frat!kuna | college au; fraternity au | fluff, angst & all of the inappropriate stuff | oneshot - 4/4 complete | your brother's warning to stay away from frat guys lingers in the back of your mind constantly — but how can you when ryomen sukuna himself is begging you to help save his english grade? | 24.2k words
₊⟡ a little life: part 1 here | ₊⟡ a little life part 2 here | ₊⟡ epilogue
author's note: guys im sorry it's taken so long to come out i literally work a full time corporate role so this is all written when im home n relaxing LOLOL also new music below!
♡ link to my main [archived] masterlist
♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go!
Sukuna sighs quietly as he wrings out a wet flannel in your sink, warm water running over his inked knuckles. The rain never stopped on the drive away from Zeta Psi, leaving it all behind in the twilight. By the time Sukuna’s car pulled up outside of your sorority house, the pavement was slick with rainwater.
If you close your eyes and concentrate hard enough, you can hear the barely-there sound of water pattering against the windows.
The first touch makes you suck in a sharp breath. Sukuna swears under his breath.
You realise his proximity hits you harder than any of the pain with his muscular thighs brushing yours, his warmth boxing you in. The scent of smoke clinging to him. He’s standing in between your legs, the cold tiles of the bathroom counter pressing into your thighs beneath.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “He did this to you.”
“It was the door,” you say weakly. “I shouldn’t have–”
Sukuna’s jaw clenches hard. “He did this.”
The damp flannel in Sukuna’s hand hovers over the bruise blooming on your face, dark and angry. A reminder of Suguru’s brute force.
Sukuna abhorrs how furious he feels when he thinks about Suguru’s hands on you. Seeing you bruised and still apologetic makes his head spin in ways he has only felt in your presence.
All this time, he’s built his reputation on kisses that don’t linger; never staying in a girl’s place long enough to be missed; and likewise, never letting anyone stay long enough for him to grow attached.
People don’t just come and go for Sukuna; they pass by him like smoke.
No one has ever mattered enough for him to see them.
Every time he chooses to distance himself instead of indulging in you, restraining instead of letting himself fall deeper into what’s so clearly there – it’s so, so pathetic.
He’s never had to stop himself before.
Sukuna stays close to you as he dabs your face, wiping away the dried blood with one hand holding your chin in place, mind replaying the way Suguru called your name into the night air like you meant something to him; his eyes are laced with something soft, troubled.
They keep flickering between your lips and holding your gaze. You flinch a little at each dab. Your nose aches, the skin feels tight. Your face throbs more when you’re completely still, waiting for the soft towel to press on your face.
“Easy…” He coos lowly, wiping away at the dried blood on your chin.
“How are you so good at this?” You murmur.
He raises an eyebrow. “Good at what?”
“Being nice,” you start. “Like this.”
Sukuna exhales loudly through his nose. The flannel is set down on the counter; his hands planted either side of you now. “I’m not… guess I’m going soft, huh?”
A faint smile plays at your lips. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“Didn’t get a reputation for no reason.” Sukuna says quietly, his gaze dropping for a second, like he’s weighing the words. “I’ve always walked away before anything– anyone can stay...”
“Ryomen Sukuna – the man who can’t be attached to anything.” You joke quietly.
He snorts quietly, amused by how easily you said it; like it’s a trait you secretly admire rather than point out as a flaw. His eyes lift back to yours, steadier now – unguarded in a way that feels rare.
“Easier to not disappoint that way.”
There is no self-pity in what he says; just a silent acknowledgment that he’s not the type to give more than what is needed. Never the type to give more because then things get complicated.
“Because girls always want more?”
“Less complicated that way.”
And then it makes you realise: This is all it will ever be. Just a complicated mix of whatever tension lies in the space between you. Because no kiss is ever mentioned again, and no questions are asked about Suguru. There’s just silence on his end; his internal thoughts brewing up a storm, and yours doing the same.
He never says it out loud, but he feels it too. The change. Like the only thing keeping him tethered to earth recently is you.
Sukuna takes your wrist gently, turning it over to look at Suguru’s handprint there. You wince a little, and he feels his heart thudding painfully in his chest again.
He rinses the flannel now; tainted water swirls and swirls around the sink until it glugs down the drain. Tossing the cloth aside, he lifts you down from the sink and guides you silently back to the comfort of your bed with his hand brushing against your lower back.
On the bed, your hands are writhing in your lap. A quiet ticking fills the quiet. Somewhere outside, the wind blows through the naked trees. The throbbing in your nose won’t go away. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. The air in your room smells faintly of smoke and him.
Sukuna looks tired; the bags under his eyes are more pronounced, and his breathing is heavy and slow. He’s watching you carefully like he’s scared you’re going to break.
For a moment, though it is brief yet feels like forever, Sukuna lets your words hang there in the dimly lit room. You’re avoiding his gaze like you’re wallowing in the shame and vulnerability of your own needy words, but his jaw tenses and then relaxes. His gaze falls on you, softened and resigned.
Sukuna kicks his shoes off. The bed dips when he gets on, springs creaking under the weight of him. You lie down, turning to face the wall. He shifts, and you can feel the mattress sink slowly as he lies down without saying a word.
Sukuna is so warm you can feel his heat all around you. His presence feels comforting, like your morning cup of tea in a sun-filled room. The bed suddenly feels so small.
You can hear him breathing. Sukuna’s hands curl into your sheets, fingers flexing as though he’s fighting every fiber of his being not to reach out and hold you. He keeps thinking about Suguru’s smug face and how much he wants to hop back into his car right now and repay the debt he promised him.
Sukuna tells himself that you are what matters right now in this moment, so he forces himself to think about anything else before he starts seeing red again. Because hurting Suguru right now won’t undo the bruise that’s on your wrist, or the one on your face. It will not undo all the pain.
He watches your back, your shoulders falling and rising with each shallow breath.
“Can you–” you hesitate, swallowing. “Can you hold me? Just… for a bit? Please.”
The room feels impossibly quiet after that. The ticking clock, the hush of the wind outside, your own breath waiting for an answer while Sukuna feels like all the wind just got knocked out of him.
For a second you mull over the ridiculousness of your own request, and brace yourself for rejection, for him to make some remark about not doing that sappy stuff, but the tension eases out of him just like that.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Come here.”
Sukuna shifts closer, carefully. One arm slips around your waist, firm and hot, pulling your back into his chest. His chin rests on top of your head. You can feel his chest humming, his heartbeat which is beating ten times faster now. He can feel you melt into his hold.
“Thank you for being here.” You whisper. “I think I really needed you tonight.”
Sukuna tightens his arm a little bit. It seems as though his body knows it before his brain can register what you just said.
You feel him exhale against the top of your head. You barely feel the pressure of his lips against your hair – but you feel it anyway, like he’s restraining himself from kissing you properly. You fit in his arms like you have always been there, unmoving.
He doesn’t know why but your gratitude feels so dangerous.
How easy it would be to stay like this and pretend that he doesn’t have the reputation he has.
Sukuna lets the weight of your body anchor him in place.
For a moment you accept that he may not say anything at all, but his warmth and presence is enough to silently let you know there is nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Don’t see him again.” Sukuna suddenly says into the dark. It isn’t a command but more of a plea. You can hear how much he’s holding back now. “After tonight– please don’t do it again, doll.”
“I– okay,” you whisper finally, barely moving. “I promise.”
A deep hum sounds from his throat.
You swallow, voice small in the heavy darkness of your room. “In all honesty– I don’t know why I went there… I– um, I think I was just trying to find something I felt with you… that night, at the rave and well, recently– yeah…”
As you trail off, Sukuna feels as though his stomach might flip out. Your words feel like a punch to his chest; his hand at your waist twitches slightly. You can feel your face grow hot.
“I don’t want you doin’ that again.” He rasps. “Not like that.”
But then, Sukuna’s lips brush the top of your hair again, fleeting, careful, like he’s afraid if he presses any further he might never stop.
His tattooed arm rests warm and heavy at your waist, thumb drawing circles over the exposed skin on your midriff.
It’s quiet enough that you can hear the faint hitch in his breathing when you shift slightly. His chest presses into your back, heart thudding violently.
“Being around you makes my head spin.” He whispers gruffly, and that alone feels like he has already said too much.
In your small bubble of warmth and whispered promises, nothing else exists right now; not Suguru, the parties, Ryo’s reputation, the world. It all seems to fade into nothingness as your eyes become heavy with sleep.
Sukuna lies awake all night, listening to your shallow breathing. Silvery moonlight pours through the gap in your curtains as you lay still with his arms around you.
Perhaps the line has been crossed already.
Sukuna doesn’t see you in class again.
The empty seat next to him in class, where you would usually sit with your fingers tapping your keyboard in muted clicks, or where you would be idly doodling in your notebook, feels like a constant source of distraction.
His eyes keep drawing to the space – as though if he wills it hard enough, he can still smell traces of your perfume lingering in the air. He doesn’t want to say he misses you because since when has he ever missed anyone? But he can’t stop thinking about the way you sat on the sink that night, and how you felt cooped up in his arms like you’ve always belonged there; and then the kiss that never got spoken about but hung in the air above your heads like a cloud.
Haibara asked where you were; Sukuna couldn’t give a straight answer.
“Bad flu– you know how it is this season.”
By the morning after, you had stopped wallowing in self-pity, and Sukuna sat with you as Suguru blew up your phone like no there was no tomorrow. You remember how he practically snatched the damn thing from your nightstand and send Suguru a very polite “fuck off” before blocking his number on everything.
Sukuna swallows hard as he absentmindedly plays with the silver bands adorning his fingers.
You haven’t left the sorority in days.
You are hiding, he knows it. Avoiding everyone, curling into your bedsheets with an icepack strapped to your face because the world can’t see you like this. People will ask questions that you don’t want to answer. The worst part is that not telling Choso is sitting heavy on his chest and it feels like the weight of all this guilt might crush him.
For the past few days, every single time Choso’s walked past Sukuna in the hallway, sending a slight nod his way, he wants to turn back around and tell him everything.
Because Choso doesn’t know what Suguru did; he doesn’t know about the bruise on your face; or the way your wrist had been marked like Suguru had claimed you without earning the right.
You are Choso’s twin but also now his mess to deal with.
God, he wants to rip his hair out.
He can’t stop seeing your face, defeated and tired, as he stares at the lecture slides in front of him without reading a single word. Sukuna checks the time for the third time in under a minute, jaw clenched. You’re supposed to be in class right now. You’re supposed to be fine – everything’s supposed to be normal but you’re not here.
Sukuna thinks about whether you are eating or not, whether the bruises hurt worse today, if you have had any sleep. He thinks about the other night when you were laid up in his arms, small and fitting into him like a puzzle piece. And he had to lie there the whole night like he didn’t want you.
Your name is already pulled up on his screen before he can stop himself.
are you crazy hahah he’d be out for blood
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
idk i don’t want a scene..
and i don’t want anyone knowing kuna pls
it’s gonna ruin the frat as well so…
He almost throws down his phone in frustration. The edges of the phone dig into his palms with how tightly he is gripping the stupid thing. A part of him knows you’re right but it is fighting tooth and nail with the other half which is telling him that Suguru deserves a beating from both him and Choso. He stares at your last message again.
He does not bother waiting for your response. Sukuna shoves his phone into his pocket, already standing to sling his back over his shoulder before the lecturer has even finished the slide. A few heads turn but he doesn’t care because right now, you matter to him more than this stupid class. The walk over feels way too slow, like trudging his feet through thick mud. By the time he reaches your sorority, he has already mulled over what he wants to say to you, about telling or not telling Choso, ways to look out for you meanwhile. The English assignment due at the end of the month doesn’t even register in his head anymore.
He doesn’t even remember leaving campus. Cutting across the quad instead of sticking to the paths, the cement is still damp from the morning rain; puddles are stagnant in the dips and valleys of the uneven pavement. A few freshmen who recognise the infamous Ryomen Sukuna spare him quick waves but all he can manage is a dismissive nod.
In the faint hum of Addison Rae’s voice, your phone buzzes twice with a text from him. You aren’t entirely sure why he’s even coming over, but you’re much too tired to protest and besides he’s kind of nice to hang out with so you let it be. But then you peer at your phone now, and he’s outside now.
You don’t have a chance to respond before you can hear Yuki downstairs shouting that she’ll get the door, and when she swings it open, Sukuna is already frowning. You’re still upstairs trying to smooth down your hair and pull on a hoodie big enough to hide your face.
She blinks at him. He blinks at her. Faded pink hair, spiked messily. Hand tattoos. Black compression tee stretching over his chest. Expression carved from stone. And a strong hand on the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“Why,” Yuki says slowly with narrowed eyes, “are you standing on our porch?”
Sukuna stares back at her, blank. “Tsukumo.”
“Um… that didn’t answer my question, Ryomen.”
Her brows lift higher. “Excuse–”
Nobara appears behind her shoulder, a spoon resting inside of her mouth and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food clutched in her hand. She physically freezes, eyes wide.
Sukuna runs a hand through his hair, eyes tired. Craning his neck, he looks beyond them inside where Utahime and Maki are peeking out from the hallway. His biceps flex when he adjusts his grip on his bag.
“She’s got the flu– HEY!”
The flu? He almost scoffs. Is that what you told everyone?
Now awfully aware of how awkward the situation is, he doesn’t shove them violently, just moves forward like there is no other option, broad shoulders forcing space to open; he already knows where he is going. He doesn’t even pause to ask which room because his boots are heavy against the wooden steps as he climbs, turning left at the landing without thinking. Yuki almost laughs aloud. This is not who Sukuna is. He doesn’t show up or check in. All that is left of him to gawk at now is his disappearing figure up the stairs.
