more trueform!sukuna x his favourite chubby concubine here
"he is asking for you," uraume says, entering your chamber just as you were preparing for bed.
you don’t question it. it wasn’t uncommon for sukuna to ask for you at this time, in fact, you often spent most nights with him, all four arms wrapped around you as you drift off to sleep.
not that he’d ever admit he finds your presence somewhat comforting — or that he enjoys your soft, warm body pressed against him at night.
you smile and nod to uraume, fastening your robe as you follow them to sukuna’s chamber. before entering, they hand you a pair of large, silver scissors.
you flash them a confused look, taking the scissors before opening the large doors before you.
sukuna is already there waiting for you in bed, sat up, one pair of arms crossed over his chest. “you asked for me?" you say, padding over to him, the cold stone floor biting at your feet.
there was no trace of his usually cold demeanour, in fact, he appeared somewhat nervous — vulnerable. "my hair, fix it," he says, gesturing to the scissors in your hand.
“you’d like for me to cut your hair?" you say, making no effort to hide gentle the smile growing on your face.
to be trusted with such a task was greatly endearing. you could only imagine how difficult it must’ve been for him to ask someone for help — especially a human.
"you find this amusing," he says, observing the smile on your face.
you climb onto his lap, two of his large hands almost instantly find your hips, squeezing the supple flesh there possessively.
”not amusing… but sweet," you respond, knowing you were the only person on earth that could get away with calling the king of curses "sweet" and live to tell the story.
“watch your mouth, woman," he grumbles, feeling you thread your fingers through his pink strands.
you were almost certain this was just an excuse to get you to play with his hair.
"keep your chin up," you say, taking the scissors and beginning to trim the sides. "do not give me orders," he says, closing all four of his eyes as you get to work.
his words had no real malice behind them.
“you should be careful how you address me whilst i’m holding a sharp object this close to your head," you joke, watching how one of his eyes flicker open defensively.
"do not test me, brat" he responds, closing his eyes again, sharp fingernails pressing into the flesh on your hips just enough to issue a warning.
trimmings of pink hair begin to fall onto your lap as you cut them away, concentrating carefully as you neaten up the longer strands at the top.
you fail to notice how your robe begins to loosen at the top, revealing your cleavage. of course, sukuna looks down, staring shamelessly as you continue your work.
but you eventually feel his gaze on you.
"you’re staring," you say, biting your lip in concentration. if you were to be sat on anyone else’s lap, their eyeline would be at the perfect level.
sukuna had never wished to be smaller before, until now, that is.
"i am only looking at what’s mine," he responds, a third hand now occupying itself by squeezing your full breasts, making your breath hitch.
he was making it extremely difficult for you to maintain your concentration.
“you’re distracting me, kuna" you say quietly, close to finishing up with his hair, gently sliding to the side and turning his head so you could get a better view of the back.
he smirks faintly in response, clearly entertained by your lack of restraint when it comes to him.
you examine your work a few times over before setting the scissors aside. "i’m finished," you say, threading your fingers through his hair once more, pushing it back and styling it just how he likes it.
"would you like to see?" you ask, expecting him to want to see the result.
"no."
clearly he trusted your skills enough.
before you can say another word, he rolls you over, flipping your positions so he had you pinned against the bed.
“i suppose i will reward you now," he purrs, ripping your robe open in one smooth tug, revealing your breasts and soft stomach that only make sukuna’s cocks twitch impatiently.
perhaps you should cut his hair more often…
A/N; feel free to suggest some ideas! tag list open <3
you were practically the only concubine sukuna ever asked for anymore.
because why would he ask for anyone else? you were the only woman that satisfied him. the only woman that dared to challenge him.
not that he’d ever admit it, but there was something special about you — intriguing. he often caught himself watching you pad around the gardens, barefoot, cupping the roses in your hands as you inhale their sweet scent, appreciating the little things in life as they came.
“tsk… pathetic humans and their need to romanticise everything…" he hisses under his breath, observing you from his window.
yet he refuses to look away, all four crimson eyes drawn to you, the way your soft body moves with such natural grace, the way you were alive with such warmth and curiosity.
the other concubines lived in fear of sukuna, moving like frightened birds when he was near — desperate to please.
but you?
you always adressed him with such casual confidence, like he wasn’t twice your size with four gigantic arms, four eyes, and a mouth on his stomach that looks like it wants to eat you alive.
what he enjoyed most about you was that you weren’t some frail, petite little thing like the rest of them.
sure, you were still pathetic compared to him, but at least you had some meat on your bones — full breasts, a soft stomach, hips wide enough to bare his children.
it got to the point where no one dared to say one bad thing about you, or even so much as look at you the wrong way. anyone that did seemingly ended up deceased or "missing."
sukuna would deny up and down that it was him when you’d ask, the man who takes pride in killing wouldn’t admit the lengths he’d go to for you.
"how strange," he’d say, his expression bored and stoic as always.
but you knew. of course you knew.
although, you only realised the depth of his quiet obsession when he began asking you to his chambers every single evening without fail.
you often take your time before meeting with him, combing your hair fifty times over, spending an extra hour bathing, not because you need to, because you can.
because you know he’ll wait.
"have i kept you waiting long?" you say, entering through the large doors as uraume closes them swiftly behind you.
sukuna’s eyes immediately find you, looking you up and down, both of his monstrous cocks hardening knowing what he’s about to do to you.
"…not at all," he purrs, a slight grin forming on his face.
A/N; making this a series so feel free to req some stuff! this is just kinda an intro post to it hehe
Word count: 14,605 (more dialogue than typical for me)
Tags/warnings: Angst to comfort, fluff, my most suggestive/sexual story but no actual smut, mentions of painful/toxic past relationships, discussions of coercion, hypersexual undertones for Sukuna, avoidant attachment undertones for reader, weird passages of time, flawed characters, discussions of drug usage and addiction (side character), unhealthy coping mechanisms, culturally accurate misogyny, retiredteabag's first scary adventure into dialogue-heavy storytelling
When Harry Met Sally AU: (see summary)
Recent College graduates share a contentious car ride from their hometown to the big city where they have been newly employed, during which they argue about whether men and women can ever truly be strictly platonic friends. Years later, they meet again, and in the company of their respective friends, attempt to prove the lifelong question one way or another. Can they move from unwilling to deep friendship without sex becoming an issue between them? And after the pain of their previous relationships, are either of them even fit for love?
The two of you met in late spring.
The car ride from your hometown to the big city stretched ahead of you, the excitement laden with an unwanted obligation. You shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Sukuna's beat-up sedan, already regretting your mutual friend's bright idea to carpool the six-hour journey.
Itadori Sukuna had been sat beside you, having agreed to drive "the first leg of the journey", which ended up as him driving the whole way. His music was loudly playing through the speakers, one hand was draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
He had that look about him, the kind of casual confidence that you really only ever saw on a man like himself. Though you both were recent alumni of the same university, and by some insane chance actually had a connection through one of your roommates, you had never hung out with his crowd.
Even so, post graduation, you were headed to the same city. So there you were, buckled into his carpeted seats.
His girlfriend had sadly said goodbye with a messy kiss before he hopped in, embarked toward a full-time job, and coincidentally, your boyfriend waited for you in the very same direction.
It was supposed to be convenient, sharing the trip.
The first hour passed in relative silence, punctuated only by occasional comments about traffic or which exit to take, maybe a short story about mutual classmates here and there. Somewhere around the first rest stop, after you'd both stretched your legs and grabbed terrible convenience store coffee, the conversation shifted into something more substantial.
"So," Sukuna said, merging back onto the highway, "how long have you and what's-his-name been together?"
You lean down to untie your shoes and hum, "Kenji. and three years now. We met in Yaga's class, actually, he graduated last year." You sipped your coffee, wincing at the bitterness. "What about you and...?"
"Misa. A little over a year, I guess." He glanced over. "You think you'll marry him?"
The question caught you off guard; Not only did he seriously not seem like the type to marry, but he also did not seem like the type to think about it or care. "Uhh, I don't know. Maybe? We haven't really talked about it."
"Talked about it?" Sukuna's tone suggested what he thought of that. Chuckling, he continued, "I mean, either you know, or you don't, right?."
You didn't like the idea of being stuck in the car with someone you were arguing with, so you just sighed a bit and murmured, "I don't know, I don't think it's that simple."
"It kind of is, though." He switched lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. "Three years... I mean, you either want to spend your life with someone, or you don't. That should be communicated up front."
You turned in your seat to face him properly. "Really? And you know you want to spend the rest of your life with Misa?"
Something flickered across his face, "Hell no." Laughing, he merged back.
You gaped open-mouthed, "Wha- how could you say that!"
He turned a moment to look at you, smiling, you had smacked your hand on the console between you both in shock, the man turning between you and the road before speaking, "Are you kidding? You think she wants to marry me, either?"
You paused, "You are incredibly unromantic."
"You're the one saying, 'oh, I don't know' when I asked." He shrugged, mocking your tone with a casual gesture that seemed to dismiss everything. "Romance is more about finding someone you don't want to strangle after living with them for a year."
You smiled a little despite yourself. "Is that really your bar for marriage? Tolerability?"
"You say that like it's nothing." He glanced at you again, and there was something almost defensive in his expression. "Most people can't even manage that. They get married because "they're in love", or the sex is good, but then six months later, bam, they realize they hate how the other person chews their food or whatever, and suddenly they're divorced."
"So you're planning to just find someone you tolerate well enough? Man, I feel bad for Misa..." You shake your head at his implication and stretch your legs in front of you.
Sukuna shakes his head, "I'm saying love isn't enough. You need more than that." He paused, considering. "You need to at least be somewhat" he adjusts the visor, searching for the word, "...friends, too. They gotta be someone who you want to be with even when they're driving you crazy." He used his hand as an air quote on "friends".
"Does Misa drive you crazy?"
"No." The answer came quickly, a higher tone. "But that's just cause our thing doesn't allow for the crazy to come out, we're not serious like that. Just comfortable."
You settled back into your seat, processing this. "I think I'd like more than comfortable, actually."
"Yeah?" Sukuna's smirk returned. "Good luck with that. Let me know how it works out for you in twenty years when you're still chasing some perfect fairy tale instead of building a real life with someone."
The comment stung more than it should have. Who was he to say something so harsh to someone he had just met? How come he was so abrasive? You couldn't tell why he wouldn't just concede. "At least I'll know I didn't settle."
"Settling." Sukuna shook his head. "That's what people say when they're holding out for something that doesn't exist. Every relationship is settling in some way. You think there's some perfect person out there who matches everything you want? That's a fantasy."
"I think there's someone out there who makes you want to be better. Someone who... I don't know, challenges you and supports you, and makes you become like the best version of yourself." You crossed your arms. "And I don't think that's settling."
He is still for a moment, and you think you've won, until he just flattens his mouth, almost rolling his eyes, "Sounds exhausting, or like counting on a whole lot of luck."
You groan, "It sounds like actually being in love."
The man was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that suggested irritation. "You know what your problem is?"
"Please, enlighten me."
"You know, your friend told me that you're gonna be a personal assistant. No wonder, cause I bet you overthink everything." You squirm in your seat to face him, and he murmurs something along the lines of "right up your alley".
You turn away, watching the countryside blur past the window. "I would be willing to wait for the person I'm meant to be with."
"Give it a few years. You'll change your mind."
You were done fighting, eventually, he caught your drift, and the conversation shifted, moving into safer territory like your new jobs, mutual friends, and professors you had. But an undercurrent of tension remained.
Somewhere around hour four, Sukuna pointed out something in your line of conversation that would become the cornerstone of your argument. Only at this time, you didn't know how important it would become.
"You have a lot of guy friends, huh?" He asked it casually, but there was something leading in the question.
"I mean... a few. Why?"
"Just wondering." He paused for a long moment, but eventually he said it. "You really think men and women can be friends?"
You rolled your eyes, having heard it all before. Clearly, to you, this man was trying to be annoying, "Oh, please, of course. I have plenty of male friends."
Sukuna snickered, and for some reason, it bothered you more than anything else in this whole discussion. "No, you don't."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm saying, you might think they're your friends, but I guarantee at least half of them want to sleep with you." He said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. You gasp, and he continues, "That or they're closeted," when you were stuck looking for a reply, he added, "That's just how it is."
"That... is so not true."
"It absolutely is." Sukuna merged into the exit lane as signs for a rest area appeared, landing the final blow with certainty. "Men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."
"That's ridiculous." You felt heat rising in your face, annoyed by his finality. "Not everything is about sex."
"I didn't say everything was. I just said it gets in the way. Even if neither person acts on it, the thought is there. One person catches feelings, or wonders 'what if', and suddenly the whole friendship thing is compromised."
"So you're saying it's impossible? Under any circumstances?" He nods. "Nuh uh, no. They all know I have a boyfriend, they don't see me like that."
"I'm just saying, I've never seen it work." He pulled into the rest area parking lot, cutting the engine. "One person always wants more. Or they sleep together, and it ruins everything. Or one of them gets into a relationship, and the friendship fades because their partner is uncomfortable. I'm surprised your guy is cool with it." He turned to look at you directly. "Show me one example of a real, lasting friendship between a man and woman where neither person has ever thought about it."
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Ran through your mental list of male friends, you didn't hang out with a bunch of single guys but you would definitely call them friends.
"Itadori. Literally all of my guy friends."
"Kid," He shakes his head, "that's just not true."
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "First of all, we are the same age; secondly, just because you don't respect women enough to want to talk to them unless you're boning, doesn't mean every man is the same."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who says I don't respect women?" He unbuckled his seatbelt too, following your lead. "Come on, let's just grab dinner. We've got two more hours of this."
You followed him out of the car, still worked up, not responding to his last words.
"Sure, sure, I can tell by how you treat Misa that you're really quite the feminist." You draw out your words, hoping that the poor girl wasn't in love with this bastard.
Sukuna turned, looking down on you with an arched brow, "Oh? And how do I treat her?"
You scoffed a laugh, "'Oh hell no, I'm not going to marry that!' 'Our relationship doesn't allow for her to bother me', blah blah blah. You're such a womanizer!"
For some reason, Sukuna did not seem upset; in fact, as you spoke, his little grin grew more and more. "Listen, lady, I treat Misa exactly how she likes being treated; you don't think she sees what we've got the same way? She doesn't want something serious with me, and I've got no complaints."
After a few comments about you passing judgment on him, he pushed open the diner door, a bell chiming. At the table you were seated at, you scanned the menu while your road trip buddy went to the bathroom.
You ordered off the 24 hr breakfast and got a cup of caffeinated tea. You massaged your temples, confused as to how your roommate had ended up hanging around a man this insufferable. Smug and cynical and so certain he had life figured out when clearly he was a player and incapable of mature relationships.
When he returned, the waitress was ready for his order. He dropped down in front of you to grab his mug of coffee. After a few awkward moments of not looking at him, he leaned back in the booth.
"Look," he said, less antagonistic. "I'm not trying to piss you off."
"I'm not pissed off?" You said. Clearly, pissed off.
"I'm just saying-" he laughs again, "this idea that men and women can be close, like proper friends, uncomplicated companions... it's... I mean, it's a little naive. That doesn't mean you can't have guy friends. But there's always going to be that thing underneath it." He raises a brow, "I'm tellin' ya to look out."
"That thing?" You ask, ignoring his mocking care for you.
"Attraction. The possibility. The knowledge that you two could be something else if circumstances were different." He gestured with his finger as if pointing between you and some invisible man, took a long drink of his coffee, and sighed, "Even if both people are in relationships, even if neither one would ever act on it, it's there. And that changes things."
You considered this, turning your water bottle in your hands. "So what you're saying is that you've never had a female friend."
He looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think, "No. Not a real one at least." When he saw your unamused face, he continued, "Hey, I know they haven't seen me as a friend either." He put his hands up, as if being ordered to by a cop and took a bite of his hash browns. "I've had plenty of women I was friendly with, but pure friendship? Get out of here." He shook his head. "That's different. That's intimate in a way that crosses lines."
"You..." You paused to think, "Are so full of yourself." He looked up from his heaping fork, a brow raised, "You really think every woman who has called you a friend just wants to sleep with you?"
"Let's be honest here." Sukuna gestured at himself. You scoffed. "Better to acknowledge what it is than pretend it's something else and end up hurting people."
You started to eat quicker, ready to be done with this trip and never see this man again. The last two hours of the drive passed with less conversation. You both retreated to your own thoughts, the weight of the disagreement sitting heavily on your mind.
"You know, Itadori, this is really a shame, cause you were gonna be the only person I knew in the city."
Sukuna shook his head, "Nu uh, aren't I taking you to your man's place right now?"
You rolled your eyes, "My only friend."
He sucked on his cheek, "Ahh, I see...friend."
When he finally pulled up outside your boyfriend's apartment building, you grabbed your bag from the back seat, eager to escape the confines of the car and his frustrating certainty about everything.
"Well," you said, not quite meeting his eyes, "thanks for the ride."
"Yeah." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Enjoy your stay."
You hesitated, hand on the door handle. Some part of you wanted to say something more, to end on a better note. You were here in a new city, with a new scary job, with nobody but your college lover to know you. It was such a shame to leave like this, but the words wouldn't come.
"I hope things end up well with Misa," you finally said. "That it works out the way you both want."
The man's expression softened just a smidge, "Sure, I hope you find what you're looking for too. Even if I think you're chasing a fantasy."
"It's not a fantasy." You sing-songed, turning, you shut the passenger door.
He rolled down the window, "If you say so." His tone wasn't unkind. "Take care of yourself."
You climbed up the stone stairway to your boyfriend's apartment complex buzzer, pulling your bag up after you. As Sukuna drove away, you found yourself annoyed at how the weekend had started. Six hours in a car with someone who seemed determined to be wrong about everything.
You were certain you'd never voluntarily spend time with Itadori Sukuna again.
--
Two years later
Time carved its changes into both your lives in ways neither of you could have anticipated. The occasional argument would occur, but you still loved your boyfriend deeply. And truthfully, arguments were perfectly natural for critical thinkers, and you had always been attracted to a talkative man.
You had actually invited your boyfriend to stay with your family this year, the prospect of your first Christmas together bringing the first set of butterflies you had felt in a while. He had politely declined, though. It was alright, he wanted to be with his parents. You understood, but there was a small tickle of pain when he did not ask you to join them.
That was neither here nor there; now you were on your way back from your hometown, post-Christmas chills in the air.
It was at the gate that you spotted him. Certain your eyes were playing a trick on you. But no, how could you forget the distinctive smirk, the pink hair, and ever broader-shouldered frame? He was unmistakable even in a crowded airport.
Even though you had only known him for six hours of your life.
Sukuna Itadori was stood near the window, looking out at the planes on the tarmac, and for a moment, you considered walking up to him, but decided against it, ultimately pretending you hadn't seen him at all.
But fate seemed determined, and as you approached the gate, he turned and caught sight of you too.
Recognition dawned slowly just as you turned away from his face. Boarding, you shook the idea away, certain he would pretend as well, or, more likely, he wouldn't have recognized you at all.
Once you were seated, a flight attendant asked if you would like a drink. You agreed after the gentleman beside you mentioned how good his tea was. That was something you simply could not pass up.
After ordering, the strange gentleman beside you maintained a steady conversation. Just as you were starting to hope that he wasn't planning on talking the whole flight, you felt a tap on your shoulder.
"Say it isn't so." You heard his foux shock.
And even more to your surprise, he remembered your name. Of course, you remembered Sukuna; how could you not with such a good memory... but why would he remember you?
You stutter, "Hey, wow, it's been a while..." You nod, looking back at the man to your right.
"Oh," The stranger grinned, "do you two know each other?"
"We're actually childhood friends," Sukuna interjected, grinning, and the man seemed elated at the idea.
"Oh... we're definitely not." You sigh, sliding a hand down your face.
The man did not seem to hear, "Would you like to take my seat? Catch up?"
"You're too kind." Sukuna beamed coming in to take the man's seat at your side.
He whispered your name, "Well, well, well, how have you been?"
"Itadori. Good. Busy." You set down your tea. "You?"
"Same. Work's been hectic." You paused, then there was a brief exchange of 'how were the holidays', and 'what are you doing now?' before he eventually stumbled upon it. "So, how are you and your guy? I'm sure you have a partner."
"Yeah, we're good. I'm actually on my way to seeing him now." You left out the part where Kenji worked long nights and recently never made time for serious conversation that didn't involve him raising his voice, but Sukuna didn't need to know about that.
"And you?" You asked in turn, he looked at you with a wry smile, as if waiting for you to explain, you couldn't remember the name of the woman he had been messing around with before, so you just asked, "Are you seeing anyone?"
"You could say that." You leaned back, and he spread his legs wide, "We're engaged and all.", wiggling the ring in your area of vision.
"Oh! Congratulations." You paused, trying to avoid saying "wow, you?". Something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. How was it that he was getting married? "I'm happy for you." And somehow, you meant it.
"Yeah." He looked down at his hands, and you noticed he was more considerate of his volume now. "It's been good. Different than I expected, but good."
The intercom dinged to let you know you could unbuckle your seats.
"So, tell me more, how are things with you and the lucky guy? You must be glad to be on your way home."
You didn't want to really talk about it, for some reason, you were feeling a bit jealous about his upcoming marriage, so you tilted your head, "Yeah, you could say that." You laughed, but there was no humor in it.
You had some difficulty keeping your eyes trained on his; he had acquired several new tattoos over the years that kept drawing your attention, but you didn't want him to think you were checking him out or anything. After some mildly awkward catch-up about work and hobbies, Sukuna hummed, "So," and after a short silence, "Executive assistant. I guess you made your little Type A dreams come true."
You roll your eyes, "I did." You felt a small surge of pride despite knowing he was teasing you.
"That's great. Really." He seemed genuine. "I remember you talking about that. In the car."
You bring your eyebrows together, "You remember that?"
"Oh, I can remember most of that drive." He accepted a tomato juice from a passing cart, making a face at the taste. "You were funny."
"I was?"
"Sure you were." He turned to look at you properly.
And you spent a horrible length of time trying to remember when you had last been complimented so easily like that.
--
Late the next spring
It would be almost another full year before you saw Sukuna again, and just like before, you wouldn't be looking for him. You had thought when you last spoke that the New Year would be filled with good fortune, but as it would turn out, your lives would take many turbulent shifts in the time it took for the winter to come back around.
You were walking into your neighborhood's bookstore on a rainy and windy Saturday afternoon. You were looking for a birthday gift for a colleague, something thoughtful but not too personal, and the small independent bookshop near your new apartment seemed like an easy place to browse.
You were in the romance section when you heard his voice.
"You've got to be kidding me."
