People always talked about Sukuna like he was intimidating. Too tall, too serious, tattoos crawling up his arms, piercings, and that permanent annoyed expression. But nobody ever mentioned his hands.
It happened randomly. You were stretched out on his couch while he worked on an assignment, his laptop balanced on his knee. Yuji was asleep in the other room after refusing bedtime three separate times. You weren’t even doing anything, just lying there with your cheek against the armrest, watching him.
His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands moved over the keyboard. You stared for too long because they did not match him.
Not really.
His knuckles had tiny pale lines across them, old cuts. One thicker scar sat near the base of his thumb. His nails were short and uneven, and the skin around his joints was dry. His fingers looked rough and used. Not ugly. Just worked.
Warehouse shifts, carrying boxes, opening things with his hands because he never bothered getting tools, cooking, washing dishes, holding Yuji’s tiny shoes while yelling at him to stand still, fixing Choso’s bike, and probably carrying too much for too long.
You looked down at your own hands, soft with little rings and tiny scars from paper cuts and cooking, and suddenly your chest hurt.
Sukuna glanced over. “Why are you staring.”
You blinked. “Nothing.”
“That face means something.”
You shook your head, and he went back to typing. Two minutes later, you spoke again. “Why are your hands like that?”
He stopped typing and slowly looked at you. “What does that mean.”
You sat up. “No, like…” You reached over and took one of his hands before he could pull away. He let you. You turned it over in your lap, his palm warm and rough. You traced one of the scars with your thumb.
“You work too hard.”
He stared at you, then looked away. “What.”
Your throat felt strange. You laughed awkwardly. “I dunno. I just… I don't know.” You pressed your thumb into his palm, and suddenly your eyes stung.
He noticed immediately. His expression shifted. “Oi.”
You looked away, and he responded by closing the laptop. “Why are you crying?”
“M’not.”
“You are.”
You sniffed, and it sounded ridiculous even to you. You whispered, “I just got sad.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “About my hand.”
You nodded once.
He looked genuinely confused. You swallowed. “I know this is dumb,” you murmured, tracing another scar. “But every time I see stuff like this, I think you do too much.”
His face stayed blank, so you kept going quietly.
“You work all day. You raise Yuji and Cho. You always pay. You fix everything, and…” Your voice softened. “Your hands look tired.”
Silence settled between you. Sukuna looked at you, then at his own hand resting in yours. For a moment, something in his expression shifted. Not dramatically, just a flicker of surprise, like nobody had ever looked at him and thought about him instead of what he could do.
He scoffed under his breath. “You’re weird.”
You nodded sadly. “I know.”
He stared at you for a few more seconds, then turned his hand and closed his fingers around yours. You froze. He looked away, the tips of his ears faintly pink.
“They’re just hands.”
You looked at him and whispered, “No.”
When his eyes flicked back to you, you smiled softly. “They look like someone whose been trying really hard.”
His jaw tightened, the way it always did, like affection made him uncomfortable. Then he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into him. You made a small, confused sound as he pressed your forehead against his shoulder.
“Stop looking at me like I’m dying.”
You laughed weakly. “M’ not.”
His hand rubbed your back once, slow and awkward. Then, quieter, he said, “It is not that bad.”
You nodded against him.
But later, when he was asleep, you held one of his hands against your cheek and thought that next time he came over, you were buying hand cream. Not because he needed it, but because somebody should take care of the hands that take care of everyone else.
Also, my sign to buy hand cream bc why tf are my hands so rough😭😭 Finally wrote something up, exams have literally drained my balls blue, I'm so DONE!!
a/n : pure smut im sorry...first time with sukuna after dating for a while / virgin reader / college sukuna. this was in my mind the entire week because i was ovulating thats it. HALP
wc : 5.5k
“A-are we really doing this?” You shyly hold onto Sukuna’s corded neck with a stubborn grip, hesitant to lower down against the bed.
Nervous, you bite your lip to calm yourself down. After all, you’re the one who invited him inside after your date, flirting too close to the sun. A few exchange of words and Sukuna was in a rush to leave, afraid he wouldn’t be able to contain himself in the confinement of your room, but then you pulled him by the hem of his shirt with wobbly knees and shaky fingers, his eyes twitch.
“If you don’t want to, you can always say no.” Sukuna hums, laying you down like a fragile flower. He runs his hands along the length of your thigh, smiling wolfishly when you shiver and close your legs.
Pulling off his shirt, Sukuna lets your hands touch on his tattoos, smugly showing off his muscles and wink nonchalantly. You giggle and he leans down on his elbows, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.
Soft giggles morph into lewd noises of embarrassed pleasure when his sniffs turn into hot licks on your neck and nibbles on your collarbone. Impatient, Sukuna’s hands trail up your ribcage and snake under your filmsy tank top that he can rip apart with ease, but he doesn’t, just to tease himself with your skin.
“So soft.” His large, rough hands finally reached their destination on your breasts. Soft, pillowy and spilling out between the gaps of his fingers, he squeezes and kneads. You cover your mouth to hold in a moan.
With a frown, he grabs your wrists away with a shake to his head, his freehand pushing her tank top and bra up above your chest.
“Nice boobs.” He says flatly, staring at your hard nipple.
“Stop, who even says it like that? So awkward.” You shiver and he laughs.
“What should I have said then? Like the guy in that historical romance book you read?” He chuckles, “What did he say again? Your bosoms are exquisite baby.” He imitates a lousy accent and you smack his chest in embarrasment.
“Still awkward!” You complain.
“I’ll show you awkward.” He says before he dives down to latch onto your right nipple, sucking and swirling his pierced tongue over it. The cold from the steel and heat from his saliva was driving you delirious and helpless, pulling his hair and whining for mercy. Now that’s awkward. You choke on your own moan.