Nobara is speechless, the spoon out of her mouth now, and she’s mouthing ‘what the actual fuck was that?’ to the tall blonde.
“Beats me.” She shrugs. “Guess he really likes our little Y/N, huh?”
Upstairs, the house smells like vanilla candles and laundry detergent. Soft. Too warm. So different from the chaos of Delta Phi which often feels like a hub of concentrated testosterone and dirty laundry as decoration.
Sukuna exhales. Even his own actions are scaring him a little now; he never hangs around long enough to feel anything – nothing like this. That’s how his reputation remains intact, ego untouched. But ever since that stupid kiss, and stupider him, for leaning into it, he’s been replaying it in his head.
His knuckles have barely rapped on your door when it swings open, and you’re standing there like a deer caught in the headlights. Doe eyes wide, swallowed in the material of your hoodie.
He stands in your doorway now, shoulders tense, trying to suppress the want to grab you by the face and kiss you.
The room smells like you.
Your perfume, your shampoo. The smell of your soft skin. The same skin that Suguru left his mark on days ago.
Shrinking under his graze, you step aside and let him into your space.
He throws his bag down on the floor and unzips his hoodie, baring his sleeve and tattoos illustrating his shoulders and back. You pretend not to stare; he pretends he doesn’t see your eyes lingering on his muscles.
Somehow your bruise looks worse now; dark violet bleeding into sickly yellow at the edges. Sukuna’s crimson irises hone in on the faint swelling of your nose; behind it all, you look tired. His hands flex at his sides.
He thinks you’re still really pretty.
“You haven’t been in class.”
It is the first thing that comes to mind, voice low, rougher than usual.
“You said you were fine.” He adds, quieter now.
You shrug slightly, like it is nothing – like you aren’t hurt. He exhales through his nose, eyes searching yours. Really searching. Sukuna stands so close now; all you can smell is his cologne and tobacco.
Your throat feels tight for no clear reason, body feeling much heavier than it should.
After he slept in your bed, thumb circling lazily on your skin, with your back pressed hard against him like he was the only source of safety, you let yourself concede to the fact that maybe, yes, there’s a space in your heart for him.
A space that Suguru had once occupied for a very short period of time. A space that never closed, but you never bothered finding someone to fill it either.
Sukuna elicits a kind of warmth you didn’t know you needed.
“Are you– I don’t know– feeling okay?”
Pressing your lips together, you are awfully aware of how his red eyes are watching you like he’s waiting for you to crack. A part of you wants to pull away, ask why he is so invested. What he wants from you even. Everything that he has been doing isn’t normal – his actions completely flout everything you have ever been told about him.
He doesn’t feel insincere. Suguru did sometimes.
“I’m just tired. At least it’s not broken– could be worse.” You say. “I don’t know– Ryo, I don’t know if I’m in the mood to stud–”
“You think I came over to study?” Sukuna asks incredulously.
Sukuna steps closer without meaning to, thumb hovering just shy of your cheek, unsure if you would flinch.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” You admit after a moment’s reflection. “Maybe I made things weird when I called you– I don’t know–”
“I’m here because– because I was in class and couldn’t stop thinking about if you were okay or not.” He grits.
“I’m okay.” You reassure, though your voice wavers. “Really.”
Somehow it makes Sukuna feel worse; what happened to the wit and the playful edge to your words? He thinks you look defeated standing in front of him, eyes cast towards your feet, unable to meet his.
“Do you know how much–” he pauses and exhales. His hand finally rests on your cheek, warm and tender. “How much I care? It’s driving me insane.”
The admission hangs between you. You hug your arms around yourself without realizing it. His large hand is still on your face, holding your cheek like you aren’t just some girl he can walk away from and never bat an eye at again.
His hand slides from your cheek to the side of your neck; he can feel your pulse quicken under his palm.
“I don’t like that I saw you get hurt and it felt like–” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. Starts again. “Like I should’ve been there.”
“I feel bad,” you start, looking at him through your lashes. “I called because– because you were the first person that I thought of, and… I feel like it’s made things complica–”
“I don’t want to mess up whatever this is,” you admit softly. “If I start needing you like this, it’s not– not how it was before. You didn’t even know who I was until you needed help with class and–”
“I don’t do this.” He says. “I don’t get stuck thinking about someone. I don’t walk across campus because they didn’t show up to class.”
Sukuna is hard to read; he pulls away when you want him to lean in, and he leans in when you’ve started to show restraint. His expression is somber now, standing in your room with his hand warm against your neck, looking at you like this.
Your cheeks feel flushed. His gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then back to your eyes.
“That’s why I’m hesitating.”
“I don’t know what happens next from something like this.” You say slowly. “I kissed you that night and it was never mentioned again– I don’t know if– if we’re just gonna brush everything under the rug like–”
There is a word for what he feels right now.
Sukuna just refuses to reach for it.
He can feel it tenfold, the way his chest tightens when you don’t answer a text fast enough. Or when he sees you typing, delete the text, and type again. The way he noticed you were absent from class and still kept looking over to your seat. The way that he hasn’t sat with you in the library for a while now. The vulnerability in your face; how you shrink a little in his touch; the way your tongue runs over your bottom lip before you take it between your teeth.
“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He says, exhaling. “I’ve never cared for someone like this and it fucking scares me.”
People have come and gone. Sukuna has never wanted to memorize the layout of a girl’s house or know what their room smells like. He has never felt restless at the thought of them hurting.
Sukuna leans his forehead against yours, chest rising and falling visibly as he tries to keep himself from coming undone completely. For a moment, neither of you move. Your breath hitches in your throat. At the rave, you kissed him first because you wanted to – because it felt thrilling. And because you wanted a taste of something you have fantasised about for a fleeting moment before and then pushed to the back of your mind.
Looking for his presence in a crowded room is something you never realised would be a habit; and in the library, you find yourself missing the way you pick up his essays before gently giving him pointers on how to improve. The way his sharp red eyes flicker from the essay on the table to your glossed lips.
“I wanna kiss you.” He says, gruff voice wavering with want and restraint. “So badly.”
In his hold, you feel your heart stuttering. You whisper his name into the little space between your face and his, your cheeks hot to the touch. You don’t pull away, and you don’t tell him no. His expression shifts instantly. But the way his name slips out of your delicate lips is an answer enough and his hold on your jaw firms, tilting your face to meet his.
Your mouth is softer and warmer than he remembered.
He exhales sharply against your lips, grip tightening at your waist now while the other hand threads itself into your long hair.
Every glance in lecture halls. Every almost-text he never sent. Every moment he told himself to keep his distance.
This isn’t even what he came over for. He just wanted to check on you.
“I need you.” He rasps against your lips. “I want you so bad.”
It all collapses the second your fingers dip beneath his black compression top, soft fingertips skimming over his v-line up to his chiselled abs. A throaty groan rips through his throat at your touch.
You want him so badly that you can’t even find the words. Your mind is still spinning from him turning up here.
Sukuna looms over you, his height dominating you with every stumble the two of you take towards your bed. Both of his hands cup your face now, holding you so close to him, kiss unbreaking, so much so you feel as though his hunger for you may never be satiated.
He breathes you in like he needs this to survive.
Your hands brush over the swell of his pecs, clawing against the black ink illustrating his entire body. His unruly pink hair is wound in between your fingers as your back hits the soft mattress. He tugs his top off with one hand in one fell swoop and it is thrown somewhere on the floor behind him.
The softness of your sheets hits your back before you can register where this is going.
Arching off the bed when he starts leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck to your navel, his tattooed fingers are already hooking onto the waistband of your underwear. His mind begins to unravel when he hears you moan his name softly into the warm air. He’s desperate; teeth, his tongue, his lips – you feel it all on your skin in one overwhelming blur of arousal and weeks of pent-up tension.
You gasp against his mouth at the feeling of his fingers, long and thick, dipping between your slick folds, coating them in your arousal. He pulls them away, red eyes darkened with lust now boring into yours as he puts them into his mouth, his tongue swiping over your sweet secretion.
“You taste so sweet, doll.” He grins. “All this for me?”
“You’re obscene.” You say gently, hand coming to rest under his angular jaw.
Sukuna isn’t even in you yet and you already might see stars.
“Tell me you want this too,” he says, voice low. “Tell me how much you want this.”
Though his eyes remain on you, gaze unwavering, his teeth now take the hardened nubs of your soft breasts between them, bearing down gently but enough to make you whine his name once more.
His boxers are already lost in the crumpled sheets, his hand fisting his flushed and hardened length.
You pull his face back to yours, hands threaded in his faded pink hair. “Please, I want you–”
Sukuna feels like a starving dog who has had a bone dangling in front of his face for weeks on end.
In one swift movement, he flips you over onto him, hands sliding from your navel up between the valley of your breasts, resting on your neck as he pulls you down to him for another moment of hot and desperate kisses.
“I wanna ride you–” you murmur against him, feeling his hardness twitch between your legs. “Let me ride you, Ryo.”
A strained laugh rattles from his throat as you take his leaking cock into your hands, manoeuvring yourself over him and brushing him over your clit which is swollen with your need for him.
“What’s so funny?” You ask innocently.
He does that laugh again. “Just can’t believe we’re finally doing this.”
Sukuna breathes heavily, chest rising and falling as he watches you with dark eyes.
You take your lip between your teeth, biting down on the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth; beneath how tired your skin looks, there’s a glint in your eye like you know exactly what effect you have on him.
Both of his hands slip down to grip your hips hard as you sink down on his girthy length. The tip, flushed and pink, prods at your gummy walls as you take him all the way. A soft gasp flutters out between your lips as he hisses sharply at the sensation of your warmth and wetness completely embracing him. The stretch makes you feel dizzy and incoherent.
He watches, eyes half-lidded as your head is thrown back in ecstasy, hands spread wide behind you on his thick thighs to keep yourself upright. His grip in the flesh of your hips feels harder and tighter as you bounce up and down on his length, breathy moans escaping your lips and filling the room.
“You’re so– so beautiful, doll,” He breathes. “Taking me– so well.”
Sukuna groans loudly as your fingernails start digging into the skin of his thighs, jaw clenching to grit out the sounds of his arousal. Your eyes are completely glazed over, a thin sheen of radiance coating your blushing skin as you continue grinding against him with your mouth parted in breathy mewls.
“R-Ryo– aghh– p-please, f-fuck, ahh–”
When your legs begin trembling, he starts bucking his hips off the bed to quell that desperate ache growing between your legs. Your puffy folds take him in and out, over and over again – his length becoming slick with you getting closer and closer to gushing completely around him.
“Come here,” He growls, unable to control his need to fuck you into oblivion any longer.
He pulls you into him by the back of your neck, your face now flush against the pillow; you breathe his scent in, the smell of warm tobacco and his cologne and fresh coffee. One hand has now slid down to the small of your back, holding you in place. Your skin tingles like his touch is hellfire.
The air is suddenly filled by the wet slap of his thighs hammering into the delicate flesh of your ass as he pounds into you from below.
The room echoes with the obscene sounds of skin against skin and his deep grunting.
Sukuna is relentless – holding you in place as he mercilessly squeezes the flesh of your ass, driving his cock in and out of you until you’re falling apart over him, his name spilling from your mouth is broken gasps and breathless moans. Feeling you clench tightly around him, your walls fluttering as stars explode across your vision, his mouth parts as his thrusts get sloppier and sloppier.
“F-fuck– you want me to fill you up, doll?” He pants. “– like you were made to take me like this.”
“Please, please–” You whine, voice muffled against his neck. “Fill me up, please, Ryo–”
As you latch your lips to his inked neck, your teeth pull on the saltiness of his sweat-slicked skin, leaving a blooming purple mark. You feel his cock inside you swell and then warmth oozes from him, coating your fucked-out walls with hot spurts of cum.
Sukuna trembles when he finally stills, holding you in his arms. He’s still stuffed inside you, but he doesn’t give you any indication he might let you go anytime soon. He breathes heavily, pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone.
In his strong arms, you collect yourself, face still hidden in the warm slope of his neck.
Beneath your weight, he doesn’t know if you can feel or hear how hard his heart is pounding being so close to you, but he feels as though it might betray him.
Sukuna feels you murmur against his neck, your breath warm. On instinct, his arms hold you tighter, as if he can pull you into him any further. His heart flutters as he feels you melt into him completely like you did a couple of nights ago.
“I’m here– I won’t go anywhere.” He whispers hoarsely into your dark hair.
In the warmth of your covers and your body pressed into Sukuna’s side, he plays with your hands, dragging his fingers over and around your knuckles, the fine lines in your palms and the ridges and dips of your small hands in his large ones. He presses a gentle kiss to your wrist, the bruising now starting to fade a little but still ugly and yellow around its purple edges.
His warmth feels like a shield against the world outside: Against the chance that anybody might find out what happened at Suguru’s the other night.
In this quiet room, tangled together and pressed close to one another in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, his lips meet your temple, pressing a kiss to your skin – though it feels more like a promise that while you’re here with him, you can be completely at peace.
“You really don’t wanna say anything to Cho?” He asks quietly.
You shake your head, chest feeling tight now at the thought of your brother. “He’s so overprotective and… I don’t know, it’s gonna make everything so awkward between the frats–”
He stops tracing your fingers and knuckles.
“That’s not for you to worry about, doll.” He sighs. “What do you think’s gonna happen when he sees you at your mixer next week?”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Well… a lil over. I’m sure it’ll all look better by then.”
“I don’t know, I think I’ll still look pretty beat up.” You scoff quietly.
He eyes you, one of his hands cup your jaw now as his thumb gently rubs circles over your cheek. The sight of you in his arms like this, completely vulnerable and trusting him, makes his heart swell ten times the size. In the back of his head, the feeling that he’s somehow betraying Choso still lingers, but he tries to push it aside.