You turned to find a certain salmon haired man standing at the end of the aisle, holding a couple books, the top one appeared to be on sports training. He looked as surprised as you felt.
You squinted, trying to find some words before landing on, "Is this going to become an annual thing?"
"That can't be right. I can hardly remember the last time I saw you." He moved closer, glancing at the book in your hands. "'Cowboy needs a little lovin' '?"
"It's not for me." You shudder, showing him the cover of the half-naked model. "It's for a colleague, I'm sure she'll love it."
"...I believe you," he said with an unconvincing tone, "sure you don't want a copy for yourself, though?"
"Oh, yeah," You look down at the cover, "just my type." You rolled your eyes and set the book down, fond of his smile that didn't mock. "How've you been?"
He looked around the shop before answering, "Busy." You traced a finger across the casing you were leaning against.
"Just busy? I haven't seen you in over a year, the flight back, right?" You knew you were right, but asked anyway. Cringing when you think back on that time, how you waited for your now ex to come and pick you up, eventually realizing too slowly that he had forgotten, and you would need to figure it out yourself. How he hadn't told you he had "stayed home" for New Year's, and how you had tried to make it work for months after that.
"That's right..." The man's expression shifted, became something more guarded. "Ehhh...a lot's happened since then."
Something in his tone made you pause. "Yeah, same. How are you? You had your wedding, right?"
"No, yeah, I definitely did." You scrunch up your face at his cadence; he doesn't seem happy about it. He knocks his knuckles against a bookcase. You were just starting to get the uncomfortable notion that an early divorce was in his voice when he proceeded.
He looked around again, like someone might hear, like the weight of something was pressing on him.
"My wife, well, she and I aren't together anymore." He said it bluntly, shaking the thoughts out of his head.
Well, that had not at all been what you had expected. "Sukuna, I'm so sorry. That must be hard."
"Sukuna...." He wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, staring down at it. "That's a first, you've only ever called me by my last name."
You didn't know if that was true but it didn't feel like the time to ask, "I don't know what to say."
"Nobody does." He finally looked up, sighing, and you could see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "People want to help, but there's nothing I can do without airing out her business, and I'm not really interested in doing all that.
You looked down at your shoes, not even pretending to know what he meant. "I'm sorry." They're the only words you can get out. You were hurting too, as much as you wanted to pretend you weren't, but you knew this must be different. Kenji hadn't even proposed... not really at least.
"I kinda wish none of it had happened, almost felt like a waste of both of our time."
You shake your head. "It doesn't have to be a waste. This stuff isn't linear. You can be sad about losing someone even if the relationship wasn't working."
"Yeah, that's what people say." He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair. "Her family hates me. They think I changed her for the worse and left her because of it."
You don't understand, so you can't exactly console him. You just mutter, "They probably would've sided with her regardless."
"Yeah, that's true, logically, I know that." He took a shaky breath. "But I feel like I let them down, not sticking it out."
You sat in silence for a moment. This bookstore trip had not at all gone according to plan. The café hummed with other conversations, other people living their normal lives, while the both of you silently seemed to mourn people who weren't even dead.
It suddenly hit you, like it randomly will, that feeling that everyone is living their own lives, and even though you live in the same city, you never really know what anyone is going through.
"Are you seeing anyone?" You asked carefully. "A therapist, I mean."
He chuckles,"Yeah, actually, pretty much once a week. Apparently I'm supposed to sign up for some Nar-Anon family group."
You pause, a little bit more of his story coming out, "For what it's worth, I'm sure you're handling this better than you think you are."
He tilted his head, and a smirk came across his face, and for a moment, he looked exactly like he had when you first met him, "I'm standing in a bookstore unloading on someone I barely know, but thanks." He ties your name to the end of his sentence, and it feels like a sweet reminder that you both weren't technically strangers.
"We spent six hours in a car together arguing about the nature of love." You returned his smile. "I think that counts for something."
Sukuna appeared to consider this. "You know, you're probably the only person I've talked to who doesn't speak to me like I'm about to freak out any given moment."
"Do you...want people to look at you like that?"
"God, no." He took a loud sip of his coffee and grimaced. "This is terrible. Why do bookstores always have the worst coffee?"
You can see he is ready for a change of subject, "It's part of the aesthetic."
"Pretentious literature requires pretentious bitter coffee?"
"Something like that." You smile.
The two of you went on to talk for another hour, the conversation flowing easier than it had any right to. Sukuna told you about moving out of the apartment he'd shared with Emi, the woman who was now his ex-wife, about his work, and trying to find some kind of normalcy. You told him about your recent promotion, about the project you were heading up that was consuming all your time, but you did not mention Kenji, and thankfully, he did not ask.
When you finally left the bookstore, rain still falling softly outside, Sukuna actually walked you to your car.
"Thanks," he said, hands shoved in his pockets. "For listening. These types of conversations are always weird."
You squint up at him, never having anticipated him of all people finding a strange conversation uncomfortable, "Hey, not at all." And you meant it. "I'm serious, Sukuna, if you wanna catch up or want someone to talk to, call me."
"Yeah?" He looked almost vulnerable, something you'd never seen from him before. "You want to give me your number?" He makes a weird face at you, "That's not going to complicate things?"
You paused and rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone. "I think we're way past worrying about complications."
And the smile he gave you felt perfectly natural. After you'd exchanged numbers, Sukuna hesitated before turning to leave.
"Hey," he said, "that thing I said in the car. About men and women not being able to be friends."
"Yeah?"
He shrugged, "I'm pretty sure I was wrong about that."
There was something very mature about admitting when you're wrong, and as you watched him walk away, disappearing into the rain, you felt with strange certainty that something had shifted between you. Maybe he had come back into your life for such a time as this, and you into his, after all that had passed, to be a friend.
--
That Summer
It started with text messages. Simple things at first, Sukuna sending you a photo of truly terrible coffee with the message "Even worse and somehow $7". You would respond with pictures of your latest project and "entirely optional purchase btw", asking his opinion on design elements you knew he wouldn't understand but somehow always had thoughts about anyway.
Then came the phone calls. Late-night conversations were surprisingly easy with someone who held such strong opinions so weakly. When neither of you could sleep (which, unspoken of but very present, your loneliness appreciated), the two of you would always have something to go on about. Sukuna told you about his experience with group therapy, about this slow process of untangling the pain and guilt of loving someone you didn't want to. And you told him about the disastrous rejections you had made to the poor men who asked you out.
And slowly, you opened up a little about how you and Kenji had ended.
For some reason, you liked to pretend it was some other guy who had torn you up so humiliatingly. You didn't lie exactly; you just never said Kenji's name. And besides, Sukuna didn't ask for details; he knew if you wanted to, you would share.
The thing was, you had been with Kenji for so long, it felt embarrassing for Sukuna of all people to hear about the specifics. The shame you felt, some of it valid, some of it overkill, drove you to extreme individuality, or maybe independence.
"So what was wrong with this one?" He asked during one of these calls, his voice rough with after-work exhaustion, but still actively engaged in the most recent guy you turned down.
"Nothing, really. He was nice. Successful. Good-looking." You sighed, curled up on your couch with tea and a bowl of pasta. "There was just no spark, you know? No connection."
"Hey, maybe you're being too picky." You heard something in a pan sizzling on his line.
"Sorry, not really interested on taking love advice from you."
"Ouch." But he was laughing. You had both become comfortable enough to joke around with one another. "Fair point." He must have turned on the sink to douse the pan and after a pause, he asked, "So what are you looking for then?"
"I don't know. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone I can talk to naturally." You paused.
"That is a tall order." He chuckled.
"Is it though? Shouldn't that be...like the bare minimum?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Of course it is, actually, I would say that should be pretty standard."
--
A month after the bookstore, the two of you had dinner. It happened after a conversation about the new place that opened up nearby, and it had been such a fun change of pace in your mutually boring lives that you decided there would have to be another. And after that, the dinners became almost a weekly tradition, usually it was a hole-in-the-wall place that Sukuna found with incredible food and questionable ambiance.
"How do you even find these places? I've lived here for over three years now and never heard of it." You asked, looking around at a ramen shop that seemed to consist entirely of a counter with eight seats.
"It's a gift." Sukuna slurped his noodles. "Also, I'm a cheap bastard and this place is perfect."
You chuckle because he was cheap, "You're not cheap. You're frugal." What a lie.
"That's what cheap people say to feel better about themselves."
"True." You hum, only after having kicked his shin under the counter, and he grinned.
It was a nice change of pace, these dinners, and somehow, after weeks and weeks, the two of you still had things to talk about.
It was during one of these dinners that Sukuna brought up your ex.
"So," he said, pushing into a steak, one of your fancier picks, "Whatever happened with the guy you were with during our lovely introduction?"
"What?" You looked up from your pasta. "I told you. We broke up, you know that."
"Yeah, but why?" He waves his fork around, "I've told you everything, can't you spill about this? I mean, the two of you were together three years. That's not nothing."
You considered how much you even wanted to share, you hadn't told hardly anybody, hell, even your family knew not to mention his name. You never made it a rule or anything, but nobody dares. Most days, you tried to just avoid anything that would make you think of him and how pathetic it all made you feel.
But Sukuna had proved to be someone easy to speak with, and quite objective, no matter your feelings, and besides, maybe it was time you were able to talk about it. You took a bite of your food, as casually as you could, admitting, "We were together over six years...actually."
Sukuna squinted, a confused expression, "No...hold on, how can that be?"
"Uhhh, it can be because that's how long we were dating, duh." You reach for your glass of water, and for some reason, your heart was beating rather fast.
"But that would mean you were together... like... recently?" He shook his head at you, as if you didn't understand your own life's timeline.
"I wouldn't exactly call it all that recent." You clinked your fork into the bottom of the dish, skewering more pasta.
"Hold on. You were together for six years?" He seems shocked, only not realizing you were telling the truth.
"Yes." You exasperate, rolling your eyes at his expression.
"You were with that one guy all this time... like... when you were telling me about that breakup... it was with him all along? College boy?"
You blink up at him.
He straightened up, "I mean... damn you dodged a bullet." It was a nice way for him to put it.
"Eventually, I guess."
Sukuna's hand found the counter after he set his own fork down; all too invested now, he seemed quite serious. "Jesus, girl, you were with him for over six years?"
"Thank you, Sukuna, for repeating it." You grin before pulling away, tucking any other explanation into the back of your brain. "What about you? Any relationships between Emi and now?"
He rolls his eyes because he knows you know the answer, "God, no." Horrified by the thought, he groans, "I'm a mess, you know that. I'm not bringing that into a relationship."
You sigh, "You are not a mess."
He calls your name, teasing, "I'm in therapy with Narcotics Anonymous, where even I feel unwelcome because I decided to leave when things got tough."
"That's a pretty extreme glossing over of your story." You flagged down the server for the check. "But you're a functional mess. That counts for something."
"I'll definitely be putting that on my dating profile. 'Functional mess seeks patient woman with low standards.'"
"You'd get more responses than you think."
Walking back to your cars afterward, Sukuna brought up something that had clearly been on his mind.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you thinking of seeing anyone right now?"
"What? No, why?"
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Just wondering if I'm monopolizing your time. If you need to cut back on these dinners to make space for someone. I mean... I wanna encourage you to do that."
"Sukuna, if I had someone I was serious about, I wouldn't be calling you all the time, and we wouldn't be having these dinners anyway; you're not 'taking up' my time."
He's still for a moment, thinking, "Okay. Good." He paused by his car. "Because this... hanging out with you. It's like, a fun part of my week. It'd be a shame to not have someone to complain to."
"You can always count on being able to complain with me." You bumped your shoulder against his. "That is what real friends are for."
"Yeah." But something in his expression was uncertain as he chuckled to himself.
--
That Fall
The restaurant was nicer than your usual spots, a sleek place in the city with low lighting and expensive-looking cocktails. You'd suggested it for several weekends now, having wanted to try it after hearing your friend rave about the food after her disastrous date there.
Sukuna had agreed without complaint, even though you knew it was more than he was usually willing to spend on himself.
"This place is fancy," he said, looking around with amusement. "Are we celebrating something?"
"Do we need a reason?"
"I guess not." He picked up the menu, "Though my wallet might have some complaints."
"My treat."
He dropped the menu right back on the table, "Absolutely not."
"Kuna-"
"Girl, it's not happening." He was clearly not amused. "If you want to go to expensive places, that's fine. But don't go offering to pay my share."
You knew better than to argue when he got that look. "You may be a big shot EA, but even I can afford a few expensive meals once and awhile." He teased. You knew he made more than you did.
The food, when it came, was just as good as you'd hoped. You shared plates, wanting to try his order too, and you talked about everything on your mind, and also nothing at the same time. The easy comfort of your friendship wrapped around you like a comfy sweater.
It was somewhere between the main course and dessert that the conversation shifted.
"Anyway," Sukuna said, swirling the drink in his glass. "I went out again last week."
"You always make that sound so ominous." You knew about him and his coworker, Toji's antics.
"It wasn't really a date." He shrugged, as if you needed the clarification..
You felt something in your chest, quick and unexpected. "And how did that go?"
"Fine. She was nice." He took a drink. "We slept together, and she got mad when I was less than keen on spending the night." He seemed so matter-of-fact about it all, but you saw how he almost shuddered when setting his drink down.
This wasn't weird, you told yourself; the two of you had talked about his one-night stands before. "That's... to be expected, I think." You raise a judgmental eyebrow at him. Not knowing what else to say, you ask, "Did you at least have a good time? Any plans to go see her again?"
You knew there weren't.
"I don't know if it was good or bad. It just was." He ran his finger along the condensation of his glass, and there was something almost clinical in his tone. "I'm not gonna call."
You blinked. "Of course not."
He rolled his eyes, finally smirking again, "It's not how it sounds." Sukuna ran a hand through his hair. "It's just easier this way. There aren't expectations or complications. It's more like...just physical..." He pauses when he sees your face and quickly adds, "for now."
"That doesn't sound healthy." You murmur. This was a topic the two of you had touched on. Sukuna seemed averse to a relationship, but never said no to a woman who hit him up at a bar.
"Says who? You know I'm upfront about it all. I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious. If they're okay with that, what's the harm?"
You didn't want to say that you were starting to think he used sex as a way to avoid actual intimacy in such a nice restaurant with such nice service when the conversation was so light, so you just rolled your eyes.
"Aren't we both just enjoying being single without the pressure of a relationship?" His tone had a question to it now.
You weren't judging him... or are you? You don't know, but you shrug, not believing him when you say, "Yeah, I guess we're both just casual for now."
But he laughs at you. "No, no, you're not fine with casual. You're still worried about getting hurt again."
The ease of his saying it shouldn't have surprised you, but even now, his bluntness caught you off guard, it helps you know where your tone comes from when you say, "Wow, okay. Are you my therapist now?"
"I'm your friend." Sukuna leans back in his chair, something hard in his expression. "Let me ask you something. When's the last time you had sex?"
You felt heat rise in your face. You had talked about pretty much everything with Sukuna, but for some reason, this topic always left you feeling a bit scandalized. "That's none of your business."
"Exactly. So maybe don't judge my choices when you're clearly not making any of your own."
"And what does that mean?"
He leaned forward. "You spend all your time working or hanging out with friends. You always avoid actually putting yourself out there. I'm constantly hearing from you or your girls about the latest boy you rejected. I'm just saying, don't judge me as if you're perfect yourself."
The words hit harder than they should have, or maybe you just didn't understand why you cared, "I'm not avoiding anything. I just haven't met the right person."
"Or you're scared. Just like you're accusing me of being."
You both fell silent, the tension thick between you. Around you, other diners laughed and talked, oblivious to the argument playing out at your table.
"Look," He finally said, his voice softer, he rolls his eyes, "whatever, that was probably out of line."
"No, you're right." You agreed, although you wished he hadn't said it, you would settle for him admitting his own flaws. You pushed food around your plate. "Every time I think about dating seriously, I remember how stupid I was with Kenji. I don't feel like doing it again, and besides, I just haven't been able to catch feelings."
"Great. So we're both fucked up."
You think about denying it, but you had wondered the same thing for a while now, "Apparently." You managed, "Great friendship we've got going on here. Two emotionally stunted people enabling each other."
At least the two of you were honest. Sukuna grunts,"No way am I enabling you, I'm counting on you getting over this weird phase you're in and falling in love."
"Good luck." You meet his eyes.
Sukuna didn't seem to have an answer for that.
The rest of dinner passed with forced lightness, both of you trying to recapture the easy comfort from earlier and not quite managing it. When the check came, Sukuna grabbed it before you could, ignoring your protest. He probably felt bad for taking things too far.
Outside the restaurant, you stood on the sidewalk, neither of you quite ready to leave but not sure what to say.
"I'm sorry," you finally offered. "I don't want you feeling like I'm judging your dating life."
"No, you were right, I don't know why I am this way." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Maybe I'm just a mean fuck, I don't know. But if I trust anyone to tell me, it's you."
"Maybe you just have to be aware of it so you can grow from here."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I have a smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."
Sukuna's laugh was genuine this time. "I'm pretty sure that's an insult, not a compliment, but okay."
"It's both."
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. It was weird. You two never did this, and he stiffened when your hands found his back. For some reason, you just felt like it was the right thing to do. Neither of you had been particularly emotional tonight, but something seemed to have changed in between the words neither of you had said. After a second or so, he returned the gesture, and his weight felt almost unrealistically gentle for his size.
"We're going to be okay," you said into his chest. "Both of us."
It was out of nowhere, he didn't seem to have expected it, but he also didn't seem to mind, "Yeah." His arm tightened around you. "Of course we will."
But neither of you sounded entirely convinced.
--
That Winter
Sukuna sat across from Toji in their usual bar, nursing a beer and only half-listening to his friend's story about some disaster at work. His mind kept drifting to you. That afternoon, you had texted him about finding a new spot with coffee that was "aggressively mediocre." It reminded him of when you two started getting close.
"Are you even listening?" Toji asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Yeah, sorry. Our boss is an idiot, the job is impossible, the usual." Sukuna took a drink. "What were you saying?"
"I was asking about your girlfriend."
Sukuna pauses, beer in hand, squinting. "...I don't have a girlfriend."
"Right, the woman you spend every waking moment with but aren't dating." Toji rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to call her."
"She's my friend."
"Uh-huh." Toji's tone was deeply skeptical. "And this is... what, a booty call you text constantly, have dinner with multiple times a week, and apparently think about enough that you can't focus on my very important story."
"It's definitely not like that with her."
"Then what's it like?"
Sukuna considered how to explain it. "She's... I've just known her for a while, we just talk. About anything. Like I'm talking to you, but..."
"But she's a woman."
"That's not what I meant."
"But it's true, isn't it?" Toji leaned forward. "Look, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with having female friends. But the way you talk about her... man, that's not friendship. That's something else."
"No, seriously, we're just friends."
"Okay, fine. Let me ask you this." Toji finished his beer, signaling for another. "If she called you right now and said she met someone, that she's in a serious relationship... how would you feel?"
The thought made some surprising feelings twist in his gut. "I'd be happy for her."
"Bull. Shit."
"Nah, you don't get it, I would-"
"You'd be devastated. Don't lie to me." Toji accepted his new beer from the bartender with a grin. "I've known you for years. I can tell when you're full of shit."
Sukuna was quiet, turning his own beer in his hands. "It doesn't matter how I'd feel. I'd be happy for her to find someone good after all this time."
Toji pauses, "And you don't suppose you could be that person?"
"I know I couldn't." Sukuna's voice was suddenly firm. "Toji, I was married, you know that, I'm divorced in my 20's. I'm fucking around with random women all the time. You really think I'm in a position to offer anyone a real relationship?"
Toji rolls his eyes, "Ah, not this shit again, you know, I think you'd be ready if you just let yourself be."
"You, Toji, really are not one to talk."
--
Spring, the next year
"What exactly is it that you do with these women? You just get up out of bed and leave?"
You're sitting across from him at the burger place that reminds you both of your old college town. Sukuna is adding ketchup to his bun as he shrugs, "Sure."
"Well, explain to me how you do it." The man raises his brow as if your request made no sense. You continue, "What do you say?"
"I say I've got an early meeting or an early haircut, an early tattoo appointment, who cares-"
You stop him, "You don't take meetings. You said the one thing you like about your job is that you never have to sit through meetings."
He puts a finger up, taking an egregious bite, "They don't know that, they've just met me."
You just stare at him with your mouth agape. Sukuna begins to grin. "That's disgusting." You shake your head and dip a fry into your shake. You always regret doing it; it's never as good as you hope it will be, never as good as it once was.
"I know, I feel terrible." He shows no remorse at all.
"You know, I am so glad nobody I cared about ever got involved with you. They just would have ended up being some other woman you got up out of bed and left at 3 o'clock in the morning to the excuse of..." You fish around for something, "...needing to mow the grass- mind you, you don't even have a lawnmower- not that they would know that."
Sukuna chuckles, stealing one of your fries, "Why are you getting upset? This has nothing to do with you."
"Yes, it does." You say matter-of-factly, setting your smash-burger down. "You are an affront to all women you come across, and I, believe it or not, am a woman."
The man before you sighs, "Hey, I don't feel great about this, but I don't hear anyone complaining."
You scoff, "Of course not, you're out the door too fast."
He turns as if to look agast at the other customers, a silent audience who weren't listening, then he looks back at you, pauses strangely,
"...I think they have an okay time."
You meet those eyes, his ego always has this way of bugging you, "And how would you even know that?"
"What 'dya mean, how do I know? I know."
"What?...because they..." You flounce about for the word, shaking your hand about, but childishly, you can't bring yourself to say it.
Sukuna shakes his head, seemingly amused, "Yes, because they..." and he waves his hand around, mocking your own unconscious movement.
He's actually starting to bother you now, "And how do you know that they're really-" You waggle your hand again, and Sukuna stops you by grabbing it in his fist, laughing now.
"What are you saying? That they fake their orgasms?"
You yank your hand away, and a crawling feeling shivers over your neck. You lean back in your seat to look at him. You shrug. "It's possible." You don't say what you're thinking, which is (based on your own experience) that it's more likely than not.
Sukuna chuckles and hits the table this time with his palm when he tries to choke his laugh; it catches the attention of those at other booths. "Get out of here." He cackles.
"Why?" You bend your face to try and catch his eye as he goes in for a big bite, "Most women, if not all, have... absolutely done it."
"Well, they haven't faked it with me." Sukuna's voice has finality in it, like he wants this conversation to be done with now, but his behavior is actually bothering you now.
"How. Do. You. Know."
Sukuna grabs a napkin and wipes his fingers, holding your gaze for a long moment before simply, "Because I know."