Sukuna likes to stare. The most simple way to put it. His eyes are locked on your jaw, your nose, the flutter of your eyes everytime he swirls his tongue, biting your nipple gently and then pull it between his teeth to make you plead for release. He’s pretty sure the growing heat he’s feeling inside his body is heading down south to his leaking cock.
Releasing you nipple with a wet pop, his saliva trail follows down as he kisses down your middle to your bellybutton. Another kiss and wide lick at your womb, he goes further down, fingers pullling your shorts down your legs.
All the while, You whine and hold onto his messy pink hair. Too short to pull, just enough to yank. Noticing Sukuna heading downwards for your cunt, you close your legs with haste, cheeks red.
“Y-you don’t have to…"
“I want to. I’m better than everyone before me. I gurantee it.” He announces confidently before trying to go down again, but you yank his hair back up, frantic with embarrassment.
“N-no…I’m serious. I’ve never done this before…” You sniffle.
“What? No one ever gone down on you?” Sukuna almost sounds offended that your previous lovers did not want to indulge in the taste of you.
You nod, and he huffs.
“That’s fine. I’ll be the first and the last to enjoy this pussy-”
“I mean, technically you are my first…”
Sukuna’s head snaps up to meet your gaze. His eyes wide with surprise and a sudden flash of primal lust. He crawls back up to come face to face with you, a question hanging off the tip of his tongue.
“You…Are you a virgin?” His voice almost sounded excited and morbidly frightened, something perverted and depraved coming out of his usual persona.
“Y-yes? Ya? Was it not…obvious?” Replying him awkwardly, you fidget with the waistband of your own panties, wondering what’s running through his mind right now. Surely he had to have picked up on your inexperience within these two months you’ve been dating, right? Unless he thinks highly of you to have bagged a few guys before him…?
But Sukuna is your first everything, though you’re not his first at all. Makes you a little upset that you weren’t experiencing each other for the first time. Would it have been more clumsy? More—
Your train of thought is cut short from Sukuna suddenly patting his hand down to cup your sex through your underwear, middle and ring finger pressing onto your hole through the fabric. Your hands shoot up to grab his forearm, trembling with shock.
“Hey-!” His fingers are so cold!
“Are you- Fuck, no one made you cum before?” His expression is worrying you, yet turning you on at the same time. He looks angry, paired with the sudden roughness he’s handling your cunt with, thumb rubbing furiously over your clothed clit. You nod with a soft breathy gasp, wishing he would slow down a little, but the pleasure is building up so fast.
“I’m gonna be the first to make you cum. I’m gonna be the first. Oh fuck.” Sukuna sounds like he’s going to cum just from thinking about it. His palm rubs faster over your underwear, thumb swerving left and right over your clit. All you can do is nod and mewl, letting the cold pleasure build until it tenses you up like a jolt.
“Why didn’t you tell me I’m your first? Am I your first boyfriend too? Fuck, the kiss that day was your first too?” Sukuna asks right into your face, mocking in the way he searches for your eyes despite how hazy and zoned out you look in your high. His hand doesn’t stop, rubbing you off, smearing the wetness on your underwear on your thigh as his hand works you stupid.
You remember that day a few weeks back where Sukuna had kissed you while he was fixing his car. Squatting, you were surprised he slid out from the bottom of his car, pulling off his glove to grab your neck, pulling you down into a kiss.
At the time, you didn’t think that’s how your first kiss would go. Messy and quick in his garage while he was lying on a creeper, fixing parts of his rundown Toyota. Then you realized, he didn’t know that was your first kiss. He had the urge to kiss you after you listened intently to him talking about the inside outs of his car. Perhaps he felt overwhelmed with apprieciation and affection that he had to kiss you.
“I-it’s not like you asked!” Whining, you slap at his arm to stop him from pushing you into overstimulation.
“Yeah, but I assumed you at least tried something adventurous in the past.” He keeps rubbing until you cry out again for him, and his dick jumps and twitches in his pants. His boxers are no doubt ruined, but he doesn’t care about that right now.
“Sukuna- wait I’m goin’ to-” Your second orgasm hurls you off the bed, scratching at his forearm and crying out all pathetic. He holds his hand down on your womb so you don’t run too far off.
“My poor, sweet, girl. No one’s ever made you cum all your life…” Sukuna murmurs to no one, staring at your writhing form on your bed, chest heaving and jaw agape for oxygen.
The truth is, he’s never had a girlfriend before either. Casual flings here and there, then he turned 26. Then you came barging into his life, quite literally, splashing a whole bowl of hot miso soup all over him at the canteen on campus.
Mortified, you profusely apologized while trying to yank off his soaked jersey. He fought against your grip, knowing he had a rugby match in an hour. He’s strong, you’re stubborn, then it rips.
He ran all the way back to his dorm cussing you out under his breath and played in his smaller, tighter old jersey that was cutting into his armpits.
“That was too much!” You shove at his arm, pouting slightly even when he kisses your cheek in apology. Sukuna admits he’s a little too jolly about the prospect of making his first girlfriend feel good. It’s special to him, special to you. He spanks your clothed clit and watch you squirm a bit more for his satisfaction.
“It’s fine, sweetheart. I need to make you reaaallly wet anyways. Before we do anything.” He smirks.
“How wet is reeaaaalllly wet?”
“I mean, about a good 3 orgasms? For a virgin?” He entertains your need for some kind of statistic, leaning his head down again at your chest to mouth at your breast.
Clutching onto the thin stands of his pink hair, your thighs rub together when Sukuna once again reaches down your mound. Hooking his fingers into your unsexy cotton panties that he finds endearing for some reason, you’re fully bared to him. Pulling you by your ankles, he dangles your legs on the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t shave…” It’s pretty silly of you to not have prepared before you invited him in, but it’s happening right now and it’s too late to grab a razor to try.