You feel him sigh against your hair.
“Still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen though.”
“I doubt it. I look like a mess.”
“No,” he says. “You’re perfect.”
For now this is all you need – just the two of you hiding away in the confines of your room. You don’t move in his hold, feeling like the stillness will keep the moment intact; but really, the fleeting thought that he might go if you shift, gnaws at you inside.
Enough stories and rumours have been spread between girls who know him; you wonder if it’s just another Tuesday for him.
And then it continues like that for days.
Night filled with bliss, breathy whispers, and hungry kisses that drag desperately across your skin and his. Hours lying next to one another completely naked and still trembling from chasing each other’s highs. He’ll leave in the morning for class or gym, and return before sundown, usually holding some sort of takeout for you or something from the cafe on campus.
Sukuna always says he’ll be back, and gives you a lingering kiss on your lips as a promise before you watch his figure retreat smaller and smaller in the horizon.
When you watch him leave, you wonder when the last time will be before you are packing your clothes for England. It looms closer and closer like a deadline; especially now with applications sent off, you feel as though you and Sukuna’s little moment of bliss is on borrowed time.
He always does come back.
But you think that one day he might not.
Neither one of you wants to acknowledge that you’re more than friends now; and any attempt for him to bring his essays over under the guise of feedback, always ends up with him putting you in seven different positions before midnight.
He touches you like it’s personal – like it matters; he kisses your head like a boyfriend; he frequents your room non-stop. In the mornings without him, you sit and wonder, thoughts swirling around and around like the steaming mug of tea in front of you whether it feels as personal for him as it does you.
You’re both too far gone to pull back. Sometimes you find yourself opening his chat, thumbs hovering to text him something about missing him but you delete it and lock your phone screen. And then a notification from Choso will come through, lighting up the phone screen in the darkness of your room – a constant reminder that he’d actually murder Suguru Geto with his bare hands if he could see you now.
Gnawing at your nails absentmindedly, your twin’s texts come through one by one as it has over the last week. Your phone keeps buzzing and it is unravelling his focus.
Sukuna is sitting at your desk, laptop open in front of him with the midt-term assignment half-done. Not much is said today but you like his presence and he must care about you a little – because he keeps showing up. Your chest warms at the thought despite the lingering uncertainty and the feeling like you’re both hiding from Choso now.
You can feel his gaze flicker to you again and again but you avoid it, choosing instead to stare out of the window like a bored house cat.
“Doll,” he sighs. “You good?”
“Does it– does it still hurt?” He sighs. “Want me to get you painkillers?”
He sees you shake your head.
The sound of his laptop closing cuts through the silence. You feel him stir and then the drag of your chair against the floor. Behind you, the bed dips a little with his weight and you feel his strong arms wind around your waist, pulling you away from the frosty glass.
“What’s wrong, huh? You’re quiet.”
You can’t unhear the tenderness in his voice, like he actually cares, and when he starts peppering soft kisses along the curve of your shoulder you turn to face him. The streetlamps outside pour through the glass and his eyebrow piercings glint in the low light.
“Does Choso know where you’ve been going every night this week?” You ask, biting your bottom lip in anticipation. The feeling in your stomach doesn’t sit well, and you realise it’s the same feeling that has been weighing on your chest all week.
Sukuna’s eyebrows draw together. “What’s your point?”
There’s an edge to his voice.
“Just this… sneaking around.” You say. “He’s gonna be so mad.”
“He knows we’re– there’s something going on–” Sukuna pauses. “He saw us, remember?"
“Yeah– and he knows that you’ve basically been here every night while I’m making up excuses to not see him.”
“Look, I told him you’ve been ill and I’ve been looking after you.” He reassures, hearing your voice go up an octave with stress. “We’re together, it’s normal for–”
“But we’re not dating.” You scoff.
It’s as though the weight of everything you’ve been thinking about the past few days laces every single syllable.
The words come out harsher than you intend, but Sukuna’s face falls nonetheless. The soft look in his gaze hardens now, like he’s hurt. His jaw ticks.
“Yeah,” he swallows. “We’re not dating.”
You feel your stomach drop; it’s not like you didn’t know, but hearing him confirm it makes your chest tighten in a way all too familiar to the year before when Suguru basically said the exact same thing. Like he threw it in your face for getting too attached – except it’s worse now because you know Sukuna cares more than he lets on, than he lets words express.
He notices the flicker of regret in your eyes but your words hang heavy in the space between you. He lets go.
You exhale, cutting yourself off.
“Ryo, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Your voice is softer now but Sukuna can still hear the way you practically laughed those words at him like everything he’s done, showing up, taking care of you, staying with you – hasn’t flouted every single trait that has always kept his reputation intact.
He is leaning back on his elbows now on your bed, crimson irises dark and cast to his hoodie which has been slung over the end of your bed.
Outside, a car passes and its headlights sweep briefly across your walls, illuminating the framed photos, the stack of books on your desk, the half-folded laundry you never finished. Ordinary things. Mundane every day things that Sukuna has gotten used to seeing recently. But now the air between you feels anything but ordinary.
“Well, you said it– and yeah, I guess you’re right.”
He realises he could have just told you everything then and there; from how he’s been feeling about you, to the fact that if he sees Suguru’s smug cunt face at the mixer next week, he will without a doubt, make him eat dirt. He wants to tell you that since your library sessions have been a regular thing, he’s stopped calling all the girls he used to solicit for middle of the night fuck and dumps. He’s stopped leaving parties with random girls. The thought of kissing anyone, let alone being in bed, laid up with anyone other than you makes him feel nauseous.
But he swallows his words and his pride consumes him whole.
“I just–” you struggle to find the words, hands fisting the sheets over your legs. “It feels like I’m lying to him. Sneaking around– and… and I don’t even know what we’re… like, doing.”
“I don’t show up like this for nothing.” Sukuna murmurs, eyes flickering to meet yours. “My reputation precedes me, right?”
You huff. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that.”
You see it in his eyes – but then your stomach twists when you remember that he doesn’t say anything to address whatever it is you have going on.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s fine.”
And then he is up, stretching out his legs before he takes his seat at your desk, like the past five minutes didn’t happen.
Sukuna doesn’t come around again for two days – but by the time Kappa Epsilon’s first party of the year rolls around, your brain has overloaded with nightmares about Sukuna, Suguru and your brother being in the same room to even give that pink haired avoidant a second thought.
The next week comes sooner than you anticipate. You feel as though you have barely had time to think about what happened with Sukuna the other night.
This morning you were still icing the fading yellow bruise on your nose and then it was 6 PM and Yuki was hammering on the door, telling you that you needed to get ready for the party soon. And now she’s texting you to come down like you owe her money or something.
Fuck the flu, she called outside of your door. I need my girls with me tonight.
As you toss in bed, yours and Sukuna’s chat open and illuminating your face, you hear Mei Mei knock on your door and tell you that Yuki might have a fit if you’re not down within the next ten minutes.
A frustrated groan rips through your throat as you tug on whatever skimpy top is lying on the ground and a random mini skirt that has been lying on your half-done pile of laundry for days now.
With one last look in the mirror, you decide that whatever makeup you have slapped on your face will have to do. Thank god for the colour corrector.
By the time you step foot downstairs, the party is in full swing.
The house is packed with freshmen, seniors… everyone seems to have been invited. On the speakers, a mix of what you can only guess is Sukuna and Toji’s playlist combined, blares incessantly; the volume fries your ear drums, and you can feel the bass rock the very foundations you stand on.
How is everyone drunk already?
Beer is on tap – kegs of it are littered around the room with some freshly supplying an upside down freshman being hazed by their fellow frat brothers; there is a crowd of chanting students in the kitchen hovering over a large tub of alcohol so mixed together and carelessly put together that one sip might floor even the heaviest drinker here. Gojo’s generous loan (a ratty light system he inherited from the previous president of Zeta Psi) projects dancing reds, blues, yellows and pinks into the dark room. Smoke fills your lungs.
You peer over the bannister for any sign he might be here already, but you can’t spot the familiar tuft of spikey pink hair and swallow the fear that you might just have to brave the first few hours of this without him by your side.
Your phone reads 23:16 in big glowing white letters, and it is hastily shoved into your back pocket when Yuki saunters over to you with an inquisitive look on her face. The hallway light illuminates last Monday night’s events on you a bit too well. Geto has left his mark on you; your eyes are hollow, and there’s a faint ring of purple and yellow on your phone, from where the door hit you.
The hand mark on your wrist has barely faded into yellow – Geto’s last gift to you before you began ignoring his texts and calls as of late.
You look awful, you know it.
“No offence but what happened to you?” She says playfully as always, though this time there’s a hint of concern in its undertones which usually isn’t needed for you. “First time I’m seeing you in days.”
You laugh nervously. “Yeah, the flu almost killed me.”
“The flu beat you up that bad or what?”
You wave a hand flippantly. “What are you drinking anyway?”
Yuki’s icy gaze is cast over you once more but she, thankfully, decides to leave it. The red cup in her hand is half empty and her cheeks are slightly rosy now; she swirls the cup a little. She’s too inebriated to press on.
“Your brother’s secret recipe… I think it might kill me though.”
She leads you directly to him, despite your protests, and the first thing he can muster is “Holy shit, she’s back from the dead!” before enveloping you in a drunk but adoring side-hug.
The main living room is dark – he has not yet seen the faint bruises on your face and arm. Nanami spares you a warm smile and roughs up your hair with his hands.
“Heard you’ve been under the weather.” He says simply.
Choso is warm and smells like weed. He has a fat joint hanging out the side of his mouth, lit and halfway done, hotboxing his spot on the couch. You collapse between him and Nanami. Your brother’s dark eyes are hooded, lulled to peace by the weed, and he sounds tired but he’s never been anything other than stoic and brooding.
“Couldn’t get a hold of you all week, sis. Yuki said you were ill – you good?” He mutters. “Wouldn’t let me in the sorority. Some shit about germs.”
Choso takes a long drag and a cloud of white smoke billows from his nostrils and mouth a few seconds later. He’s studying you carefully now. You bite your lip.
“I’m here now, aren’t I? Been fine.” You say. Though you are cuddled into the side of Choso, your tired eyes are scanning the room for him.
A thick haze has settled in the air.
Something like weed, the sickly sweet smell of perfume and alcohol, sex, possibilities.
“Y’know,” Choso starts slowly. “Suguru was asking for you earlier.”
“He’s here?” You say a little too quickly. Of course he is. All frats have been invited.
Your twin hums. “Outside in the garden. Smoking with Gojo– obviously.”
Choso raises his eyebrow at you. The corner of his mouth twitches. “You guys dating now or what?”
“My sweet baby sister, when did you become so dishonest?”
You stand up from the couch with a disapproving look. He chuckles and points his joint towards a freshman being supported from his ankles.
You spot your salmon-haired menace immediately. The one who drove you back to his frat house that night and cleaned your face up in your bathroom in the dead of night.
Faint butterflies flutter in your middle when you recall how his hands, usually rough and authoritative in their hold, held your chin in place so gently as a warm flannel wiped away all the dried blood. He stood in between your legs then, eyes flickering to meet yours every now and then – a silent check in, to say ‘are you okay?’.
He took it personally, that you were at Geto’s place; never wanted to mention that there was an incessant, painful twang in his heart with each wipe of the flannel.
Sukuna’s gaze cast down to your lips far too often that night and as much as you wanted to close that gap, he never did it first. Truthfully, Ryomen Sukuna scared himself with how he was with you. No other person, bar his frat brothers or his mother, would have elicited that kind of urgency for him to jump out of bed, grab his keys and floor the gas like that.
The white material soon turned dark red, soaked with the aftermath of Suguru Geto’s carelessness. No words were spoken then – but you felt something that you never got with Suguru.
And then when he came to your sorority, mind filled with thoughts of you and you only, he didn’t just toe the line – he completely stepped over it, and with you in tow. Sukuna touches you like you’re the only thing that matters on earth yet he can’t find it in himself to confess what you’ve both been feeling around each other. The air is always electric, humming with the unspoken affection you have for him and he for you.
But now he and Toji are laughing together like nothing’s been weighing on his mind since he last saw you.They have a freshman upside down, mouth on the keg. Sukuna and Toji who are laughing their asses off.
Must be a new pledge, you think to yourself.
“Think he got here five minutes ago and he’s already doing some bullshit.” You hear Choso murmur in a chuckle.
Sukuna looks good tonight. Like he doesn’t everyday. He’s adorned in a black top and some baggy grey cargos; Toji is almost in the same outfit but the colours are reversed. You chuckle to yourself; they really are two sides of the same coin.
Sometimes you catch yourself eyeing Toji the way you eye up Sukuna; it must be the muscles which threaten to rip the seams of their shirts… and your hormones.
Toji’s too rough, feckless, unfettered – but, you note yourself, Sukuna is different.
He’s rough around the edges, he can be so mean sometimes, never towards you – but you catch glimpses of him that he doesn’t let anybody else see. He’s guarded – but there’s a quiet, almost comforting turbulence that he hides from the world behind those sharp eyes of his.
Your eyes glimmer as you let your gaze linger on the pink-haired man. From your side, Choso sees everything before him; he sees the way your posture changes without you noticing.
It isn’t the fleeting curiosity you once had for Suguru – just something softer, like a silent pleading for a bit more than what you can currently get but an acceptance but perhaps you’ll always have something restrained with him.
You stand up, shaking away the thoughts.
Choso is left on the couch with Nanami, who is sighing disappointedly as he’s asked by a freshman where he can score some coke for the night.