You're now officially too annoyed to actually carry on, so you just huff, deciding to let it go. But, like he usually does when you give up on things like this, he just refuses to let you. "What? You don't think that I could tell the difference?"
You shake your head, wiping down the table a bit unnecessarily before mouthing a silent, "no".
"Get out of here." He just shrugs, like it doesn't bother him.
You're not sure if it's because he doesn't care about all those poor women he takes to his bed, or if he really just has that enormous of an ego.
--
Almost Winter
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, hear me out." You passed Sukuna the bread basket across the table at your usual place. It had finally become the case that you were sick and tired of hearing about his late-night escapades, and it just so happened that your co-worker, Fushiguro, was into his type.
Large, a bit broodish, and good for a chat. "She's perfect for you. She's also a physical therapist, so she's into fitness like you are. She's funny, she's stable, she's-"
"Not interested." Sukuna hummed taking a piece of bread just to have something to do with his hands. "I don't need you setting me up."
"Why not? You need to date someone seriously. This fuck boy stuff really isn't doing you any favors. Trust me, she'll like your tattoos too."
"Yeah, sure she will. You know what would help me?" He leans back in his seat, "You getting laid."
You nearly choked on your water. "Excuse me?"
"I'm serious. When's the last time you even went on a date? Like, an actual date, not drinks with coworkers that you pretend isn't networking."
"I literally do date, and what exactly does that have to do with my friend?"
"Name one guy you've seen in the last eight months."
You opened your mouth, then closed it. A while ago, you actually had tried to go out with a guy. The prospect of...liking someone, it had gnawed at you so painfully leading up to your evening that you almost backed out. Later that night, you were overcome with this frantic anxiety when he had reached out to hold your hand, something so small and simple. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to do it. Everything had been fine, but any emotional closeness he tried to bring seemed to trigger an ever stronger need for distance.
You never talked about it with Sukuna, which was weird because these days you told each other everything.
As of late, it became clearer and clearer that you were convincing yourself something was just wrong with every potential relationship that came along, you would go out of your way to find flaws in order to not grow attached. Every time, even with friendships that grew closer, when things began to get too serious, it's like you needed space. Your independence felt much safer than any vulnerability, and receiving affection -- to you-- was more vulnerable than giving it.
You had left early from that date, stricken with shame, and deciding never to talk about whatever this problem you had was, "That is so not the point. I can see you deflecting." You reply to the man across from you.
"That's exactly the point." Sukuna leaned back, arms crossed. "Don't tell me to go out with your girlfriend, you'll only be mad at me about how it ends up."
"Ew." You didn't want to think about what he meant by that.
He licks his fork, "I'll gladly take her out once you finally loosen up with some guy."
"Don't drag me into this." You sigh. Knowing that you would never allow yourself to be in a position to beg for fondness ever again. Maybe you were just frightened of abandonment, but something in you had changed with the humiliation of Kenji. Now, you were safe to never need another man again, and the idea of it had a confession coming out.
"You know," You grin strangely, "you were right all those years ago. I used to have a problem with chasing a fantasy, but I don't think I'm really interested in a relationship anymore."
Sukuna stops whatever he was doing. He squints for a moment, his brows coming together in a way you rarely ever see. There is a long pause before he says, "I didn't want to be right about that."
"Sure you did."
His mouth slightly quirks. "Okay, maybe a little, but not really."
You tap your foot, remembering how sweet Fushiguro (your coworker) had begged to meet your "beefy tattooed friend". You pulled out your phone. "How's this: I'll let you set me up if you let me set you up,"
Sukuna's eyes jump up from his plate. You quickly add, "and you have to take it seriously."
"That's a terrible idea."
"Scared?"
His eyes narrow. "Of what?"
"Of putting yourself out there. Of actually letting yourself like her instead of running away the morning after."
He squints at you, his jaw tightened, a little smile, a little ego, but after a long moment, he nods. "Fine. One date. But I get to pick the guy for you."
"Of course, you know I've already picked your date."
"Deal."
You shook hands across the table, both of you trying to ignore the fact that the gesture felt more like a challenge than an agreement.
Three weeks later, you found yourself sitting across from Toji Zenin, a guy Sukuna knew from work (and had told you all about). He was handsome in a conventional way. He had nice dark hair.
You liked dark hair. He also had a flirty smile and big hands; you should like him. He would have been a good catch, but as hard as you tried that night, you just couldn't seem to be at ease.
"So, Sukuna tells me you're into fitness too," you said, cutting your steak with precise movements.
"Mm-hmm." He pushed himself forward, chewing quickly before speaking, "Tell me a bit about what you do."
You launched into a detailed explanation of your latest team development project, and he nodded at appropriate moments while your mind drifted, explaining what an Executive Assistant even does. You wondered how Kuna's date was going. Fushiguro was a coworker, but also a friend. She was smart, funny, and also quite beautiful.
A part of you was distracted thinking about whether they would sleep together. If he would bring her to his place, if he had cleaned, how he would do it, if tomorrow she would tell you about how mean he had been, or maybe if she would say...something else...
The thought of it made you feel a bit weird. You hoped he didn't mess it up with her.
"Don't you think?" Toji asked, and you realized you'd completely lost the thread of conversation.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said, the future of sports betting is pretty unsustainable in comparison to regular gambling, don't you think?"
"Oh. Yeah, for sure." You took a drink of your wine and tried to focus. How on earth had you landed on sports betting? "I've actually heard about the analytics of it...I'm pretty sure that stuff is more and more like slot machines..." Your words were getting quieter; you didn't really care to talk about this stuff, but then again, you wouldn't mind talking about it with Sukuna.
Maybe it was exactly what you had feared, maybe you just didn't like the fact that you were on a date. Maybe you were wrong when you thought you were over all this stuff. Maybe none of this would ever be enough for you.
Suddenly, you were feeling a bit upset, but it wasn't an angry feeling; it was much worse than that.
You blink hard, remembering how Kenji had looked at you when you said you wanted to be married. It had been after months of arguments; he was hardly home, he was always irritable, you never asked anything of him because it was too burdensome, you knew it.
He had said some variant of, "Fine, we will." He had sounded annoyed, and he had seemed to think it would make you happy.
You had felt like it should have been. But it hadn't.
This love thing just didn't work for you, you know that now. You had learned a long time ago that shutting down is the best response to any of these strong emotions, especially when you know they are coming out of nowhere. You know how to rely on yourself; you no longer wanted any kind of emotional support.
And now you feel silly.
"Well, the key is finding the right people, people who have like... mules, you know, that's where the long-term value is." He smirked up from his plate. Poor Toji, he hadn't done anything wrong, but you felt you needed to go now, slink off and apologize about whatever came to mind.
You nodded, letting him talk, though.
When the dinner came to its end, the two of you had officially slipped back to "polite conversation", and as you drifted nearer and nearer to the exit, you said some variant of, "I'll call you."
He smiled noncommittally, and you had a feeling he was aware you would not call.
--
Inside your apartment, you immediately texted Sukuna.
That was terrible, how could you do this to me.
He hadn't done anything wrong; you just wanted to tell him how you were feeling, and even though you knew you couldn't get into the details of why it would never work, you wanted to open the possibility for your next conversation. After a moment, you add,
How was yours?
And then,
Be nice to her
His response came quickly after, surprising you:
I'm always nice.
Followed by,
Ehh, leaving now. She's sweet, but not really for me.
You're so lucky I'm not banging her.
You sigh,
Please do not. Not if you're telling me she's not your type.
He "thumbs-up"ed your message, and instead of replying directly he offered,
Want to come over? I have beer.
You consider it. Something inside of you wanted to hear about his date. About what they talked about, what he had said to her, why he didn't think she was 'for him.'
Be there in 20.
When you arrived, he was already on his second beer, you curled up on your couch in the comfortable clothes you had quickly changed into.
"So, Toji was that bad, huh?" He asked, dropping down beside you, handing you a sweet cider.
You consider joking, but you can't seem to find it within yourself, "Not actually, no." You hold back on saying 'I wish it had worked', because it's not as if you had tried, "You forgot to mention he's a gambling addict."
Sukuna chuckles, "He's not."
"Could've fooled me." He chuckles again. "How was Fushiguro?"
"Beautiful." He rolled his shoulders back on the cushions, spreading his thighs out. If he still had shoes on, you envision him knocking them off and lounging like a jungle cat, "she laughed at my jokes." Sukuna shrugged, and you turned to face him. "Felt nothing."
You pause, "Nothing?"
"Nothing." He leaned his head back against the couch. "We had dinner, we talked, she's cool. And the whole time I just kept thinking..."
"What?"
He turned to look at you. "I kept thinking I'd rather be here." The silence almost killed you. What did he mean by that?
"Home." He clarifies.
The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning neither of you seemed ready to examine. But then his words were flowing out, "I didn't really... want to sleep with her."
That drew you up short, surprised you, "Really? I mean... You didn't anyway..."
"Yeah, I didn't." He pursed his mouth, adding, "It was weird to not have that expectation. I knew you wouldn't want me to. But it was nice all the same."
You didn't know what it was that he was saying exactly, "It's not that I 'didn't want you to', I just didn't want you hurting her."
"Right." He takes a gulp.
"There's no expectation to sleep with the women you're around, you know that, right?" It seems too obvious to you, but he scrunches up his face.
"I don't know, I'm kinda a slut, you say it yourself." And you do, but you wouldn't say it right now, not when you're being honest with one another. "I don't really know why I go out and do that shit."
"I mean..." You look out the window, because he wasn't meeting your eyes anymore, "I guess because it feels good?"
He shrugs, "I guess."
The truth was, Sukuna felt he had very little control over his own choices; he was a promiscuous guy, he had been in college, and he had been when he met his ex-wife. But when he was in a real relationship, he was loyal.
He hadn't even minded the fact that she would only show her affection with sex when they were together. He had loved her, he had loved being with her, had loved making love to her...maybe not so much in the end.
But he had loved when she loved him, though. No matter what.
"Well," you finally said, trying to keep your tone light, "at least we tried."
"Yeah." He had a lot of breath in his voice, his eyes were looking somewhere far away. "At least we tried."
People always talk about how those who fall into addiction do so to cope with a poor family life, or maybe a toxic relationship, a dissatisfaction with their current predicament, but that hadn't been the case for Emi. Maybe she had tried them for fun, maybe it was boredom, he could never really be sure; everything had fallen apart so fast.
It didn't take long before it bled into their relationship, taking its toll on her, making her... different. Everything about the two of them had always been passion, from start to finish. They had gotten married young, fallen so quickly into each other, but eventually the nights they shared had Sukuna feeling like there was this... well of affection he could no longer draw from anymore.
All too quickly, she only ever seemed to maw at his body like a hungry animal. Maybe it used to be fun, but he couldn't seem to remember that time.
He would stumble onto eggshells at first, but eventually, he had learned not to turn her down. One night, she had come home, her touch had been so slow and heavy, it didn't feel like her anymore. And when he placed his palms against her cheeks and kissed her so intently, whispering a questioning, "maybe not tonight?", she had just burst into tears.
And he just couldn't understand.
She was hurting so terribly, and it wasn't him, it wasn't her family; it wasn't even her job that she was getting closer and closer to losing, it wasn't anything at all, but to her, it felt like everything was caving in.
That night, he hadn't wanted to, but she made him.
He must not love her anymore. That's what she had wailed to him that night. She wept, but it wasn't true. He would do anything for her. Anything to make her know. And so he did it, to prove it to her.
It wasn't so bad. He had been much stronger than she was; she couldn't have forced him to do anything even if she tried.
The women at the bars couldn't force him into anything either,
Still, somehow, he felt this tight lack of control in his chest; he didn't like being this way. Sometimes he enjoyed it, sure, he liked pleasuring women, that had always been true.
But when he had been with her, he knew now that was when he started to crave it as if it were love itself.
To her, it had been just that.
It had been all the love she could give, and thus, all the love he received.
And that night, quietly drinking with you curled up on his sofa, Sukuna decided what he really wanted was to stop, even if it took some time.
--
Some time later, New Year's Eve
The party was everything you usually hated: crowded, loud, full of people you barely knew, making forced conversation while waiting for midnight. But Fushiguro had insisted, and you were trying out this exposure therapy thing, and besides, you'd also completely run out of excuses to stay home alone.
You were watching her across the room, mutual friends and strangers around, but in the moment, you're focused on how she's dancing with Kuna's friend, Toji. They looked so good together. It was funny how it happened. You and Sukuna's best friends might genuinely be perfect for one another.
You couldn't deny you were a little jealous.
It comes and goes in waves. You love your independence, but sometimes you're lonely, you refuse to rely on someone, but there's still this hole in your heart that wants something, something you refuse to give it.
You had been propositioned the night before, inviting you to a different party, but you had said no.
Recently, you started to wonder more and more about what your problem was. Even now, you were contemplating a graceful exit when you spotted Kuna across the room.
He was alone, holding a drink and looking about as comfortable as you wish you felt. When your eyes met, his expression shifted, his eyebrows raised, and he wiggled a finger in a "get over here" kind of way.
"Fancy seeing you here," you said, working your way through the crowd to his side.
"You weren't just about to leave, were you?" He handed you his cup without being asked, and you took a grateful sip, giving him a nod. "Say it isn't so. Let's get out of here?"
"God, yes."
You didn't discuss where you were going, just let him walk you through the quiet streets until you began to come upon a familiar park you both had visited these past couple of summers. It was empty at this hour, the playground equipment casting strange shadows in the streetlight.
You couldn't deny it. You and Sukuna were getting older.
You always felt like this during the new year, this panicky feeling you couldn't ever give a name.
Thank God, Sukuna was here with you.
The desires you kept hidden sometimes peaked their head up, but it was comforting to remember that you had him. You had each other.
The two of you walked around for a bit, and the outside air started to leave a chill on the back of your neck. Eventually, you came upon the swingset and took a seat.
Sukuna brought up New Year's resolutions, and you just chuckled.
Maybe the stress from the holidays was getting to you, maybe you had taken a few too many sips from his cup, but you said what you had been wanting to say for a while now. Honesty was always easier with him; you found it more helpful, too, with this new maturity he had developed.
"I just wish I wasn't like this... but I feel like I can never change."
Anytime you teetered on the edge of bringing it up, your friends would talk about how it wasn't a big deal, that you were just self-sufficient, but Sukuna didn't say anything. Not for a long while.
"Remember that conversation we had?" Sukuna asked as you both sat on the swings, the metal chains creaking gently. "In the car. About whether men and women could be friends."
You look over at him, his feet were firmly placed on the mulch, you stop the slow kicking of your legs, "Hard to forget. You were pretty adamant."
"I was wrong." He kicked at the wood chips beneath his feet.
"Am I getting deja vu or have you said that to me before?"
"I'm trying to say people can change, you know?" He pauses, looking at you seriously.
You felt so glad you could have someone like him. He just...understood you, he would listen without making you feel crazy,
"You think so?"
"I do...at least... I'm trying...you know that.." He sighs, and you turn back to look at him.
You know it's true. You've seen it. You pointed it out after Toji and Fushijuro got together because Sukuna doesn't go out to drink anymore, he doesn't bring girls home, or at least, he doesn't tell you about it.
And there was something so raw in his expressions recently. He spoke with less certainty these days, but somehow that made him seem more level-headed.
He threw his hands out of his pockets, admiring the winter air, "You know I can't imagine my life without you in it." You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.
That was sudden. What was he saying?
He didn't stop, "Talking to you is the best part of my day. Don't act like I haven't told you that before. When something happens, good or bad, you're the person I want to tell."
You pulled back from him mentally, unsure of how to respond, "Kuna..." You stand up and slowly pace away, requiring the comfort that it brought.
"And I know we said friends. You're my best friend."
You stop, how had you not expected this? You start to feel sick to your stomach, because deep down, you had always known this was coming; you had been teetering on the edge of it for forever, and somewhere deep inside you, you had hoped it could stay that way. Tucked away and safe. A dark fantasy you never shared even with yourself. Something, that in your moments where you were the most honest with yourself, you allowed yourself to find romantic.
"...I... you know I feel the same-"
"No, listen," He shakes his head like he's in pain. You stop pacing and face him. He's looking down at his shoes, hands in his lap, "Toji asked me something a while back, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."
You watch as he leans his head against the swing's chain, staring, waiting for you to ask, so you do, "What did he say?"
"He asked how I'd feel if you met someone. If you got into a serious relationship." His hands tightened on the swing chains. "And the truth is, I genuinely think that it would kill me." He sounds like someone is choking him. He doesn't have enough air, even though he's heaving.
Sukuna purses his lips, shaking his head, "The thought of you with someone, it makes me want to....I don't even know." He sighs your name because you are starting to cover the sides of your head with your hands. "I want you to know you can be loved... like that. I want to see you safe and comfortable with someone, I want... I want to show you."
You couldn't breathe either. Exhaling, you dig your nails into your palm. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm tired of this weird thing we have going on. And because I want to tell you the truth? And because... I want to show you it can be good. That it doesn't have to be scary. I'm..." He shakes his head again, finally getting off the swing, running a hand over his mouth, "I'm saying it because I'm tired of lying to everyone. You know it. You have to." He's shaking his head, like he expects you to finish his sentence, "I'm in love with you."
Sukuna throws his hands up, a "what now" type of gesture, and then there is just the moon and stars in the space between you. Little puffs of warm air that are clouding the chilly night. He keeps going, maybe because you haven't said anything yet, and he needs to fill the space.
Maybe it's because you're hurting him just like you hurt everyone else who gets close. "...and I know that's probably the worst thing I could tell you because it ruins everything, doesn't it? but I can't-"
You take a step back, shakily breathing.
You're not some wounded animal, but he's looking at you like you might dash, a scared little deer.
"I really don't think it would have to be that different. We can be honest with each other, can't we? Haven't we been? I swear I'll do whatever you want, I'll be whatever you need. You know you can trust me....you know that."
In some deep recesses of your mind, you wonder if you would have ever allowed yourself to envision this happening. It doesn't feel real. Of course, you think, how had you not seen this coming?
It's scary, your hands are shaking, and every part of you is telling you to haul ass and get away from here, to text the next morning that the two of you were drunk, knowing he was dead sober, maybe pretend this never happened, to forget, or maybe, to never allow closeness with Sukuna again.
But louder than any fear, there's a crashing wave of realization that you cannot let that happen. With your wobbly feet, you tiptoe nearer, reaching for his hand.
He had been waving it around just a moment ago. You don't know why you do it, you just feel as though you should.
You and Sukuna rarely touched. It just wasn't really your thing, and he didn't mind. But right now, in this moment, it felt like the most correct response.
You stood up as straight as you could and closed the distance between you both and pulled him by his back into your arms. If you hadn't, maybe you might have actually sprinted. For a second, he froze, shocked, and then his arms came around you in turn, pulling you closer, almost painfully so.
He was trembling. How strange.
His grip was relentless on your body, cradling you so close that you wouldn't have been able to escape, unless you asked.
He felt like he must be breaking you; he knew how you got, how you just...couldn't let someone in, not if it meant love. So when you finally broke apart, he took the moment to rest his forehead against yours.
"I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't, but I'm in love with you, and I need you to believe me,"
"I just..." And you're doing it all wrong; the words aren't coming. You love him, too. Of course you do, how could you not? He's the safest place you have. He's so worried, you're sure, that in telling you his feelings, he's ruining your safety, but as he holds you there, you realize he hadn't. Not really.
He cannot see your face, you look down, forehead no longer on his, tuck yourself into his chest, and hiccup some air. "You know I..."
And he's nodding, and his shaking hasn't stopped, so you try to speed it up. "No! No, I'm saying.... that I... oh, Kuna, how could I not love you?"
And you've crumpled to your knees now, but he's falling after you, as if he hadn't heard the words. Holding your shoulders, you gasp, "You know I'm horrible at this, I'm so bad, I could never be what you deserve-"
His grip tightens, he's frantically shaking his head, but he doesn't interrupt, "Damnit, Sukuna, of course I love you too."
And right there in the empty park, at quarter till midnight on New Year's Day, you feel a weight unlike anything you've ever felt come off your shoulders as Sukuna drapes his own over yours.
It hadn't been easy; the sickness did not depart, but at least you weren't hiding anywhere but his chest anymore.
The two of you sat there too long to tell, a stupid laugh or a mildly agonized whimper joining the quiet.
After a while, you pulled back a bit wetly just enough to see his face properly. "What do we even do now?"
"Well," Sukuna said, and he was being very soft, very genuine, wiping a stray tear off your cheek, "it's almost midnight. We could kiss at the stroke of the new year like everyone else at every other party."
And the idea of Itadori Sukuna offering you a kiss was genuinely so bizarre that you covered your warming face in your hands. You let your weight rest against his, and he takes it on completely, without complaint. In fact, for him, it's a great pleasure. You mutter into his coat, "We're not at the party."
"No...we're not."
In the distance, you could hear fireworks starting early, people too impatient to wait for midnight. It appeared Sukuna was too; his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.
But now it was just his cheek that had a tear.
"I'm not good at this," he said quietly. "It hurts to want you this badly."
"I know." And although it was different, you really did.
"I'm going to fuck it up, almost certainly."
"Almost certainly." You covered his hands with yours, for the first time, allowing an inkling of hope to bubble to the surface. "You know I will too."
Will. What a definitive word. So committed, but you know you meant it.
"We're going to be fine. We have been all this time."
He nods, and quietly, he feels like this might be a dream. "We have." He seems like he's testing out new words, trying them out on his tongue. "I want to make this official. I want you to know you can trust me with this. I want to be good for you."
You're shaking your head, and all you can utter is, "So long as it's you and me."
Perhaps it had been so frightening because the idea of losing him was so much worse, but it was Sukuna. You could trust him to hold this tender part of you. You knew he would take care of it.
When midnight came, you were still in that park. He had dragged you to your feet, and as if you were still teenagers, with an expression of anxiety and excitement, a gentle nod his way, he quickly bent himself to meet you, and a quick and over-too-soon peck was placed ever so softly on your lips.
You were so inexperienced, so repressed, the feel of him caused another swell of panic to crest, that perhaps it wouldn't work. And how terrible that would be. But then he was covering his face. A stupid grin barely hidden, and his presence alone soothed you once more.
Both of you were near laughter at the absurdity of it all. All these years of friendship, of circling around what you both felt, of pretending that what you had was simple when it had never been simple at all.
You wrapped your arms around him again, if nothing else but to feel his heat. Now that the seal was broken, it was easier to allow yourself this closeness. "You know," you said eventually, wrapped in the man's jacket as you both saw fireworks bloom far away. You're chuckling strangely, "What was that you said about men and women not being able to be friends?"
"Huh?" He's a bit dazed, "I took those words back."
"I think I recall you saying all those years ago," you leaned back, his arm automatically wrapping behind you, "that you would need a lover who is also a friend."
