems ripped into your skin when they forcefully grabbed it. You lunged forwards, grabbing onto whatever belonged to them you could hold onto, “Give that back to me,” you mutter out.
“Let go of me, you blind bitch!”
The hits delivered to you were relentless. Then again, these were bandits, they don’t care about anything but money. You held onto one of them tightly, the pain slowly registering into every place they hit— punches, kicks. One of them tried to wiggle their leg out of your grasp, pulling your hair back in annoyance, “I’ll kill you, you prude!”
And then just like that. Silence ensued.
You felt the leg go limp and you breathe heavily, what was happening? Sukuna emerged from behind the trees, annoyance written on every crease on his face as he approaches you. And the second his eyes landed on your battered figure, he glowered out, grabbing your arm tightly, “Why did you not call for help!?”
The surprise from before lingered, and you stuttered out, “My Lord—”
“Look at this,” he loudly said, clamping your jaw tightly, the cuts on your face registered into his mind, “and this,” he pulled your leg.
“I . . .”
“Shut your mouth.”
Once you were settled back inside the estate, Uraume helped you draw a warm bath. Scrubbing the mud stuck to your hair, your kimono was left for the maids to scrub, your wounds were taken care of quickly. The bandages wrapped around your ankle a constant reminder of your stupidity, and once all of that was settled, Uraume helped you into Sukuna’s chambers.
He was not happy. He was far from that.
The door slid shut softly and Uraume walked away. Sukuna steps closer to you, “I give you everything you wanted. You ask me for a bigger garden, I commanded them to reconstruct it,” he drawls out calmly, his fingers thrusting to your shoulder gently, “you ask me for deer meat and I commanded Uraume to hunt the finest deers. I have complied to you every single time.”
“You ask me for the finest fabrics and I have the maids venture out from village to village to earn it, you ask me for a new hairpin and I have provided, you ask me for everything I have complied,” his voice grew louder, “I ask for one thing. For you to stay inside the estate, in safety, and you chose the danger outside.”
Your head fell in shame, “I just . . .”
“You are stupid.”
Your brows pinched, “I am not . . .”
“You track back on what had happened, is it not caused by your stupidity? You claim to be smarter than a curse and here I am saving you from a scenario you created on your own,” he shook your body in anger, “and if Uraume and I hadn’t been there on time? You would have died!”
You snapped back, “Why do you care!? You are just a curse, you do not have feelings!”
“To hell with that!” He yelled back, “I hate admitting but I do care for you. Only you, haven’t I made it clear?”
“You’ll get rid of me nonetheless!”
“Do not put words into my mouth, woman,” he muttered out, clenching his fists in anger, “don’t you dare say I do not care because every complies I did was for you. I did this for you. I lowered my ego for you. Is that not enough? Tell me then, tell me what makes it enough for you to digest that I, king of curses, Sukuna Ryomen do care for a human.”
You stammered, “I . . . You are lying.”
“I lie occasionally to people, yes. Have I ever lied to you?”
“Probably!”
“Mention it to me,” Sukuna growled, “mention one time I have spat out a lie to you.”
“I . . .” You left the gap open.
And Sukuna filled it in, “You do not know? Because I have never done that to you,” he muttered, releasing your shoulders. His heart burnt in anger, but he kept his mouth shut.
You clenched your fists, your anger turned into tears. The crystals slowly dribbled out and you sniffled, “I just wanted to explore.”
“Alone? You are out of your damn mind.”
“You wouldn’t have agreed.”
Sukuna scoffed loudly, “You have a habit of putting the words into my mouth,” he scowled under his breath, looking down at you. The harder your tears fall, the more he becomes annoyed, “stop crying. I command you to stop crying this instant, your tears won’t stop my fury.”
Sliding your arm over your eyes, you striked a hand blindly towards his presence. Which managed to land along the side of his neck, “You dare strike me?”
“I hate you!”
Sukuna hummed, “You are angry.”
“I will never be able to love someone like you, you are a monster. You do not let me do anything, I feel like a prisoner here,” you sobbed. The feelings were not like that— his words made the ticking time bomb blew and you were pulling at his strings, “I hate you. I loathe you. I wish for you to disappear.”
Sukuna stepped back, his hand hovered over his lips. He wanted to say much, but stopped. And he shuts the conversation down, “Understandable. Get out of my sight.”
As the night draws on. You laid on your futon, your chest heavy, you had been lying awake there since . . . hours ago. Your own words eating you up, knowing they weren’t right. The anger speaking for you, just for the victory because he made you angry. But now it was eating you alive.
Your emotions were divided. One side, you were angry at yourself for saying that. And the other part of you just felt sad that you had pushed him away; to think that you told him he was a monster too. Another tear slipped from your eye, and you sat up.
You brought yourself to the front of his chamber, for a bit you wondered if he was in the mood to see you right now. But, you shook your head, clamping your hand onto the shoji door before sliding it open, “What business do you have in here?”
You try to pinpoint his position. Teeth sinking onto your bottom lip, “I need to apologize.”
“For speaking the truth?”
“For speaking of lies.”
Sukuna grunts, “Does not sound like lies.”
You stomp your foot, “Those are lies, you are not a monster. And I am too immature to realize that you were just protecting me . . . I was too prideful to admit my own mistakes. I do not hate you, I do not loathe you, and I do not wish for you to disappear . . .” Your voice cracked at the end and you pursed your lips tightly.
Sukuna turns to look at you. How pitiful and small you looked right now, “That so? You spoke of not being able to love a monster like me—”
You cut him off, “I still love you anyways. I do not care if people view you as one, I love you. I have always do,” your voice broke into wrecked sobs, fingers dug into your own hakama, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for saying that.”
Sukuna watches your body tremble from the sobs, one of his hand tugged on your arm and you fell into his lap. He huffs loudly, “Watch your tongue next time.”
You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He lets you have your time, sitting there, unmoving.
Sukuna blows out a sigh, “Are you finished with the waterworks?”
“If it means that you will stop holding me like this, no I am not done,” you muffled out. Sukuna held your nape, peeling you gently away from your hiding spot. Snotty nose, red nose, tear stricken. You looked terrible, he thought, “what?”
He leans in, his tongue stretched out scooping a tear and his lips touched your eyelids. Sukuna shuts his eyes, “You say that but I never stopped you from touching me, do I?” His lips moved against your skin.
“You . . .” You began to say, but he stopped you, lips tracing down your cheek and he stopped right at the corner of your lips, “do not tease me.”
“Your reactions are amusing.”
“It is not,” you whisper in shame, brows already drawn together in embarrassment. Sukuna cuts the embarrassment short, his lips molded into yours slowly— you slowly relaxed under his touch, brows relaxing and you shut your eyes, leaning into the kiss.
For a curse, his movements were gentle. Like he feared that his own hand would hurt you, one of his hand tucked right behind your head gently tangled into your hair as his lips moved against yours slowly. He pulled back briefly, muttering out, “We do not speak of this to Uraume.”
“I will tell them all about it.”
“Is that so?” Sukuna asks, you nodded.