With a reluctant finger he points to the dark-haired mass next to him, who has already held a pale hand out for payment before the goods can be exchanged.
The lights grow brighter and the house is pounding with music and students singing, screaming, laughing, the sound of rubber soles squeaking on beer-soaked floors.
You’re pushing your way through the crowd to the kitchen now, throat dry, wanting nothing more than to retreat upstairs to the safety of your room.
Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna spotted your small form weaving through the crowd with Yuki much earlier on, and as you traverse carefully with your arms folded around yourself, he lets go of the freshman he was holding and mutters something to Toji about getting a drink.
The pledge falls to the sticky hardwood floor with a thump.
Sukuna’s heart is pulsing in his ears right now.
Toji rolls his eyes, pulling the kid off the floor by his collar with one strong hand. “C’mon, Ryo. You’re fucking kidding me right now.”
Sukuna waves him off. “Yeah, one sec– will be back.”
Toji watches as he disappears after you in the heaving mob.
Sukuna’s voice is rough, but if you listen close enough you can hear his concern. Your heart is hammering against your chest now; the light in the kitchen is dim, warm, but you fear that you might turn around and see his face fall in pity. You know you don’t look great; you tried to cover everything in concealer and foundation before coming, even making Utahime and Mei Mei go down first before you left your room.
“I’m better.” You say quietly.
Your nose still throbs but he doesn’t need to know that. Now you feel awkward because of how things were left the other night.
His hand gingerly touches your bare shoulder. He’s warm. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. Sukuna tries to peer at you now, but you turn away from him slightly and pretend to busy yourself with finding a drink that isn’t alcoholic amongst the assortment in the half-empty cooler.
You sigh and turn towards him.
His hand lingers on your shoulder and slowly makes its way to cup the side of your face. It takes everything in him not to pull you into him and kiss you then and there; your lips are ravishing, coated in a thin layer of pink glittery gloss. Underneath the makeup he sees the remnants of Geto’s doing; the slight bruising which has been desperately covered in powder, the dark circles under your eyes from all the nights you’ve lost sleep because you leant on your face the wrong way.
And guilt stirs within him; like he knows that what he had said the other day about his reputation was petty. Unneeded.
He drags his free hand down his face, and something in between a groan and a sigh comes out. “Fuck, man”
You feel small under his gaze.
“Do I look that bad? I tried my best… to cover it.”
A pang of guilt hits his chest; that’s not what he had meant. You look ethereal, he thinks to himself. He’s not sure when the tides turned, but he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for a while now.
He shakes his head at what you said and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers don’t tremble this time. It’s like all animosity from the last week has disappeared.
“No, you’re beautiful.” He murmurs, eyebrow piercing catching the low light. “I just meant– all of this is eating away at me…”
Slowly, he turns your face side to side to get a better look at you. His eyes are scrutinising every inch of you. “Does it still hurt?”
You slump in defeat, moving your face from his grip. “Yeah… I’ve iced it and stuff but–”
Something twists in his expression, though the softness in his sharp gaze remains there for you to see. He breathes out heavily through his nose, and drops his hand.
Turning on his heels, he’s storming out of the kitchen with his fists balled up at his side before you can even comprehend what he is doing. You’re hot on his trail, eyes wide as he roughly shoulder-checks people in his pursuit, eliciting profanities.
Sukuna catches the gaze of Toji, who is still terrorising the pledge and his friends with the beer keg from earlier. The black haired man peers at his best friend’s face which is now marred with something murderous; he places a steady hand on his chest, drink sloshing between his hand and Sukuna’s body.
“Woah woah– hey man, you good?” He drawls, eyebrows raised. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”
“Where the fuck is Geto?” Sukuna grits.
Toji jerks his chin toward the front door, his grip on the pledge now faltering slightly.
“Outside with Toru, smoking I think.”
Sukuna barely registers the music anymore – bass thudding through the floorboards, bodies pressed together under flashing lights. He runs a hand over his face, feeling his palms become clammy.
The front door of the frat house is shoved open and Sukuna immediately spots Geto sharing a joint with the president of Zeta Psi, round shades on his head, pushing his gorgeous white hair back.
The cool night air hits Sukuna like a slap.
You don’t even notice that by now, Choso has stood up, following you out on account of Yuki pointing towards you, slapping his chest incessantly to get his attention. The half-done drug deal between him and a freshman is long abandoned now.
The two laughing men outside turn upon hearing the door recoil off the wall from the force of Sukuna’s push, and Gojo beams with a bright smile before he even registers the look of murder on Sukuna’s twisted features.
“Ryoooo, my man! What– HEY!”
Gojo’s words are lost in a mix of confusion, shock and horror as Sukuna sends his strong fist careening towards Geto’s handsome face. The long-haired man tumbles to the grass like a ragdoll, limp and groaning, holding the side where Sukuna just landed his fist.
Your hand flies to your mouth, containing your pleas for Sukuna to stop as he climbs over the dark mass on the ground and grips his collar with one hand, landing another hard punch with his other fist. By now, Gojo is trying to claw Sukuna off to no avail.
The music from inside the house has flooded onto the streets; Kanye West or something. People inside begin to file out, stumbling over each other to see the commotion upon hearing horrified screams and angry yelling outside.
You don’t even hear the commotion or the curious whispers and yells – all you can think about is that Sukuna may actually do what he said.
The pink-haired man is seeing red; Geto’s stupid face is no longer there.
For a brief moment – his moment of clarity – he can feel your weak hands pulling at his shoulder to stop him, but he shrugs you off with the adrenaline pumping through his veins like electricity with every hit.
He’s grunting his words; his knuckles are red and raw, but he lands hit after hit like he’s born to do this.
His tattoos bend and stretch with each blow. Below him, his opponent writhes and yells out, landing a solid hit to Sukuna’s ribs which throws him over onto the dewy grass. Gojo is yelling something unintelligible now.
Toji and your brother push past you, the cold winter air immediately sobering them both.
Only when Choso clocks that you’re standing there, unsure what to do and calling Sukuna’s name with desperation, does he turn to see you.
Choso does a double take.
His eyes widen at your appearance; for the first time tonight, clearly, under the fluorescence of the white street lights and messily-hung up fairy lights on the walls of the neocolonial mansion.
The world pauses for a second.
“I’m–” One punch. “–repaying–” Another punch. “– the debt, Suguru.” And another.
Sukuna’s words drown out like he’s been submerged under water.
Everything is muffled as Choso takes a step towards his baby sister, the one he swore to his parents to protect. His gaze sweeps over the fading yet still raw bruise on your complexion beneath the makeup. It tenuously covers the damage from the other night.
You’re crying now, mascara-stained tears running dark tracks down your face, and your eyes are red and wet. He feels an unrestrained anger, boiling over with confusion, casting his hooded eyes to the faint hand-shaped bruise on your wrist.
Choso doesn’t know what to focus on first.
Sukuna may actually murder Suguru.
But now he’s close to flooring someone in the same manner.
“Who did this to you?” He demands, standing in between you and the violence. His commanding figure covers them.
For a moment, you’re silent, but as your eyes inadvertently flicker past him to Geto’s figure, he doesn’t need you to say anything more.
The long-haired figure has since gained the upper hand on Sukuna, throwing down a hefty fist which splits his lip.
Choso’s eyes widen and without missing a beat, finds himself fisting a collarful of Geto’s shirt, hauling him off the sprawled-out Sukuna and throwing him one-handed down on the ground.
Suguru scowls, adrenaline standing in between him and the agony of his black eye, hair knotted and matted with blood and sweat. He yells out and attempts to get back up only for Choso to throw his knee into his side and keep him down.
Sukuna sucks in a sharp breath in relief. He rolls over onto his side in time to see Choso kneeling over Geto, fist bloody and raised ready to bear down onto his already beaten face. His red eyes meet yours, a silent apology as he softens his gaze. You’re crying.
“Please stop!” You exclaim, scrambling to pull Choso off. “Please– oh my god – Cho, sto–”
A deep voice cuts through the yelling, the jeering, the commotion. Yuki grips your arm, pulling you into her and away from the three bloody men. You hear your name, and see Utahime and Mei Mei scramble through the multitude of students gathering to witness the violence. They take in your appearance, concern etching across their soft features. Toji has already started hauling Sukuna from the ground.
“Get up all of you.” Nanami commands. “Now, before I call the fucking cops.”
In all the time you have known Nanami Kento, you don’t think you have ever heard him say anything worse than shit.
“Oh my g-” Utahime covers her mouth.
You slump against Yuki, voice thick with guilt. “It’s all my fault. We had a fight, Geto accidentally slammed the door in my face– and– I don’t know, Sukuna’s going to kill him–”
Yuki hushes you quietly. You’re blabbering now but the admission of your part doesn’t do much to ease the weight on your shoulders. The girls share a look between them.
Nanami exhales loudly, eyeing the mess before him. He runs a hand through his hair and then over his face. “Everyone go home– now.”
Sensing the severity of the situation, people begin to disperse but not before shooting you and the boys poignant looks.
“You fucking bastard.” Geto laughs, still on the floor. “All this for what? For her?”
He spits out fresh blood onto the damp green grass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Gojo helps him up, incredulous to what has just occurred. Sukuna makes a start for Geto again, but Toji puts a thick arm out in front of him, holding his best friend back.
Nanami breathes. If looks could kill.
Suguru and Sukuna are staring daggers into each other; Choso keeps flexing his hand, finally feeling the effects of his hard punches. He sinks onto the ground, fatigued.
“This is not how we do things here.” Nanami starts, voice lowering. “You could have killed him.”
“Dumb cunt put his hands on Y/N and you expect me not to do anything?” Sukuna bites. “You didn’t see her the other ni–”
“And what’s it to you?” Geto retorts, bile lacing every syllable. “It’s none of your busin–”
“It’s my business because I’m in lo–”
Geto smirks, a knowing look in his eyes as he glances at you and then Sukuna. His face is beaten to a pulp, red and purple and swollen; his thin lips are cut and blood dribbles down the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah? Say it, bro – we’re all dying to know.”
Sukuna never finishes what he almost said, but to everyone who is standing here now – he does not need to.
They see it in his eyes; the softness, the desperation, when his sharp gaze flickers to you amongst all of this and his brows stop furrowing, his expression is no longer twisted. He looks at you, with your eyes glassy and wet, makeup smudged, like you’re his salvation. His moment alone, calm, sailing amongst storming seas.
The waves may swallow him whole.
Something bitter rises in the back of Suguru’s throat seeing him look at you like that.
Choso pushes off the floor, holding his side with a low groan. He finally speaks.
He points at Suguru. “You,” he starts. “I have half a mind to put you six feet under right now.”
His eyes turn to Sukuna, who is looking at him with some sort of silent understanding. The pink-haired man, bruised on his jaw and lip bloody, nods at your twin brother.
Nanami is already pushing Gojo and Geto towards his car, mumbling about Shoko and getting that busted lip fixed.
“I’m not fucking dealing with this. Let’s go.” Choso says, tugging you along with him.
The girls follow after you back into the house, but before you go in, you turn to see Sukuna.
He’s not following you guys in.
Toji has lit a cigarette, holding it towards his pink-haired friend as a token of solace.
He’s already watching you, cigarette halfway to his mouth, and manages to force a small smile on his face.
It’s not reassuring, but you find some comfort in him that nobody else understands.
The shame of that whole incident sticks with you like the scent of his cigarettes in your hair. It lingers, sometimes you want to reel from it, other times you find yourself reminiscing the moment his eyes met yours, and that hard look in them softened as he knelt over Suguru.
Three weeks after the fight, the tension between the two fraternities dies down a little. People whisper less; people stare less. Suguru and Sukuna no longer talk, that's a given, but Nanami seems to have mulled over the conflict between the two houses. Gojo still visits Delta Phi when Choso has something new to snort or smoke or ingest.
Molly, recently, you think.
In class, your brain is more occupied with the thought of Sukuna than it is the learning material. His stupid pink hair. The canines poking through when he grins at you. The way his eyebrow piercings and lip ring catches the light.
Exams are coming up soon – you’re so screwed.
You try not to let the whispers and the stares bother you, but every now and then you find yourself glaring back – or worse, barking something and then immediately regretting it. The bruises have long faded now, and sometimes you pass Suguru on the way to class; he looks like he has something pressing to say but you never walk slow enough for him to catch up. Maybe he wants to reconcile, apologise, beg for your mercy – maybe he wants to rope you in again.
You’re avoiding Sukuna like the plague now.
Too many times he’s almost seen you sneaking around campus to classes, and you don’t remember the last time you went to English for fear he might talk to you about that night or the fight. Mei Mei has been blowing up your phone recently when you’ve been at home; she tells you that his Hellcat is parked outside, and sometimes it remains there for an hour or two before you hear the engine rev obnoxiously, and then it disappears into the sunset.
It’s the shame of it all – feeling like you’re the one who caused all of this.
Utahime tells you that he’s been stopping her outside the library. Coincidentally the man who has always abhorred the silence and boredom of the campus library, has been showing up there more often than not. Perhaps he thinks you will be there with her. The whole thing is amusingly out of character for someone like him.
“Is she okay?” He’d say. “Haven’t seen her around.”
“Look, I think she just feels awkward about the whole situation. Just let her be.”
The notepad in front of you is full of doodles; flowers, hearts, little puppies and bunnies and cats. Absent-mindedly, your pen starts looping and swirling into his name.
You almost groan out loud before remembering you are in a lecture packed with students. The page is ripped out and stuffed hastily into your bag.
When the lecturer gives his final remarks and the rest of the students are still packing up their laptops and notepads like zombies, you’re flying down the stairs to the exit.