"...Did I say that?"
You're not so sure, "I think...I mean, it's probably for the best that we're so close."
Sukuna smiled, nodding. He grasped the back of your hand up to his face to press a kiss there. "Probably...When did you get so wise?"
You whisper, "I have a very smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."
His tone was teasing now. "I thought I got promoted."
You furrow your brows until, "Ahhh, wow....Boyfriend?"
"Almost sounds too plain," He pulled you closer.
You agreed, it sounded way too casual, you shake your head, smirking, the ease of conversation returning, almost as if nothing had changed al all, "Sukuna Itadori, are you proposing to me in a park at twelve-thirty on New Year's Day?"
He hadn't been, he was going to spin something about how perhaps friends were always more romantic than lovers, but he's grinning now, "Would you say yes if I were?"
You turned to look at him properly, at this man who had gone from an irritating stranger to your best friend to the person you couldn't imagine living without.
You hadn't expected his response, and you flounder a bit before just choking, "Ask me again in a couple of years."
His spine straightens up promptly, "Years?" Your eyes did not sway and he runs a hand through his hair, "Fine. Deal, I'll wait." He kissed your hand again. "Clearly, you know I'm good at that. But I'll have you know I'm never letting you forget you said yes."
As the two of you stand, walking back in the direction you came, you think about all that had transpired this night. Leaning against him, you smile, "Oh, I'm counting on it."
Around you, the city celebrated the new year, full of noise and light and promise. But in that quiet moment, just the two of you, it felt like the only thing that mattered was right here. The secret hope you'd both been searching for, the one that had been obvious all along if you'd just been brave enough to see it.
He had been with you this whole time. Sometimes love was friendship itself, and sometimes, the most important thing was recognizing when that couldn't be enough anymore, and having the courage to reach for something more.
They say when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
For Sukuna and you, that had started far before romance had joined the equation.
Only now, whatever the answer to the age-old question, you and Sukuna sadly never solved it.
Sukuna is a highly sought after tiger hybrid who was returned by his latest buyer for “performance issues”. You are a revered hybrid researcher personally tasked with getting to the bottom of the hybrids apparent disinterest in all of his potential mates.
✎ Words: 15k | Ao3 | Masterlist | Prev in this series
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Your finger moved slowly around the rim of the glass, tracing the smooth ring. It was slippery beneath the pad of your manicured finger, still a little wet with wine and rouge remnants of your lip gloss, the collection of which was turning the glass a sticky pink as you traced the shape around and around and around.
You weren’t even really sure what you were saying, you only knew that your lips were still moving, something plain and pleasant and entirely boring slipping out from between them. Hell, you were even managing to bore yourself as you droned. A shallow sentence strung together in pretty reply to your date sitting across from you, who was equally plain and pleasant and entirely boring as your meaningless drivel. A fittingly mediocre reply for a fittingly mediocre date, you supposed.
Whatever you had said must have been satisfying enough for him though, as he followed it up with a story that was beginning to sound exactly like the five previous anecdotes he’d chosen to enlighten you with. All of which were egregiously self-important, and sufficed by not a single follow up question about yourself. So instead of listening like a good date would have, you leaned back in your chair, slumping further down toward the marble floor with each supplementary vowel from your dates lips.
Entirely unperturbed by your antisocial behavior, your date continued blabbing, and you sat nursing your solitary glass of wine and thinking about what a waste of a good outfit and makeup the night had been.
You usually kept your outward presentation simple, polished and professional. Pretty, but subtle. Mascara and a little eyebrow gel, a BB cream, maybe a touch of blush, and some concealer if you were feeling particularly inspired. But tonight you’d decided to go all out. A Friday night date at an upscale restaurant you’d had on your bucket list for literal years, with an allegedly rich and handsome man? You’d even dabbed on some of your most luxurious perfume before you left - an expensive bottle you’d splurged on as a gift to yourself when you’d graduated, saved for only the rarest of occasions.
Just like your makeup, when it came to fragrance you usually kept things light. Soft inoffensive florals, a subtly sweet skin scent, or nothing at all. But this was supposed to be a special night - the giddy promise of something new and a night finally away from the office - so you’d splurged, and left your apartment perfumed in a cloud of indulgently rich spices. Too bad your dates good looks and seemingly bottomless bank account couldn’t ever hope to cover his average personality.
You’d honest to god nearly jumped from the restaurant seat with relief when your phone rang at the tail end of his next monologue - buzzing along the silk tablecloth where you’d tucked it beside your unused cutlery. Prayers answered, with a mock apology you tilted the screen and let your eyes roam over the caller ID. You weren’t even upset when you saw the research facility office number printed there. You’d take wrestling with a rogue hybrid over the rest of this date any day.
Plus, it would save you the awkwardness of turning down your dates offer to check out his "luxurious" penthouse hotel room. Which you were certain was where the night was heading, given the bedroom eyes he’d been shooting you across the table ever since you’d leaned down to pluck something from your handbag and he’d snagged a glimpse down the sloping cut of your neckline.
With a string of placating apologies and a hurried peck to your cheekbone that lingered a little too long for comfort, you fled. Slinging your coat on and gliding out onto the street with the crisp click of your stilettos, arm raised to flag a cab.
The facility was dark when the taxi came to a screeching halt out front, though even through the dimmed lights you could see the hurried silhouettes of the night nurses bumbling around the foyer - apparently frenzied by the flash of the headlights. You shook your head, thanked the driver and slipped a generous folded note into their palm as you stepped out into the crisp night air, coat closed snugly around your throat.
One of the night staff faculty gave you the rundown when you finally made it inside, or rather they tried to, though you could barely make out a single word with how quickly the words were spilling out. In fact they were trembling all over - lower lip wobbling, shoulders tense and jumping when you grasped them gently and guided them to the staff room. With a worried expression warping your face, you pressed a plastic cup of water from the visitors refreshment table into their hand and insisted they sat down. Only once their shoulders had stopped trembling and they had gulped down a few gracious mouthfuls of water, were you finally able to comprehend just why exactly you’d been contacted so late.
There had been a fight. More specifically an altercation that had turned physical between two of the more… aggressive high class predator hybrids. From everyone’s general hesitance and the air of hushed tension that seemed to have fallen over the facility, you didn’t even need to ask who the primary culprit was. You couldn’t even feign surprise when the nurse shakily murmured the name “Sukuna” like they were afraid he might hear them and burst through the door, teeth bared and claws outstretched, seeking retribution.
You couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to your last official visit, one that had undoubtedly blurred the professional lines between doctor and patient to a degree that had sweat prickling at the back of your neck even reminiscing about it. You’d hoped the tests would come back negative, give you a reason to transfer him to another facility, to another doctor who specialized in complex breeding programs with difficult patients. But to your dismay the results had come back crystal clear and resolute - Sukuna was a perfectly healthy, virile male.
With his previous buyer pulling out after his blatant refusal to integrate, and with no real reason to transfer him, you’d instead resigned to place him back into his previous lodging within the facility, back under your personal care.
Since then you had been trialing him with other predator type hybrids with the desperate hope that he might take a mate, or at least shed some of the antisocial behavior he’d begun to display. Suffice to say it had not been going well, though you’d never dreamed that he would stoop to physical brawls. In fact you’d imagined prior to the program that he’d have thought that he was above petty cat fights, that no other hybrid at the facility was worth lifting a paw to.
Not that you could say you were entirely surprised - Sukuna was probably the proudest hybrid, no, the proudest man you’d ever known. Through that lens it wasn’t surprising in the least that he would be hesitant to share the spotlight in any sense of the word. Resources, territory. You’d even caught him glaring through the glass like he could snap bones through will alone if he’d happened to pass by while you were working with another hybrid, regardless of their type, class, or even gender. Maybe the big cat was getting territorial in his old age. The thought made you chuckle, though you cleared your throat swiftly to cover your amusement when the nurse crinkled their nose at you, still wide eyed as a doe in high beams.
“Alright,” you nodded, lips still spread into a tight smile, “I’ll go see him.”
The moment you stepped through the door into his quarters, Sukuna's nose scrunched in what you could only read as unfettered disgust.
Ignoring his blatantly rude greeting, you instead busied yourself by surveying the room as you finished buttoning the last few clasps of your coat, tugged tight over your sleek gown. The acrid smell of stale blood hung sharp and musky in the air, and your own nose twitched responsively as you eased into the room.
“You couldn’t let me have a single night off, huh Sukuna?” You greeted cheerily, taking a few strides further inward, heels clicking crisply over the smooth linoleum.
Your movement was slow, a little hesitant, still not certain of his temperament. You stopped a few metres shy of him, taking in the sight. Despite the dramatic reports from your faculty, all together he didn’t look too bad. He was lounging across the excessively large zabuton set he’d insisted on having installed, though the sheer size of him would make any piece of furnitureseem small. One thick arm lay outstretched sideways along a few stray cushions, the other was hooked in a subtly defensive posture around his abdomen, his hand tucked beneath the fold of his robe.
“And here I was thinking you just missed my company, doc,” came Sukuna’s flat reply after a few moments of consideration.
Beneath the curl of his tensed forearm you could see a smear of red staining the striped hide of his chest, beginning to seep into the silk of his robe. As if sensing your scrutiny, he huffed, flaming ear flicking alongside his tail in evident irritation. Your eyes snagged on the motion, trailing up to catalog the crisp sliver that had been sliced from his ear in a ragged and bloody triangle. When your gaze shifted back down to his face, you found that he was watching you in return. Sharp eyes narrowed to slits of ember, tracking the slow approach of your stilettos as you moved across the floor.
“So you and the bull, huh?” You continued easily, careful to keep your voice light and unobtrusive.
As you spoke you eased yourself to your knees, creeping over the tatami until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, that if you reached out you could clasp a hand over his shoulder. To your relief he didn’t revolt, simply watched you begin to unpack the first aid kit you’d brought, expression scrunched into a lightly defensive scowl and nostrils flared.
“Shame, I thought you’d appreciate the company of another apex,” you continued, tugging on a pair of shiny blue gloves with a practiced ease, “Maybe you’d share stories, might even become friends?”
He spat at that, and his striped tail writhed atop the tile like a great lashing serpent.
“You can’t possibly think that I’d want anything to do with that pigheaded fool.” He spat with a venom so biting that you almost flinched.
Holding your ground, you instead exhaled a long breath, and with it suddenly you were exhausted. You raised a hand to delicately rub a knuckle over the space between your brows, conscious of the makeup still slathered there, which you were sure was creasing by now.
“You could have at least let one of the night nurses patch you up,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again with a newfound fatigue, “really, they’re much more skilled with a bandage than I am.”
“No.” He huffed in a tone of scorching finality, nose lifted to peer down at you in reproach. “You’re my doctor, so you’ll tend to my needs.”
“Alright, alright,” you yielded, much too tired to argue with his idea of correct patient care, “sit up for me then, show me where it hurts.”
With only a mild roll of his eyes he slipped the sleeve of his robe downward, revealing an angry red slash running from his plump pec to the center of his chest. The skin surrounding was beginning to bruise a sickly purple, indicative of brute force impact hard enough to split skin.
“Ouch,” you winced with a genuine sympathy, leaning forward a little to peer at the wound, “that’ll teach you to go toe to toe with a prime bull, hm?”
He snarled, seemingly on instinct, though the sound eased into a low rumble when he saw you jump a little at the outburst.
“Don’t say that like we’re on equal footing,” he huffed, though the tone was a touch softer now, edged with a little less bite, “and don’t ever pair me with him again. Actually, don’t pair me with any of them. None are worthy to stand beside me.”
You laughed suddenly at that. A deep, full bellied laugh, and when you finally recovered enough to wink an eye open, you found that he was utterly silent - lips pressed flat, watching you with slightly widened amber eyes.
“None are worthy,” you mocked lightly, in a similarly low rumble, “you’re very amusing sometimes, Sukuna.”
He grumbled something beneath his breath, but offered no further argument as you continued to giggle quietly to yourself. Though you joked now, what he had done to the other hybrid was no laughing matter, and you were sure the nurse tasked with patching the other hybrid up would be looking at the self proclaimed king of the jungle with a newfound unease come daylight.
Shaking your head a little and with your lips still tugged into a soft smile, you diverted your gaze to your lap and began to sift through your collection of tools. From your peripheral you watched him lean in slightly as you worked, huffing great lungfuls of air through his flared nostrils so deep you could feel the vacuum against your skin. His lips parted a little as if he were tasting the air, expression turned quizzical.
“What is that?” He questioned finally, sounding genuinely perplexed.
“Hm?” You hummed, lifting your head in curiosity, “What’s what?”
“That stench,” he groused, nose once again scrunched in displeasure.
“Stench?” You echoed incredulously, lifting an arm to sniff at your coat. You sucked in a deep breath, but could identify nothing but the faint remnants of your perfume soaking your skin below.
“My perfume?” You wondered, “I’m very sorry if it’s not to your refined taste, my lord.”
You supposed you couldn’t blame him for the negative reaction, he didn’t get exposed to many artificial scents cooped up as he was, and with a nose as delicate as his you’re sure even the tiniest spritz was unbearably strong. It was for that exact reason that the facility had rules similar to most hospital or care facilities - scents were to be kept light an in offensive, or not worn at all.
“You happened to interrupt a personal outing of mine with your little cat-fight,” you explained, inching forward to inspect the wound closer. Your eyes trailed over the curve of his chest, relieved to find that it was already beginning to seal at the edges, blood drying to a hard crust.
To your surprise, he said nothing else. He simply settled back into place atop his zafu and watched you in silence as you moved. You worked in mutual silence, though his nose still twitched subtly, crinkling each time you turned, the movement sending a gust of perfumed air toward him. A few times you caught his eyes wandering too, dipping beneath the collar of your lab coat with a barely hidden curiosity, those pinpoint eyes surely catching glimpses of the silky fabric hidden beneath.
Trying your best to ignore him and keep your expression neutral, you focused instead on applying a simple adhesive bind. You delicately spritzed the site with liquid saline before lifting your hands to his chest, firmly pinching the skin together. His pec was warm beneath your hands, hot enough that you could feel his skin beginning to stick to the latex of your gloves. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, neck flushed beneath his watchful gaze, feeling the steady beat of his heart thrumming beneath your palms. After a moment, satisfied that the site was clean and aptly closed, you applied a thin slather of medical adhesive to the wound, brushing delicately over the slit to seal the edges.
With your hands free, you reached into the kit and pulled out a tube of antibacterial ointment. Without thinking, you began unscrewing the lid of the tube, and his brow furrowed. You squeezed a dab onto your gloved finger, and when you lifted it to his cheek he went rigid, recoiling away from your outstretched hand with wide eyes and his fuzzy ears flattened to his head.
“I’ll clean the smaller cuts now,” you explained, hand lingering in front of him, “stay still.”
He didn’t reply, simply eyed your hand warily when it inched closer. You held your breath, feeling the burning weight of his gaze on you as you slowly thumbed dots of antibacterial cream over his face, rubbing the salve into the spatter of cuts that laced his cheeks. His brow twitched under your delicate touch, tip of his tail beginning to sway back and forth over the mat.
“There,” you said finally when the wounds were finally clean and sealed, wiping the back of a gloved hand over your brow, “now, is there anything else before I go get some much deserved sleep?”
The uncharacteristic quiet that had settled over the room was enough to have your pulse quickening beneath your skin, but it was the way he was looking at you that really made the fine hair along your neck prickle. Carmine eyes narrowed, equal parts reverent and critical, and he moved before you could manage an argument.
“What are you-?…”
You froze, body entirely rigid as his paw lifted, fingers wrapping around your jaw with a surprising gentleness that you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Brows knitted in sudden determination, eyes locked on your face, he leaned in, and you couldn’t help the small noise of unadulterated fear that slipped from your throat as you tugged feebly against his iron grip.
There was the dig of his fingers at either hinge of your jaw, the clinical scent of the antibacterial salve, and then his breath, hot and damp tickling your lashes, before you felt something wet and rough press against your cheek. Your eyes shot open, and with a heart stopping flush you realized that he was licking you.
His massive sandpapered tongue lapped flat over your face, a single stripe over the patch of skin where your date had kissed you, square on your cheekbone. Once your cheek was sufficiently lathered, he moved down, tongue curling up the strip of skin behind your ear, over the line of your jaw where you’d dabbed a few spritzes of perfume earlier.
After a few additional indulgent laves of his tongue, he pulled away and released you. Eyes half-lidded, looking oddly satisfied as he traced the blooms of raw skin left in his wake. Seemingly satisfied, he once again met your gaze, and the contact was heady enough to make you press your thighs together beneath the spread of your lab coat.
“Don’t come in here reeking like that ever again.” He drawled, pink tongue slipped out to swipe at his lips, like a predator licking its chops after a satisfying kill.
You’re not sure you’d ever fled a room quicker. Only feeling your pulse begin to settle once you were in the safety of your apartment and had shed your evening clothes.
Thrust beneath the spray of the shower head, you scrubbed at your throat and turned the water to a stream of ice, trying desperately to forget the feeling of that rough tongue against your skin and cool the heat beginning to swirl low and dangerous in your stomach.
The next day you barely saw him at all, having been run off your feet tending to a new resident - an apex snow leopard with an attitude to boot. By the time you’d reached his room for your daily check in you were running on nothing but the fumes of three espresso shots and the hopeful dream of leaving before 7pm.
“How are you today, Sukuna?”
You couldn’t find the strength to mask the exhaustion seeping into your tone. Tired eyes lowered to the clipboard in your hands, blinking slow and sticky as you mulled over the half scribbled notes left by the night staff.
“Better than you, by the looks.”
Despite the humor of his words, his expression was dead serious when you met his gaze. So intense in fact that you lifted the clipboard a little to sever the line of sight, pulse thrumming hotly beneath your skin.
The telltale metallic slide of the door behind you gave you pause, and you turned just enough to catch sight of a nurse wheeling in a meal tray. You offered a strained smile over your shoulder, listening to the gentle squeak of the trolley wheels as you angled to face Sukuna once more.
“Well, I’m sorry for interrupting your meal, but I was hoping we could chat for just a few minutes.”
He scoffed where he was sat lounging across the tatami, but nonetheless nodded toward the cushion placed across the table from him - a silent invitation.
With a gracious dip of your head you lowered yourself, legs tucked beneath your knees as you settled into place. Sukuna watched you shift atop the cushion, though you didn’t meet his gaze in return. Instead you focused on the assistant who was delicately lowering various dishes onto the table with hands that trembled so subtly it was almost imperceptible.
“Thankyou,” you smiled, lifting your head to the assistant, who bowed slightly in return and slipped the tray from the table before slinking away just as Sukuna’s lip began to curl into a sneer.
Since the fight he’d been edgy, and evidently he hadn’t quite been able to shed the territorial attitude that had triggered the incident in the first place. Most of the time he simply refused any non essential service from the staff and refused to let anyone into his personal quarters at all - anyone aside from you, of course.
You let your eyes drop to the table and gazed, a little envious, at the spread of freshly prepared food peppered there. There was plethora of dishes decorating the surface - grilled vegetables, dipping sauces displayed in delicate ceramics, a heaping mound of fluffy rice, and a slab of steak so large you’re sure that it was bigger than your head. Watching the little plumes of steam float skyward from the hot meal, you suddenly felt all at once the chill of the air kissing your bare arms.
Silently, you cursed yourself for forgetting your sweater in your office. Shoving down the urge to shiver again, you instead gritted your teeth, brows furrowed determinedly as you turned your attention instead to the incident form tucked into your clipboard, eyes roaming the lines.
“So Sukuna tell me, how are you feeling today?” you began, though when you finally lowered the clipboard, any supplementary words died on your tongue.
For a moment you were unsure what to make of the sight that met you. A massive hand laid outstretched before you, the corner of a knitted blanket clutched between blackened claws.
“I-…” you trailed off, tongue tripping over the vowels, entirely unsure of what to do.
“Take it.” Sukuna prompted flatly, nudging the blanket toward you again, “you’re cold, are you not?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could gather the words your shoulders quivered in betrayal, a fresh shiver wracking your frame. He raised a slit brow at you, and with a defeated sigh you reached out and closed your fingers around the knit - thick threaded wool looped into a delicate feather pattern. It was soft beneath your grasp, evidently worn soft and plush from use.
“Thankyou, that’s very thoughtful,” you replied, voice gentle and a touch breathless with surprise.
Slowly, you looped the blanket around your shoulders, letting the excess drape along the floor behind you like a cape. You exhaled, relief washing over you instantly as warmth began to build beneath the blanket. You were no hybrid, but your nose wasn’t completely useless, and with a little rush of heat you realized that it smelt like him. As subtly as you could manage, you dipped your head into the wool bundled across your chin, taking a slow inhale. Something wild and unnamed hit your nose, mellowed by a deep richness - sweet and smoky like burning cherry wood woven through the knit. It was raw and oddly intimate, and that concept sent an embarrassing bolt of excitement straight through you.
Clearly pleased with your response, Sukuna settled back into his lounged position, feigning a cool detachment, though his eyes didn’t leave you - trailing over where the blanket was wrapped tightly around your collarbones, the way your body relaxed into the warmth it provided.
“Now, as I was saying,” you cleared your throat, one hand slipping from the shield of the blanket to tap at the clipboard, “how are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” he replied flatly.
You gritted your teeth a little behind your smile.
“That’s good. How about your wounds, are you feeling any residual pain?"
He scoffed, ignoring your questions to instead slide his hand around the teapot that had been delivered fresh and steaming alongside his meal. His other hand lifted to grasp a clean cup, fingers dwarfing the delicate china entirely as he poured a heaped serving.
The crisp scent of tea leaves perfumed the air instantly, mixing with the heady scent of food which sat taunting and undisturbed atop the table. Thick juicy steak, sticky rice, and perfectly seasoned vegetables. You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your mouth was beginning to water, though it was no use - the cocktail of delicious scents was fuel to the fire, and before you could stop it your empty stomach rumbled into the silent air.
After a haunting moment of silence, your lips parted to continued your line of questioning, intending to ignore your bodies mildly embarrassing intrusion, but his sudden attention forced your silence.
“You haven’t eaten?” He questioned incredulously, slit brows knitted into a serious expression, hands paused mid pour.
“I -uh… I had a granola bar earlier?” You offered with a hesitating smile.
He growled, shaking his great head in evident irritation. He lowered the teapot, cup abandoned to the edge of the table as he instead began to shift the dishes dotted across the tabletop.
“You don’t dress appropriately, you don’t feed yourself. Must I do everything for you?” He grumbled, shoving the plate of steak across the table before he lifted his head to fix you with a pointed stare.