“Then tell them all about this, yes?” He sealed back the kiss, lips moving with fervor that you whimper into his mouth. He swallowed your noises, tongue caressing your plump lips slowly that you couldn’t help but to part them in a trance, his arms held you so close that your chest pressed against his, but Sukuna pulls back the moment he realized you sucking in a breath, “I have gone too far. Apologies. Are you alright?”
You bob your head, covering your face. He used a set of his hands to peel your hands away, “Surely Uraume would not mind the details, no? Or shall I elaborate more?”
“N . . . No, that was enough details.”
Sukuna’s thumb traced over your lips, his iron hands used to do all the wrongs in the world. Now, clasped in sets of velvet gloves, just for you.
osamu is such a teach me guy. teach me how to make that childhood dish of yours. teach me how your name is written. teach me that term of endearment in your language. teach me all those little habits of yours. teach me how to kiss you so your mouth will know no other name than mine. teach me where to touch you to make you feel so good. teach me where your body and your heart aches. teach me, teach me, teach me.
TAGS: enemies to lovers, more like constantly annoyed to lovers lmao, friends with benefits, roommates!au, college!au, roommates!miya4, childhood best friend suna who doesnt believe in boundaries, like… he REALLY doesnt believe in boundaries, extremely inaccurate depictions of being a business major and opening a business, mutual pining but make it totally unaware idiots to lovers, somnophilia, CNC, overstimulation, possessive!osamu, banter during sex, INSANE sexual chemistry, sometimes you really just gotta fuck the guy you hate just to see what it's all about
a/n: MIYA OSAMU SOMNO STANS FOR THE FUCKING WIN!!!! thank you so so much to the person who commissioned this fic <3333
[commission honee here!]
------------------------------------
You've always hated him. You're not really sure why. You think maybe he might have always hated you, too.
You meet him in high school. He and his brother are in the same class as you, but you don't pay them attention at first. Not until you realize that Suna's started hanging out with them.
"Oh, that's lucky," he says, about a month into your first year. He's standing at the classroom door, phone in his hand as he peers at you and then drags his gaze to the twins on the other side of the room. "Less work for me."
Atsumu's easy enough to get along with. He matches your humor, though he jokes early on that you and Suna must be dating. When you both make matching faces of disgust — when you mutter that it's not possible to fall in love with a boy who burps in your face and used to put sand down your pants in the sandbox — it becomes clear that you and Suna will never happen.
Osamu doesn't find you funny. You don't need him to, but it grinds on your nerves to watch his empty eyes land on you, nothing forgiving behind them. When you ask him about it one day, catching him alone in the hall, he just lifts his brows.
"Nope, nothin' against you. Yer just kinda there."
You decide then, without meaning to, that you dislike him. "Just kind of there?" He nods, shrugs.
"Just kinda there."
"Are you projecting right now?"
You watch his eyes glint with something rude, his jaw clenching.
"What's that s'posed to mean?"
You lift a brow. "Nothin'. Just that your personality's just… kinda there."
His nostrils flare. It seems he's also decided. He dislikes you.
—
It continues through high school. You circle each other reluctantly, kept in place by Suna's insistence and Atsumu's childlike attachment to his friends. You all get into the same college, and you're forced to watch as Osamu agrees to sign the same lease that Suna had made you sign, the same lease that Atsumu managed to force Sakusa Kiyoomi to sign after learning that the man would be attending school with you all.
It's amazing, finding out that you can become such fast friends with someone you've just met but that you and Osamu can barely stand to be in the same room.
You find out that Osamu's a business major. You only find out because you are, too. Even if he wants to strictly sell onigiri and you want to strictly sell sweets — ice cream, cakes, sweet drinks to rot your teeth — it still feels like you're competing with him. Same classes, same projects, same extracurriculars. He's everywhere, for four years straight.
Same apartment, too.
He's not a terrible roommate, but he's your least favorite. Kiyoomi is tidy and respects your space, respects you. Suna categorically does not respect your space, but he's always been that way. Already lying in your bed when you come home, sitting at your desk when you need it most. He's like a cat in many ways, but you leave him to it because he's him. Atsumu matches your vibe no matter what, always ready to go out and party but also willing to sit on the couch with you if your energy's low.
But him. Miya Osamu? He's always got a problem with you. And you've always got a problem with him.
It's not about the roommate duties. Yes, you leave your shoes disheveled by the front door too often, and you aren't exactly sorry when he trips over them. Yes, he leaves too many dishes in the sink, and you've watched him pile them up when he's particularly annoyed at you. But, for the most part, he's clean, and you're clean, and you stay away from each other.
It's not about being roommates. It's about being near each other. All day, every day. It's about waking up every day knowing you're going to see Miya Osamu for more than half of your waking hours. It's about the fact that, even late at night when you're working in the dim light of the dining room, he's going to find his way to the same spot, claiming he can't focus in his room.
It's about the fact that, on the nights when he doesn't, you kind of wish he would.
You hate him.
You want to, at least.
You wish he didn't hate you.
But he does, so… you hate him, too.
—
"Alright, that's it for today. Don't forget that your proposals are due tomorrow at noon."
You sigh, packing your bag quickly. You hear Osamu behind you, talking to one of his friends. He should be lost somewhere in the lecture hall — he is lost, you can't see him even when you glance back — but you always hear him. Always recognize that low drawl, like your ears are attuned to him.
"Nah, nowhere close. Every time I try to work on it, I get stuck."
You listen, agreeing silently. The final project has been kicking your ass. It's the notoriously difficult capstone project for business majors, due just weeks before graduation. Design your business, from conception to execution.
It's the program's way of saying, "You want to own your own business? Prove it."
It should be a simple culmination of everything you've learned, but it feels like you're standing at the edge of a cliff and your program director is putting his foot on your back and kicking you off.
Find an open space and meet with the leasing agent. Report on the quote they give and decide its feasibility for your business, based on your projected profits and costs.
You have a full day of tours set up with an agent soon. They're all joint tours with another student, the agent claiming that this happens every year because your school is known for its gruesome expectations.
You sigh, standing and feeling the effects of the stress in your bones, your back, even the damn strain in your eyes.
You follow the long line out of the lecture hall, your gaze finally catching on Osamu, just a few people ahead of you. He's caught by an arm reaching out of one of the aisles, its fingers manicured.
"Osamu!"
You flinch. Whoever she is, her voice is too loud, too squeaky.
"Do you have plans tonight? I've been thinking-"
"Nah, I'm good." That low drawl cuts her off, quiet but sharp. "I've got this stupid proposal to do."
"Oh," she says, clearly caught off guard. You laugh under your breath, knowing very well how off-putting Miya Osamu can be. You see him clearer now, his frame blocking part of the aisle as he talks to the girl in front of him. He's glancing around like he's looking for any excuse to leave. You start to push past him, avoiding his eyes. "Well," she tries again. "Do you wanna work on it toge-"
There's a hand wrapping around your bicep, yanking you back. You make a noise akin to getting the air punched out of you, your balance thrown off as you stumble back into a solid chest.
"Wh-" You lift your head. Grey stares back. All too familiar.