You yelp in surprise when a familiar six foot something mop of black hair, hooded eyes and atmospheric gloom, stands outside the door waiting for you. Foot up against the wall, he leans with his arms crossed.
“Sister.” He addresses simply. There’s an already-rolled joint secured behind his pierced ear. “Long time no see.”
“It’s only been a few days.” You grumble. “Hardly.”
You sigh. “I’m not in the mood– look, I don’t feel well. I don’t wanna give you anythi–”
“Some flu, huh?” He mocks, corner of his mouth twitching. “Let’s go.”
The two of you trudge to his car; as always, he opens the door for you and waits until your seatbelt is on before he leaves. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he’s quiet. A sigh can be heard and then he reaches into the backseat and hands you a square box in a black furoshiki.
“Complements from the chef.” He says. “The girls tell me you haven’t been eating recently.”
“I don’t want to take it.” You say. “Since when did you start cooking?”
“Ryo made it.” He rolls down the window and lights his joint. “Oyakodon.”
Choso watches you carefully. You feel his gaze on you.
“Need to start looking after yourself, y’know?” He says. “You can’t just keep avoiding.”
Your brother puts the joint to your lips; you inhale deeply and he withdraws. The smoke fills your chest and you let it sit, a silence falling between the two of you. When you exhale, the smoke billows and you feel your eyelids droop a little.
“I won’t pretend to understand what you’re feeling.” He starts. “Yeah, I wanted to kill Suguru that night – but as an older brother, I saw that ‘Kuna wanted that more than I did. He must really like you.”
For a moment he is worried he might have ruined it. He knows you like avoiding your problems until they fade into obscurity, but if there’s anything he hates more than seeing you sad, is seeing you waste away with little regard to those around you. It hurts him – but perhaps now, the distance bothers Sukuna the most.
The guy is lost, exhausted as he manoeuvres from class to class, party to party – though the latter has died down recently on account of the fight. Choso doesn’t remember a time when Sukuna’s ever been beat up over a girl; his face is no longer bruised, and you haven’t checked in at all, but that infernal thing beating inside his chest feels punched repeatedly.
A lot of late night drives recently; though nobody knows where he goes. Sometimes he just sits in an empty parking lot for an hour or two watching the sun disappear over the horizon.
He might have bumped into Choso once or twice on his way in.
“Hey man,” Choso would say, dipping his head slightly to meet his friend’s tired eyes. “Hungry? Toji just ordered pizza.”
“Nah,” He’d reply gruffly. “Already ate.”
He would saunter into his room on the third floor, away from everyone, the world, Toji, Choso, Yuta, the new pledges.
Half of the time, he’d catch up on the backlog of lectures and notes he had yet to take; and each week, your email would come through like clockwork – he looks forward to it. Just something simple, detailed notes for essays; you haven’t completely forgotten. But nothing more – no love from, no see you later.
Sometimes he’d put Jeff Buckley on the speaker, just lay in bed and blaze through a pack of cigarettes like there’s no tomorrow.
Your voice, quiet and careful, brings Choso back to the car.
“Did you guys get into trouble?”
He exhales. “Meeting with the dean next week. Some dumb fuck recorded the fight, put it on Twitter– X, whatever the fuck it’s called.”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” Choso reassures. “Already talked to mom and dad– they said they’ll make it all go away.”
You scoff. Of course they will. Choso is silent as you tell him that Kamo family finances won’t always be there to cover your backs. He agrees but doesn’t push the subject anymore.
He tells you he might start taking it seriously with Yuki, ask her to be his girlfriend officially – that sort of thing. You hum in response, say that you are happy for him and make a joke about attending their future wedding but your voice falls flat.
“You like Ryo?” He asks suddenly, eyeing you cautiously from the driver’s seat.
You can feel your face burn so you turn towards the window, avoiding his gaze. “What gave that away?”
That earns a quiet snort from your twin; rolling down the window a little, he taps the joint until ash falls out of the slit of space.
“Must be more than you guys are letting on– he doesn’t cook for girls… usually anyway.”
By the time the joint is finished, he’s only a little bit waved; outside, the sky glows a tawny orange fading into a periwinkle blue. The evening fast approaches.
There is a lot of silence between the two of you in the car, and he makes you promise that Ryo’s oyakodon will be eaten before tomorrow. The thought that at one point you shared a womb is almost laughable – Choso seems so much stronger than you. More stable.
“He’s kinda going crazy… don’t see him often.” Your brother muses in his low voice. “Worrying… but Toji says to let it run its course.”
By now the campus lot has been vacated. A loud hum reverberates on the turn of his key. Choso drives. Your head is leaning on the window, bumping lightly as the wheels of his Subaru rolls along cement. He asks how your classes are, how your friends are – like Yuki isn’t reporting everything back to him in his bed most nights anyway.
The conversation turns pallid and his face is wan as he pulls up to your sorority house. Warm light filters from the open French windows; soft white curtains ripple outwards into the wind like flags. You hear laughter from inside – it sounds like Utahime and Nobara. The street is busier than usual, few students stroll in the early evening.
Choso reaches across to open the door for you, but your hand lands on his forearm gently. You bite your lip.
“Actually, can we go to yours?”
He ruffles your hair affectionately. Suddenly you are both kids again.
“Hope you’re there to hang out with me and not Ryo.”
A quaint smile – the first one in weeks – creeps its way onto your lips. He glances at you from the driver's seat, and pretends not to see it – but he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and turns on the ignition again.
Sukuna sits up immediately as bright white light from the hallway floods his room. The light switch flicks on with a quiet ‘click’ next and you appear, stepping into his room and closing the door behind you.
He hasn’t seen you in weeks.
His mouth feels dry. He swallows but that does little; and then he realises that a half-smoked cigarette is still between his fingers. Hastily, it is smushed into the ashtray next to his bed. He rubs a large hand over his exhausted face – he doesn’t know what to say.
No Doubt’s ‘Don’t Speak’ starts playing through his speaker.
“Is this a bad time?” You ask.
Your words hang in thick air, amongst the quiet music like a solemn knell for a second.
God. Sukuna’s hair is faded, still pink, but he hasn’t bothered making it any brighter like it has been in the past; his complexion is dull and his room stinks of smoke and cologne. But he still looks good – He can feel the words sitting on his tongue as he looks over you, takes you in, but he shakes his head in response.
“You’re here.” He breathes. Finally. “I- uh…”
He begins to pad around the room, picking up stray bits of laundry from the floor and launching it like a missile into the overflowing laundry bag in the corner of the room. There’s a half-drunk Monster sitting on his bedside table, the Great Gatsby which is open and face down, and a full ashtray.
The curtains are drawn, and look like they haven’t been opened in weeks. His sheets are strewn over the bed, pillows laying across the foot of the bed and one lopsided, carelessly thrown against the headboard.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you glide towards the window. With a soft grunt, you manage to pry the damn thing open. Fresh air fills the room.
Your feet begin moving towards him as if on instinct, and you clutch his hand before you can stop yourself.
“It’s– it’s fine, ‘Ryo.” You say, taking the white shirt in his hand out of his grip and setting it down. “I’m sorry – I’ve been avoiding you.”
“It’s a mess.” He says under his breath. By now, his cheeks are struggling to contain the burning warmth elicited by your touch.
For some reason you seem to understand that he doesn’t mean his room. It’s him – the way it feels as though his world has completely turned on its axis, throwing everything off balance; he can’t stop thinking that caring about you has rearranged something fundamental inside him.
You dip your head to look at him full-on. He holds your gaze. “It’s fine.”
Sukuna’s question doesn’t come as a shock to you – neither do you recoil from how harsh it initially sounds. But he internally cringes at how blunt it sounds coming out his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“-- didn’t mean it like that.”
Your words come out at the same time, and he finally relaxes his shoulder. The oyakodon he made for you earlier is brought forward, and you sit on his bed with your legs crossed under you like you haven’t been avoiding him for almost a month now.
He almost chuckles. “I made that.”
“That you did.” You say softly, eyes cast downwards on the neatly wrapped box. Your fingers fiddle with the knot.
“I told your punk brother to bring it to you.” Sukuna says. “Didn’t expect you to come here.”
His eyes catch a glimpse of you smiling. There’s a thick tension between you, overhead, filling up the room like water. He feels as though he can’t breathe, trying hard to be nonchalant but on the inside his heart hammers hard against his chest.
“I thought it’d be nicer if I could have it here. With you.”
It takes every fiber of his being not to clutch his chest right now and fall backwards off the bed.
The box opens, and the food is still warm. He’s even garnished it a little with some fresh green spring onions on top. Dashi and warm rice wafts into the air between you.
You spoon a little chicken and rice for him and bring it up to his lips. He hesitates but eats it. “What?” He teases; finally a smirk makes its way onto his face. “Scared it’s poisoned?”
Avoiding his gaze, the spoon is back into the bento. You’re spooning some for yourself, looking at it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world as you say, “Cho said you haven’t been looking after yourself.”
He sucks his teeth. “Grown ass man, bro. I can handle myself. I’ve been busy.”
You finally look up at him, through your dark eyelashes. He feels as though he may melt there and there.
“Yes, camping outside my sorority.”
His eyes widen and you chuckle softly. “Not like Joe Goldberg–”
“I know, I know. Sukuna-style.” You joke, though your voice is quiet. Just above a whisper. Sukuna feels like you do it on purpose so he has to lean closer to hear you. “Totally not looking through our windows like Joe.”
You hum in agreement, putting the spoon to your lips. He watches as you take a bite and savour the flavours.
A faint thrum of satisfaction can be heard from you. The two of you continue like this, eating one bite after another until the box is completely empty. No words are spoken, but you feel as though Sukuna feels just a bit more normal now that you are in his room.
Finally, he brings the empty box downstairs and reappears with a glass of water for you.
The night passes quickly; his hand brushes over your face and he doesn’t kiss you, but he brushes his nose against yours briefly.
Sukuna holds your wrist, turning it in his grasp and sighs softly seeing that Geto’s mark on you is no longer there.
He brings it to his lips and presses them to your skin.
He grins, cups your face and gives it a tender stroke with his thumb before he’s off the bed to find you one of his tops. Some sort of graphic band t-shirt is presented to you and you hold it up against your figure with an eyebrow raised.
“Really?” You bite back a laugh. “Asking Alexandria?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not taking any AA slander, woman.”
He likes you – but by now, it’s more than like. Hell, he almost said it out loud the other month in front of the entire student body – inadvertently. His heart thumps loudly inside his chest and he fears you may hear it as you rest your head against it. He wants to tell you he has missed you but his throat runs dry at the thought of expressing himself like that.
For a while, your fingers dance across his clothed skin, measuring the broad distance, navigating the valleys and swellings of his pecks.
Sukuna hears you sigh in the dark.
“I like being around you.” You murmur. “I don’t want this to change – ever.”
He thinks he knows what you mean; but he doesn’t pry.
After a moment of silence, he hears you mutter an apology into the thin air. He doesn’t question why you’re suddenly saying sorry, but he thinks it is a quiet promise that whatever happened with Suguru has been put to bed. A promise to him that your words are truthful and you really do want him.
You turn your face slightly and start pressing small kisses along his pecs, the black ink of his tattoos skimming beneath your lips as you kiss higher and higher; your lips ghost his neck, the sharp bone of his jaw and settle on his collarbone.
And then he gives in, and you find yourself under him, lips locked in a kiss that never seems to end but grows hungrier and hungrier with every pull of his pink hair, with every breathy gasp into his mouth.
His large hand slips under your top, settling on the soft mound of your breast, kneading hard with his thumb rubbing your nipples. The fabric begins to bunch up around your midriff.
He feels them stiffen in his touch, all the while your hands have trailed teasingly down his chiselled abs and into the waistband on his boxers. Your palms are slick with his precum, pumping him slowly as he whispers into your mouth how good it feels and how much he needs to be inside you right now.
Sukuna keeps stiffening and twitching in your grip until he can’t take the teasing anymore and he’s pulling your soaked underwear to the side.
“You’re so wet for me, doll.” He rasps as he drags two digits up and down your slick folds. Gathering the stickiness, he rubs it on the tip of his flushed cock and teases your aching heat with it.
Your breathy mewls only encourage him further until you are pleading with him to put it in, panting his name like he is a god until he relents and pushes deep into you with no warning.
Hiking your leg up, one hand pressing it down so far with all his weight that it stretches to rest by your head, he groans, pulling his length in and out of you. The stretch leaves you breathless as your head spins, and then his mouth is on yours again as he bottoms out, his hips meeting yours with harsh and rhythmic slaps.
“G-god, Ryo’-- j-just like that–”
You manage a few words between the breath being knocked out of your lungs with every thrust into your wet velvety walls. Sukuna cannot think straight; he can feel himself nudging against that spongy spot within you, the tip of his cock ramming your insides until he’s groaning about how beautiful you look, writhing and pleading beneath him.
And then when he wraps a firm hand around your throat, his name spilling over your lips as you chase your own release, he feels his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier until he is shooting hot white ribbons of cum inside you.
Steadying his breathing, his hand cups your face in the darkness, and his lips brush against yours.
“I’ve never wanted someone like this.” He whispers, voice raspy. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but his breathing is slow and deep. His hand rubs gentle circles over your shoulder.
You can almost see the dark tattoos on his chest through the white of his shirt.
There is a silent agreement between the two of you, as if you’re already aware of his feelings though he keeps them so closely guarded like a treasured family heirloom.
He has never confirmed or denied it – but you feel it in the way his large hand comes to blanket your head, embracing it gently.
It is so safe in his thick, strong arms, you feel as though you can be here for all eternity. As his arm flexes to stroke your hair, his tattoos move with him.