“Have you ever shaved before?” He asks, genuinely curious.
“No, never.” You shake your head meekly.
“Well, if your pubic hair doesn’t hinder you, you don’t need to shave it then.” He simply says, leaning in to brush his nose against the coarse hairs on your mound. You try to pull his head up, flustered, but he doesn’t budge, resting his mouth on your cunt and nose idly on your pubic hair.
“W-why are you just resting on my…” It’s ridiculous that Sukuna is treating your pelvic area like a pillow, resting his lips there. He wryly smirks and lock eyes with you, sensing your growing impatience.
“Want me to do something?” His lips move and speak against your clit, and you stifle a sweet whine. His breath is hot, and the sudden memory of his pierced tongue on your breast was making you grow wetter. His piercing would feel so good against your clit.
“Do something please…” You plea with furrowed brows.
“I’m awful without instructions. What do you want?” He coos with a smile.
“Put your…um, put your mouth on my down there…” You beg harder.
“Sweetheart you’re 24.” Unamused, he speaks again, ignoring how his warm breath was making your poor clit twitch.
“Okay! Okay! Please lick my pussy!” You squeal into your palms, face burning behind your hands. It’s so embarrassing to say it out loud.
Sukuna wastes no time and pushes his tongue against your clit. The hot pleasure mixed in with the flickering cold from his piercing jolts you all in the right spot. Your thighs clamp down on his ears instantly, a loud mewl escaping your throat. He swipes his tongue side to side and you jolt again.
“‘M gonna push a finger in.” His eyes meet your clouded ones, pushing in his middle finger slowly into your cunt. It hurts, so you fight back a little as Sukuna holds an arm over your pelvis to keep you down.
“Shh shh. I know it hurts, it’s gonna feel good in a moment. Wait.” Hollowing his cheeks, he sucks on your throbbing clit hard, easing out the painful pressure of his finger with the pleasure. He keeps sucking on your little nub while his finger pushes deeper in, his own hips rutting against the edge of the bed, desperate to find a relief that comes in the form of a warm, wet cavern.
“A-ahh…It feels weird…your finger is really thick…” You softly moan, scratching his scalp.
“Unfortunately I have to push in at least two fingers to prep you bit more.” The tone of his voice is low and raspy, like he’s also on the edge. Feeling bad, you yank his head away from you more. Sukuna looks confused, mouth coated in your slimey wetness. It makes you blush.
“W-why don’t you touch yourself while helping me?”
“I wanna make you cum first.” He earnestly speaks, licking his lips. It’s insane how hot he looks while looking so unkempt, but a part of you is aware that it’s a masculine appeal that he possess. Not too domineering, not too subserviant, just enough to be a tease. It’s so nice to have a boyfriend that likes you. It’s so nice to have a boyfriend. It’s so nice to have Sukuna.
“I-I want you to touch yourself too!” Not sure where you get the sudden courage from, but you dish out an order to the man between your legs, and he chuckles with a cocky raise of his brow.
“Sure. Anything you say goes.”
Putting his mouth back on you, Sukuna’s eyes flutter close, freehand shoving into his pants and down into his boxers, pulling his cock out to stroke it. Your whines grow louder as he continues to suck and lap at your clit, seemingly even faster and sloppier this time due to him fucking his own fist. Growing hazy and fucked out himself, Sukuna is practically making out with your pussy while trying to get himself to cum.
“O-oh my god Suk-Sukuna I’m-” You cum violently for the third time, legs locking his neck and rubbing yourself all over his face. He takes it with no complaint, grunting and groaning into your cunt, letting his nose bridge bump your clit at every roll.
“F-fuck-” The schlick sound of him stroking himself gets louder, and suddenly he stands up, staring straight into your eyes and busts his load all over your chest.
“Eeeee! Your kids!” You blurt out with a giggle, touching the translucent semen on your chest, spreading the sticky substance between your fingers.
“That’s surely the first time I’ve heard someone react that way to semen.” Sukuna pants with a lazy smile, squeezing his dick once more, a few more dribbles oozing out. He’s still semi-erect after cumming.
“I mean it’s technically sperm. Like…millions of em.”
“Okay miss biologist, come here.” Grabbing a towel from your nightstand, he gently wipes your chest, then leaning down to kiss you chest to chest.
You like kissing. Or maybe just kissing Sukuna. His tongue is really active compared to yours, shoving and trying to fuck your throat deeper every gasp. You’ve gotten used to the way he likes to nip your bottom lip, before sticking his tongue out so you suck on his tongue like a good girl. It’s odd how nice it is to suck on his tongue, you dare say you prefer doing this than sucking his thumb. But maybe you only feel this way because Sukuna likes to hold onto you jaw everytime you kiss.
His hand is big, and warm, and, and, and…eughh. His touch is as equally comforting as it’s sensual. When he held your jaw trying to inspect the little pimples on your skin during your breakouts, he’d coo that you’re a pitiful girl and he’d help you apply cream. Is it bad to admit you like being pampered and taken cared of by a big mean man of little words? With everyone else, he’s closed off like a lonewolf, but behind closed doors, he cradles you in his embrace and says you’re his sweet girl.
You’re 24. Not much of a girl anymore, and you’re not sure you’re as sweet as he thinks of you to be. Then he casually pushes his fingers into your wet cunt again and suddenly you think you must look sweet and willing to him.
His finger goes in easily this time, curling it against a gummy spot inside you and you gasp against his lips. He drops his head down to kiss and plant a hickey on your neck, attempting to distract you from the pain of the intrusion from his second finger.