“Really, there’s no need…” you stuttered, unable to quite hide your surprise as you watched him thumb the dish until it came to rest directly in front of you.
“Eat.” Came his simple reply as he folded his arms across his chest, more of a demand than a request, really. Especially grunted past the shield of pearly teeth, glinting between his lips in the dim evening light like the threat of a knife.
You considered the plate before you, feeling the steam filter upward through the air to warm your cheeks. The scent was tenfold at this distance, gracing your nostrils, savory and delicious and temptingly close. Before you could think better of it your hands were moving toward the cutlery, body taking the initiative for you.
You could feel his gaze on you as you moved, sticky and heated like the press of a palm. The knife slipped through the steak like silk, meat tender and lathered richly with butter, parting beneath the press of metal to reveal a perfectly bloody center. Lifting your hand, your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed when the meat hit your tongue - a soft pleasured sound at the flavor that sizzled over your taste buds. It was delicious.
He watched you eat intently, peering over his teacup, eyes following the movement of your fork each time you lifted it to your lips as if he himself were being satiated - quietly intense and hungry. The weight of his attention was stifling, and you didn’t dare pause until finally your stomach cried fullness and you slid the cutlery back to the plate alongside a third of the steak.
Sukuna glared at the remaining food like it had personally scorned him.
“Finish it.” He demanded, bucking his chin at the steak, left half cooled and bleeding pitifully onto the plate.
“Sukuna,” you retorted, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, “look at the size of you.”
Your hands outstretched to gesture at him, poking the scrunched napkin at every considerable pound of hard packed muscle sat opposite you, tucked beneath the little table like a grownup playing tea party.
“Now look at me,” your hands flipped toward yourself, and his eyes followed the movement greedily, “I don’t need as much food as you do.”
His expression eased an inch, though he still looked a little wary, as if he didn’t quite believe you.
“That was more than enough, really,” you insisted, lips spread into a genuine smile. “I feel a lot better now.”
And it was true - your body hummed, and your limbs tingled pleasantly. Warmed and satiated by the thick wool blanketing you and the hot meal sitting comfortably in your belly.
Sukuna huffed a little beneath his breath, but gave no further argument, instead settling back into his seat and lifting his steaming cup once again to his lips.
“Now,” you continued cheerily, “please, let’s get back to my questions…”
Sukuna’s behaviour over the next week had been similarly jarring.
He’d been prescribed a standard catalog of care following the incident, and he took most of the minor checkups and medication with as much grace as he typically reserved for the nurses poking at prodding at him - with a heavy dose of grumbling and a few growls. But other than the occasional snarl, the care was administered without further issue.
That was until about two days later when he’d been moved to the medical bay for a course of supplementary vaccines - a standard precaution against infection following close proximity with another hybrid. To everyone surprise, yours most of all, he’d taken the injections with exactly zero complaint.
Even in the hours following, the shift in behavior he'd displayed had remained. Nurses reported that he had been quiet and docile throughout, uncharacteristically so. His only complaints were that it was too warm in the bay - which was always kept at a controlled and comfortable 70° - and of a repeated headache.
You’d read the report over a few times in the comfort of your office, feeling a gnawing little bead of unease begin to form. The irritating feeling needled away in the back of your mind throughout the morning, enough so that by lunchtime you had slipped on a lab coat and strutted your way down to the medical bay yourself.
“Sukuna,” you voiced the familiar greeting when you entered, expecting a huff, or an unimpressed slue of insults thrown at you in return, but when the automatic door slid closed behind, you found that he was simply watching you.
His gaze was soft, eyes a little dilated, delayed about a second behind as they tracked your movement across the room. You frowned, brows knitted lightly as you approached. He didn’t move, just sniffed the air lightly when you paused beside him. His head craned a little, posture relaxing an inch with the next slow exhale as if in relief.
Lifting your hand, you hesitated for a moment before snapping your fingers in a sharp ‘click!’ beside his head. Sukuna jolted, great shoulders jumping along with an irritated flicker of his ear.
“What do you want?” He grumbled, gazing up at you, soft expression hardened to one of irritation and badly concealed confusion, like he’d only just noticed your presence and was too embarrassed to admit it.
The strength of his gaze provided you a little comfort.
“You told the nurses your head hurt,” you offered patiently, “are you still feeling pain?”
“Hm,” he hummed, eyes slipping from your face to instead fix themselves upon your shoulder with a sudden spark of interest.
You frowned and dipped your head subtly to follow the line of his gaze, finding only the smooth expanse of your lab coat and a few stray strands of inky hair wedged between the folds of fabric - remnants of your afternoon spent wrangling the very same bull you could likely thank for Sukuna’s current state.
“Yes,” he replied after a few contemplative moments, and you wondered what it was he was thinking about as he bore a hole into your shoulder with his gaze.
“Alright,” you continued with a light clearing of your throat, brushing away the hairs alongside a few lone specks of lint, “let me see then.”
His brow twitched, and then with a surprise degree of willingness, he tilted his head downward, offering you access to the crown of his head. His eyes dropped similarly, studying the expanse of white tile beneath your feet. You peered for a moment without moving, simply studying the tufts of pink sprouting from his scalp, and the way he was rocking ever so slightly with each gentle breath. Without further words, worried even the slightest outward reaction would send him recoiling back into his shell, you stepped forward and lifted a hand to his head.
You began with his ears, fingers tracing the round discs delicately, the silky skin feeling soft as rose petals beneath your fingers. You eyed the sliver where the bull had sliced away a chunk of skin, pleased to find the wound nearly healed, kissed pink with fresh scarring. When you reached the space behind his ears you slowed, fingers beginning to tease into the expanse of salmon spikes with a clinical efficiency. As you worked, your nails caught suddenly on a knot, scratched lightly against skin, and Sukuna shuddered beneath your touch.
“Stop squirming,” you sputtered instinctively, a little flustered by his uncharacteristically raw reaction, “I need to check the rest of your scalp for surface wounds, so stay still, okay?”
He offered nothing but a low rumble, and his head remained down-turned, shielding his expression from view, though you imagined that his eyes had fluttered closed if his relaxed body language was anything to go by. You gritted your teeth and continued, fingers carding through tufts of hair, eyes narrowed in scrutiny as you split the expanse of pink to study the scalp beneath. When you finally reached his forehead you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relieved to find that there were no hidden cuts or bruises that were missed in the initial assessment. Though the cause of his sudden migraines remained a mildly concerning mystery.
Without thinking, you ran a gentle hand through his hair in outward relief. Smoothing the pink spikes that were stuck in all directions, wayward from your roaming fingers. Sukuna made a soft sound beneath you, and you felt him shift suddenly in response, pressing his head up into your hand in an action you could only describe as nuzzling.
He stayed like that for a few indulgent breaths, lashes fanned over his flushed cheekbones and chuffing happily, clearly reveling in the feeling of your bare fingers lacing through his hair. You paused, eyes wide, taking in the rare sight of him utterly relaxed, all that innate harshness smoothed away by tranquility. You studied his face, the curve of his brow bone, the delicate wisps of scarring you hadn’t ever noticed dotted between dark stripes, painting the edges of his cheeks like lashings of ink.
Indulgently, you curled your fingers until your nails hit scalp again, and you watched him shiver beneath you. His massive thighs twitched either side of your knees, hands gripping the bed so tightly that his knuckles paled with the effort. His lips parted, and a soft breathy sigh slipped free. The tender sound went straight to your belly, where that betraying little knot of heat was once again beginning to tighten.
Sukuna shifted, squirming beneath your slowly tightening grip, and the bed creaked in argument. With another soft little breath, his hips nudged upward, tented lightly beneath his robe, and all at once with a dizzying rush of heat you realized what exactly you were doing.
You cleared your throat sharply, and when the motion of your hand paused its motion thumbing over his hairline, his eyes shot open.
Sukuna went stiff beneath your touch, expression sharpened to one of surprise and then of utter mortification, as if he were confused and a little horrified by his own actions. With an amused little hum you lifted your hands away and stepped backward, eyes lowered to instead smooth your hands over your coat, picking at invisible threads to afford him a little dignity.
“Your scalp looks fine, no cuts or bruising that I could see,” you offered smoothly, managing not to sound as shaken as you really were, “I think you’re just feeling the crash of adrenaline and the mix of sedatives we gave you for the wounds.”
He growled something unintelligible, tail lashing behind him. You tried to meet his gaze, but found that his head was turned, studying the glass beside him intently. Your eyes roamed his profile, the sharp angles of his nose, his jaw, the subtle blush creeping over his striped throat like a collar.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” you said finally, “let me know if you start feeling any further symptoms, alright?”
He offered no reply.
Your office was silent aside from the clack of your nails flying over the keyboard and the delicate ticking of the clock mounted on the wall opposite. The air was cool, still. Dimmed dark with tendrils of cool evening light creeping between the half closed shades like poking fingers. With a click of the mouse that was more forceful than was probably necessary, you slumped backward into your chair and lifted a hand to rub at your brows. Your eyes stung beneath the press of your fingers, tender from hours of staring at line after line of mind numbing reports.
A melodic jingle chimed beyond the blackness of your vision, and the sound shot straight through your skull like the piercing intrusion of a shell casing. Winking an eye open, you peered at the landline phone atop your desktop, rattling lightly with each ring, doing absolutely nothing to ease the ache thrumming behind your eyes. With a sigh you sat up and leaned forward just far enough to see which of the multitude of blinking lights on the directory was lit up. Your jaw tightened.
Room 1E - Sukuna.
You peered longingly at your handbag, slung over the hook on the back of the door alongside your coat. The sight had once been a comfort, a promise of an end to a very long day. Now it stood as nothing but a taunting tease of a freedom that was slowly slipping through your fingers.
With your teeth gritted in determination, you lifted yourself onto your aching feet and began the long trek to the private wards, slipping past your bag with nothing more than a longing hand slid over the leather to comfort yourself.
The hall was dim, late as it was, lit only by a few sparse corridor lights that blinked to life at the motion of your passing. It was as silent as it was dark, utterly abandoned by any signs of life on account of the late hour and the weekend looming only a few hours away now. Your nose twitched absentmindedly as you walked, catching the unusual scent of something vaguely sweet perfuming the air. It was subtle, almost untraceable - like someone had sprayed cologne and then walked down the hall before you.
You paid it no mind, figuring the cleaners were trialing a new soap, a different detergent, something simple and entirely explainable. With your jaw clenched and your brow furrowed, you came to a halt in front of the lone door decorating the stretch of hallway, examining the nameplate screwed into the drywall with a wary eye.
Sukuna had been troublesome all week. Picking fights with staff and other facility patrons alike, straight out refusing any nurse from doing so much as breathing near him. Even on the rare occasion that he had let you - and you alone - enter, he was bratty and uncooperative. Refusing to do much more than stare at you. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing your appearance, like he was working some unknown theory over in his mind, some idea that you were not privy to.
“What is it Sukuna, you do know I need to sleep at some point righ-?…”
The moment you stepped inside you were slapped by a wall of thick heat, palpable enough that you physically recoiled. You inhaled a desperate breath and immediately choked on it, resigned instead to sucking tiny slips of air through your parted lips, unable to bear the heat stinging your nose. The scent was stronger here, unbearably so. The air was thick with it, like you were breathing in water with each staggered gasp.
Tripping a little over your heels, you stumbled backward, shoulders hitting the door while your hand immediately fumbled for the doorknob - struck by an instinctual need to flee.
“Don’t.” A graveled voice rumbled from the dark, rough and heavy from apparent lack of use.
In the near non existent light you could barely make out the source of it, just the vague outline of a hulking form tucked into the corner of the room.
You focused on the shape writhing in the dark, and as your eyes adjusted you were met with the reality of the space. What once had been a tidy sanctuary was turned upside down - tufts of feathers flitted through the humid air, cushions shredded and tossed into a mountainous pile in the corner of the main room alongside seemingly every other piece of fabric that had dared to exist between the four walls. Sukuna was usually neat as an arrow, obsessively so, and the stark contrast of the room you were now standing in made your stomach churn in unease.
“Stay.” His voice came again, softer this time, edged with a rawness that you’d never heard grace the deep tone. It felt sinful against your ear, silky and tattered like shredded satin. “Please.”
You’re not sure what possessed you, maybe it was the utterly broken tone, or the fact he’d actually pleaded, but you found yourself doing what he asked - abandoning the safety of the door to instead take a few slow trembling steps into the room. Driven by sense of duty, or at least that’s what you told yourself as you inched further into the literal belly of the beast.
“What’s wrong Sukuna?” You murmured into the darkness as you moved, sliding one unsteady leg before the other like you were walking a tightrope, “are you feeling sick?”
The only reply was the muffled shuffle of fabric and the sound of a heavy, stuttered exhale.
“Come here,” came his croaking demand.
The air was caked with heat, oppressive and unwavering, and your knees wobbled beneath the weight of it. You tore desperately at your collar as you moved, shedding your coat to the floor as a bead of sweat formed at your hairline and began to trickle down your forehead.
“Sukuna? Where are you?”
Your hands waved blindly in the darkness, splayed before you and swiping at the air as you blinked, trying desperately to find anything to ground yourself in the sea of blackness. With a relief that was almost dizzying, your palm slapped against something solid, and in the next moment you were wincing against the sudden burst of light - down lights flickering to life overhead.
The sight that met you was enough to have any moisture stripped from your mouth in an instant. Your pulse quickened, heart beginning to hammer frantically against your chest like the beating of a drum.
Sukuna lay in the center of a shredded pile of what had once been cushions, massive limbs splayed in all directions, tan skin slicked with a sheen of sweat. He’d shed his robe, and by the looks of it his pants too - clothed now only in a thin sheet tossed haphazardly over his hips. He was panting, plump chest heaving with the effort of each stuttered breath, accompanied by a whine so soft it was almost inaudible.
As if sensing your approach through the fog, his head lolled to one side, flushed cheek resting on the curve of a massive shoulder, pink lips parted and glossy with spit. The heat of the room was sweltering, but it didn’t ease the further you traveled, in fact it was almost as if the heat was emanating from him - as if he were a living furnace stoked hot. Exactly like you’d expect if he…
In an instant it hit you - all the little pieces finally pieced together in your mind, forming a picture with shuddering clarity. That’s where you’d smelt it before, the same sickly sweet cloying scent you’d sniffed samples of in school just to catalog it to memory. The same scent that had sweat beading at your hairline and your thighs trembling where you stood. He was in rut.
You’d have to worry about what had triggered him later. Right now, you weren’t equip to deal with a hybrid in rut, certainly not one of Sukuna’s type or class. You’d need at least half your staff just to keep the other hybrid residents at bay when the pheromones finally leaked out from beneath the seal of the doors, and another team to organize the swift sourcing and delivery of a suitable partner, or at least a doll-
You froze in place, a quiet sound interrupting your spiraling thoughts, though you could barely hear it over the blood pounding hotly in your ears. It was a soft mewling, and all at once the shape of the words became crystal clear. He was groaning out a name into the curve of his shoulder, your name whimpered between pained huffs, raw and thick with need.
With no biologically suitable partners around, Sukuna hadn’t gone into rut in the entire time you known him, and the reality of the sight was stark. The terrain of his tan skin was beaded with sweat, glistening like a valley of rhinestones, droplets beginning to dribble down the curve of his heaving abs. Veins ran down his biceps in thick bundles, pulsing over his forearms. Like coiled vines snaking over his lower belly and dipping below the slip of sheet tugged over his manhood.
“Sukuna…” you breathed, unable to tear your eyes from him.
He jolted as if he’d been slapped at the sound of your voice, and another jagged breath escaped his throat, hips nudging upward seemingly of their own volition. The pale sheet shielding his dignity slid with the motion, held in place only by the weight of the bulged fabric. His leaky cock twitched pathetically beneath, weeping a slick wet patch into it, turning it to glass.
It was nothing you hadn’t seen before of course, but this felt entirely different - raw and utterly primal. The way he was pressing obscenely against the thin cotton, so hard you could practically see each pained throb of mottled purple beneath the stretched sheet, hips twitching each time the fabric moved and administered another delicious graze of friction.
Your mind ran wild. Who had done this, triggered him so suddenly and to such a degree? The pretty little snow leopard you’d spent your week pampering? Shit, the bull?
You were so entranced by the sight that you lost balance entirely when his paw lifted to wrap around your wrist and tug. To your utter mortification you found yourself kneeing the tatami, straddling one of his massive thighs. Splayed over his lap, your hands found his chest, where you clambered desperately to keep yourself upright.
He was blisteringly hot beneath your palms, so warm in fact that your skin was already beginning to stick to his. The sensation was stark without your usual shield of gloves, warm and personal, undeniably intimate.
“You…” he panted as if he’d read your mind, curling hot and humid over your collarbones, “you did this to me…”
Your breath caught like a stone in your throat, face flushing as the reality of his words dawned. You?
When you dared to peer down again his head had lifted, sharp jaw raised to meet your gaze. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy in the dim light, devoured entirely by desirous black as he blinked up at you, dazed as if he’d been sedated.
“Me?” You managed to squeak the lone word.
He nodded with a slow flutter of his lashes, the motion limp and boneless like his head was too heavy to hold up.
Before you could think of anything to say in reply he broke the sizzling eye contact, instead dropping his head into the valley of your chest. You squeaked, though he only pressed deeper at the sound, pink tufts tickling at your neck, nosing at your spread collar until the tip hit your bare skin. You realized then that he was sniffing, huffing deep lungfuls of your scent like it was water, like it was a lifeline. His lips parted, and a relieved groan slipped free.
“Good, ‘s just you this time…”
You felt the tender graze of his lips, then his teeth nipping feather soft at your skin before he pressed his tongue flat and - just as he had earlier in the week - began lapping at you. His tongue was big and rough, mapping the expanse of your throat methodically in long slow lines, like he was tasting you, like he was grooming you, ridding you of anything that wasn’t him.
“Needy little thing….” He murmured between licks, “Covering my scent so blatantly… Refusing my offerings… So hard to please, aren’t you?…”
He spoke the words into your skin as if you weren’t even there, as if he didn’t realize he was speaking aloud at all. He burned beneath you like a furnace, dewy cheekbone hot and blushed where it was sticking to your clavicle.
You’d honestly thought you might have started to stink a little, too busy with work to worry about sweating, but with the way he was huffing your scent you’d think you smelt like heaven personified.
“Sukuna…” you choked again, unable to hide the weakness working its way into your voice as he continued to mouth at your jaw. “You need to let me go now, I’ll go get something to help you feel better, okay?”
A snarl sounded then, so sharp and sudden that you jolted, and his grip around you only tightened in response.
“Don’t want some doll with fake pheromones,” He shook his head wildly where it was still nestled firmly against your chest, “don’t want medicine, don’t want a machine...”
You could feel him beneath you then, all the impossibly thick inches of him - hard and throbbing where he was rutting a sticky patch into your slacks, hips rocking in a subtle motion you were sure was entirely instinctual.
“Want a warm body squirming underneath me…” he rumbled, mouthing at your collarbones, losing himself in the fantasy of his own words. “Yeah… Want to bite… Wanna fuck… I want you.”
A sudden wetness hit your skin, drool smearing as he rubbed at the nape of your neck, where your scent glands would have been if you were a hybrid. The heat was stifling, as was the sheer size of him, a brick wall caging you on all sides. His bare chest pressed to yours, plump arms wrapped around your waist, and the firm press of his thigh pulsing between your legs, thick as a tree trunk.
“I want you,” he said again, all sweet and pleading, and it sounded utterly foreign from his lips, “Need you…”
You swallowed hard against his tongue, and a traitorous heat began creeping up your throat. He groaned, so in tune with you that even such a minute shift your body language, a tiny flare in your scent, had him groaning low in his throat. It was as if he could taste the little bud of desire beginning to bloom sticky between your thighs, like he could tell just how badly your body needed exactly what he was offering.
“Know you need it too, can smell it on you…”
He could overpower you in an instant, you knew it, and you knew that he knew it too. But despite his physical prowess, he did nothing more than keep you pressed tightly in his lap, laving his tongue over your skin in what you thought was intended to be soothing.
“Am I not enough, woman? Tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
Difficult as it was to think with him tonguing at the delicate skin beneath your ear, through the haze beginning to blanket your brain you considered hybrid mating rituals. He was courting you, fronting for you - that much was clear. His odd behavior over the last week had been subconscious instincts spurred on by his pre-rut hormones. Showing you what he had to offer whether he’d consciously intended to or not - strength, protectiveness, the ability to provide, defend territory - all hallmarks of a desirable mate.
You cursed yourself silently for not having recognized the signs, blinded by your closeness to it.
“Just let me… need to…” he grunted between breaths, between long sandpapered licks that were beginning to edge on painful.
Most hybrids of his class didn’t bother with traditional courtship anymore, or with what was socially expected amongst their species. They were the top of the food chain, the apex, and thus they could take what they wanted without consequence. But Sukuna had always been a little unconventional, with a deep rooted sense of his own honor and tradition no matter how warped others may have perceived it.
You considered the warm press of his body beneath you - strong and capable and singing for your attention. Sukuna had never taken a mate in captivity, had blatantly rejected every candidate you’d proposed to him. The chances of him navigating this rut alone without artificial assistance and without consequence was slim. Either you did something to ease his pain now, or you left him to his own devices to potentially injure himself, or worse.
Decision resolute, you let your body go limp and began to ease down into his lap. With your pulse pounding deafeningly in your ears, you tilted your chin up to allow him access to the soft of your jugular - a primal show of submission that you hoped translated through the thick fog of his rut. The response from him was immediate - bulging forearms enclosed around your waist, and a tail thick as rope slid over your thighs like a chain. With a groan that edged on woeful, his teeth hit the bare skin of your throat, accepting your silent invitation.
“Mmm, shhh…” he soothed, sounding relieved and pleased in equal measure. “That’s it, I’ve got you…”
He nosed along your skin, following the long line of your throat with his tongue upward until he hit your jaw, where he began to nibble. Pressing gentle little kitten licks along your cheek, across the corner of your mouth, up to the delicate skin beneath your lash line.
On the next swipe of his spiked tongue you moved too, tilting your head downward to interrupt him mid lap, capturing his lips instead in a gentle, almost hesitant kiss.
He froze instantly, and you felt the way his breath caught, then released in a hot puff through his nostrils. You pulled away with a soft sound, blinking down at him brows knitted in worry.
“What… what are you doing?” Sukuna wondered, sounding a little breathless. His glossy eyes wide despite the way lust was weighing his lids down.
“Kissing,” you replied, feeling your cheeks begin to heat, “Is that… Is that alright?”
Despite the fact that you were spread over his lap, littered with his marks and grinding on his thigh like you were the one in heat, suddenly you felt oddly shy beneath the weight of his attention. His hand lifted from your waist to instead drag a calloused thumb over your bottom lip, entranced.