Beyond the four walls of Sukuna’s room, he can faintly hear the thumping of Toji’s ear-splitting phonk playlist downstairs in the garage. He must be doing one of his three AM workouts.
Peering down at your still form, he sighs softly. His hand strokes your dark hair as your breathing slows and he can see your chest rising, up and down.
You must be asleep now, he thinks to himself.
For a second he doesn’t know what comes over him, but he brings his lips to the top of your head and murmurs three words to you – it’s almost silent.
Sukuna presses a soft kiss to your hair, and then another one. A lull to sleep. A quiet promise. His lips grace the porcelain skin of your forehead; they linger.
Three words into the stillness, mulled by the sweet scent of you.
The lamp beside his bed clicks and there is no more light in the room. You still yourself, bite back a grin, swallow the giggle, remain quiet.
Sukuna’s chest rises and falls again and again but you remain awake the whole night.
Your mind is still reeling from Sukuna’s confession, but when he tells you that he needs you to read his essay before he submits it to Professor Melo, you have to pretend like you didn’t hear what you did.
But on the way to meet Sukuna, you’re practically skipping the whole way there. He tells you that he’s in the basketball court with Satoru, something about Yuji calling in sick and needing someone on the team for the afternoon. In all honesty, you barely paid attention to what he was saying, just happy to see his stupid smug face again.
As soon as your sneakers squeak against the laminated floor, Sukuna is already jogging over to you with a layer of sweat on his inked skin, his pink hair damp with salty perspiration. In front of everyone, he pulls you in for a kiss, a firm hand at the back of your neck to reel you into his hard body. The basketballs stop dribbling, people stop talking. Satoru, Megumi and Nanami are gobsmacked.
He leads you up the bleachers by the hand and sits down, towel being fished from his duffel bag and swiped carelessly across his face.
“Christ,” you laugh, running a hand through his hair to brush away the wet strands from his face. “We could have done this after, you know?”
“No–” he pants, grinning now at your touch, canines on show. “They can wait.”
Then, he takes your hand and hastily raises it to his lips.
Now flustered, you stammer a little with a cute blush on your cheeks as you take his essay out of his open bag.
Below, Satoru watches the two of you, hands on his hips and huffing slightly. He doesn’t understand what the two of you are laughing at, but Sukuna keeps leaning into you like he might lips you again at any given moment.
“He looks whipped as fuck.” Satoru muses. “Kinda gross.”
Nanami swipes the back of his hand across his wet forehead. “Have you guys ever seen Ryo look like that?”
“Are you kidding?” Megumi scoffs, turning the ball in his hands. “Are we talking about the same guy?”
Satoru sighs, watching the Delta Phi president actually lean in this time and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, before resting his forehead against yours. Can it be that ladies man Ryomen Sukuna has changed for the better? Since when did he bring a girl around like this?
“Man, I can’t believe Cho was hiding her for a whole year.” Satoru exhales. “She’s kinda cute.”
Nanami rolls his eyes, but he is also still watching the scene before him, that is Sukuna pressing yet another kiss to your temple. You guys do look… cute.
“Honestly, if you bothered looking long enough you can kinda see it.”
Behind the blond, Megumi turns the ball in his hand once more before launching it in front of him. “Whatever– your turn to shoot, ‘Toru.”
With one hand stretched to his side, the white haired giant of a man manages to catch the ball before it hits him square in the face.
With his essay in one hand, leant against the hardness of your laptop and a red pen in the other, you’re explaining that he needs to change his last paragraph because it lacks detail. Sukuna’s too busy gazing at you like a lovesick puppy to actually concentrate on what you are saying, just nodding coolly every five seconds so you think he is listening.
“Stop staring at me.” You say, eyebrow quirking. “Do you want this A or not?”
He sucks his teeth, and cups your jaw suddenly. His hard gaze softens into something unreadable.
“You’re distracting.” He says simply. You feel his thumb affectionately rub your skin in circles.
“Guess I should leave then?” You tease, head tilting.
Sukuna thinks he can melt then and there. Your big doe eyes, void of all things sinful and corrupt, looking at him with so much reverence.
“How about we go back to mine–”
“Yo, Ryo’, come down man. Stop gossiping with your lil girlfriend.”
Satoru’s voice is loud and unapologetic, booming across the basketball court. A few heads have turned to stare, eyebrows raised but you avoid their gaze, watching Sukuna’s face fall in embarrassment. Below, Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose with an exasperated exhale.
“Real subtle, Gojo.” The blond drawls.
“She’s not my fucking girlfriend.” He grumbles under his breath.
For a moment he thinks you haven’t heard him, but your face immediately drops and a flicker of hurt crosses your delicate features. He parts his mouth to say something – maybe crack a joke, or say something witty, but his mind goes blank and you’re already setting his paper down on the bench. Avoiding his gaze now, you pretend to busy yourself with the Instagram DM you just got from Nobara.
You could have clutched your chest with how those words seemed to fracture something deep in your chest. Ouch.
With a frustrated growl, Sukuna sets down the papers and shoots you an apologetic look. “Sorry, doll, I’ll be back in a sec.”
And then like routine, he pecks your cheek like you are his girlfriend, hand smoothing down your hair, and then leaving you a blushing, confused mess sitting on the bleachers as he runs down to the others. Below, Satoru raises a quizzical eyebrow at his salmon-haired friend, bouncing the ball under his hand absentmindedly.
“Shut the fuck up.” Sukuna warns, grabbing a coloured vest from the pile on the floor.
Satoru laughs, raising his free hand up in defence now. “Didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah well, you have that fuck ass look on your face.”
“So you guys serious or what?” Satoru speaks with a smirk, beginning to dribble the ball between his lanky legs now.
Huffing, Sukuna glances at you on the bleachers above once more, seeing you scroll on your phone before putting it down and sending him an uncertain smile.
“Something like that.” He mutters, turning his attention back onto the Zeta Psi president.
You think it wouldn’t be so bad to be his girlfriend, but now you’re starting to think that maybe this has been a whole lot less casual for you than it has for him.
But you don’t know what he thinks when he looks at you, like now, even as he’s dribbling the ball between himself and narrowly avoiding Megumi, playing as the defender, attempts to reach in. His red irises are always drawn to you, like you are the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
The air feels tense between you and Sukuna. It has for a while. He doesn’t seem to register the confusing swirl of emotions behind your eyes every time you look at him; and every time he’s gracing your bed with his presence, hair matted with sweat and you, freshly fucked and still with shaking legs beneath the sheets, he does not say anything or address the unspoken which grows heavier, that has found its way into the space between you.
He doesn’t say that he loves you again.
Or how much he enjoys spending time with you. In the library, in class, in his bed or yours, but he reminds you of it when you catch him staring at you while studying, and his hand reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ears. Or when he randomly cups your face and presses a lingering kiss to your soft lips after staring at you for too long. When it’s on the tip of his tongue and on the tip of yours, at the last second something else entirely will always come out instead.
Perhaps the worst part about all of this is that sneaking around isn’t a thing anymore; almost everybody knows you guys are… paired. Choso seems to accept it (he did corner Sukuna in the frat gym one day, twenty kilo dumbbell in hand and dangerously close to thwacking it into his jaw).
Nobody even questions the two of you together because the two of you look good. Hand in hand, walking to class like it has always been that way, or laughing your arses off in the queue for your morning coffee because he said something stupid.
But then it’s the hesitation – you’re both pulling away at the last second like it’s a race to see who can be more avoidant.
In the midst of all this, he still shows up to your sorority, plastic bag in hand to cook you oyakodon, or he’ll be there 9 AM sharp with a hot drink in hand, ready to walk you to your morning lecture even if he doesn’t share the same class.
Today should be no different.
When your front door opens, Sukuna is leaning against his crimson Hellcat; a dark leather jacket covers his broad upper body, his bottom half covered in baggy ripped jeans. There’s a cigarette clamped between his lips, almost burnt to the filter. In the morning light, his eyebrow piercings glimmer.
“Hey, pretty,” Sukuna grins lazily, smoke curling past his lips into the morning air. His eyes narrow at the sight of you, though that all too familiar tender ache returns in his chest. “Is that my sweater?”
You give him a twirl as you take large strides across the front lawn of your sorority, morning dew squelching beneath your Converse. He shakes his head, the stupid grin still on his face and takes one last drag.
Sukuna opens the passenger door for you, one hand braced on the roof of his car. He waits until you’re close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his chest before he flicks the cigarette to the pavement; before he closes the door, he leans down to press a kiss on the side of your head.
“You look good in my clothes,” he says, voice lowering. What he really wants to say is, you look really good in my clothes because it feels like you’re truly mine.
The sleeves swallow your hands the way they always do, because Sukuna is a six foot something massive hunk of a man and you’re almost half his size. Your collarbones jut out slightly beneath the collar, which slips loose and carries the scent of his cologne and cigarettes.
The one he threw at you absentmindedly weeks ago when Toji was outside of his room, banging on the door and threatening to enter – the one sweater he never asked for back.
Sukuna feels his throat tighten as his heart swells at the sight of you.
“Maybe I should steal more of your clothes then?” You smile sweetly.
He smirks. “I gave you that sweater. You ain’t stealing shit, doll.”
The door closes but you’re still smiling like a schoolgirl until he slips in the driver’s seat and you turn your face to the window.
He can feel your eyes on him the entire ride to campus. Sukuna’s hand rests lazily, holding your thigh like you belong to him, while the other drums absentmindedly at every red light.
“Staring.” Sukuna murmurs, eyes on the road.
“You’re staring.” He says, momentarily flickering his gaze to you. “You wanna skip?”
You laugh softly. “Again? Melo’s gonna kill us.”
Sukuna tilts his head at you. “Mid-terms went fine. I’m on track to that A.”
“Thanks to me.” You tease, hand reaching over to ruffle his spiky pink hair.
He swats your hand away. “Thank god my tutor’s hot.”
“Imagine if you got Haibara instead?” You joke. “Maybe you’d be kissing him in the library too.”
“God,” he laughs. “I love y–”
His grip on your hand tightens abruptly, lips stop murmuring against the back of your hand. The car pulls into a vacant space in the campus lot and he lets go of you. The silence is kind of painful.
Sukuna’s avoiding your gaze, feeling his cheeks burn with a bright blush, the pressure in his head returning. His hands aren’t tapping the steering wheel; they idly rest. Metal rings catch the morning sun.
“You have Philosophy after right? I’ll pick you up when you’re done.”
“Wait–” You say. “Can we just–”
“We’re gonna be late to class, doll.”
He rubs a hand over his face. Fuck fuck fuck. I fucked up. He thinks he said too much.
Your hand trembles slightly as you reach over, fingers sliding under his chin to tilt his face up. “Ryo…” You sigh. “Can we… I don’t know– talk about it?”
His jaw twitches. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Your eyebrows furrow together. “But you just said–”
“Can we just go to class, doll? Please?”
“So we’re not going to talk about how you’ve been holding my hand and kissing me in front of everybody. Is this just a random day of the week for you?”
Sukuna can feel a lump forming in his throat with every word filling up the tense air of the car. He turns away again. Because no, it isn’t just a random day of the week for him.
He wants everyday to be filled with you. He wants your mornings, your afternoons, your nights. His thoughts are of you when you aren’t around, and he looks for you in a crowded room even when he knows you aren’t there. He wants your nimble fingers tracing over the fine lines of his tattoos every morning.
Oxygen thins by the second. Outside, Satoru and Yuji have just walked past, noticing Sukuna’s car swerve half-assed into the parking spot; they send a friendly wave and Sukuna barely lifts his hand off the steering wheel at them in response.
“Random day of the week?” He says in a quiet huff of laughter. “Is that what you think?
“How am I supposed to think?” You ask, hands writhing in your lap. “We’ve never talked about anything.”
“Do you not see how much this–” he gestures in the empty space between the two of you in the car. “–means to me?”
“Yeah, maybe…” you admit quietly. “Just wish there was something more substantial… I don’t know.”
Sukuna feels his throat run dry. He wants to say those three words again. The ones he whispered to you when he thought you were asleep, but then he thinks about himself and his ability to fuck everything up tenfold and then he loses them on the tip of his tongue again.
“I care.” He finally says. “A lot. More than I should.”
In the small space of the car, his confession settles heavily. The engine ticks softly as it cools, headlights from passing cars washing briefly over his sharp profile before disappearing again. He does not look at you when he says it.
In the charged silence, he takes out tobacco and his rolling papers from his back pocket. You can see his hands quivering as he pulls out a tuft of the brown weed and spreads it along the thin paper.
You laugh quietly, and turn away from him. The soft seat presses against your back. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Just saying,” Sukuna sighs. “Sometimes feels like… feels like it’s just us in the room and nobody else matters. Like you’d drop it all to be there with me.”
“Yeah,” you start quietly. “I don’t know– maybe I would drop everything if you asked me to.”
The vulnerability in your voice is what makes Sukuna freeze, stop rolling his cigarette. He looks at you through the pink strands of hair fallen over his face, lips pressed in a tight line.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” he says gruffly. “You shouldn’t… feel that kinda way about someone like me.”
The willingness is what scares him; that for someone like him, as jaded as he is, you would be so willing to give in completely and let your feelings for him unravel like that. It’s not an ‘I’m in love with you’ – not definitively anyway, but he feels as though it might as well be.
The cigarette paper trembles faintly between his fingers before he sets it down altogether.
And then you feel him pull away from you for weeks.
It starts small – texts are less frequent, you’re waiting around longer for his responses, he’s later to class.
You feel as though maybe that’s it for the two of you – it ends just like that. Just a month before you’re supposed to be gone for the spring.