"Nah," he says, eyes scanning your face before he turns back to the girl. "I've got someone. Sorry."
You want to rip your arm out of his grasp. You want to laugh in his face. You want to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, who he thinks he's talking to.
But you can't. You're just caught in his gaze, back on you and entirely him. Grey and deadpan, too close and too far at the same time. Looking at you like he knows you. Like he knows you better than you want to admit.
"I-" you fumble, eyes flicking between him and the girl who now looks like she's bitten into something sour.
"Oh," she mumbles. "I didn't realize you were taken. You're never together."
He's not taken, you want to say. Yell, even. But you're too flustered, glancing between them until you're dizzy.
He doesn't correct her, doesn't tell her that what he meant was that he has someone to work on the project with. Which he doesn't, if you want to really set the record straight. But that's not what she understood, and he doesn't correct her.
The girl steps past you both, nudging you with her shoulder much harder than necessary, but you don't get angry. You're still so lost.
Osamu unhands you, but he keeps staring. You blink once, and then you turn and walk away. Your head is fuzzy, static in your ears, but you just hike your bag up higher on your shoulders and follow the flow of students out the door.
You can feel him behind you. His warmth is familiar, like his clothes mixed with yours in the dryer. His scent is still washing over you, like the cologne on your bathroom sink.
You almost miss the hand that's waving you down, a few feet outside the lecture hall. It's one of the guys you did a group project with once, many months ago.
"Y/n, hey," he says, easy and calm and all thousand-watt smile.
You stutter to a stop, blinking rapidly. Why are you so caught off guard today?
"Hey," you say, approaching him. What's his name? "How are you?"
"I'm really good," he says, and then he laughs. "Besides this stupid proposal."
You laugh back, the sound empty. "Yeah. It's not great."
His eyes light up. "Well, are you doing anything today? I was gonna work on-"
His gaze finds a spot over your shoulder.
The cologne is on your bathroom sink, uncapped. You always nag him to put it away. You always tell him to stop putting his laundry in the wash with yours, too.
"She's got plans."
You should say something. But it's so damn hard sometimes.
"Oh," the guy says. "Didn't realize."
He wanders off before you can correct him. Because the assumption is still there, even when no one says it.
You never remembered his name.
You turn, finally ready to tell Osamu off.
He's already gone, taking grey with him.
—
"He's such a dick," you whine, tossing your bag down at the foot of your bed. Suna's sprawled across your comforter, scrolling on his phone.
"You say this every day," he yawns.
"He's a dick every day."
He just laughs, nodding in that placating way he's taken up every time you complain about Osamu. "You're so right, loser. When're you gonna fuck?"
You land a swing straight to his kneecap, silently setting up your laptop at your desk while he howls and clutches his limbs behind you.
"Get out. I have a proposal due at noon tomorrow."
He just whimpers pathetically behind you, and then you hear him rustling around in your bedside table. Something pink and solid smacks against your desk before tumbling to the ground.
It's your dildo, mocking you in the daylight.
"Take it," he whines. "You'll feel better after. Less violent."
You pick it up and clamber onto the bed, silencing his screams of terror with one of your many pillows as you hit him over and over again with the blunt side of the toy.
You door opens behind you after a few minutes, Suna's muffled cries for help inevitably drawing attention.
Atsumu stares blankly at you two, taking in the sight of you beating Suna's ass with a dildo. Osamu's behind him, gaze equally empty.
Suna's eyes catch on them. "Oh, thank god, you're here," he cries out. "The stress is getting to her. She needs to be fuc-agh-"
You've started beating him with the dildo again, your face burning because you'd caught the way Osamu's gaze had caught on the toy before flying away.
The door shuts behind you. You start to earnestly suffocate Suna with your pillow. His laughter a few minutes later is the only sign he's still alive.
—
Several hours and just as many cups of coffee later, you're slumped at the kitchen table, the rest of the apartment quiet and dark. Your head is in your hands, the proposal sitting open on your laptop and your notes scattered all around you.
This project has to be some kind of torture tactic. One last punch in the face between you and graduation.
A door down the hall opens. You know it by heart, even without the sound of his footsteps.
He's quieter than Atsumu and Suna, and Kiyoomi sleeps by ten every night without fail.
"What do you want, Miya?" you mumble, face still pressed into your hands.
"Nothin'," he mutters, dropping his notebook on the table lazily and taking the seat across from you. "Can't focus in my room."
"Can you focus in a different room than this one?"
He scoffs. You hear him start to type on his laptop. "Not tonight, Y/n, please. I'm not in the mood."
You sigh through your nose, trying hard to bite back a response. Knowing that he's going through the same things you are, that graduation is coming up for everyone and that you and Osamu have the same pressures weighing down on you these days.
You also know that the longer you talk to him, the more you'll want to bring up what happened earlier in the lecture hall. And you certainly don't want to do that. You don't have it in you to face whatever that was, not now and definitely not in front of him.
You choose to leave him alone for tonight, if only so you can get back to your own work. He sits silently across from you, typing on his laptop and taking notes on the page next to him. He sighs a few times, and so do you. You get up to make more coffee at some point, and he does the same a few minutes later. He taps one foot, knee bouncing, and your typing becomes louder.
It goes on for an hour.
"Could you quit it?" you finally snap, glaring at him. "You're shaking the table."
He just shakes his head, still working. "You're the one who's typing like you have a point to make. It's so fucking loud."
You groan, staring down at the time on your screen. It's almost three in the morning. The proposal is due by noon. You don't have nearly enough, and by the way he's been carding his fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots all night, you can guess that Osamu doesn't, either.
He starts to roll his neck from side to side, massaging at his shoulder with his eyes closed. He looks exhausted.
"Everything feels fucking tight," he complains. "I feel so wound up."
You wonder why he's telling you this, but you understand the feeling. "Yeah," you mumble, sighing quietly. "I feel like a rubber band about to snap."
"You act like it, too."
You scoff, starting to argue, but he's smirking to himself, eyes still closed. You sit back, eyelids heavy and head aching slightly.
"'m just so tired," you whisper. "I dunno if any of this shit's good enough."
He nods. You're amazed that he's being so easy about this, but you suppose you're being easy about it, too.
"Feels like they taught us what to do but forgot to warn us before pushing us out of the plane."
You laugh quietly, the image of a cliff coming back to you.
"Kinda wish I'd had more fun," you admit. "Slacked off more, gone to more parties, had more sex."
He doesn't even blink, completely unfazed by your crude thought. "Definitely wish I'd had more sex."
You laugh, self-deprecating. He does, too.
"Wish I found a situationship to keep on speed dial for nights like these," you sigh.
He makes a sound of agreement, doodling absentmindedly in his notebook. "Woulda made things more tolerable."
You both sit in silence, studying your respective laptop screens. Avoiding work, avoiding the part where you can only sigh and keep going.
But eventually, he stops doodling, his pen hanging there, suspended, while he stares down at nothing. You stare at the same spot, at the same nothing.
For all that you and Miya Osamu hate each other, eight years is a long time to learn a person.
"No strings," he mutters.
Your heart flies to your throat, lodging tight. You swallow around it and speak, a croak that cuts off at the end.