“Kissing…” he echoed, fingertip brushing thoughtfully over your lip, eyes locked on the sight of your spit painting his thumb in the low light.
He leaned in, murmuring the next words so close and so quietly that you could feel the syllables curling through the air between you.
“I like it… give me more.”
With that he lifted his chin, eyes fluttering closed as his lips replaced the thumb atop your lower lip. Sukuna was always a fast learner, sharp and strategic, and he proved it now with the ease by which he had you melting into the kiss. He moved with fervor against you, the roll of his jaw looser, more confident. Though it wasn’t long before any rhythm or semblance of control dissolved and the contact turned suddenly heavy - more like he were trying to devour you than anything.
He groaned into your mouth, all teeth and tongue, losing himself in the taste, the delicious friction forming between you. Not that you were fairing any better, losing more and more of your weakening self control with each press of his tongue against your own. The sensation was rough and entirely foreign, peppered alongside gentle nips at your lower lip, like he couldn’t help but push just a little further, shivering each time he swiped a fresh bead of blood from your skin.
The scent of him was intoxicating, surrounding you like a blanket. Vaguely familiar and oddly comforting, like the cool wind breeze off alpine rivers, the crackle of burning cherry wood - deep and smoky and utterly him. You were dizzy with it, drunk on the scent of him, the taste of him, the weight of him pressing into you. You thought back to your school days, academic discussions about the impact of hybrid pheromones on humans - a hotly debated topic that most people of scientist chalked up to pseudoscience at best. But now you knew the reality of it first hand, it was enough to melt your brain clean out of your skull.
You hadn’t noticed when exactly your hips had started to rock, you only knew that it felt so utterly right grinding against him as you lost yourself in the heat of it all, guilt and shame turning to liquid desire in your veins. His grip around your waist tightened in response to a particularly well placed hump, thumbs hooked over your hip bones and pinching the fat there as he began rolling you along his lap. He panted, jolting a little each time your soft inner thigh bumped against him.
You gasped into the kiss, a fresh sizzle of need washing over you when you felt the kick of his cock against your clothed crotch, separated now only by the thin sheet and the sticky fabric of your slacks.
“Oh…” you moaned, hand abandoning his shoulder to instead snake between your bodies, finding the thick bulge in the fabric and offering a delicate squeeze to whatever you could manage to fit in your hand.
He felt bigger somehow, thicker than you’d remembered, and hotter too. The weight of him in your palm, throbbing between your clasped fingers was enough to have you squirming, clenching around nothing as you let his head drop to your shoulder.
“Ah… hah-….”
He went limp as you tugged him half free from the cloth and began to pump, as if all coherency had simply fled his body. Whining pitifully into the crook of your neck, hands useless and limp atop your thighs. He was utterly consumed by the rhythm of your hand, the contrast of your smooth skin and the scratch of the cotton against his leaky cock, and the way you were purring sweet nothings into his ear all the while.
“There you go, shhh…” you cooed, swiping a thumb over the reddened head just to feel him jerk beneath you, “doesn’t that feel good?”
He nodded, temple rubbing at your shoulder. His eyes were down turned and low lidded, locked on the obscene sight of your fingers slicked with his pre, glazing over in time with the expert curl of your wrist.
Suddenly on the next pinched upstroke, as if he’d been slapped, Sukuna made a sharp sound. A quick exhale of air as his own hand shot down to close around your wrist where he squeezed tight enough to give you pause.
“No, no…” he panted into the heated air between you, sticky with your shared breath. Shaking his head like it was painful, like he had half a mind to let you keep stroking him until he painted your front in heaping pearly strings, “not your hand, can’t waste it, not this time…”
He released your wrist to instead slot it between your bodies, fingertips trailing feather soft over your lower belly before he slid his palm flat and rubbed firmly. The contact was stifling, made hotter still by the rawness simmering beneath his words.
“Need it inside,” he insisted, eyes drooped to watch the way his hand dwarfed your abdomen, length of his palm nearly reaching either side, before they flicked back up to meet yours, “understand?”
Unable to find the words and struck with a sudden wave of need that had your head feeling fuzzy, you simply nodded dumbly in reply and allowed his hand to slide across your back. His fingers curled around the nape of your neck, firm and protective, and suddenly you were moving. Caged between his arms and maneuvered until you were blinking up at the ceiling with your back pressed flat to the tatami.
Before you could quite fathom it, the little buttons of your dress shirt were clinking along the tatami either side of you. The air was thick, contrasting against the cool press of his nails against your now bare skin, slicing through your silky dress shirt as if it were nothing more than paper.
“Sweet… smell so sweet.”
He murmured into your chest, nose once again glued to your skin as he worked his way down. Warm breath curling over your breasts, your ribcage, the soft curve of your belly.
“Need more, need to taste…”
Finally, he paused - nosing gently at your still clothed crotch where he took a long huff, and you jerked when the bridge of his nose brushed your tender clit through the fabric.
He rumbled a soothing sound in response, before he lifted his chin and parted his lips to press his tongue flat over your clothed cunt. You choked on your next breath at the dulled sensation, while he simply groaned below you - low and desperate.
His tongue slipped back behind his teeth, and his eyes fluttered closed, as if savoring the taste.
Before you could recover, two big hands lifted and sharp nails dug into the fabric either side of your pussy. You watched, dazed, as he tore the center seam of your slacks open, splitting the cloth in a single effort.
He lapped slow, indulgent strokes along the plush skin of your exposed inner thigh, pressed a thumb indulgently over your soaked panties just to gather the slick there before those too became mere shreds of fabric beneath his claws. You watched him move, nosing along the length of your now bare leg until he reached the sticky center.
For a moment he did nothing but look, longing and hungry, before he leaned in and pressed his tongue flat against you again, now with nothing separating you from the sinful heat of his mouth.
“Oh god…” you choked.
Tiny barbs poked at your delicate nub, feeling like the press of a thousand tiny silicone tongues. He made a breathy satisfied sound and lifted his head just far enough to lick his lips, rolling the flavor of your over his tongue.
“Good… tastes so good,” he sighed, light and a little breathless. He sounded faraway, he sounded high. Drunk on the scent of you, and now the taste of you.
With that simple utterance he dove back in, massive head craned and one hand curled over your thigh in a motion that read as decidedly possessive. The other settled over your belly, rubbing slow soothing lines over your womb, thumb petting at the sparse coils of hair peppered there, tugging the skin up to expose more of you to his greedy mouth.
You simply babbled a slur of unintelligible words between spineless gasps and cries of his name, blinking down at the blur of pink moving between your thighs. Your jaw hung slack in pleasure and shock in equal parts, watching the hypnotic slip of tongue between the sharp glint of his teeth, the little strings of your arousal linking him to you each time he lifted for air.
You’d expected him to claim you immediately - you’d expected it to be rough, for it to hurt as he crowded over you and took what he wanted, what his instincts demanded of him. You had no doubt that he was doing exactly as he pleased now, but what surprised you was that that seemed to entail making you come undone on his tongue, despite the throbbing weight between his legs that was surely beginning to border on painful.
Your hands found his head, and your fingers locked firmly around the pink spikes there. He nudged up into your grip, though he didn’t slow. He ate like a hungry beast, like a man starved - splayed over the mat with his bare hips grinding haphazardly, the tip of his flaming tail twitching each time you clenched around his tongue. It was like a switch had been flipped, a version of him entirely absorbed with making you leak into his mouth.
It was rough and hot and utterly too much, and it didn’t take long before you were riding that delicious line. One swipe of his tongue away from tripping over the edge. He mouthed, sandpapered and rough, over your clit, spreading you open between two thumbs to make room for him to slide his tongue inside. Deep enough that his nose hit your sensitive clit, sending a spark of pleasure zipping up your spine.
The sound was obscene, wet slurping alongside your own desperate squeaks. His lips pressed flat in a seal around your clit, and when he began to suckle like he could nurse something out, you were finished. Your pussy pulsed helplessly against his tongue, once, twice…
“Sukuna,…please, ‘m gonna…!-…”
It hit you like the crash of a wave - hot and rolling and decorated with a gush of slick. Your head smacked against the tatami, hands wringing tight fistfuls of pink hair as your thighs trembled either side of his ears.
He groaned, lapping at you as you jerked, drinking in your spend like it was satiating, like he were sipping water after months without. You lay in the afterglow, dazed, limbs sizzling with residual little nips of pleasure. You’re not sure you’d ever come that hard, certainly no man had ever done anything remotely similar.
“Why?” Came your croaked voice through the silence, quiet, the edges of it softened by pleasure.
“You and your incessant questions,” he tutted between licks, though his tone was affectionate. “Look at the size of me,” he echoed your earlier sentiment.
And you did look, blinking up at him as he straightened, thumbing at his chin which was glazed and slippery with remnants of you. Your gaze dribbled slowly over his frame like the drip of honey. Tanned hide stretched over thick slabs of muscle and fat, flecked with lashings of jet black ink. Broad shoulders and a thick neck tapering to an angled jaw. Pearly canines poking from between his parted lips - longer now, you thought. The teeth of a predator, sharp and poised to latch onto the nape of some poor little thing that couldn't run fast enough.
Biting your lip, you let your eyes roam freely, taking in the sight of him laid entirely bare where the sheet had been tugged loose. The sinful spattering of hair trailing over his softened abs, dipping down between his thighs. The thick inches bobbing before him, too heavy to stand upright, pulsing with veins and blushed so dark that it looked painful. You swallowed hard, watching glistening droplets dribble slowly down his shaft, in such excess that if you hadn’t have known better you would have thought he’d come already.
“Now look at yourself.” He didn't try to hide the lazy pleasure in his voice.
Held up on trembling elbows, you peered down at yourself. At where he was rubbing a hand slowly down the plane of your stomach, cupping the soft flesh like it was a form of worship. At your thighs, spread and twitching with residual sizzles of pleasure - where his spare hand was creeping into your vision, snaking between your legs to begin petting at your pussy. He watched keenly, eyes low lidded and locked on the sight of your folds glistening with a mix of your arousal and his own spit.
“So small, so tight,” he purred, thumbing at your entrance, which gave easily beneath the pressure, “But you’re going to take it all, aren’t you? Let me put all of it inside?”
You didn’t answer, instead you gathered your remaining resolve, lifted yourself onto your palms and rolled over.
Recalling what you’d researched in your many long years in the field, all those ridiculous demonstration videos - you crawled a few feet from him, lowered your chest until it hit the floor and lifted your hips to present yourself in as blatant of a show of compliance as you could manage. You held yourself there on trembling thighs, back arched and palms pressing sticky hand prints into the tatami.
You’re sure you painted quite a sight - flushed cheek pressed to the mat, ass in the air and thighs spread to give him a stellar view of the way you were still twitching and drooling with the residual hum of your first orgasm. The position was revealing. Primal, submissive, and you felt every inch of your exposed skin sizzle beneath his attention.
Whatever you’d done, it must have been right because you heard his breath catch behind you. A big palm crept over the curve of your ass, sharp nails dragging stinging lines over your skin until it settled on your lower back with a claiming firmness, forcing you down further into a sinful arch.
“Look at you, presenting for me so well,” Sukuna purred, voice nothing but a pleased rumble, and you could all but feel the heat of his gaze, teasing over the sight of your dripping folds like a wayward hand. “Perfect. Just like I knew you would be.”
The mat was warm beneath your chest, tempered by your shared body heat. It it felt like skin, like sin incarnate brushing against your tender nipples. You felt the weight of him as he slotted in behind you, one great hand reaching over to tease down your inner thigh while the other remained firmly planted atop your spine.
“That’s why I’m going to make you mine,” he murmured with a bluntness that was surprising, hand easing your thighs further apart, scraping your knee over the mat. “They can’t have you, none of them… the leopard, the fucking bull… none of them.”
In an instant the moment of clarity was gone, dissolved further with each spiraling word until in its place was only the singe of blind, sizzling lust. His words were thick with it, salacious and sticky against the shell of your ear.
With a jolt you felt it - the sudden heat of him grinding against you. Nudging through your spread folds slowly, letting you feel every curve, every ridged pulsing vein until his tip grazed your clit and you had to force yourself to remain upright. As soon as he’d moved forward, you felt him retreat, length slick now with your arousal, easing backward until he brushed grazed the tight valley of your entrance.
He rumbled behind you, tip pressing inside just enough to feel the stretch, and all at once the dizzying realization of what you were about to do hit you like the sobering slam of a brick wall.
“Wait-Nngh!… w-hah-wait… slow down… Sukuna!” You hissed, yowling when teasing pokes turned into a concentrated push.
It was a futile request, how could you expect him to hesitate. Thick length midway through plunging inside your silky heat, doing precisely what his instincts demanded of him, and after so very long spent being patient.
“Can’t, I can’t…“ he grunted.
He slowed but didn’t stop, murmuring gentle slips of praise into your ear as inch by thick inch sunk inside. You could feel your body caving, sucking him deeper and deeper until he hit a spongy little spot that sent your legs quivering in a wobbled frenzy. You were panting, face screwed up against the searing sting of him splitting you open, the mammoth task of simply holding him inside. So unbelievably big that despite the way your orgasm had softened you, you could still feel the slow welling of tears begin to bubble at your lash line from the stretch.
“Need it inside, need to put it in…inside… need it inside now…” Sukuna was growling behind you, hands curled possessive over the curve of your hips.
Just as the words left him, you felt the front of him hit your backside, wholly and completely full. Like the missing piece of a puzzle slotted into place in the form of his toned thighs pressed flat to your trembling hips. You couldn’t speak, honestly you wondered how you were even breathing with such a monstrous length stuffed inside you. It felt as if he were poking at your lungs, at your throat. He seemed similarly dazed, eyes low lidded and blown black as the night sky, peering down at where you were joined.
“It is… it is inside ’kuna… hn-!…” you grunted between gasps, little slips of air sucked into the minuscule space left inside.
He shook his head limply, as if drunk, and slipped out an inch. He made a low keening sound at the sticky little strings that laced you together before he nudged forward and sunk back in again, relishing in the silky wet heat of you.
“No… ‘s not… it’s ‘not enough… ‘s not deep enough…”
You felt his grip tighten, nails dug into your tender flesh to leverage the way hips began to roll, shallow little thrusts against the sheer tightness of you. He took you in firm steady thrusts, like a predator, like an animal. Slow, but not for lack of effort, purely just to feel the way your shaking amplified each time he eased back inside, body stretching around a length so thick that your vision blurred on each downward pump.
It was then that the pain began to give way to something sweeter, a honeyed pleasure blooming beneath the sting, low and hot in your belly, edged more and more desperate with each thrust. The sensation was stunning, devouring, and your eyes hit the back of your skull before you could utter further argument.
In the blackness you pictured what you might have looked like - shredded remnants of your business slacks clinging desperately to your shins, slick and spit dribbling creeping lines up your belly to your throat. Your face flushed from the rush of blood, jaw agape and drooling onto the mat as his thrusts stole the very breath from you. You sobbed at the thought.
“Ah, hn!-… ah, ah, hn-hah!” You couldn’t help the sharp stuttered gasps that escaped, each accented by yet another fleshy slap, the vulgar sound of his balls smacking your creamy cunt, slick with your spend and his own pre leaking down between your thighs, smearing up to your belly button.
The front of his thighs were sticky with it, toned muscle there glistening as if rubbed with oil. With an animal grunt, he shifted behind you, planting one foot atop the mat to get a better angle, massive thigh twitching, thrusting so deeply now that tears bubbled hot and incessant at your lash line.
“S-oh-…so -hah- deep S’kuna…” you cried,
You tried to breathe, tried to muffle the tiny little squeaks he was knocking out of you each time he bottomed out and a fresh little nip of pain flared in your gut. But it was impossible. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe - relegated to sucking in shallow breaths only on the retreat of his hips, when your spine could decompress without the oppressive weight of his body pressing into you.
“That’s right,” he purred, a pleased rumble - though you hadn’t been trying to convince him, your brain simply felt empty aside from the simply fact that he was just so deep.
Your hands slapped feebly at the floor, grasping backward blindly in search of relief, something to anchor to. You found his hands, and thick fingers closed tightly around your own, driven further into the floor with each thrust. You sniffled, digging your nails in harder, biting white little crescent shapes into his palm
“Good,” he continued, voice thick with adoration despite the way you were clawing at him, a rarity you’re sure would be hard won if not for the state he was in, “so good taking what I give you.”
It was then that you noticed it, the slow creep of his tail inching along your ankle. Just like the education videos, just like he’d done around when you’d milked him dry with your gloved hand so many weeks ago - his tail slipped up around your thigh like a python, the fuzzy tip tickling at your bare hipbone. He was really going to do it, what he’d murmured to you in between those white clinical walls wasn’t just lust-filled babbling, it was a threat, a promise.
You recalled the sheer volume of his spend; smearing your glove, your lab coat, sprayed over your glasses and dripping down to your chin. You thought back to the test results - healthy, potent, virile.
“Ohgodhn-…,” you croaked, “oh god, Sukuna, you’re going to-…”
You collapsed before you could finish, trembling thighs giving in beneath the force of his movement until you were forced flat. Your belly hit the ground, front flush to the floor and hands grasping fitfully at the tatami. His thrusts didn’t slow, he simply followed you downward - body laid over you like a blanket - and shoved a thick arm beneath you. His forearm curled just enough lift your hips, enough for him to snake a hand down between your belly and the ground and tuck his fingers snug against your clit.
“Shhh nearly there,” he breathed into your nape, lips grazing the sweat soaked hair there, “nearly there… just a little more…”
It was hot, so hot, so sticky. You were melting into the mat, melting into him - packed so tightly that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You felt the brush of his teeth, and his hand angled downward to begin rubbing tight little circles in time with the dizzying stroke of his hips.
“Oh Sukuna… please, pleaseplease…” you found yourself begging, shame washed away by the delicious wave of pleasure, too stunning to manage anything else.
He hit deep like this, and you could feel the stretch of your walls, muscle clenching of its own volition around the intrusion. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t stop it, the way your body was shaking beneath him - with pain, with pleasure, with the unfiltered desire thrumming through you like a rush of adrenaline.
“That’s it, beg me for it, beg me to fill you. Won’t be able to move when I’m done…”
If you’d had the strength you would have teased him for how talkative he’d become since sinking inside your cunt, tongue surely softened by the honeyed taste of you and the sweltering heat of his rut.
“All full and round and waddling…” he drawled, voice a near snarl, “you’ll have to stay here, stay with me, just me, mine…”
His words were slurring, blurring closer together as he pressed his lips to your neck, nosing at the sweat slicked hair curling there.
You were no hybrid, but when his teeth breached the delicate skin of your nape you went limp beneath him all the same. A bone deep urge to submit as instinctive as the urge to spread your thighs when you felt the pulsing heat of him begin to fill you.
The bite was hard, firm enough to break skin with a rubbery ‘snap!’, and when it did you squealed, writhing in a frenzied shake despite the futility of the action. He held firm against your thrashing, clamped jaw keeping you immobile and docile as he continued rutting into you, firm sucking slaps against your ass in an obscene ‘schlick! schlick! plap! plap! plap!’
“Yes! Yesyesyes, ohhhnnng!-“ you warbled with a fitful shaking of your head.
The release of pressure flooded you along with the physical dribble of blood, and it was enough to send your hurtling over the edge after him. The tight knot in your belly unraveled in tight pulses alongside his thick throbbing spurts, pussy milking him readily, greedily. You could feel blood beginning to dribble down your shoulders, pooling at your clavicles just as his spend began to leak out around the stretch.
After a few stuttered thrusts he released you, let his jaw relax and instead craned his head to begin lapping at the bite, sending a fresh burst of goosebumps over your skin each time his rough tongue brushed the tender puncture wounds.
You managed to wring your head from the mat, cheek wet where you’d been drooling and where tears had seeped out between your skin and the bamboo.
He gazed down at you with an intensity that made you whine again, pulse thrumming hotly in your ears.
“More…S’kuna… More…” you pleaded, sucking in a desperate, shaking breath between your chapped lips.
He laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded as manic as it did wolfish.
“My greedy woman, crying for more.”
A lazy pleasure painted his face like a mask, severe features softened with it, and you gazed distantly at the contrast of inky stripes over his blushed skin with a sort of dulled awe.
He shifted behind you, but he didn’t pull out. Instead he simply wedged two great arms beneath your chest and flipped you over until he could crowd over your shaking form once more. He took a moment just to indulge in the sight of you beneath him - face darkened and glimmering with a sheen of sweat and tears, blinking up at him with wide, syrupy eyes, body still trembling as it tried desperately to accommodate the sheer bulk of him. Your body was stained with him - a littering of sucking marks and plains of skin rubbed raw from his endless licking. His spit glossing your thighs, his cum smeared up your belly, and the little rivers of blood still dribbling down your throat where he'd planted his teeth so deep he was sure that it would scar.
A low, contented sound escaped him at the thought, and he lowered himself without thought, knees lodged into the mat as he sucked in another indulgent breath. You even smelled like him - your own scent thrumming mellow and sweet beneath, mixing with his own and the sticky heat of his rut into a cocktail that had drool pooling on his tongue.
You whined, mouthing at his shoulder as he sunk back inside and pressed down to the hilt, until the spatter of soaked hair at his base tickled your tingling clit. Deeper and deeper until there was only him - his thick thighs forcing your own apart, and his fat cock filling you again.
You mewled, squirming and crying as the firm rhythm of his hips resumed, tender now with the new angle that left you exposed and splayed beneath him. Thrusts a little sloppier but lacking none of their previous intensity. Each stroke still made you gasp, still made both of your legs quiver where they were spread and limp either side of his massive form, heels dragging pitifully over the floor.
“Shhh, quiet now, pet.” He was murmuring into your ear, soothing pleasantries that did nothing to soften the weight of him splitting you open, or the slick sound of his milky cum turning the mat slippery beneath you where it was beginning to dribble out. “Gonna give you all of it… yeah… G’na stuff it all inside…”
Dazed, you lifted your head. Crown bumping into the curve of his collarbone as you peered down between you, sneaking a glimpse at the sight of each inky band disappearing inside, only to be dragged back out glazed and glossy with your shared spend.
“Needs to go inside, all of it… you’re gonna take it for me, aren’t you? Going to take it all…”
One massive hand slapped the floor beside your head, driving brutal divots into the mat with the length of his claws. The other slid down your spine, nestled into the curve of your lower back and gripping the fat there to work you down further onto his length.
“One more, c’mon just one more.” He mouthed into your sweat soaked hair, sinking into incoherence beneath the heat of his instincts. Driven utterly mindless by the tight clench of your walls around him, and the sole goal of filling you to the brim bouncing in the cavern of his skull.