Nights are spent wallowing, though you do not fully understand why; why something so minor like him pulling away from you, instilling this great distance has such a big effect when you feel as though this has been a long time coming. You don’t like to admit you have cried, shed a few tears here and there in the comforting darkness of your bedroom, sheets pulled over your head like a lonely child.
Nobody audibly questions the slump in your posture when you walk or the bags under your eyes the night after you can’t find sleep because you have been staring at your and Sukuna’s chat for hours – waiting like a lovesick puppy for him to text.
Three meals a day turns into two. Two turns into one with some menial snacks in between. And then it’s one meal – and then some days you forget that you need to eat entirely.
The pain gnaws at your insides, an unkind reminder that maybe… just maybe you’re a little dejected. Dare I say heartbroken? But pride swells in your throat and chest whenever Yuki or Utahime, or Mei Mei ask you if you’re doing okay, and then suddenly you are all smiles and sunshine and rainbows.
You wonder how Sukuna is doing but you don’t let yourself drift over there. Choso hardly sees you. You stay in your room most of the time anyway.
What you don’t know is that Sukuna doesn’t cope – he just pushes it all to one side – in the back of his mind – until one day he finds himself growling in frustration that one of the pledges can’t seem to do what he asked properly, or that Toji has left too many dishes in the sink again; or even something tiny like Yuki leaving her long blonde locks in the shower drain again is ticking him off like a bomb.
And then in class, you moving seats entirely to the back of the lecture hall has this pent-up unidentified emotion clawing and clawing its way up to his neck until he feels like his head might explode from the pressure.
On the one day he feels like he might just confess to you, mood extremely volatile and having just left the frat house in a haze, he’s thinking he might just say it all at once to you. Let it gush out, unplanned and uncontrolled.
The entire walk to campus is silent, bar the music playing in his earphones. The houses blur past him as he thinks about how much he misses talking to you and that constricting pain in his chest and throat returns; it feels hard to breathe.
You spot him walking across the courtyard, pink hair hidden by his black Arc’teryx beanie, hood pulled over it and one earphone in. His eyes are dark and his complexion pallid like he hasn’t seen the sun in days. You think that if you pretend to busy yourself with the girls, he’s going to walk right past outside and not notice you.
He hasn’t seen you; in fact his mind is spinning, he doesn’t feel as though he’s paying attention to anything. You’re conveniently squished between Utahime and Mai, sandwich half-eaten, coffees half-finished on the cafe table. Yuki is talking about how she thinks Choso is going to ask her out soon, something about him acting super nervous recently and it takes every fibre of your being not to tell her she’s correct; next to her, Nobara and Mei are doing an awful job at splitting a filled croissant down the middle, the smooth custard dripping down their hands like lava as you grimace at their mess.
“Fuck me, can you guys act anymore like five year olds?” You manage a laugh, though it feels like a rare occurrence nowadays.
Noboara huffs as Mei Mei accidentally squeezes her half of the pastry too much and a large dollop of the cream lands on the table.
“How am I supposed to eat–”
Behind you, the doors open and Sukuna stalks in like a giant shadow. It’s the middle of the lunchtime rush, and the place is rammed with students. Not a single table is unoccupied; he sighs, and decides to get an Americano and hojicha oat latte to go.
Yuki’s eyes widen and she mouths his name at you. A look of abject horror falls over your face when you eye him passing by your table, eyes forward and focused. He looks tired.
“Fuck fuck fuck… ‘Hime, hide me– jesus–”
“Just put your damn head down.” Yuki scolds.
“Why are we avoiding him?” Nobara asks quietly, eyes flickering over to Sukuna’s towering frame looms at the counter, dwarfing the laminated menu board above him.
“Because he’s acting like a manchild.” Mei Mei quips, eyebrows raised. “Classic Sukuna.”
“After all that?” Nobara scoffs. “Thought he was a changed man.”
“Yeah, me too.” You say flatly.
Sukuna is all sharp edges and storm-dark eyes in a heaving room that smells sickeningly like sugar and steamed milk.
On his way out, his mind is so foggy that he doesn’t even spot you. But when he leaves campus, passing by Kappa Epsilon, your bedroom lights are off and he finds himself chugging down the americano and holding your latte, now cold and unwanted in his hands.
But then, for the first time in weeks, Sukuna speaks to you.
He can’t stand the radio silence anymore – even though he bears the responsibility of initiating it.
You are standing with Mei Mei and Utahime in the middle of the campus; though your two friends are laughing at whatever you are yapping on about, your eyes are sunken and the usual dark hues of your irises are reduced to a pallid shade of brown.
Sukuna notes that even in the crowd of students trudging along in their dull demeanours, you beam at him like Gatsby's bright green light across the pond.
You look thinner than before, and his black hoodie which you never remembered to give back, hangs on your frame loosely with a lone shoulder jutted out.
The bones in your shoulder jut out and as the cold wind blows, he sees you rubbing at them and tensing your body. Mei Mei spots him before you do, and soon Utahime turns to him too.
“Wha– oh…” Your eyebrows draw together in a concerned look.
You feel yourself tense up. To see a familiar head of spiky pink hair drawing closer and closer towards you, is an unfamiliar sight as of late. He looks tired, Mei Mei notes. And he is not smiling. She casts you a quick glance but your eyes are glued to him. He is always smiling when he sees you - this time he looks drained.
"I'll catch you in a bit." You say to both girls, who leave but not before shooting Sukuna a poignant look.
"I've missed you." He breathes.
What he says tugs at your heartstrings, but you remain still and your expression is hard to gauge.
"I haven't seen you around." He continues. "Are you avoiding me?"
"Maybe. Unintentionally." You admit. "But I've been busy anyway."
Sukuna nods. He is hurt; for the first time, your tone is slightly indifferent towards him. You seem different.
"Listen, can we just... talk?" He asks. "This ain’t been right recently."
Sukuna shrugs off his leather jacket anyway and drapes it around your shoulders. Tobacco. Cologne. Green grass.
The scent of him and his warmth embraces you like an old friend, and you sink into the comfort of him – except it is not him, and you wish he could offer himself instead.
You do not realise that you miss the safety of his arms or how he seems to completely wrap around you whenever he had hugged you before, until now.
The bench he first spoke to you on is in sight now but still far enough for you both to dwell in the silence.
You follow behind him to it, arms crossed beneath the warm leather of his worn jacket and your lips are in a tight line.
It is in the distance now, a lonely bench amongst a vast clearing. Away from the business of campus, with few students dotted around sparsely on the grass.
The trees sway in the February breeze, birds whistle, and your usual banter is reduced to a silence except the leaves cracking and crunching beneath his shoes with each step.
Sukuna says nothing still, facing stoically ahead as if you are not there. You continue walking behind him like a ghost. Your head is hung low; all of a sudden the dense foliage on the ground seems a lot more interesting.
He comes to a stop. He does not sit at the bench but stands in front of it and turns to face you. You do not dare look at him, for fear that he might see the look in your eyes and know that this must truly be over. He runs a hand through his pink hair which seems more pallid now. You hear him sigh.
He breaks the silence first. Thank god, you think.
You scoff quietly. "You haven't either."
"I figured you wanted time alone. Thought you'd call me when you wanted to talk."
"I'm not sure there's anything to talk about. We both– you, made it clear what this was. I overreacted and took a step back." You say. "But it's fine now. I've moved on. If you-"
"I don't know if I can keep doing..." He cuts in and gestures between the two of you with a flippant hand. "Whatever this is. It's complicated right now... whatever's changed. Our dynamics are different."
Sukuna knows his words are lies; he has barely convinced himself of them. He wants you more than anything he has ever wanted; in his mind, you are so out of reach. But your brows furrow together.
Have I done something wrong?
"If there's something I can do differently, just tell me and I'll do it."
"Nothing, it's perfect. You're..." He sighs. "Perfect. Fuck."
The spring breeze blows through the trees. The leaves rustle and clouds continue to pass on by above them, relentless and unstopping.
Yet, it seems as though the world has come to a standstill as you look up at him, gazing woefully through your lashes. You begin picking at the raw skin around your pink painted nails. It is still the same paint that he did weeks ago.
"If that makes you happy, ‘Kuna." You concede. "We weren't anything to begin with anyway... so just business as usual then."
Your words, although spoken gently just as you have always been, drives a knife deep into his chest. For some reason hearing you say it breaks a little part of him.
He knows you are hurt and cannot bring yourself to admit it so openly, and he sees how your expression instantly hardens as a silence passes between the two of you. Business as usual, he repeats in his head.
Your soft features are marred by an unyielding confusion and woe.
A small part of him wants you to fight yet you let him slip through your fingers just like that; half of his heart struggles to let you go but he knows that someone like him will never make someone like you truly happy.
"There's just so much going for you." He manages to utter. "We're different and I don't know if I want to keep doing this. It's more than I signed up for."
"More than you signed up for?" You repeat slowly. "We both knew what we were getting into. You did nothing to... to... to prevent anything."
And there it is again. The avoidance; the silence; the silent agreement that he provides nothing but uncertainty.
Sukuna half-expects you to say something; anything, really, but you take a careful step backwards and look at him with such scorn that he hasn't seen before.
Without another word, you turn away from him and begin your walk back the direction you came from but you stop right before the end of the path, and turn to him. Nothing to lose right now.
It's not like it will change his mind – but for my own peace and moving on, I'd rather let him know. For a second you hesitate, but think fuck it, and decide to say it. Sukuna’s face falls at each utterance, and that all too familiar painful pang in his chest returns. There’s so much tension in his face he feels as though he might combust.
"I'll admit," You start, voice straining to contain the dolour. "For a while you made me feel... dizzy. I heard you that night. You thought I was asleep when you said it. I guess I kinda was? You said it first, not me. At some point I was silly enough to want to say it back, when you were sleeping or worse, right now. And now I realise that it's good I didn't because it would have been wasted on you.”
You snap. “No, shut the fuck up for a second. You don’t have the right.”
By now, your voice betrays your emotions. He’s taken aback.
“Y-you... have always projected your own insecurities on me because not once have I ever thought or considered you as not enough, not kind enough, or any of those other futile things other people say.
You should know me well enough to know that I've never spoken to you or looked at you with much consideration for those things.
But none of that mattered anyway because you're so hell bent on punishing not only yourself but also me, for what?"
So maybe it was nothing when Sukuna drove to you at Zeta Psi; middle of the night in the pouring rain because you called him crying in Geto’s bathroom.
Maybe it was just another Tuesday night for him, when you were half-asleep and heard him say, under his breath, how much he loved every moment with you and it all had led to now; every fleeting moment from when he first approached you at the bench, sitting with him for hours in the library, to your shoulders touching his on the bleachers Gojo’s basketball practice.
You wish you could hear him say it again that he is wildly in love with you and how much his world has shifted entirely on its axis since then.
He wishes he could say it to you, conscious this time.
Sukuna’s feet remain planted to the earth. His hand flexes at his side.
You disappear into the horizon, still clad in his leather jacket before he is able to move again. He cannot bring himself to ask for it back and he lets you tread on with it. His hand clenches and unclenches, and he releases the breath he did not realise he was even holding.
Tears form and threaten to spill out of his eyes but with a deep breath in, he looks up to the cloudy sky, jaw clenched.
He rubs his calloused hands over his face, feeling moisture seep into his palms and he hastily wipes it on the front of his denim-covered thighs before realising he still had to make it to his 4pm lecture.
If dizziness is a mere feeling you feel around him then his head has been spinning non-stop since you came into his life all those months ago.
Since October, the world has tilted entirely on its axis and gravity has done little to hold him down to earth.
For every time you wave at him or speak to him or your hand accidentally brushes against his, he feels as though he might ascend to the sky and he can't breathe or think or...
He lets out a frustrated yell at the ground he is stamping on.
He’s so fucked because he’s in love with you.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
What used to be days filled with your laughter and the smell of your perfume seems to have faded into hours filled with journeys to the gym, shouting at pledges so much that they now cower in Sukuna’s presence, and standing in the shower and letting the near-boiling water trickle down his tattooed skin until its red and raw from heat.
With an elbow resting against the humid tiles, he breathes in and out, chest falling and rising as steam continues to fill the space around him. He leans all of his body weight on that arm until he feels it go numb, tingling, then numb and weak again.
He thinks he’s fucked it up completely with you; hald of him thinks he should not be caring this much but the other half knows what the two of you have is different and gnaws at him from the inside out.
Sukuna’s mind replays the last time he saw you, a few days ago, when you passed by him with Mei Mei in arms, the hood of his black sweater pulled over your head. The black hoodie he once complimented you on just weeks ago – just an oversized garment, but then, a shield – draped over you. The fabric still smelled faintly of him: Tobacco, coffee, and something uniquely Sukuna. It was just a painful reminder of what you cannot have.
Sukuna’s presence has always been like a storm that doesn’t announce itself but pulls the air tight around your lungs and feels restrictive.
The hallway was crowded on campus then, halfway through the day when most students had just come out of lectures – yet he noticed you immediately. You saw him too, eyes flickering up for a brief second before he could catch you looking. His pink hair was hard to miss, and his tall frame made him impossible to blend in with everyone else.
Each step dragged heavier than the last.
Your cheeks looked hollow and your eyes were sunken, like you had been crying for weeks. You wanted to spare him another glance then, but you willed yourself not to. You can still remember how tense his jaw was, eyes cast forward. The subtle slump in his broad shoulders was not hard to miss; even then, the dark grey fabric of his jacket could not conceal the tension there. Mei Mei was chatting lightly beside you, but her words blurred into the hum of student chatter, nothing breaking the quiet bubble that existed purely between you and Sukuna as he passed you like a great shadow.
He was impossibly close and impossibly distant all at once.