"No one needs to know."
He shifts. You feel his eyes on you, feel when they glance away. "Not tonight. The deadline."
Your knee starts to bounce. "But after tonight, it can be whenever we want."
His body twitches visibly. Your gaze finds him. His eyes are widening slightly, and there's a pink tinge warming his cheeks. He looks embarrassed.
"When you say 'whenever'…"
You stare. He makes eye contact and breaks it immediately, his gaze neutral but that warm embarrassment taking up way more space.
When it clicks — when you realize what he's saying — the embarrassment finds you, too. You didn't think you'd ever find out that this is a thing for him. You'd never really given it much thought before, to be honest. The idea of whenever, what that really means.
But now that you're thinking about it, giving it room to breathe… you can see why it's a thing. Why it's a thing for him, and why you don't hate the idea of it being a thing for you, too.
You clear your throat, swallow around the lump. "Whenever means whenever."
His eyelashes are pretty when they flutter like that.
"'Kay," he eventually bites, voice thick and heavy.
Yours is weak, fragile. "'Kay."
He stands, grabbing his notebook and his laptop and disappearing from the kitchen table. You hear his door close and lock.
Good lord.
—
You start to leave your bedroom door unlocked at night. He does, too.
During the day, everything is the same. He drinks the last of your milk and you drink his protein shakes. You argue over dishes in the sink and shoes by the door. But for the first few nights after that conversation, things are quiet. As the sun sets, you start to get nervous, quiet. He starts to hide in his room more.
Nothing happens, not for a week. In that time, not a single one of your roommates notices a difference. You take it as a good sign, take it as a silent kind of blessing that even Suna hasn't caught the lingering glances you keep accidentally throwing Osamu.
He must think the same, because your door finally cracks open in the middle of the night on Friday, after everyone's made it home safely from the bar. After Atsumu and Sakusa and Suna have all presumably fallen asleep or answered their booty calls' summons.
After you should be asleep. After you would be asleep, if not for the way he'd been looking at you tonight. Like it's okay to not be working just for tonight.
Your mattress sinks with his weight, and you feel him lay his fingers on your calf. He shakes gently.
"You awake?"
You find his eyes in the dark. "Need something?"
He sighs, the sound shaky. "Maybe."
Eight years is a long time to learn a person.
You don't question how easy it is to wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug him toward you, or how easy it is for him to cage you in and drop his lips to yours. You don't question why you don't feel uncomfortable or upset at the press of his mouth — warmer and softer than you'd expected — when everything else about him causes you such great distress. You don't question the quiet moans that pass through your lips when he slides his hands under your t-shirt, the low rumbles that get caught in his chest when he starts to touch you.
You just let yourself need him and don't question when he lets himself need you, too.
It's not prolonged, the first time you sleep with Miya Osamu. There's no extended foreplay, no jokes or moments of intimacy. It's sex, the kind you have when you're too drunk and desperate to bother pretending this is anything else.
Except you're not drunk, and neither is he.
So you're both just desperate.
You want to say it's a general feeling, that you just haven't gotten laid in a long time. But you can tell from how your body reacts to him — when he pries your thighs open with his, when his fingers card through your hair and tug hard, when the little sounds leaving his mouth make you clench hard around him — that this isn't about needing a quick lay. This is about him.
You should be embarrassed. Humiliated, even.
But it's him that's acting like that. Doing all this. Shoving himself between your thighs carelessly, his breath heavy. Tugging your head to the side with his fingers in your hair so he can press hickies into your throat. Moaning quietly when your back arches on a particularly hard thrust, the words 'fuck' and 'just like that' falling past his lips.
"You look good like this," he whispers at some point, his face flushed and his grip on your hips tight enough to leave bruises. "Full of me. Open for me."
His words speak of something more intimate than what this is, but it makes your tummy swim with feelings you don't want to think about. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and your head presses back into your pillow with a quiet whine.
His breath leaves him in one hard punch of air, and his eyes squeeze shut. His cock starts to throb inside of you, his arms trembling as he holds himself over you.
"Where d'you want it?" he bites, hips stalling.
You're panting, probably a lot louder than you should be. "Don't make a mess in my bed, Miya."
He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. "Always so difficult," he breathes. "'s okay. I'll just make a mess inside you, instead."
You want to tell him off for enjoying this so much, enjoying the spill of warmth against your walls the way that he is. But you like how it feels, too, like how he pushes his hand down against your tummy as he rolls his hips flush into yours. Like how he looks, his mouth hanging open a little bit and his chest heaving unevenly as he stares down at you through half-lidded eyes.
You think maybe he's done, that maybe it's time to clean up. You wait for it, the inevitable emptiness and the cold that'll settle over your sweaty skin. The slight disappointment.
But he just pulls out and stares down at where his cum is dripping out of you. He catches it with the tip of his cock, making good on his promise not to make a mess. He pushes back into you slowly, nothing more than a sigh and slight shudder. His shoulders tense up slightly, and you see him shiver almost unpleasantly, but he doesn't say anything, just starting to roll his hips in the same pace as before.
"What…?" you whisper, staring down at the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.
Osamu just grabs you by the hips and starts to fuck you in earnest again. You gasp, clinging to him hard. His eyes are screwed shut, and his breath is sharper than before.
You realize only when he moans, slightly pained, that he's overstimulating himself to make sure you come.
That he's enjoying it.
You're smacked with a wave of arousal that manifests in your walls clamping down around him and your back bowing off of the mattress, nails digging into his forearms as you cling desperately to him. As you come, open-mouthed and starry-eyed.
The aftermath is humiliating.
You're both sweaty and panting. There's thumbprints bruising your skin. Scratches lining his. The air around you quiets, which means you'd both been louder than expected. Osamu stares down at you, half-exhausted and half-examining, like he's evaluating if this is what he needed.
It's humiliating to think that only you got what you needed. From Miya Osamu of all people.
But then his shoulders sag and his thumbs start to trace circles around your hip bones, almost like he's apologizing for the grip.
"You good?" he breathes, still out of breath.
You nod, sleepy but tense. Still tense around him, even after all this. "You?"
"Yeah," he chuckles. "Better than before."
It isn't comforting. It isn't what you want to hear. But it's Miya Osamu, and you know that neither of you is willing to say what the other wants to hear.
But then you catch it — the way he glances down, eyes tracing the cum that's starting to drip out of you again. Eyes registering that it's him that did that. He's the one who filled you up. He's the one who made you like this.
Something flickers in his gaze that you can't place, but your body knows what it is. Your body likes the look in his eye, so much that your hole flutters and clenches, right as he watching.
His eyebrows fly up and his gaze finds yours. It's heated. His face is warm.
You're reminded of the moment that you realized that there are things Miya Osamu is into. But now it's about you.
He doesn't speak, and neither do you.
He just notches the head of his cock against your entrance, the question lingering in the fact that he doesn't go anywhere.
Your breath catches, anyway. A grin flickers across his face, gone in a moment.
Not a single word passes between you, but the urgency — the desperation — is back. The things between you in this moment-
Overstimulation.
Possession.