Your hands found the firm slope of his shoulders, and with the last of your strength you lifted your aching legs and crossed them around his waist in a pointed lock of limbs, the meaning of which was irrefutable even with senses dampened by blinding lust, a primal cry - don't pull out. With your ankles secure, heels pressing into his hips, whatever coherence or restraint he’d shown before - however minimal it may have been - was utterly gone, swept away alongside whatever was left of your brain.
“That’s it, take it, take it all… my woman, so strong, so…hah-…”
He was growling, each sentence accented by a brutal thrust so hard and so final that you saw a burst of stars twirling in your hazed vision each time the head of his thick length kissed your cervix. You simply squeezed your eyes closed and tightened your grip - heels digging into his lower back, grazing the base of his tail which quivered beneath your curled toes.
“Another, need one more… need’t make sure it takes, right? Need it to stick…”
He sounded so sweet despite the obscenity of his words. In stark contrast to the way he was pounding you into the floor, bruising something soft and delicate deep inside. You were writhing beneath the assault, feeling every muscled pound rock against your frame like he was trying to break you, like he intended to make it stick.
You were nodding, a wild frenzied toss of your head. The mat was slick below you, stained with a vulgar mix of sweat and cum and blood where the bite mark at your nape was smearing red up into your hairline. Your skin was flushed and dewy, rogue hairs splayed and glued to your sweat soaked forehead.
“Yesyesy-hn!- yes, Sukuna… need you ‘t fill me…breed me, want you to hngnn-mate me,,…”
You didn’t know what you were saying, you only knew that you didn’t want him to stop. Not until you felt full, stuffed, bloated with it. You could feel the tight swollen press of his knot, looming and incessant at your rim. You were dizzy with the thought of it, with the promise of being plugged, stuffed full - not a single drop allowed to leak out, at least not until it took.
“Gonna give you a baby… gonna stick a whole litter right here, nice ‘n deep…” The softness of his tone was gone, replaced now by something raspy and utterly possessive.
Your hands moved in a stuttered crawl to claw at his back, feeling the taut muscle there jump beneath your touch, sure that you were carving deep scratches into his skin. Not that he seemed to mind, in fact when you dug your nails ever deeper, you were sure that you felt him twitch deep inside, thick length kicking at your walls.
“Feel that, woman?” He growled, nudging the red hot swell of his knot tighter against your weeping entrance, “That means you’re mine.”
Neither of you may have voiced it, but you knew the reality. He’d claimed you long before you’d crawled onto your hands and knees and let him mount you like a beast. You’d been his since you’d first laid eyes on him. When you'd walked into the holding bay at the facility and seen him muzzled and chained like destruction incarnate, jaw snapping behind the metal cage and carmine eyes narrowed to slits of burning coals - feral and beautiful and utterly wild. Since you’d nursed his wounds, since you’d let him feed you and clothe you and lap at your throat like he was trying to drink in the mere scent of you.
Brain utterly fried and vacant, you could offer no more words. Instead, as penance for the searing puncture wound at your nape, you lapped a gentle kitten lick over his throat, tasting the sweat there, before you sunk your teeth in as hard as you could manage. An outlet for the bruising ache of him splitting you open.
He stuttered in response, knee slipping and tail tightening where it was locked in an fuzzy restraint around your thigh. The tip of it twitched each time you winced, each time you clenched, each time your teeth drove ever deeper into the sinewy column of his throat. It ached now, all of it - your jaw clamping down into his skin aiming to draw blood, your muscles worn down to bone, your fingers trying desperately to hold on.
“Mine,” he was panting, chanting like a hymn, like a promise, “oh, mine, mine, mine…”
Before another thought could form, before you could even suck in another desperate mouthful of air, he had nudged his hips forward. You shook your head, struck with the resounding belief that you couldn’t possibly take anymore. To your horror and delight in equal measure, there was a gasp, a blinding sting of pain, and then you were completely and unequivocally full.
Your mind was empty, buzzing static like a radio tuned to the wrong station. You took a few delayed blinks, eyes wide, brows raised in disbelief. He pressed into you, grinding against the seal just so you could feel the way his thick knot stretched you open and then some, the sensation so foreign and unbelievable that you felt as if you were wading through the thick haze of a dream.
Your mouth opened and closed a few times in silence, disbelief, before you felt your swollen pussy twitch, and then all at once the winding, looming wave of pressure finally gave.
“Full… full… so… fu-hn-!”
Your vision blurred, sensations cutting so severely all you could manage to do was hold onto him when your orgasm finally hit. He was shuddering above you, still shifting in tight shallow humps despite the binding clench of your cunt and the swell of his own knot.
His hips jerked, rhythm faltering to sweet little jolts in time with the desperate throb of his cock. A sticky sweet burst of heat filled you, gush and after gush painting your insides in a pulsing rhythm until you felt bloated with it, stretched to the very limit and plugged by the tight press of his knot.
Finally, feathered at the edges of his next groan, and with a final brutal nudge of his hips, he sounded satisfied.
With the last of his strength Sukuna’s hands curled over your waist, holding you snugly against his front as he moved. You held on limply, caged by his massive arms and making weak little argumentative sounds into his sweat soaked skin before he collapsed into the pile of shredded pillows, keeping you tucked against his plump chest.
You melted into the contact, the warm plain of his chest glued to your front while his hands lowered to rest gently over your waist. His breaths came slow and steady beneath your curled body, and you listened quietly to the frantic pulse of his heart as it began to slow.
“Sukuna,” you tried, finding your voice small and hoarse in the thick air.
He gave no answer, simply the limp flicker of the tip of his tail where it was still coiled firmly around your thigh. You swallowed, throat dry as if you’d run a marathon, or been trapped in a desert for days without water.
You shifted slightly, wincing a little against the tender pressure of his knot still tucked snugly inside, and the effort earned you the flicker of his ear and a low sound deep in his chest. You felt the cavernous rumble against your palms, fingers teasing through the spatter of fur dusted over his pecs, and you waited until he had stilled once more before you peered up, blinking slowly against the sudden heaviness of your eyelids.
Your eyes moved slowly, tracing the length of his throat, catching on the outline of your blunt teeth indented in the skin there. The indents were deep, turning pink in the afterglow. You licked your teeth, imagining a sharp coppery burst of blood coating them, considering what he might have tasted like on your tongue at the height of pleasure.
Head mostly clear from the haze of lust, you now felt the sobering cramp of your muscles - a bone deep ache beginning to settle over your body beneath the pleasant hum. Your skin felt sticky, lacquered in all manner of bodily fluids - shared sweat and spit and semen coating you like a glaze of sin. Though as you gazed up at the angled cut of Sukuna's jawline, softened now in sleep, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Sure, it was filthy and raw and all manners of wrong, but it was yours. He was yours.
A distant, nagging little part of your brain still argued - how could you even begin to explain what had occurred between the four reinforced walls that now caged you? What would your staff think when they came looking for you bright and early on Monday morning, expecting to find you sitting at your desk nursing an hour old cup of coffee, only for some poor unsuspecting assistant to swing open the door and find the truth. Sukuna's quarters devolved into a mess of torn pillows and shredded clothes, perfumed with a cloying heat so overwhelming it could send a sizzle of need through even the most disciplined researcher.
Would they offer you any sympathy at all after finding you buried within some sort of love nest, laying atop the very patient you’d been tasked with finding a mate for, knotted and bred so thoroughly there was no room for argument or denial?
Your nape pulsed, raw and stinging in the open air where the bloody teeth prints of your fresh mating mark were cooling to a crusted smear. Your stomach flipped at the concept, though another sick little part of your brain retorted that you’d simply completed your assigned task. You blinked down at the swell of your belly where it was pressed against Sukuna’s hip, softly rounded, a little fuller than before.
For now you simply let rational thought drift away. Instead, you relaxed into the warmth of his frame, walled by softened muscle, and let yourself slip into the blackness behind your eyelids. Lulled by the steady thrum of his heart against your ear, and the soft scent of a satisfied beast tickling at your nose.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
a/n. hmmm I wonder who what could have triggered his rut, doc? it’s a mystery…
I know tigers don’t purr, just let me have this one please pleas please please
baby yuji loves his pretty auntie who brought him his favorite plush tiger! I wanted to do something cute cos I love bby yuji
“auntieeeeeeee!!!” the little glob of sunshine screeched and crashed face first into your thigh. he always loved when you visited him and his uncle kuna. you always indulged his childish antics, let him ramble for literally hours about tigers and his best friend megumi (poor kid had the attention span of a hyperactive puppy) how could he not love you?
“can she at least get through the damn door before you go tacklin’ her?” sukuna scolds the tot but there’s no true bite to his bark. “and stop calling her that, punk.” the kid hisses at him, bearing his two missing front teeth, all the while you chuckle above him. the man couldn’t get two seconds alone with you while the kid was around, but honestly it seemed healthy to have you around. yuji opened up about some of the things he was going through to you a lot easier than he did with his uncle. sukuna had temporary custody of the little boy until his twin brother and sister in law got themselves together. you gave both of them some relief when it came to that delicate situation.
back to the present, yuji clings to your leg, arms and legs wrapped around you in a vice grip. he tries to take a peak inside the paper bag you’re keeping out of his reach.
“stop being mean to my nephew,” you say, and commence an awkward waddle-walk to the couch where sukuna’s leaned back on. once you finally coax the boy off of your leg, he squeezes in between his two favorite people on the couch to watch, in sukuna’s words a “boring ass movie,” to which you reminded him a child was present and not to swear in front of a kid.
“auntie?” he asks, brown eyes magnetized to the movie still.
“yes?”
“whats in the baggie?” he notices the glance you give up to sukuna, who’s casually snuck his arm across the couch behind your head. sukuna shrugs. your bones pop as you stretch, and you hop off the couch to head to the dining room table where you placed the bag. yuji springs up right after you, feet pitter pattering across the apartment floor.
“close your eyes,” you say, but yuji’s too excited and is already barreling a plethora of questions at you. it’s so cute—you honestly would let him go on for the rest of the night, but ryomen cuts the toddler off.
“just close your eyes, brat,” he commands with a slight bass in his voice. he snaps his eyes shut and puffs out his cheeks, holding his breath in anticipation as he hears you rustle the bag for a moment.
“okay, you can open them now!” he slowly opens his eyes, and as he does, they nearly pop out from his head. he squeals excitedly and bounces up and down, his tiny body spasming in pure joy.
“baby, the neighbors!”
“sowwy!” sukuna sighs. yuji reaches for the tiger, but recoils, as if he’s not sure if he wants to take it or not.
“uncle sukuna told me you were having a hard time sleeping, so I thought this little guys would help keep the nightmares away,” you explained. you urged him to take the toy. he looks back between the stuffed tiger and his uncle, who was watching from his spot on the couch.
“you just gonna stand there or are you gonna take the damn tiger?” yuji snatches the tiger and squeals a bunch of rushed together “thank you’s!”and crushed the toy in a death hug.
“THANK YOU THANK YOU! I LOVE YOU FOREVER!! I WISH MY UNCLE WOULD MARRY YOU!!!”
“alright, bedtime,” sukuna suddenly says and gets up from the couch and ushers the child to the back of the apartment. you giggled at the scene before you. sukuna glares but you pay him no mind. you of course, also help him get ready for the night.
later on, you tell the little boy goodnight, and leave him with his uncle for a few moments. he looked so comfy and snug with his little tiger he affectionately named after you.
as yuji drifts off into sleep, he reaches his stubby fingers for his uncles strong hands.
“uncle ‘kuna, um, can she stay?” it was a loaded question. he watches as his nephew falls asleep instead of giving him an answer.
The sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes is filling the air, and you are currently standing at the stove, flipping a slightly burnt blueberry pancake.
Sukuna is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, his damp pink hair falling into his eyes. He’s scrolling through his phone, sipping his black coffee, completely relaxed.
“Hey,” you say, not looking away from the frying pan. “Can you grab the syrup from the pantry?”
“Yeah, I got it babe.” Sukuna rumbles. He stands up, his massive frame easily reaching the top shelf of the pantry. He sets the bottle on the counter next to you, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to your bare shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Thanks, babe,” you smile, leaning into his touch.
It’s a normal morning. A perfectly domestic, quiet morning. And then, the patter of tiny, bare feet echoes down the hallway.
Yuji waddles into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, his spiky pink hair sticking up in every possible direction. He’s clutching an empty plastic sippy cup in one chubby hand, looking incredibly serious for a toddler who just woke up.
He stops in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks at you. He looks at Sukuna.
Then, he takes a deep breath, puffs out his little chest, and yells, “Babe!”
You freeze. The spatula in your hand halts mid-air. Sukuna stops mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes blinking in confusion.
“Did he just…” you whisper, slowly turning your head to look at your husband.
“There’s no way,” Sukuna mutters, his brow furrowing. He looks down at the two-year-old. “What did you say, little man?”
Yuji marches over to Sukuna. He stops right at his father’s bare feet, tilts his head all the way back to look up at the towering 6’4” wall of muscle, and holds up his empty sippy cup.
“Babe,” Yuji says, his voice completely clear and demanding. “Juice. Pwease.”
Sukuna’s jaw drops.
You slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”
“Did you…” Sukuna stammers, looking from Yuji to you, completely bewildered. “Did he just call me babe?”
“He definitely just called you babe,” you wheeze, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.
Yuji, growing impatient with the lack of service, turns his attention to you. He waddles over to the stove, tugging on the hem of your pajama shorts.
“Babe,” Yuji insists, pointing a chubby finger at the frying pan. “Pancake.”
A loud, booming bark of laughter erupts from your husbands chest. He throws his head back, his massive shoulders shaking as he braces his hands on the kitchen island. “Holy shit,” he wheezes.
“It’s not funny!” you scold, though you are biting your lip so hard to keep from laughing that it actually hurts. “He’s going to go to daycare and call his teachers babe!”
“The kid’s got swagger, what can I say?” Sukuna laughs, wiping his eyes. He crouches down, bringing himself to Yuji’s eye level. “Hey. Buddy. Who am I?”
Yuji looks at him like it’s the stupidest question in the world. He reaches out, patting Sukuna’s tattooed cheek with a sticky hand. “Babe.”
Sukuna bites his fist, his face turning red from the effort of holding in another hysterical laugh. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Stop swearing!” you hiss, swatting Sukuna’s shoulder with the spatula. You kneel down next to him, putting on your most serious, gentle mom-face. “Yuji, sweetie, look at me.”
Yuji blinks his big, golden eyes at you. “Yeah?”
You let out a long groan, dropping your head into your hands. Sukuna is practically vibrating next to you, completely useless.
“No, baby,” you say, looking back up. You point to yourself. “I am Mama. Ma-ma.”
Yuji stares at you.
You point to Sukuna, who is currently trying to compose his face into something resembling a responsible parent. “And he is Dada. Da-da. Not babe.”
Yuji looks at Sukuna. He looks at you. His little eyebrows furrow in deep toddler concentration. He’s processing the information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Mama,” Yuji says slowly, pointing at you.
“Yes!” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Good boy!”
Yuji then points at Sukuna. “Dada.”
“Exactly,” Sukuna nods, looking incredibly proud. “Nailed it, little man.”
Yuji smiles, a massive, gummy grin that lights up his entire face. He looks thrilled with himself. He holds up his sippy cup again, looking right at Sukuna.
“Dada babe! Juice!”
“I give up,” you sigh, standing back up and walking over to the fridge to get the apple juice. “We’re raising a tiny frat boy. This is entirely your fault.”
“My fault?!” Sukuna gasps from the floor, trying to catch his breath. “How is this my fault?!”
“Because you call me babe every five seconds!” you argue, pouring juice into the plastic cup. “You never use my actual name! You never call me mama! He literally thinks ‘babe’ is a universal pronoun!”
“You call me babe too!” Sukuna defends himself, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. He looks entirely too amused by the situation. “I haven’t heard you call me ‘dada’ unless we’re in the bedroom, and even then—”
“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you shriek, your face flushing a shade of red as you shove the sippy cup into his chest. “Not in front of the child!”
“What? He doesn’t know what that means,” Sukuna smirks, standing up and effortlessly pulling you by the waist until your back is flush against his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.
Yuji happily takes his juice, taking a long sip before waddling over to the living room to watch his cartoons, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis he just caused.
“We have to actively start calling each other Mama and Dada around him. Seriously. I am not having my two-year-old walk around the grocery store yelling ‘babe’ at me.”
“Alright, alright,” Sukuna chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. He presses a soft kiss to your hair. “We’ll be better. Strictly Mama and Dada from now on.”
“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him.
“Yes, mommy..” he laughs, kissing your cheek. You groan, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “I hate you.”
an: i'm laughing my ass out with the tiktoks of toddler calling their parents babe! please let me marey Sukuna :c art by: umeka ryomen on pinterest here! the dividers and GIF i got from pinterest! please let ne know who the owners are if u know!
content ꩜ 3.7k words ， fluff ， heian era ， true form sukuna ， sukuna being sukuna or whatever ， established feelings ， casual violence and canon-typical violence ， it's sukuna
taglist ꩜ @nightmarenyxx ， @spectranix 𖥻 taglist form
notes ꩜ im sick. please coddle me. i made this on a whim to fulfill a friend's request
Ryōmen Sukuna is a man of strength and two faces.
Children are quieted by his name. Warriors pray they shall never glimpse his shadow. Courtiers lower their eyes when tales of him reach the capital. Sorcerers clasp at their prayer beads so as to not have him take what is theirs to keep, some day.
He does not bow. He does not plead. He does not seek permission from the gods nor men. He does not let those who call themselves higher beings dictate his presence, nor his frame. Ryōmen Sukuna creates law. He is law. This is known.
Therefore, Ryōmen Sukuna abides by five pillars.
Firstly, Ryōmen Sukuna does not coddle.
Sukuna does not mince his words and Sukuna does not mince his actions. There is a reason why he has earned his reputation. The disgraced one does not succumb to those who reveal themselves to be weak. Men cry and women pray. They are all the same.
A servant once shattered a lacquered bowl in his presence. Sukuna tore off the servant’s arm. Another stumbled while carrying a bowl of boiling water. It had burned their skin. Sukuna did not look up. There once came a woman, shivering from the rain whom Kuraokami poured, kneeling at his doorstep. He had not spared her a glance.
Sukuna does not do silken touches. He does not offer consolidation. He does not hold compassion in the face of feebleness. Sukuna does not soften. Sukuna does not spare any for those who are weak. He did not change even after his disgrace. Even before he had become Ryōmen Sukuna, when he was living as a man with a name he does not remember anymore, Sukuna did not falter for kindness in the presence of the frail.
He had not been once accused of gentleness.
Your hand had wounded under a thorn. It leaks a dark red, some color that only exists in the presence of royalty with its velvety robes. The sting does not hurt much, but the drip does not control itself. It twitches under your clothes. As quickly as you can, you try to hide it under your sleeve.
Sukuna notices immediately.
Your arms retreats behind your back but his hands find them quicker than the countless fires that spread from his doing. He retrieves the prickled by a plum hand.
You try to release from his grasp, but he grips you steadily.
“Hold still.”
His fingers close around your wrist. The motion is effortless, irritatingly so.
“It is only a scratch.”
“Hold still.”
You expect a reprimand. Instead, Sukuna reaches for a roll of linen resting beside a stack of scrolls. His hand still wraps around your wrist. He does not grip on it tightly, you do not recognize the iron grasps those who fear him like to utter.
For a moment, neither of you speak. He cleans the wound with water that he had barked to be prepared for before. The cloth is wrapped twice. Then a third time. Then on the fourth, you notice something wrong.
"My lord," you utter. "You are wrapping my hand."
His eyes sharpen at you. "You possess eyes."
The bandage is tied far more carefully than necessary. It does not tug at your circulation. It also does not scratch at your wound. When he releases your hand, the knot is neat. Your hand is covered. It does not sting when you move it, and the red of spider lilies does not seep into the cloth.
You stare at it. Sukuna pretends not to notice.
Only four days later, you have become ill. You are bedridden and tied to the straw mats; they are sat atop each other. Layer by layer. However, it does not help the seeping cold through your body.
You are a mere herbalist and the kin of an apothecary. You have been mistaken, perhaps accused of being a court physician many times. However, your status does not deceive its bedding. The straw mats are uncomfortable. You do not have the standing to request more adequate items, let alone luxuries.
There is hollowness between your cheeks. When you awake, a bowl has appeared beside your bedding. Steam curls from its surface and it expels a pleasant smell. You do not know how exactly it smells. Your nose has been suppressed of its usual sharpness. You open your eyes and find Sukuna in the small room.
“My lord,” you suspect that Sukuna believes the rasp in your voice is the result of some trivial, passing ailment.
“What?”
“Did a servant bring this?” you ask, gesturing weakly toward the steaming bowl.
“No.”
“Oh,” you wait. The silence stretches and you watch the dim light of your room playing across the tattoos that snake over his skin. Sukuna does not shift, but the air seems to grow tighter, as if he is waiting for you to dismiss him so he can return to his throne of bones.
“So you did?” you venture.
“I was present.”
“You made soup.”
He stiffens, his two lower arms twitching in a brief, almost irritated motion. “I boiled water.”
“You made soup,” you repeat insistently. A faint, lopsided smile touches your lips.
He turns his head and his secondary face is shadowed. His primary one fixes on you with annoyance. He wants to say something it seems, but does not. Instead, he makes to stand. His four arms shift as he prepares to withdraw. You reach out, your fingers tugging against the fabric of his robes. You are a mere herbalist, but momentarily you always forget the fear you are meant to feel with the king.
Your gaze lingers on the extra set of arms that frame his silhouette. Then back to his sets of eyes. You shake your head at him. You tug him once more and he freezes until the room goes still. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders breaks. He settles back down. His extra arms unfold as he keeps his eyes locked on yours.
It is imperative to note that the next day, you are still sick and helpless, as even with your herbalistic knowledge, you are far too weak to heal yourself. Your straw mats were doubled that following day.
Secondly, Ryōmen Sukuna does not share.
It is only natural that Ryōmen Sukuna does not share. A being made not from the earth does not share.
Possession is simple. If Sukuna desires something, it becomes his. If it is his, it remains so. The distinction is clear enough that even children understand it. A provincial lord once presented him with a sword forged over seven years. Sukuna took the blade, admired its craftsmanship, and kept both sword and smith.
A shrine offered tribute during a season of famine. The priests begged him to leave a portion behind. Sukuna accepted every grain of rice and left the shrine standing solely because he was in a generous mood. There are stories of warriors dividing spoils after battle. Sukuna had never participated in such discussions. What he claims is his. What remains belongs to whoever is brave enough to take it from the corpses.