“I don-I don’t think it’ll- it’s really really tight…” Your nails dig into his shoulder, muffling your voice against his pink unruly hair. The short spikes prick at your nose and tickles you a little.
“Yeah. You’re really tight, you have to relax. Think about something that relaxes you.” He mutters against your skin, one hand kneading your breast, the other still trying to push his fingers in.
“Um um um, lofi music! Ambient lighting!” You squeal, eyes squeezed shut.
“Uh-huh.” He hums.
“Eating tiramisu!”
“Right…”
“ Playing Tomodachi Life!”
“Uh, sweetheart you don’t have to say it out loud.” He laughs against your cheek and now you feel ridiculous and childish for ruining the mood. Just when you’re about to chide him for poking fun at you, he curls his fingers. You gasp. His fingers went in while you were blabbing about your nonsense.
Looking up at him like an abandoned cat in the rain, Sukuna smiles with a sickly sweet look on his face, then he curls his fingers once more, you moan uncontrollably into his chest.
“See? We’re getting somewhere. You’ve never had anything in there, right?” He mocks you with a patronizing tone, continuing to pump and curl his fingers into this particular spot inside you. It feels so much different than just rubbing on your clit. The feeling is more pointed, sharper inside you, forcing out lewd moans out your throat. Now you think you’re reduced to a common whore when you’re drooling on his tattooed chest.
Knees buckling, Sukuna is quick to wrap his arm around you to support you, laying you back down on the pillows, his fingers scissoring inside you.
“I-I legit feel like I-Imma explode.”
“You’re slurring your words.”
“S-sthop.”
“It’s a good thing.”
He says nothing afterwards and targets all his attention on your cunt, using his fingers to mess up all your insides. He curls and your head is thrown back. He scissors and your toes are tightly curled. Had you known fingering was this pleasurable, you would have tried it yourself sooner.
Picking up the pace, Sukuna’s fingerfucks you until you’re hurled over the edge again, you’ve lost count on how many times you’ve cum tonight. The scoreboard is Sukuna at 1 and you at 4, you think. How he’s not already asking you to take his cock in your mouth is astonishing to you. So patient.
“T-that was so good…”
“Bet it was.”
“I never tried doing it myself.”
“Well, I’m not sure if your fingers could reach as deep as mine did.” He pulls out from your wet heat and you watch in a mix of horror and arousal as he sucks on his digits with the taste of you. He did just eat you out earlier, but for some reason it feels way more nastier with his fingers.
Panting harshly, you slowly come down from your high, lips dry and throat itchy. He brushes away the sweaty hair stuck on your forehead and it reminds you of that time he held up your hair when you had thrown up from food poisoning. The way he looks at you is the same.
Your hands hold up towards him, opening and closing your palm like a child begging for affection. Sukuna smiles and joins you downward into another kiss, hugging you, running his hands across your back. You return his gesture, as simple and primitive as it can be for two human beings to rub and caress each other’s backs in a hug. As open-hearted and unadvanced as it comes to be, sex is the same.
Something hard and phallic presses against your thigh, Sukuna looks at you with a knowing smile that’s a mix of anticipation and bashfulness. You never thought he could ever be someone who felt bashful about anything at all, but perhaps he’s embarrased by the eagerness of his manhood during your tender moment.
“You can put it in.” You offer, nodding with alacrity.
“Don’t say it like that,” He scratches his scalp, “You’re gonna work me up more.”
“Oh, sorry.” You giggle.
Bracing himself up on his elbows once again, Sukuna looks down at his dick and grabs it, trying to line himself properly.
“You’re on birth control, right? Or do you prefer a condom?”
You shyly look away, before answering him sheepishly.
“I’m- I’m on IUD.”
“What?” Sukuna stills with surprise and looks at you with wide eyes.
“Um,” You sniffle, “I got it when we started dating…”
The smile on Sukuna’s face twists into stupidly arrogant expression, cocking his head to one side.
“You wanted to fuck me raw that bad huh?”
“Stop!”
“Ah, didn’t know my sweet sweet sweet girl was this perverted and dirty.”
“Enough!” You slap his face playfully and he chuckles while rubbing his cheek. He complies and goes back to lining himself up, unaware his precum is dribbling all over your mound.
It’s true, you did get an IUD after discussing with your friends about wanting to have sex with Sukuna. Initially, you thought going on birth control and condoms was good enough, but then your best friend had recommended you an IUD. You were sure Sukuna was clean and he would never put you in danger, so you went ahead and got it at the clinic. The doctor even teased you about “having fun” after it’s planted into your arm.
“I just realized this is my first time seeing a real dick.” You whisper.
“Uh-huh. What do you think?” He whispers back, trying to focus.
“U-uh, it looks kind of t-thick. I’m not sure about the size. Also you tattooed your dick?” You stutter a little when the tip catches onto the hood of your clit, he smiles to himself at his accidental tease.
“Yeah I did when I was 20,” He scoffs in amusement like he admits it’s a silly thing to do, “Not sure about the size?”
“I mean I can’t tell if it’s big or… not big.” You certainly didn’t want to say ‘small’ and insult him, but Sukuna looks up at you as if you have.
“Hm, well, the penis size sometimes does not matter. Time to time it’s more of the technique.” He explains flatly.
“Why does it sound so complicated?”
“Even if a guy had a super big dick, for instance, 10 inch or so, he might not be able to have sex with his partner because it’s simply uncomfortable. Plus, a woman’s cervix varies in- Fuck, I’ll explain later, okay?” Sukuna abandons his educational speech midway out of frustration and you giggle, watching him line himself up. Then, he pushes in.
“S-suku…na.” You whine, feeling something foreign and squishy going inside you. His dick is kind of warm, or maybe you’re burning up inside and you’re burning him up too, because Sukuna looks as if he’s in pain and sweating.