-become clear. You hear them even without words. The smack of your headboard against the wall, stronger and louder. The panting, the heavy breathing, the choked moans that pass through both your lips.
It's a shame, really. There's no way your roommates can't hear this. You know you're in for the mockery of your life.
But you can't bring yourself to care.
What a shame.
You come first this time, loud and only muffled by the hand he clamps over your mouth. Your legs twitch and shake, fighting the slight pain of coming so hard so soon after the first time, but he just grips one of your thighs and bends you in half. It only takes two more strokes — hard, rough, sloppy — for him to come, too.
He makes a mess in your bed this time, cum pooling between your thighs and under your ass, but you don't care. You can't care. Even when he shudders and collapses on top of you, you can't care. You just need to sleep.
You do.
He's gone when your alarm goes off the next morning.
—
You don't see him until class, hours after waking up alone in your bed. Part of you — the part that craves touch and affection — had been disappointed, almost offended. But the larger, more rational part of you was relieved, because when you'd come out of your room, Suna had promptly bombarded you with questions of who you brought home last night.
"It sounded like a good time," he'd commented, seemingly unaware of who had visited your bed last night.
You'd flushed, humiliated, and muttered something about the noise, that you would be better about it next time. He'd lifted his brows and grinned.
"So there will be a next time."
You'd just flipped him off and gotten ready for the day, careful to cover the hickies lining your throat.
Now, several hours later, you're shocked to find Miya Osamu dropping down into the seat beside you with a sigh, his bag heavy at his feet.
You turn, wide-eyed, and take him in.
His clothes are rumpled and his hair is disheveled, like he'd rushed out of the house this morning. There are hickies in the crook of his neck.
But he looks good. There's a glow to his skin and he looks like he slept well. And a quick flick of his eyes to yours betrays that he's pleased you look the same.
"What's this about?" you ask, slowly turning to face the front of the lecture hall again. You feel him shrug.
"Nothin'." There's a long pause, and then he says, "It felt bad leavin' like that. This morning."
You blink rapidly, nodding. You wonder if this is already becoming more than what you agreed to. And then you wonder if maybe he's just that kind of guy — the kind that's incapable of being cold, even when he's the one who said 'no strings'.
It would be dangerous for you if he is. It would be bad for you to learn that he's a good guy, that he's able to give you what you need even outside of the dark of your bedroom.
"You good?" he mumbles, opening his notebook and spinning his pen around his fingers a few times.
"Yeah," you whisper. Your professor starts to lecture, something about the upcoming deadlines for the project. You swallow hard, feeling a strange urge to make Miya Osamu happy. "If you want-" You clear your throat. "Tonight. Whenever."
His knee jerks hard, knocking against yours accidentally, and his pen falls to the floor. He rushes to retrieve it, that word floating between you in the silence.
Whenever.
"If you want," you hurry to add, realizing it's been less than 24 hours and you're already propositioning him for another night. "Up to you-"
"Yeah," he coughs, glancing around. You peek up at him, a little pleased to see the burn of his cheeks. "Sure. Sounds good."
"… Okay."
"Okay."
—
At dinner that night, Suna catches onto the fact that something's amiss, and it's not hard to see that Atsumu's figured it out, too.
Maybe it's the fact that you and Osamu don't argue over every tiny detail — who's cooking, what the meal is, who sits where, whose turn it is to do dishes. Maybe it's the fact that you just start cooking silently, and he wanders into the kitchen when he smells the aromatics, vegetables chopped quietly behind you. Maybe it's the fact that you don't address each other at all during the meal, which means things are already two hundred percent more peaceful than usual. Maybe it's the fact that, when Sakusa asks that someone pass him the salt, both you and Osamu reach for it at the same time and then flush with warmth when your fingers intertwine.
Maybe it's any of those things. Maybe it's none of them. After all, Suna Rintarou needs no excuse to corner you in your room after dinner, whispering furiously.
"You fucked him!"
You whirl around, shocked that he's followed you into your room and locked the door. "What?"
"You fucked him, you fucking fraud!" he whispers again, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. "What happened to you hating him?!"
"I-" You stare up at him, eyes wide. "It's complicated!"
He just deadpans at you. "It's probably not complicated."
"We're just-" you fumble, still being shaken by him. "I dunno! We're just relieving stress or whatever!"
He starts to laugh. "That's the oldest play in the book, babe."
You scoff, affronted. "That's all it is! We're both stressed because of the project-"
"Yes, yes," he says, that placating nod making its return. "You're just stressed, and it's just a little time to relax, and it's totally not going to lead to feelings, even though he's already acting different and it's making you act different, and-" His voice pitches up, mocking you. "-Why's he looking at me like that? Does he like me? Do I like him? Is this more than sex?"
You smack him hard on the chest. "Shut up."
He stares, following you to your bed, where you flop facedown and he flops sideways, still staring.
"It's already happening." He doesn't sound shocked, but he does sound amused. "You fall fast, I gotta admit."
"It's not already happening."
"Whatever you say," he sighs, relaxing on his back and extracting his phone. "Oh, Tsumu's asking me to save him." He stands, sighing.
"From what?" Your heart jumps, because you know already.
"Samu's beatin' his ass for asking too many questions."
Your face burns, even hidden in your pillow. "I should follow his lead and beat you, too."
"Yeah, but you won't," he sings, already unlocking your door. "Because I'm right."
—
You fall asleep with your door unlocked.
You're not alone when you wake up.
—
Your body reacts to him first. It only took one night with him, it seems, for your nerve endings to memorize his touch.
The line between dream and life is very thin, your mind wandering in dangerous directions that have everything to do with the circles being pressed against your most sensitive spot. His fingers are warm, warmer still when he buries them inside you. His mouth is the warmest, tongue searing hot as it traces the bruises he'd kissed into your throat just a day ago.
"Fuck," he whispers, and you hear the gravelly edge of it in your bones, echoing around your dream-state. "You're not even here and you're this wet?"
You whine, echoing in your head, and start to whisper his name, certain that if you say it loud enough in your head, he might just hear it in real life.
But it turns out you hardly need to try, because he's clamping a hand over your mouth and shushing you gently, fingers still working you open.
"Gotta be quiet tonight. They're dyin' to catch us."
The line between dream and life is very thin indeed.
His eyes are heated when you find them, his skin flushed as he lies behind you with his hand between your thighs. You wonder if he realizes just how pretty he is when he's embarrassed.
"Y'said it was okay," he starts, but he still looks a little nervous.
The idea that this is his first time trying something like this makes your tummy swarm with nerves, your walls clamping down around his fingers before relaxing.
"It is," you whisper, eyes half-lidded and ass pushing back against him. "Totally, completely okay."
He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and groans, shaking slightly. You take advantage of his weakened state and reach back, your fingers pushing against the band of his sweats. Your hand finds him easily — he's not subtle about the nervous jerk of his hips when you touch him or about the heavy, rattled sigh that falls past his lips when you start to stroke him like this.
For the first time in your life — today, in class, and right now, with your fingers wrapped around his cock — you want to make Miya Osamu happy.
"What is it, huh?" you whisper. "You like takin' advantage of me, Miya?"