Even before his disgrace, when he still walked among men beneath a forgotten name, Sukuna did not understand the instinct to split bread in half.
During the seventh year of Emperor Daigo’s reign, another provincial lord arrived bearing tribute. He had carried many things. Gold, much of it and silk. Swords forged by masters whose names have since been forgotten. Sukuna took everything. When the lord’s retainers protested, Sukuna did not falter. He had killed them. When the lord protested, Sukuna killed him as well.
The gifts remained in his possession until they rotted. He had no use for them. They were simply his.
It is the heart of a bitter winter. The gardens are stripped of all color save for the white shroud of snow that smothers the earth.
There is a peach.
It is an anomaly. It should not exist. You know this because you spent the morning listening to merchants complain about frost and harvests. A singular fruit, salvaged from the final, fleeting gasps of the autumn. It sits on a low table between you. Its skin is a pale, fading blush. It is the last of the season.
Sukuna is reading as he sits upon his dais. There is a sprawl of ancient scrolls and his fingers trace calligraphy that predates the current Emperor. His two lower arms—the ones that have been restless—shift. A hand, one that is large enough to crush a man’s skull, picks up the fruit. He does not eat it. He moves it across the space between you, placing it squarely on the hem of your sleeve.
“Eat.”
You blink, tearing yourself from his form to the fruit. Sukuna consumes what he desires and destroys what he finds beneath him. To share is a concept that does not exist.
"What?”
Sukuna had been tapping his talons against his knees. It stops. The silence that follows eats the breath from your lungs. His primary face turns towards you. “Must I repeat myself?”
His secondary face tilts slightly, watching you intensely. You stare back and blink. He is waiting. Not for gratitude, for he would loathe that. He is waiting to see if you have the courage to take what he has offered. And so you reach to pick up the fruit. Your fingers brush the fuzzy skin of the peach.
The winter is unrelenting. The cold manages to seep through the floorboards and you are huddled near the hearth. You are shivering and your body is frail; you have not been blessed with the intensity of everbearing health. You are wrapped in the voluminous and heavy silk of one of Ryōmen Sukuna’s discarded robes. It smells of him and is too big on your frame.
You did not ask for it. You did not offer a bow of apology or a trembling “Sukuna-dono, I extend my apologies,” for the audacity of taking what belongs to him. You had also begun referring to him by that. Sukuna-dono. He sees, eventually.
He is aware. He feels the shifting of the silk against your skin as you pull the stiff sleeves over your trembling hands. You retreat into the cowl of the collar. By every law he has penned for his own existence, this is theft. It is an unearned comfort. In the eyes of any other inhabitant of the Heian capital, this would mark death.
He does not reach for a blade, nor blink. It should be a trivial affront to be met with a casual dismemberment.
The two arms that had been idling, the ones that had been resting against his knees, move with the sound of grinding stone. He rises from his position and reaches towards you. You stiffen and wait for the reprimand once more. Instead, he looms over you and he does not reach for the fabric to reclaim it. He reaches for you.
His hands ignore your attempts to shrink away. One of them catches your shoulder and another adjusts the heavy silk, pulling the neckline up until it shields the sensitive nape of your neck. He tucks the edges in, sealing the warmth against your body.
He does not wait for a reaction. Sukuna simply leaves. Sukuna does not share as this robe belongs to him. Therefore, he is free to do whatever he pleases with it. He does not take it back. Ryōmen Sukuna’s things started to disappear ever since that day. They are found in your room some weeks later. He does not take them back either.
Third, Ryōmen Sukuna does not wait.
Sukuna does not wait. The world moves slowly. It hesitates and negotiates; it bores him. Sukuna has never possessed the patience for such things. When a governor delayed delivering tribute, Sukuna crossed three provinces and arrived at the man’s residence before the messenger carrying the excuse.
There was once a sorcerer who challenged him. The fool requested three days to prepare and Sukuna granted him nothing. Before sunset, the sorcerer’s head decorated the palace gates. Sukuna had said, if he required three days, he was not worth meeting.
There are tales of armies gathering for months before marching. Sukuna finds this incomprehensible. If he desires battle, he walks towards it. If he desires destruction, he begins. The seasons may linger and men may deliberate, gods will always scheme. Sukuna has never seen the purpose, even before he became the calamity sung about in frightened whispers.
The stone corridors of the fortress are vast. They swallow the unworthy. You should have been here at dusk but you had been distracted. Herbs. You had been gathering herbs. Instead of arriving during the promise of the coming night, you arrive when the moon has already climbed to its zenith.
You find him in the main hall. It smells of incense. He is sitting on the elevated dais and Sukuna holds his position still. His true form is fully manifest. You are but a mere herbalist, and they do not frighten you somehow. All four arms are visible and the upper pair are crossed over his chest. The lower pair rests upon his thighs. His second face is twisted into a scowl while watching the entrance.
As you step into the light of the flickering wall-torches, he does not move. Sukuna does not greet you. Your pulse skips once, yet you walk forward until you are standing at the base of his dais.
“You are angry,” you state.
“I am not,” he responds trimly.
“You are.”
“I am not,” his eyes—all four of them—narrow. The secondary face on his neck sneers, its lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp, inhuman teeth.
You take a step closer. You are unbothered by the lethality. You brace yourself for a reprimand however, you know the texture of his temper now. It is not a wildfire. To you. “I forgot,” you offer a clumsy and honest confession. It is insufficient.
His upper set of arms unfolds, fingers splayed out against the floorboards. “You did.”
The bluntness of his agreement takes you back. It is far more discomforting than a rebuke. You look at him and the shadows clinging to his extra limbs he has now selectively hidden in your presence. You realize the magnitude of the time he has just spent staring at the wall.
“How long?” you ask.
“What?”
“How long have you waited?”
The precarious question hones within another silence. You are asking him to quantify his wait. He stands suddenly, so swiftly that the air in the room displaces. He towers over you. His upper set of arms come back to cross in front of his chest.
“You concern yourself with foolish matters,” he growls. Sukuna turns with his heavy robes swaying with the motion. He is angry at you, and you do not like that.
“My lord,” your voice has turned soft. You refuse to let the moment dissipate so you call out. You have learned that he does not care for pleas, but you are not pleading.
Sukuna freezes. The secondary face on his neck tracks you. It is well known that Sukuna and his two faces scour those he finds unworthy like predators. His primary face remains imperious. He does not look back immediately, however, his fingers twitch. It betrays his uncooperative frame. You are sure he would rather carve out of his own flesh than admit it out loud.
“Three hours.”
He pauses.
“...Perhaps four.”
Fourthly, Ryōmen Sukuna does not yield.
Ryōmen Sukuna has never lost a battle. He has seen countless bloodshed, and he has caused countless bloodshed with his own body. Ryōmen Sukuna, for all parts, enjoys winning, he does not yield.
The mountains bend beneath storms, rivers alter their course, dynasties collapse. Sukuna remains. An Emperor once demanded his submission. The messenger returned without his horse. A clan of sorcerers assembled to force him from sacred territory and the territory changed ownership instead. When temples cursed his name, Sukuna took shelter beneath their roofs during the rain simply because the insult amused him.
Defeat is a language spoken by ordinary men. Compromise is spoken by clever ones. Sukuna has never been interested in either dialect. Stubbornness clung to him more faithfully than any companion. The world may push. Sukuna definitely pushes back.
Snow drifts beyond the open engawa. The winter air carries a scent. It is cedar and smoke. There is residual warmth against your cheeks. It is the cycle’s next winter, the one after you had stolen his robes and his brushes. He still had not bothered to look for them, and he still had not taken them back.
You are carrying a bundle of herbs in your hands. They stain your fingertips and your palms but you will wash them later. Sukuna is here. He does not look up from the scroll spread across his lap despite your shadow casting over him.
“You promised.”
The lie arrives instantly. “I did no such thing.”
“You said you would return before winter,” you utter. You do not use the tone of a priest viewing a miracle. You use the tone of yourself. Interrogative, curious. You had told Sukuna that he must come back before winter comes. It would not be terrific if he had been caught in a storm, and it would not be pleasant if he had come back immobilized from the cold.
“And?”
You stare. The audacity of the response settles over the room like dust.
“You returned before winter.”
His brush pauses. “I did.”
The answer arrives without hesitation. Matter-of-fact. There is not a hint of bother and it makes you lower the bundle of herbs in your hands. Sukuna finally glances up. There is no shame in his expression. No realization. No understanding whatsoever of the trap he had already walked into.
You step closer to him. “You came back before winter because I asked you to.”
His hand twitches as he utters the syllables. A muscle jumps in his jaw. For the first time since the conversation began, he looks vaguely irritated. “Foolish.”
You tilt your head. You do not speak anymore for just a few moments. Sukuna narrows his eyes, but you have become accustomed to his mannerisms within the winters you’ve shared with him. You can practically see the moment he had realized what you said and what he responded with. It offends him deeply.
“Sukuna-dono,” you mutter.
“What?”
There is a silence again and his fingers tighten around the scroll. Sukuna believes you are a fool. An irritating fool. A persistent fool. There is a smile that threatens to paint on your lips, perhaps using the brush Sukuna is holding. For several moments, neither of you speak. Then, Sukuna returns his attention to the scroll. The discussion is over until one heartbeat, two, three.
“I am pleased you returned before winter.”
The brush snaps cleanly in half.
Finally, Ryōmen Sukuna does not love.
Love is a weakness that poets celebrate because they possess no strength worthy to be spoken of. It inspires promises that cannot be kept and grief that cannot be escaped. It turns warriors into fools and rulers into beggars.
A noblewoman once offered Sukuna her hand in marriage and he laughed until she cried. A monk claimed love was humanity’s greatest virtue and Sukuna asked him whether virtue would stop a blade. The songs sung in court speak of devotion enduring across lifetimes. Sukuna has heard them all. He has never cared for any of them.
Love is for poets, courtiers, for fools who mistake devotion for strength. Ryōmen Sukuna has never required such things.Court poets have attempted to assign Ryōmen Sukuna lovers. They have all died. Some imagined beautiful noblewomen. Others imagined celestial maidens. Love is for creatures who fear solitude and Ryōmen Sukuna has never feared anything.
Love requires surrender. Love requires trust. Love requires placing something in another person’s hands and believing they will not crush it. Sukuna has never surrendered. Sukuna trusts no one. Ryōmen Sukuna does not love. This is known. It is known by children. It is known by emperors. It is known by sorcerers. It is known by gods. It is known by Ryōmen Sukuna himself.
Unfortunately, it is not known by you. And because you do not know it, Sukuna finds himself breaking the fifth pillar with alarming regularity.
You are standing by the engawa in spring. Sukuna’s gaze is fixed on the garden. It is rare for you to catch him like this. His arms, the lower ones, are restless as always. And the other is resting idly. The plum blossoms have long since surrendered their petals to the wind. The cherry trees are beginning to follow. The gardens below the engawa are awash with pale pink.
The King of Curses is not a contemplative creature. He destroys. He conquers. He takes. Reflection is an indulgence usually reserved for weaker men. Yet, he remains still.
You approach and make no effort to hide your footsteps. There is no hesitation in them. You have long since stopped treating him the way everyone else does. No one else would dare and no one else survives long enough to try.
“My lord.”
He turns and you smile. Nothing more, nothing less. He does not respond to you any further.
“Sukuna-dono.”
You say his name gently for the second time, hoping it would change. One of his hands curls into a fist. This feeling is familiar now; one that he dislikes. A petal catches the back of your hair, then with a jolty shift of your head, it falls down. His gaze follows it, not because he is avoiding looking at you. Certainly not.
“Sukuna.”
He finally responds. “What is it?”
Your lips form a smile before you can stop it. "Nothing."
Love requires placing something precious into another person’s hands and believing they will not destroy it. Sukuna has placed nothing in your hands. Nothing at all. Not his attention. Not his patience. Certainly not his heart. Ryōmen Sukuna does not love. This is known.
Therefore, the fact that he has spent the last six years ensuring that you never walk alone after sunset is irrelevant.
Dragon hybrid!Sukuna who controls whirlwinds, who controls volcanoes, who controls the storms that crash down upon Earth. Dragon hybrid!Sukuna who’s such a powerful being - sought out for blessings (and even curses) from far and wide, and sometimes even gets…sacrifices. Though he cares not for such things, of course- Dragon hybrid!Sukuna who gets you—brought up to his shrine as if a pretty gift. And he’s never seen anything prettier, you don’t want to go back to the village that left you: so would you mind if he kept you?
i imagine my yumeship in a historical kdrama kinda lens, and lemme tell u this song would def be one of the osts
very very loose redraw of the songs cover art, as you can tell from the vid lolol. its from the drama "shine or go crazy" which was p okay as far as plot goes but i was rly in it for the cast<3 actual reference image here
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips lowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
────────────────
a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.
Everything was so much weird.
When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.
You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.
But the real shock came twenty minutes later.
The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.
You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.
"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.
You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.
"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.
Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.
When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.
"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"
You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."
The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.
"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.
"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.
"And do you know where you are right now?"
"A hospital?"
"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."
You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign
So you were married.
"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."
The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.
Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?
"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."
You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.
"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.
The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.
"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.
"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.
To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.
"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."
You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.
An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.
You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.
"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.
"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.
"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.
"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."
"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"
"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."
He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.
"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."
He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.
Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.
As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.
"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.
'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.
"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.
It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.
You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.
Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.
"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.
He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.
"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."
You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.
"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."
"Okay" you hummed softly.
His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."
You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.
"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"
His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.
"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.
He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.
"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"
"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"
"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.
"Why?"
"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."
You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."
The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.
"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."
"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.
"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.
Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."
A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.
Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.
Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.
When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.
And then, there was Sukuna.
Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.
To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.
He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much
His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.
At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.
The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.
Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"
"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.
"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.
"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."
The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"
You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."
You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.
"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.
"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."
You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.
"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.
The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.
As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.
Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.
Crash!
The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.
You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.
You froze.
Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.
Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.
You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.
Pink hair.
The backyard.
The jazz music.
The napkin.
A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.
The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.
"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.
You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.
But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.
As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.
"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.
Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.
Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.
"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."
Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.
"I fucking love you" he whispers
(not me me writing all night just for 36 like and one reblog😣🙏🏾)
Summary: Sukuna is tired of seeing his favourite bartender upset over her bum ass boyfriend
Part 1
The next few nights were busy. Not packed, but busy enough that you could lose yourself in the rhythm.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t busy enough to stop thinking about Sukuna. Every time the door swung open you were eager to look up; and even more disappointed when it wasn’t him.
“Think about it sweetheart.” You hated that those words had followed you. If you tried hard enough, you could still feel the warmth of his hand on yours.
The bell above the door chimed.
And there was your boyfriend, tipsy already, and it was barely 10pm.
A knot formed in your stomach.
“Hey babe,” he called loudly, stumbling slightly as he approached the bar.
Several customers glanced over. You forced a smile. “You’re drunk,” you whispered when he got closer.
He laughed. “Missed me?”
No. The thought came before you could stop it.
“I told you I was working.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His arm landed heavily on the counter.
You tried to keep him quiet for a while, and not disturb the rest of the customers.
———
Then his eyes shifted and he froze.
Sukuna happened to walk in twenty minutes after him. He took a seat three stools away, waving at you as he sat down.
Your boyfriend straightened. “Who’s this?”
You closed your eyes briefly.
Please don’t.
Sukuna calmly took a sip of the whiskey you just served him.
Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to.
“Oh.” Your boyfriend laughed humorlessly. “Oh, I get it.”
Sukuna didn’t react.
Your boyfriend pointed at him. “You’re the guy.”
“The guy?” Sukuna asked mildly.
“The guy trying to get with my girlfriend.”
Every muscle in your body tensed. “Stop. Please.”
Your boyfriend ignored you. “What, you think I haven’t noticed?”
Sukuna set his glass down slowly. “You’re making a scene.”
“You talking to my girl isn’t making a scene?”
“She’s working, I come here just for the booze buddy.”
You stepped forward. “Enough.”
But your boyfriend was already spiraling. The alcohol had taken control. “You think you’re better than me?”
Sukuna leaned back. “No.”
That somehow made him angrier. The bar had gone quiet, and customers were pretending not to stare.
Your face burned. Humiliation clawing at your skin.
“Come on then.” Your boyfriend stepped closer. “Let’s go outside.”
Sukuna sighed, like he was tired; like he didn’t feel threatened at all. “You’re drunk.”
“Says the guy sitting in a bar.”
“I’ve had one drink, unlike you.”
“You’re scared huh?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. “And I’m not fighting you.”
Your boyfriend shoved the edge of the bar, his glass rattling. You were frozen in fear and embarrassment.
“Hey.” Your coworker immediately appeared beside you. “That’s enough.”
Your boyfriend barely acknowledged him.
Big mistake.
Your coworker was six-foot-four and built like a fridge.
Sukuna stood. “Let’s go.”
Your boyfriend scoffed. “Or what?”
“Or you’ll embarrass her more than you already have,” he says nodding his head in your direction.
Silence.
Your boyfriend’s face twisted with disgust, and your stomach churned because you thought he was going to swing at Sukuna. It wouldn’t be the first time he got into a bar fight.
Instead Sukuna simply stepped beside him, and your coworker on the other. Together they guided him toward the door.
“Get off me!”
Nobody reacted.
“She’s my girlfriend! Babe say something—“
The words echoed through the bar; and you wished the floor would swallow you whole.
The bell chimed. And he was gone.
Customers quickly returned to their conversations and card games. The music seemed to play a little louder.
Life moved on.
But you couldn’t. You stared at the counter. At the glasses. At anything except the people around you.
Your eyes burned.
No. Not here.
The first tear slipped free. You immediately turned away. Mortified, because how could your life get any worse.
“Hey.” Sukuna’s voice was quieter now.
You shook your head. “I’m fine.”
Another tear followed. Then another.
God, you hated crying in front of people.
Your coworker squeezed your shoulder, “I’ve got the floor, take a break.”
You didn’t argue.
——-
A few minutes later you found yourself sitting on a crate outside the back of the bar, trying and failing to pull yourself together.
Footsteps approached you, but you didn’t look up, because you knew who it was.
Sukuna sat beside you, and neither of you spoke for a while.
You wiped angrily at your face. “This is so embarrassing,” you say first.
“No, you did good.”
“Everyone saw.”
“Nobody cares.”
“I care,” you blurted out, mascara stained your face now.
His expression softened, which made you look away. You felt guilty for seeking solace in a man who wasn’t your boyfriend.
“God this is hard.” The confession slipped out before you could stop it. “He’s changed so much.”
Sukuna stayed quiet.
“He was such a great guy,” your voice cracked. “I know that’s hard to believe.”
The air felt as though it had thickened.
“And now I spend more time making excuses for him than talking about him.”
Sukuna looked at the floor, then at you. “I know.”
Fresh tears welled up. “He made me look stupid. So freakin stupid.” The words came out small and broken.
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. “You don’t look stupid.”
“I stayed and I continue to stay.”
“You love him.”
You laughed bitterly. “Who knows anymore.”
Sukuna watched you for a long moment. Then gently handed you a napkin. “You remember what I said the other day?”
Your chest tightened. Of course you remembered. “Hmm. I remember.”
He nodded once. “I meant it.” His gaze never left yours. “But I already told you what I had to say.”
The breeze was warm, drying your tear-streaked cheeks. This felt too intimate.
“You have to make a decision now.” Not a demand, no pressure. Just the truth.
Your eyes dropped to your hands. “What if I make the wrong one?”
A painful smile appeared on Sukuna’s face. “You already know what the wrong decision looks like.”
The tears started again; you were just so exhausted. And before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him slightly.
Sukuna froze, then slowly rested an arm around your shoulders.
No flirting, no teasing, no smug grin. Just a shoulder to cry on.
———————————————————————————————
The last box was heavier than it looked.
“What’s even in this thing?” Sukuna asked, carrying it down the apartment stairs like it weighed nothing.
You huffed a laugh behind him. “Mostly books.”
“You’re telling me paper weighs this much?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” you smiled.
“I can read.”
“That’s not what I—”
Sukuna shot you a look over his shoulder, and for the first time in weeks, you laughed without feeling guilty afterward. The sound surprised you both.
————
The apartment was almost empty now.
Almost no framed photos on the walls. No more clothes hanging in the closet. No more reminders of all the years you’d spent trying to make something work.
The moving truck sat outside, half loaded.
Sukuna set the last box inside and dusted off his hands. “There.”
You looked back toward the building. It felt strange, you had imagined this moment so many times before. But now that you were finally doing it, it didn’t feel dramatic.
“You okay?” Sukuna asked. His voice was softer these days, but still blunt like always.
You nod, “Yeah, i think so.”
Sukuna leaned against the truck. Neither of you spoke for a moment. The spring breeze tugged at your hair.
For the first time in months, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for the next disaster to happen.
No angry texts, no drunken calls.
No wondering what mood your ex-boyfriend would be in when he got home.
The realization hit you so suddenly your eyes started watering. Again.
You laughed through it.
“Are you crying?”
“I’m not,” you said turning away from him.
“Come here,” he said gesturing to you to come closer.
You wiped at your eyes, “I’m emotional.”
“I know, I’m not judging. No need for explanations.”
Sukuna smirked. Then his expression softened. “You know,” he said, “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”
You looked away.
That was the problem. You’d spent years being strong, fixing problems, and making excuses. Carrying someone else’s weight because you thought that was what love was.
Love is patient.
Love is sacrifice.
Love is sticking it out.
Right?
But somewhere along the way you’d forgotten that love wasn’t supposed to hurt all the time.
Sukuna reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle it made your chest ache.
“You saved yourself,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
“The restraining order. The breakup, the move. I’m so proud of you.”
“That was all you.” You smiled. “You did most of the heavy lifting, kinda like right now,” you gestured to the moving truck.
His red eyes met yours. Sukuna stepped closer. Just enough that you could feel his warmth. “But I couldn’t make the choice for you.”
You swallowed. He was right, he offered you a hand, a way out; but he never pushed.
The final decision had been yours.
Sukuna reached for your hand. Your fingers intertwined naturally now.
Although it was still fresh, you had decided on no promises or labels. One day at a time; and of course he was okay with that.
“What now?” You asked, while squeezing his hand.
Sukuna glanced toward the truck. “Now?”
A grin spread across his face. “We unpack six hundred pounds of books.”
You groaned.
sukuna chuckles, “Hey I already carried them.”
“You’re still helping me bring them in.”
Sukuna sighed dramatically. “See? This is how it starts.”
You laughed.
And as you climbed into the truck together, leaving the apartment behind for good, you realized for once, you were looking forward to what came next.
theartofmadeline
stormborns
areudirty
kaledo-art