“Y-you feel so fucking good, shit,” He pants, catching his own breath for a moment, “I don’t want to push it in too fast, so don’t squeeze me so hard.”
“I’m not squeezing you!” You let go of his shoulders.
“Not your hands, your pussy you stupid girl!” He grits.
“O-oh! Okay! R-relaxing!” You try to take deep breaths to relax, feeling an inch push further more inside you.
He shifts and adjusts himself so he’s kneeling on the bed, grabbing onto your hip to pull you against him instead of pushing himself in. He groans at the halfway point, biting his bottom lip so he doesn’t blow his load the second he fully sheathes in.
If he were to calculate, Sukuna’s been celibate for almost 2 years. Sex wasn’t really on his mind often since he was always busy with rugby and his engineering assignments, so he didn’t bother to have flings the same way he had during the first year of college. He wouldn’t say he had a low libido, but rugby definitely works him up a sweat. Then he gets super horny and jerks himself off afterwards.
A spilled miso soup and you, came tumbling into his life a year ago like a car crash, then he realizes he might be much more perverted than he had previously thought himself to be. Sukuna hates clumsy people, but he oddly found himself acquiring a mysterious source of patience to teach you how to ice skate. The glimmer in your eyes and the sheer awe you had when you held onto his arm and slid across the ice made him uncharacteristically aware of the physical contact.
Then you proceeded let go and twirl yourself around yelling “Sukuna Sukuna look what I can do!”, doing a 360 spin and posing, before stumbling on the ice like a klutz. He rubs his face to suppress the betraying happiness showing on his face, but then a glimpse of your bare nape makes him do a double take and swallow like a victorian man with a finie maiden’s ankle.
“Fuck, it’s in.” Sukuna groans with long sigh, feeling his thighs shake with adrenaline and the urge to start thrusting into you. Watching you gasping softly with your hands fisting the pillow behind you definitely doesn’t help.
“I feel so full.”
“Don’t say that.”
“No really, I-I feel so stuffed. It feels like your dick is all the way in my ribs.”
“Fuck,” Sukuna rubs his face with a shaky exhale, “Don’t say anything more unless you’re ready for me to move.”
“But I can’t,” You softly cry, “Is your dick really big because it feels like a coca cola can is nesting inside my womb.”
“What? You are so- I don’t even- Jesus,” Sukuna’s jaw clenches before he decides he has enough and it’s him to blame for dating you, “I’m going to move now.”
Sukuna slowly pulls out with an agonizing pace, before pushing back in all the way. The pressure, the tightness of it makes him groan loudly with an open jaw, then he makes the mistake to look up at your reaction and you’re covering your mouth with quick pants, looking all helpless and alarmed. Fueled by your reaction, he does it one more time, you cry out and muffle your noises again.
With a quick decisive motion, Sukuna yanks your hands away from your mouth and intertwines it with his fingers. Droplets of sweat start to form on his forehead starts to form as he starts to pick up the pace and rut into you faster. All you can do is drool and mewl and push at his abs to ground yourself, but then he presses your hands down at your stomach and you cry out at the pressure.
“A-as I was s-saying,” he pants, talking loudly over the slapping sounds of his hips against your ass, “A- a woman’s cervix varies from woman to woman. Some, fuck, some women have deeper cervix, some have shallow ones.” The tip of his cock bumps right into a sweet spot inside you, and Sukuna grins at the slick that oozes out of you more.
“In your c-case, your cervix is, shallow.” Sukuna angles himself towards that spot again and thrusts himself harder, pressing down on your stomach. You squirt a little and he laughs like a maniac.
“S-sukuna-” The tears in your eyes are starting to build from the pleasure, the friction of his thrusts with the lewd bounce of your breast is so humiliatingly pleasureable, you feel yourself about to cum again. Sukuna’s pace doesn’t falter at all, and he’s attacking that squishy spot inside you with scary good precision.
“You’re sensitive with a shallow c-cervix, it’s pretty fucking easy for you to feel good even with a smaller dick.” Noticing that you’re about to cum, Sukuna cruelly slows his pace down on purpose just to see you cry from being on the edge. Your feet kicks at him, so he lets go of your hands and places your ankles up on his shoulder.
“I-I was so close!” Your pitiful complain makes him smile, grabbing onto your thighs and leaning down more so he’s nose to nose with you. Your thigh muscles burn at the stretch, Sukuna’s grip and weight too heavy on your weaker body. He thrusts hard into you once, and savours the way you flinch and cry.
“Does it feel good?” His rhetorical question pisses you off.
“Yes! I want to cum please.” You plea harder, hoping he’ll cave in, but he slows down his pace even more. How does he have so much self control, you don’t know.
“Sorry, since it’s your first, I wanna watch you like this for a bit,” Sukuna’s hand slowly travels down your belly, and you’re feeling an arousing dread build up, “I wanna see you cum while I have you folded like this.”
With a sly smile, his thumb rests on your clit, and he starts to swipe at it vigorously. Your orgasm hits you fast and violent, back bowing and clawing at Sukuna’s nape to hold onto the last string of consciousness you have. His thumb doesn’t falter in roughly rubbing you off, prolonging your pleasure as long as he can to admire your face turning left and right, jaw slacking with drool and with shut eyes.
Sukuna thinks his head must have been fogged up with sexually depraved thoughts, because watching you so helpless and small under him activates some kind of primitive instinct in him to constantly keep you in that state of high. No warning whatsoever, he pushes your knees to your chest and plants one feet on your bed. You’re about to scream at the stretch, but he suddenly fucks into you way harder and your shrieks are silenced into moans.