He groans, his head shaking jerkily even as his cock twitches, like he can't decide what the truth is. You can tell there's something there, but that must not be it.
"You like knowing my body knows you, even after one night?" You're exposing yourself by saying this, and you both know it. He curls his fingers hard and pushes his thumb against your clit, his other hand still hovering over your mouth to catch you when you start to cry out.
"Think you like that part more," he grunts back, his laugh airy and tight. "Someone's got a crush."
"Fuck you," you whine, muffled by his palm and made even more laughable by the roll of your eyes into the back of your head. He must see it, because he's smiling against your cheek. You can feel his eyelashes on your skin, fluttering when you brush your thumb over the tip of his cock.
"Not tonight," he whispers, chest heaving against your back. "I don' need my brother knowing what you sound like when you fall apart on my cock."
You shiver, hearing that edge of possession in his voice. It showed itself to you in other ways last night, but this clearly isn't a one-time feeling.
"He already knows," you mock. And then you push in ways you shouldn't, and you know that. "Suna, too."
The effect is immediate, Osamu's grip on your mouth tightening. His fingers push deeper into you, curling and then spreading apart. Your muscles lock up, and you gasp pathetically into his palm. He pushes his hips against your fist, rough and rude.
"You done?" he bites. "You having fun?"
Yes, you think, your nerve endings singing for him. The most fun you've had in a long, long time.
But you know how to make it better.
"You know what I think?" you pant. "I think you like the idea of fucking me while I'm sleeping because it means I trust you."
Miya Osamu starts to break.
His breath catches and his cock grows heavy in your palm as you slide it along his shaft, wet and fast and loud.
You push.
"You like knowing I hate you and that I'd still let you do whatever you want to me."
He breaks.
You push.
"You like having me all to yourself."
He breaks and you push.
"That's what it is, isn't it?" you mumble, feeling him start to throb in your hand, precum leaking all over your knuckles. Your tummy swirls when he groans, when his sounds start to become open-mouthed and stupid against the side of your head.
You can't help yourself.
"Isn't it, Samu?"
Miya Osamu breaks.
You break, too. You don't want to admit that it's because he's moaning nothing but your own name into your hair, broken and depraved and carrying something you've never heard from him before. Something you never thought could happen between you.
—
He's still there when you wake up the next morning. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck. You can feel the weight of his arm draped over you and the hard muscle of his thigh between your legs.
When you pull your head back to look at him, his eyelids flutter open.
You stare up into his eyes, and he just stares back. No words are shared, and neither of you moves to separate from this position. You just examine each other under the slivers of sunlight streaming through your curtains. You just let your gaze drift to his mouth and then away. Just watch when he does the same.
You're not dumb enough to avoid the fact that 'no strings' fell apart in under two days.
You choose to ignore it. For now, at least.
Two loud bangs hit your door, followed by three more, multiple sets of fists on wood. You jump, wide-eyed, and sit up.
"What?"
"Open up, loser!" It's Suna. "Samu's not in his room, so he must be in yours!"
"Damn near a decade of hell, and then you guys do this shit?" That's Atsumu.
A quieter voice, closer to the wood. "Might I suggest sex in Osamu's room from now on? You and I share a wall."
And that's Kiyoomi.
You groan, hiding your hands in your face. The mattress shifts beside you, Osamu mumbling a quiet 'I got it'. He yanks the door open, his frame taking up the entire doorway.
"Can you guys fuck off?" You watch him gesture somewhere to his right, where Kiyoomi is audibly protesting. "Not you, Omi."
"Is that a yes to the room change?" the man mumbles, deadpan as ever.
"Sure, Omi."
Suna's gasp is as dramatic as it's been all your life. "So you are in here!"
Osamu gestures to his own body. "You saw me open this damn door, di'nt you?"
"Don't do it, Y/n!" Atsumu yells, trying to break into the room. Osamu wrestles him back with a yell. "He's a bad lay!"
Suna slips through the door as Osamu gets distracted with fistfighting his brother. Your bed jostles under his weight.
"So?" he says with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans back on his elbows. "Is he a bad lay?"
You roll your eyes, knowing you can't hide from him. "Of course not. Would I fuck him twice in two days if he was a bad lay?"
Suna's grin is that toothy, bright one that you grew up with. He lowers his voice. "And those feelings we talked about?"
Your knee starts to bounce. He snorts, shaking his head.
"Knew it," he sings quietly, satisfied.
"I didn't even say anything."
"Didn' need to."
You don't deny it.
—
'No strings' looks a lot like immediately falling into something with Miya Osamu. You want to blame him, want to say that he's the one getting attached, but you know that's not the truth.
Over the course of the next week, he sits with you in every class and you choose not to comment. If anything, you start to glance back at the door and around the room when he takes too long to get there. You start to get that funny little tummy swirl when he steps over people just to get to you, every time.
He starts walking with you to your next class together — or maybe it's you. Because you wait, hovering awkwardly by the door when he stops to talk to his friends briefly. You wait, wondering if you're waiting for nothing, if you're showing your hand by waiting. But every time you even start to think of walking away, of leaving first, you catch his glance. You catch the fond look in his eye, the amused raise of his eyebrows.
He's making fun of you, but there's something in it that tells you not to go.
So you don't.
You just give him the same look when you see him waiting for you outside of your last class every day, even though you've never given him your schedule. You just smile when he rolls his eyes and try not to look like you're rushing to catch up with him when he turns to leave.
You start seeing him in the doorway of your bedroom more often, his gaze curious as he hovers over where you're working at your desk. Your gaze just finds the laptop and notebook he has in hand, wondering if he'll ask the question on his tongue or if he'll just hover until you tell him it's okay.
He always chooses to hover, only moving when you give him a silent sign that it's okay. You don't tease, too busy trying not to get nervous when he closes and locks your door on his way to your bed. He takes up your space like it's his, for hours a day, and you just let him.
You let him take your space, let him see the way you struggle to focus on your work when his presence fills your room. You let him ask stupid questions — 'what'd you get for number six?', 'when's the paper due?' — because you know that he's doing exactly what you're doing: making excuses. He's making excuses to talk to you, making excuses to get your attention the same way you're making excuses to give it to him.
He just asks his stupid questions and grins, pleased, when you put your pen down and turn in your seat to scold him for distracting you. He just grins and says 'you gonna answer me or what?'. He just waits for you to get out of your seat and stomp over to your bed, where he's long made himself comfortable. And the moment your knees hit the mattress, that scowl painting your features like you aren't yearning to fill that spot next to him, he just reaches out and grabs you by the waist, dragging you in.
You just let him, the same way you let him do everything else.
You never notice the way the sun fades outside your window, never notice the time that passes with your hands buried in his hair, his lips pushing and pulling in time with yours. Even when you don't have sex — you can't actually remember the last time you had sex in this room — time passes with Miya Osamu.
He only leaves when everyone else is home, lips pink and swollen and sweats tented in the front as he kisses you one last time and heads to the kitchen to cook dinner. You just watch him go, glossy-eyed and nerve endings calling for him to come back. On the days that you cook dinner, instead, you always turn at the last second, catching the way he looks at you. Glossy-eyed and warm, like something under his skin might be calling for you, too.