The memory of his hands, rough but precise, ghosting across your skin in private moments you refuse to let yourself fully recall, or even fully let go of – it all still sits in that narrow space in your heart.
As the shower turns off, Sukuna runs a hand over his wet face, wiping off the excess water and then he tugs the towel roughly off the wall. He still sees your face, feels your hands running up and down his abdomen, fingers tracing his tattoos. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough he can still feel you smiling against his lips whenever he kissed you before.
He stares at himself in the mirror, wet pink hair still dripping droplets down his angular face. The mirror has fogged completely, beginning to clear around the edges. With careful eyes, he glances down at his phone, balancing on the edge of the sink like your name might illuminate the screen any second now but it doesn’t.
He feels himself fall apart.
But everything seems to collapse around him today.
He doesn’t know whose stupid fucking idea it is, but what was initially a small get together for Delta Phi only, managed to turn into a house party for Zeta Psi too. And your sorority. And two chapters. Between getting his shit sorted for that stupid scholarship application and the look on your face like you have seen a ghost every time you pass by him, Satoru wants him to be a good host for this stupid party so his face has been twisted into a scowl for the whole night.
Stupidly, he texted your number. Just something simple. Will you be here tonight? But he’s been left on delivered since midday. Sukuna doesn’t know what possessed him other than a moment of weakness; he really shouldn’t care – so why did he send it like it matters whether you’re here or not?
Toji has been sauntering around the place, keeping an eye on the recent pledges, while periodically handing his president wallowing best friend an ice cold beer whenever his hand runs empty.
The couch has completely molded to the shape of Sukuna’s broad body. Beside him, Choso smokes his third joint of the night, a red solo cup balancing on his armrest as he observes the carnage before him. His dark brows are furrowed like he is thinking hard about something but he doesn’t say anything until he feels Sukuna shift.
“What did you do to Y/N?” Choso asks. “Saw her the other day – she looks like shit.”
He doesn’t sound angry – just curious. Choso isn’t stupid; he can see how Sukuna has been moving around like a shadow of himself recently. Initially, Sukuna had thought if he just broke it off and cleared things up on his terms, everything would fall back into place again but now he’s looking for you at his own party that you’re clearly not in attendance of.
Stupid fucking chud feelings.
After taking a sip of whatever liquid is in the cup, he exhales, feeling the harsh alcohol wash his mouth with a sharp taste. “I don’t know, man. Guess I fucked it a lil?”
“You’ve been looking like shit recently.”
Sukuna barks a laugh. It feels like the first one in weeks. “Thanks, bro.”
“No really,” Choso murmurs, lips closing around the joint. “Maybe you should confess whatever it is you’re pretending not to feel.”
His words drift out in a puff of strong-smelling smoke. It fills the air and hangs above their heads, caught in the flash and flickers of the coloured fairy lights; Sukuna feels suffocated. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the walls and his ribs.
Sukuna stares straight ahead at the people dancing and chatting.
He doesn’t answer because he knows exactly what Choso means.
The word makes his stomach churn. He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, beer dangling loosely from his fingers. His tongue toys with the ring threaded through the thin skin of his lip.
“You’re not mad?” Sukuna asks, his head hanging low. “That I upset her?”
Choso considers for a moment but then shakes his head. “I think it’s equal damage.”
“You sound like you’ve been hangin’ around Yuki too much.” He mutters.
“Yeah?” he replies calmly. “And you sound miserable.”
The music sounds louder now, filling the poignant silence between them. You’re not even here, and you won’t be. Some of your friends are here – but he wonders if Mei and Yuki are with you right now, rubbing circles over your back comfortingly or worse, you’re alone in your room feeling despondent.
Sukuna’s gaze drifts toward the door for what has to be the hundredth time tonight. He told himself you wouldn’t come. Still, some stupid, traitorous part of him keeps expecting to see you walk through it in that outfit you wore a couple of months ago. The one that shows your shoulders and legs.
The alcohol burns going down – he can’t get used to the taste tonight for some reason.
“You think she hates me?” he asks finally, quieter.
“No,” he says after a moment. “I think she’s hurt. But you are too– guess it evens out.”
Upstairs, someone yells out triumphantly as he jumps over the bannister and crowd surfs below. The house shakes with movement. Sukuna tips his head back, staring at the ceiling through the thinning haze. He broke it off because it was getting complicated; and because you were starting to matter in a way that made him feel exposed.
Choso nudges his shoulder lightly, a light smile on his lips. His eyes are lidded from the weed, but he can still think and it doesn’t take a genius to know what thoughts are brewing behind Sukuna’s crimson irises.
“You could still fix it.” He says lowly.
And then he says fuck it – the worst thing that can happen now is him swallowing his pride and telling you how much you mean to him. You have already heard it once; it’s not going to kill him to say it consciously this time.
The time on his phone read 22:56 the last time he looked at it before leaving. He doesn’t remember forcing the door open, feeling the cold night air nip at his face as the grey clouds overhead turn darker.
Satoru is on the front lawn, sprawled out on the wet grass with a random blonde girl lying in his arms.
“Ryo, leaving so soon?” He calls, slurring his words as the blonde giggles drunkenly.
Sukuna remembers mumbling something about needing air, but he could have said something else; with his mind spinning, legs feeling numb, he truly can’t recall what words were exchanged then – all he could focus on was setting things straight with you.
Behind him, the lights are still on at Delta Phi, and the music is still playing; as he gets in his car, it all blurs into one messy ball of luminescence behind him. He can barely hear himself think over the pounding in his ears.
The tires screech against the cement and his crimson car shoots off like a bullet into the distance. He does not even notice when fat pellets of rain begin falling from the sky, hammering the windshield like hard stones. When his car pulls up to your sorority, he shoves the car door open and practically books it to your door, feeling the cold rain soak his hair and jacket.
His fist pounds on the door, no longer caring how late it is in the night.
After a few moments, the door swings open and you stand before him. He smells a little bit like weed and vodka and you grimace. But of course, he knows you and he sees that little nose scrunch you do.
“I need to talk to you.” He says, rushing every word. “I’m not drunk– before you say anything.”
You roll your eyes, door already prepared to slam shut in his face but a strong hand shoots out and stops it abruptly. Sukuna pushes it open again. He hears you sigh loudly, shifting your weight onto one foot now with a drained look in your doe eyes.
“Please.” Sukuna rasps, feeling his heart hammer inside his chest.
He can’t look past how dejected you look. It’s his first word to you in weeks and he is standing there like you should spare him any more of your precious seconds. Somewhat, you managed to make peace with maybe never speaking to him again once you’re away in England but then other nights have you faceplanted into a pillow to drown out your sobs in case Yuki can hear next door. But now seeing him here, taking up practically all the space in the doorway and towering over you, feels like it might set you back to square one.
“I’m sorry.” Sukuna relents. “I’m sorry for acting like a fucking asshole and–”
You scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah you got that right.”
“Can you just hear me out?”
Without meaning to, he steps back into the porch light, the metal in his eyebrow catching the warm light. You watch as he runs a hand through his faded pink hair and scratch his angular jaw.
You fold. Unsure why. But you step out with him and close the door gently behind you. Rain drips from the edge of the porch and you find yourself wrapping your arms tighter around your small frame.
“You have thirty seconds.”
“I can’t explain it–” Sukuna grits, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never had to explain myself like this and it’s fucking driving me insane, Y/N.”
Sukuna begins pacing, unable to stay still with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Or worse, it’s his overwhelming anxiety which renders him unable to stay still. But feeling like his jacket is sitting too snugly on his skin, his nerves practically on fire from your proximity, he steps out into the rain, feeling the cold water drip down his face.
“I’m not understanding you.” You almost laugh, following him down the porch steps and onto the front lawn. “You come over here to do what? Tell me you don’t know how you’re feeling?”
“No,” Sukuna says. “I know exactly how I’m feeling–”
“But you avoid me for what? Weeks? To think things over?” You spit, hurt, lacing every single syllable with accumulated frustration over the past few weeks. “And I’m here thinking I’ve done something wrong because you can’t get to grips with your own feelings?”
“No,” he sighs. “Well, yes– but–”
“Well, why do all of that then?” You ask, voice raising an octave now. “Treating me like a girlfriend– like I mattered or that we were something different–”
Sukuna lets your words sink in, but then he realises he can’t take it anymore, and then over the thundering above, he blurts out, "Because I’m fucking in love with you!"
"Then stop loving me!" you retort loudly, your voice loud and unyielding over the sound of the thunderstorm. Your hands are balled into fists at your side.
Sukuna scoffs, looking around for a second before running a hand through his wet pink strands.
"God fucking dammit– I can't!"
When you say nothing in response, he takes in your hardened expression and sighs. "Can't do that."
Relentlessly, the rain continues to drown out the world around the two of you.
By now, each drop of water feels like ice cold needles piercing your skin, but neither of you dare move from your spots on the front lawn. Your dark eyes stare into Sukuna’s own tired ones, breathing staggered. You don't realise how close he is standing to you until you look away from him and cast your eyes downwards at his muddy combat boots.
Rain continues to lash at the garden around you, leaves yielding under the intense force of each raindrop which seems to never end. He's breathing hard now; he stands there soaked, like a child who has wandered into the sea and thought he could master it.
Sukuna’s leather jacket is completely soaked through now. The cold water bites at his skin mercilessly yet he stands still, his hands clenching and releasing at his side as he pushes away the temptation to step towards you, thread his hand through your hair and press his lips to your own.
"It doesn't matter." you shake your head. "I'm not going to be here for months, so you'll forget about me."
"Is this about England?" Sukuna starts. "I can wait. Fuck– I’d wait… a lifetime for you."
You let out an exasperated breath and throw your hands up. "Don't you get it, Ryo? I'm not going to be here and it doesn't matter how hard you try to make it work... you're you."
His face falls at your words. He's hurt. A rare glint of it briefly flashes across his sharp features; he feels completely vulnerable now. "What's that supposed to mean, Y/N?"
You cast your eyes to the house, where you can see your sorority sisters too engrossed in their own conversation to even notice what is unfolding outside. The ones who stayed in to keep you company; you told them you didn’t need it but Mei Mei and Yuki insisted. There’s always going to be another frat party.
The rain has drowned everything out.
"It means- it means that I’ll be away, and the same thing will happen – you'll meet someone else and forget about me like it never happened because that's the way it goes." You say, your voice coming out flat yet he hears the underlying sense of forlorn.
"I'm right here." Sukuna says, quietly, tone defeated. "I just told you that I'm fucking in love with you and I– I’ve never said that shit to anyone before."
The pink-haired man finally moves, breaks the tension, and his hands move to cup your jaw. You freeze at his touch, rainwater seeping through your thick lashes; fresh water runs down your face. He swallows. His tattoo peaks out from the collar on his top.
"I think about you every day... Every morning when I wake up all I want to see is you. I pretend like spending time with you doesn’t make my head spin but god forbid if I miss a fucking day where I don’t see you and have to go about my day level-headed, stone-cold sober because you're not there. At night, I can't fucking stop thinking ‘bout you and I can't go to sleep because I miss being around you, and I--"
He stops himself abruptly.
Sukuna swallows. He doesn't remember a time when he's been exceptionally brave in his life; perhaps confessing to you right now is a moment where he has been.
He recalls that time at Zeta Psi’s party when he sent his fist careening towards Geto's stupid face because he couldn’t believe he wasn’t there for you when he slammed that fucking door into your nose.
That was the first time he showed the world that he might have cared about something other than himself and his frat brothers.
There hasn't been a time yet where he feels that his heart might beat out of his chest because he's scared of how someone will react. He's been the king of the castle since he started college: Pledges bowed down before him; girls coveted him in carnal ways only someone like him was used to; he runs this shit like he was born for it. He realises he has relished in it all without batting an eye.
All the hardships of possibly being kicked out of college; that time he got a phone call from his mom in the middle of the night telling him that his abusive dad had passed on; the grovelling and consecutive all-nighters he pulled in high school that nobody knew about, just so he would even have a chance at being able to enter college.
He will do it over again if it means that those moments would lead him to you right now.
All of these moments in his life flash before him as he musters up the courage to step closer to you, and he tilts his face to send his lips crashing down onto yours in the pouring rain.
The garden continues to drown and the clouds above are pulled tightly to blanket any light from the sky.
He hates the way you mould so easily into his touch like butter. Your skin is icy and smooth, cupped in the comfort of his palms as he kisses you.
Your lips move with his, rhythmical and gentle.
You lean deeper into him, your arms finally finding the strength and courage to envelope your arms around his neck. Your hand goes to grip Sukuna’ soft pink hair, entwining and knotting your fingers into him. The lilac tree to your left bends under the weight of its water-quenched flowers and the storm. You envy it, just a little. At least it knows which way to bend.
"I love you." He murmurs against your lips. "I've loved you since I first saw you. Since you accidentally touched my hand that time in the library. Since you kissed me."
Sukuna’s heart skips several beats, feeling you smiling against his lips as you capture them once more in a gentle kiss. You feel the coldness of his eyebrow piercing push into your skin as he leans his forehead against you for a brief second.
Then, without another second slipping by, he presses his lips harder against yours and makes you feel as though he hasn’t been kissed before, like he can’t get enough of it; his other hand grips the curve of your waist, strong and commanding as he always is, pulling you into his large body. Then, you realise that his love comes in relentless waves, lulling you in and pushing you away all at the same time.
♡₊˚ part 1 | ♡₊˚ part 2 | ₊⟡ epilogue
♡ link to my main [archived] masterlist | ♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go | guys i had to do an epilogue bcs this chapter was getting too long & im a sap so wasnt ready to let these characters go LMFAO - but the overall a little life story line is finished !! thank u for all the love and support <3 hehe