You’re barely even coherent for the next 10 minutes. Sukuna is fucking into you so roughly that your head is about to bump into your headboard. He quickly places a pillow between and kisses you. The kiss is sloppier than before, gasping and grunting every few seconds with a sultry whisper of your name. You’d think Sukuna is enjoying watching your ruin.
“I’m gonna change positions-” Somehow, he uses the last ounce of his sanity to tell you, gazing at your hazy face nodding weakly.
Pulling out and flipping you over like some fish, you feel overwhelmed when Sukuna slides himself back into your cunt and press your back down with his chest. He spanks your rear once and you cry. The position feels so much deeper than the previous, your high-pitched whines entirely muffled by your pillow and Sukuna’s grunting noises in your ear.
You’re pushed to overstimulation when he snakes his hand under you and plays with your clit again while fucking you, a loud moan pollutes your ear and a hot liquid fills you up inside.
“You moan so sweetly, holy shit,” He mutters into your ear, listening to your wailing cries of pleasure. “Sounds like you’re crying.”
“Don’t be mean!” You smack him without looking up from the pillow, embarrassed by your own noises. Sukuna snorts before grabbing you up by your throat, turning your head to the side so he could kiss you.
Gently moving you, he grabs a towel from your nightstand and pulls out, staring at his cum drooping out of your pussy before wiping them away with contentment. He cheekily push back some of the cum back inside you before you kick at him again.
“I think I’m gonna pass out.” You mumble as he pulls you to cuddle, lying down beside you and immediately sniffing your hair like some dog. He squeezes your boob, you nudge your elbow at him.
“Don’t pass out yet. Go pee, else you’ll get a UTI.” Sukuna pushes your back up encouragingly, ushering you to the bathroom. He leaves an empty space in his arms to prepare for your return.
Once you return with new panties and a loose tee, he scoops you right back into his arms with a few smooches to your shoulder. He always kiss that same spot. The last time you questioned him about this, he simply said that if he does it often enough, you’ll remember the shape of his lips everywhere on your body. You told him he was being stupid and it didn’t make sense, but then you thought really hard about it because Sukuna doesn’t usually do meaningless and unnecessary things. He’s going cuckoo in the head with affection whenever he’s with you.
“That was really hot.” You admit shyly to him.
“Bet it was. Are you okay though?” He gently rubs your stomach.
“Yah,” You nod, “Don’t think I can cum for the whole week. I came so much.”
“Shame. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go again.”
“I thought men needed a refractory period before they’re hard again.” You turn to his side.
“It’s true. I’m just exceptionally horny.” He pinches your nose.
“Um…can I try sucking you off?”
His eye twitches, dick jumping at your thigh.
“If you say that again we’re not gonna sleep tonight.”
You had made it very clear from the beginning that you hated littering.
Not in a cute, “save the turtles 🥺” way either.
No.
You were president of the environmental club at college.
You had made posters. Hosted clean-up days. Forced innocent freshmen into recycling quizzes. You once spent forty-five minutes arguing with administration over adding another bin near the humanities building.
You took this seriously, and Sukuna knew it.
This was why you froze when he finished his iced coffee and let the empty cup fall to the ground. It rolled across the concrete while he looked away as if nothing had happened.
Your gaze dropped to the cup, then lifted back to him. “You dropped something.”
Sukuna kept both hands in his pockets. “huh.”
You blinked. “It fell.”
“Gravity,” he replied, completely unbothered.
Your eye twitched. The campus was warm and crowded, and you had been walking back from a lecture together. The moment should have been peaceful. Instead, you were staring at a man who had just littered like the kids from lil dicky’s Earth MV.
You stared at him, and he stared back before finally looking away and continuing to walk. You remained where you were, refusing to move. After about six steps, he noticed the distance between you and turned around.
“What.”
You looked genuinely offended. “Sukuna.”
“What,” he repeated.
“Pick it up.”
He glanced at the cup, then at you, and shrugged. “There are cleaners.”
Your mouth fell open, and you glanced around as though searching for confirmation that you had actually witnessed that. “Sukuna.” People nearby turned their heads. He looked mildly annoyed.
“What.”
You marched toward him. “Their job is not to pick up after fully grown men.”
“They get paid,” he said flatly.
Your jaw tightened, and you pressed a hand to your chest in disbelief. “I cannot believe you.” He watched you with a blank, unreadable expression.
“Do you know who I am?” you demanded.
“Unfortunately.”
You gasped. “I run the environmental club.”
“scary.”
“I organised campus clean‑up day.”
“Horrific.”
“I made you come.”
“You tricked me.”
“...Ryomen, seriously.”
His eye twitched. You drew in a slow breath and lowered your voice, trying to stay calm. “Pick it up.”
He crossed his arms like a stubborn brat, refusing with a firm, “No.”
Your eyes widened, and you became painfully aware of the people listening. You held his gaze for several seconds, feeling the hurt settle deeper, then nodded once. “Fine.”
You turned and walked away. Sukuna blinked, confused. “Where are you going.”
“Nowhere.”
Suspicion edged into his tone as he followed you. “What does that mean.”
You did not answer; instead, your replies became short, clipped: “Mhm.” “Okay.” “Cool.”
He narrowed his eyes. You never acted like this. You usually annoyed him on purpose, and the sudden quiet distance unsettled him far more than he expected.
Several minutes passed before you finally sat down on a bench. He stopped in front of you, watching you closely. “You're sulking.”
You lifted your gaze. “No.”
He continued staring. “You’re upset.”
“No.”
A long pause settled between you.
“You are.”
You looked away. “I just don’t like it.”
His expression shifted slightly. You fiddled with your sleeve, trying to steady your voice. “It feels stupid to say out loud.”
He stayed silent, waiting.
“My parents always made us clean up after ourselves,” you said softly. “I know one cup isn’t the end of the world. People think that. Everyone does, really. They don’t realise it adds up. It always adds up.”