Even the roommate-related arguments feel different. You do your best to keep your shoes organized, and it's not hard to notice that he keeps up with his dishes. But even when you do hear him trip on your sneakers, swears falling past his lips, you just stick your head around the corner with a sheepish grin and mutter your apologies. He just rolls his eyes and threatens to shove your shoes up your ass, amused exasperation lacing his voice. And when he lets his dirty plates stack one too many times, you just lean down in front of everyone and whisper threats of a sex ban into his ear. The dishes are always magically done within the hour.
Suna doesn't comment, and Atsumu doesn't comment. They just look on with interested, knowing expressions. Kiyoomi does comment in his own Kiyoomi way, pointing out dirty pots to you and pointing down at piles of overturned sneakers whenever Osamu's in earshot. You're perfectly happy to let him use the situation to his advantage, because anything's better than getting called out about the distinctly not casual way that you and Miya Osamu are behaving.
And then it becomes impossible to ignore, at an unimportant time on an unimportant Wednesday afternoon.
—
"Shit, shit, shit-"
You scramble off the crowded train and race out of the station, glancing at street signs and then the map on your phone before bolting in the right direction. You're late to your appointment with the leasing agent. You just hope she and the other student haven't already started the tour.
The other student, whose voice you can hear from around the corner.
"'s fine, we should wait for her."
"Well, okay. Just a few more minutes. I don't want to waste your time."
"I'd rather wait. She's never late fer things, so she's prolly freaking out."
"Oh-You know her?"
You skid to a stop at the corner, eyes wide. When you step out into view, he finds you immediately.
His brows lift, lips tugging at the corners as he fights an amused grin.
"Yeah," he says, looking over the agent's shoulder. "I know her."
You blink away the shock of seeing him and rush toward them, your face flushed and your appearance a complete mess from running. "I'm so sorry-"
The agent turns, smiling politely. "Lucky timing," she jokes. "We were just about to go."
You nod, apologizing again as you shake her hand. "Thank you for waiting." You direct your gratitude to her but mostly over her head at Osamu. "I couldn't find my application packet and missed the earlier train-"
She cuts you off again. You think you see Osamu's brows twitch in annoyance.
"Well, it is important to be prepared. Countless business deals have fallen through because of poor plannin-"
"She said she was sorry," Osamu comments. "And she's never late like this. Things happen sometimes." When the agent gives him the same look you are — dumbfounded shock — he just nods at the empty storefront before you. "Can we go in?"
She just gives a quiet scoff and mutters something about 'stupid kids' before heading inside. You plaster yourself to Osamu's side once her back is turned, his elbow in your grasp.
"Thank you," you breathe.
He just shrugs, planting his hand on the small of your back. "She's too uptight. 's not y'r fault."
You let him lead you forward, staring up at the side of his face. "How'd you know it was me on the appointment?"
"Saw your name on her clipboard. Knew somethin' wasn't right when you didn't show." He drops his hand when the agent glances back, and then he whispers something quick, sticking his hand out for you to shake it. "Let's find you your bakery, yeah?"
You take his hand, smiling politely at the agent as you shake it. "Onigiri Miya starts today, or whatever."
His laugh, pleasantly surprised, follows you through the door.
You're on your best behavior for the rest of the day, asking all the questions you've learned to ask and taking all the notes you know you'll need later. Osamu complements you perfectly, asking questions whenever you're busy writing and poking his head into corners when you're grilling the agent about downpayments and repairs and everything else.
When the agent gently suggests that you take a look around instead of asking her questions the whole time, you just nod at Osamu, who's crouched near a wall with some suspiciously exposed wires, the safe rubber part trapped between his knuckles as he examines the way they were cut.
"He's got me," you say, returning to your laundry list of questions.
You don't realize he'd been in earshot until two tours later, when the agent — by this point rather annoyed with the way you two have tag-teamed her — remarks that Osamu's not taking any notes. She asks how he possibly plans to keep track of the details and if he plans to run his business in the same way. Your back is turned, your notepad propped up against the wall as you jot more notes, so you don't realize that he's pointing at you.
"She's got me."
You glance over your shoulder at him, catching the look in his eye before he turns away.
The agent just sighs. "And when you're running your shop? Who's gonna have you then? Do you plan to open a joint shop where one of you takes care of the bills and the other takes care of the maintenance?"
She laughs, clearly expecting you both to look ashamed or even laugh along with her. But Osamu just finds your eyes.
You can see his mind start to work overtime, and you follow the thread he leaves behind for you.
"Maybe," you bite. "With the places you've shown us so far, it seems like there might not even be two viable places for us, anyway."
The agent is appropriately offended, but you've gotten tired of her attitude over the last few hours, and you know Osamu had lost his patience before the tours even started.
"Fine," she snaps. "There's two more places left, anyway. Maybe you'll find those viable."
You shrug, gesturing to the door. "Maybe. Shall we?"
Osamu is quiet on the drive to the next location. You would be nervous if you couldn't tell that he's thinking very hard about something. Not the life contemplation sort of thinking. More like he's doing calculations and needs to concentrate.
When you step out of the car, ignoring the agent's snarky comment about the day coming to a close, you see two empty storefronts lodged, side by side, in the middle of a strip of stores, just off of the main road.
The thought that crosses your mind — dangerous, personal — is reflected in the light that fills Osamu's eyes. Your gazes lock over the hood of the car. He flushes, and you do, too.
You follow the agent through the usual motions — downpayment, overhead rent, maintenance policies, repairs and renovations.
"It's the same for both stores," she says at one point. "All the businesses on this street are owned by the same person."
You try not to let your hopes get the best of you, but Osamu's completely ruining your attempts.
"So, in theory," he starts, walking around the space and nodding, seemingly pleased by what he sees. "We could knock a hole in the wall and put a door there?" He points at the wall connecting the two stores.
She lifts her brows, finally catching onto what he's planning. "In theory," she says slowly. "But I'd have to ask the owner. He has the final say."
He just nods. You're too busy glancing between them, your breath caught in your throat.
"Can you ask him how he feels about the whole wall comin' down?" he finally asks, a little quieter.
You swallow around the knot in your throat. "Samu," you mumble, a warning.
His eyes glint when he looks at you. "In theory, of course." And then he addresses the agent. "What was the downpayment again?"
She gives the number.
He looks to you, brows raised and that stupid, dangerous smile tugging at him again. "I have that."
You hold your notebook to your chest, knowing he can see the tremble of your fingers. "I have it, too."
He nods slowly. "You shook on it. Earlier."
You ignore the agent's look of confusion, just shaking your head and extracting your application papers from the packet in your bag.
Eight years is a long time to learn a person.
"Onigiri Miya, or whatever."
You turn away so he doesn't see the warmth in your cheeks when he addresses the agent.
"We'll take it. Both of 'em."
—
The front door slams and bounces off of the wall when you and Osamu burst through, your legs wrapped around his waist and his fingers tangled tight in your hair and your lips bruising from the pressure of his.
"Oh, hell no!"
You feel him wave off his brother, barely managing to let your own apology when your back crashes into Kiyoomi's arm as he's scuttling out of the way.
Suna calls out from the living room, laughing maniacally. "What the fuck happened to you two?"
You release the stack of papers that's crumpled in your hand, letting them fall to the floor. Osamu just uses one hand to shove your shoes off of your feet as he's kicking off his own, and then he stumbles down the hall with you in his arms. You hear Kiyoomi start to read off the papers.
"They signed leases?" The flip of more papers. "Oh. They're next door to each other."
Atsumu groans. "Damn near a decade of this shit-"
Suna just keeps laughing. "Congratulations, loser!"
Osamu's door slams and locks, your back pressed to the wood, just as Atsumu's suggesting they all go out for a few hours. You wait until the front door closes before you let yourself focus on the task at hand.
"So," he mumbles into your mouth. "You ready to talk about that little crush you got?"
You roll your hips into him, dragging your teeth down his throat and sucking bruises into his skin. "In theory?" you joke.
"Shut up," he grunts, yanking you off the door and crossing the room in two strides. Your back hits his mattress, and you can't help the sigh that falls out when you pull him down on top of you. His bed smells like him, and there's a tug of something more than lust when it hits you. You know what it is, that swirl of emotion that comes with knowing you're going to keep ending up here.
His mouth is urgent on yours, and his fingers are shaking slightly as he tugs desperately on your clothes.
"Keepin' these," he breathes, your panties yanked down and tossed across the room. You shiver, nodding.
"Yours," you breathe back, a moment of weakness.
Or maybe it's strength, because you feel invincible when you hear the moan that he presses against your throat when you utter that word.
"Mine, yeah?" he whispers after a moment, his jeans shoved down to his knees. You let him pry your thighs open, your nerves twisting and turning when you hear his question. Something tells you he's not asking about your underwear.
You nod, pulling him in for a kiss, but he stops at the last second.
"Say it."
You whine, biting down on your lip. "'m yours, Samu." When he grins, his smile bright and real and open, you turn your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "Fuck, this is so embarrassing."
He just laughs against your skin. "You have a crush on me," he teases. "That's fucking embarrassing."
You beat a fist against his shoulder. "You asked me to own a business with you."
"Yeah," he sighs, clearly pleased. "I have a crush on you."
You flush hard, meeting his eyes. You know he can see the affection you're all but radiating, because he just keeps beaming down at you.
"'s fucking embarrassing," you mumble fondly, searching his gaze. He lets you.
"You cool with it?"
You swallow your answer, gasping at the push of his cock past your entrance.
"Samu-"
"You okay with this?" he pants, bottoming out in one thrust. "You okay with me?"
Your back arches, unfiltered moans falling past your lips. "More than okay."
He fucks you hard, like he has something to prove to you. His whispers feel like honey on your skin, your name and his feelings mixing easily with moans he presses against the line of your throat.
It doesn't take long to fall over the edge with him. There's weeks of something between you, built into signs ignored and silences shared.
There's years, really. Years of nothing and everything, falling apart when you do. Words unsaid, bubbling to the surface when he moans your name but staying hidden all the same. Saved for later, when you're both ready to admit it.
When you're both ready to admit that it's always been there.
first kiss with boyfriend!choso except he doesn’t know what a kiss is ᝰ.ᐟ fluff, fem!reader
“do you think it’d be weird if i kissed him?”
maki had looked at you like you had two heads when she asked, “why would that be weird? he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”
“well, yeah… but, isn’t the guy usually supposed to do it first?”
“choso wasn’t even a fully conscious being a year ago.” she scoffed, “your boyfriend is essentially one of those expanding pill toys we used to soak in the sink as kids. there’s nothing ‘usual’ about you two. I say go for it.”
you nibble the inside of your lip as you think back to the conversation you’d had with your friend just a few hours earlier. she was right, there is absolutely nothing normal about a jujutsu sorcerer and a death painting being in a relationship, so perhaps it isn’t fair to apply the same expectations you would a normal guy to choso. and though he was different from any guy you’d been with before, you could say with utmost certainty that no one has ever treated you as well as your sweet boy does, even if his methods were a little unconventional at times and he still referred to you as his ‘mate’ instead of his girlfriend. but that was just something you’d gotten used to.
the two of you are sat under a tree on a breezy day with your back against the bark and choso’s head tucked in your lap contently. he has his eyes closed but you can tell he’s not sleeping, just resting, his pretty lashes kissing his cheeks. chest rising and falling slowly. if anything, his relaxed stature should mirror onto you but it only makes you more nervous.
gently, you move to hold his face in your hands, thumbs dusting over his cheeks which makes him exhale a breath through his nose a little heavier in response. though no longer a stranger to your touch, it still makes his heart skip all the same. choso and affection had never crossed paths until he’d met you.
and slowly, you lower your face to his, eyes drawing to a close when you carefully slot your lips over his own. you remain there for a beat before you pull away to see a pair of alerted, intense eyes staring directly into yours.
“what did you just do?”
he’s so matter of fact. you still aren’t quite sure if you’re used to how much weight his voice has when he uses it. how it feels like he’s speaking into you instead of to you.
“um, I-“ you swallow, hard. “it was a kiss. i kissed you.”
you hadn’t really thought this through, you realize as your mouth runs dry. feels like it’s been filled with sand.
“why? what is a ‘kiss’?” he’d paused to taste the word, like he’d never spoken it before. because he hadn’t.
“it’s what you do when you like someone. when words aren’t enough to show it. you put your lips on theirs, and… move them.”
you were going to kill maki.
he nods, but he still seems to be thinking on it. “what does it mean?”
“it’s kind of hard to explain. but it’s supposed to be a good thing, you know… that couples do.” he shifts slightly, arms coming up to cross under his head instead. his knuckles brushing against the skin of your thighs, the feeling of his hands making you fidget a bit. they were almost hot.
“how’d it make you feel?” you ask.
“do it again.”
“what?”
he repeats himself, “do it again. you caught me off guard the first time.”
so you do as you’re told. once. just a peck, barely a second. then again, but this time, you stay long enough to feel his lips tentatively start to move against yours. to feel them press deeper into yours when his chin tilts upwards.
a breath is shared between the two of you, lips ghosting against each other’s before you pull away completely.
your heart is beating fast and you know he can sense it.
“so? now how do you feel?” it comes out really soft because you’re nervous and you truly can’t read him right now.
he looks… confused. curious? you don’t know, but there’s a harsh line between his brows while he mulls on his answer.
“warm. like my blood is about to burst through my veins any second now… like—“ his lips close, then part again, but it takes a few more seconds for words to escape and for the first time ever you hear choso trip over his words. “like the feeling you get when you’re getting ready to fight someone. but… different. more intense.”
“cho, it’s okay if you didn’t like—“
he doesn’t let you finish.
“give me more,” and he tacks it on for good measure because yuji’s told him he needs to work on his manners. “please.”
kaledo-art
dailybridgerton
discoholicmusic
areudirty
kianamaiart
gummygunk
origamiaround