Your voice wavered. “I care about this. It matters to me. It feels awful when someone I care about treats it like nothing.”
His face remained unreadable, which only made your stomach twist. You looked down, suddenly self‑conscious. “Forget it.”
Sukuna watched you for a moment before he sighed, turned, and walked away. Your face fell immediately, your chest tightening as you watched his figure grow smaller. The hurt surprised you with its sharpness. You stared at the ground, feeling foolish for caring so deeply about something he clearly did not value.
Thirty seconds later, heavy footsteps approached again. You looked up to find Sukuna standing in front of you, holding the cup- and three other random pieces of rubbish.
You stared at him, unable to form a single coherent thought. He looked irritated, as if this entire situation inconvenienced him. “Happy.”
“What,” you whispered.
“There wasn’t a bin nearby,” he muttered, pushing the cup toward you.
Your eyes widened. “You went back.”
“It took twenty seconds.”
You stared at him, then noticed the extra rubbish in his hand. You lifted a hand to point at it. “What is that?”
“There was more.”
Your mouth opened, then closed again, because your brain needed a moment to process what you were seeing. “You picked up other rubbish.”
He immediately grew defensive. “Do not make a thing out of it.”
Your eyes widened even further, and something warm and overwhelming rushed through your chest. This was Sukuna. The Sukuna. Six‑foot‑something, built like a wall, and covered in tattoos. The same man who never cared about anyone or anything, who most people openly called a dick and who you occasionally agreed was one.
Yet he had gone back.
He had picked up the cup.
He had picked up other rubbish.
He had done it because you cared.
Your environmental‑club‑president heart practically launched itself into orbit.
You rose slowly to your feet, stunned and a little breathless, because the sight of him standing there with a handful of trash felt more intimate than any romantic gesture you had ever experienced. For a ridiculous second, you genuinely wondered if this was what it felt like to fall in love. You even felt the faint, absurd urge to propose on the spot.
He looked alarmed. “Why are you looking at me like that.”
You smiled far too brightly. “Oh my gosh.”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
You grabbed both his hands. “No, but this is huge.”
He tried to pull away. “Stop.”
“You voluntarily cleaned.”
“I picked up garbage.”
“Sukuna.”
His face warmed noticeably, and your emotional expression did not help. “This is character development.”
His eye twitched. “You’re acting like I found religion.”
You squeezed his hands. “I’m proud of you.”
He froze, his ears turning faintly pink. “Stop talking.”
You grinned and reached into your bag, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. He stared at it suspiciously. “What is that.”
You unfolded it. Environmental Club Sign‑Up Sheet.
He looked horrified.
“Sooo…” you said sweetly.
He immediately turned and walked away. “No.”
“We meet Wednesdays.”
“No.”
“We have matching shirts.”
“Kill me.”
“We’re planting native species next week.”
“No.”
You followed him with a smile. He suddenly stopped, looked down, and let the sign‑up sheet fall to the ground.
You gasped.
He looked at you with a tiny, smug smile. “Oops.”
You stared at him. He stared back. Eventually, he sighed, bent down, picked it up again, and continued walking.
Your eyes softened. You stepped closer and quietly took his hand, prompting him to glance down. “What.”
You shrugged. “Thank you.”
He looked away. “Whatever.”
A few seconds later, his hand squeezed yours back, small and subtle. When you passed a bin, he tossed his rubbish into it with dramatic flair and looked at you.
You clapped immediately, earning an offended glare. “I hate you.”
You beamed. “No you don’t.”
He didn’t respond, although he did make sure his receipt went into the bin as well.
Evil confession here, but it brings me a deep sense of joy and peace knowing that no one in this world will ever have a piece of Zuko because he doesn’t exist💔💔 If I can’t have him at least no one else can, you know?
track twenty-four: i want you | prev track< | setlist
three rockstars! one you!
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)
content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt, not much comfort to be found in this one, therapy
a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/anitalenia
"It's always good to see you, Sukuna."
Yeah, you were pretty sure his therapist was the first person to ever say that to him.
But you kept your mouth shut, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg folded on top of the other as your stare shifted from your best friend to the man he'd brought you to see.
"How's Muffin doing?" He followed it up, leaning forward with a notepad in his lap, as if he wasn't being paid to inquire about his life.
"She's fine," Sukuna gruffly responded, pulling out his phone - and opening up his photos, proudly pulling up a photo of a fluffy gray cat mid-yawn.
Sukuna. The cat dad.
It didn't make any sense.
Nothing did.
"What are you going to do with Muffin when you're on tour?" You spoke up, fiddling with your painted nails as you looked down at your lap.
It came out kind of snappy. More than you meant it to.
"I'm not going on tour."
Your head snapped up. The shield you shined just for today cracking not even two minutes in as your throat threatened to shut.
"You're going on tour," you said, clinging to it like an idiot. Because deep down, despite how much he was trying to change, it was hard not to see Sukuna as a rockstar first. Everything else second.
He went on tour after every album.
Once this one was out, he'd be gone again.
"I'm telling the label no next week," he shrugged. "I don't give a shit if they don't sign us again."
Us.
Of course he was only acknowledging the band as more than just him when he was being what? Stupidly stubborn? Selfish?
“Why the fuck would you do that?” You blanched.
“I’m not leaving you,” the stubborn asshole insisted.
No.
This wasn’t what you wanted at all. It never was.
You felt like you were going to puke, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked at him in disbelief.
"Do not put this on me," you shook your head, ignoring the way his therapist tried to speak up, to prevent your bickering before it really got started. “What about Choso? Yuki and Uruame? They’ll be-”
“You can’t seriously think I care more about them than I do about you,” Sukuna scoffed, his jaw set in a tight line as his dark stare seared into your side.
“Like you were even willing to admit you cared about me at all six months ago,” you muttered under your breath, that bitter pill still lodged in your airway no matter how many times you tried to swallow it.
“Okay, I think we should take a step back here,” the therapist managed to interrupt, loudly clearing his throat as you turned your attention out the window. Rain was falling, droplets racing down the pane as you picked at a stray thread of the couch someone else’s anxious hands had already worked undone.
You knew you should be trying harder for this.
That therapy only worked if you were willing to try.
But you’d been so stuck in all this muck, sucked down deeper the more you tried to squirm your way out of it, you couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore. Searching for any sign of familiarity when everything had already changed without you.
What if all there was for you to figure out here was that they’d left you behind?
Suguru would learn his lesson and treat his next girl better. Satoru would find someone who could return all his love.
And Sukuna would fix himself just to find out he never needed you at all.
“Do you want Sukuna to go on tour?” His therapist softly prodded you, snapping you out of your spiraling.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, too on edge to match his polite tone.
“How does him staying make you feel?” He questioned, and you could only shrug your shoulders.
“Don’t be like that,” Sukuna grumbled, and you shot him an annoyed glare.
You were only here because of him.
Was that not enough to see you were at least trying?
“It makes me feel irritated, I guess,” you begrudgingly admitted. “Like he’s throwing away everything he's ever given a shit about when I never asked him to.”
You wanted to be included. To be a part of his life and not a piece of furniture in it. To be there by his side when he succeeded.
Not have him give it all up just so the two of you could make each other miserable just for the slim chance you managed to work out.
"I'm not-"
"He always makes these dumbass decisions without me and just expects me to go along with whatever it is," you added, ignoring him next to you as you finally met his therapist's gaze.
He had introduced himself when you first walked in and you hadn't really paid any attention to it, a twinge of guilt seeping through at the amount of understanding behind his eyes.
"So you feel left out," he concluded, and you immediately revoked your remorse.
"No," you lied, a traitorous little huff escaping your lips.
"That's not what I'm trying to do," Sukuna argued, seeing through your shit. "I, fuck, I just want to be here for you, okay?"
You wanted to accept that.
So so so badly.
That piece of your heart that had belonged to him from the start was already trying to tug you towards him, begging you to just stop being a brat and go back to being his.
But you weren't the girl you'd been before.
Not the one who warmed his bed or waited for him after his shows or wished for a happy ending.
And you no longer knew if you'd ever be able to be the partner he needed.
Shouldn't he be with someone he wouldn't have to cancel tours for? Someone it didn't hurt him to want? Someone who wouldn't wreck the world he worked for?
"What happens when you wake up a few years from now and realize that you shouldn't have stayed? Or when we break up?" You argued, getting the awful sense it would be the last time you'd be asking either question. "You're going to resent me."
"For fucks sake, I'm not," he flat-out denied it, annoyance creeping into his harsh features at the fact he had to say it.
But it didn't make you feel better.
What were you supposed to say to make him see what you meant?
"All we've done lately is make each other's lives worse," you muttered.
Your sex tape was leaked. He assaulted your ex-boyfriend. You slept with your ex's best friend. He was cancelling his tour.
This wasn't sustainable.
God, he'd even gone and bought you a fucking apartment like the guilt of fucking Satoru was still burned into your skin.
"You have been the only light in my entire life," Sukuna half-growled, reaching across the couch to grab your hand, his calloused fingers gripping you like he needed you to believe him too.
You hated yourself for not being able to.
For thinking of all the times you'd seen him smile at someone else, or smirk up on an illuminated stage, hearing his voice calling out to an adoring crowd. Knowing that you only got the pieces of him he chose to gave you and being okay with it for so fucking long.
And because you had a habit of making every situation infinitely more terrible, you directed your attention back to the therapist who felt a lot more like a referee as you stiffly rolled your shoulders back.
"Did he tell you about my sex tape?"
The next four seconds could probably get an award for the most awkward silence imaginable, you staring at the therapist, who was looking over at Sukuna, who was surely scowling at you.
"Do you think that's seriously relevant right-
"I mean, I just wanted to know how much he already knew," you bickered back, trying to sneak your hand away from his only for him to hold on tighter.
"I would prefer if we stopped interrupting each other so we can have a more, ah, productive conversation," his therapist piped up.
Your skin was itchy.
Invisible bugs crawling over it that you were desperate to scratch and peel off, every word exchanged and sentence that sunk in just making all of it more unbearable.
Familiar indecision crippling you, twisted and contorted as you tried to resist falling into the trap of falling for Sukuna again and refusing to let yourself get hurt by him.
Were you just going to lose in the end either way?
"Do you think this, uh, sex tape is going to be an issue if you resume a relationship with Sukuna?" The therapist continued, and you at least knew the answer to that one.
"Yeah," you muttered, loathing the defeat in your voice.
"Why is that?"
Because it'll be over the day he watches what's on it?
That was it, wasn't it? What everything boiled down to?
Your own fear that if you accepted his love, he'd take it back the second he saw another side of you.
"Are you scared to say it?" His therapist unhelpfully prodded, and you had the distinct feeling of your heart being dissected. Layers of you peeled back and pried open until they were watching it beat and bleed.
"Whatever's on it, I-"
"You'll hate me," you murmured.
Oops. You guessed you interrupted him again.
"I'm not going to hate you," he insisted, and without even looking to your right, you could picture his expression. The gritted teeth, the grim stare. Eye twitching as he restrained himself from rolling them.
"I told Suguru I loved him in it," you confessed, as if that was the worst of your crimes.
Sucking on the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your bare wrist. Aware of the bracelet that had been stolen from you.
Torn away like your chance of a happily ever after.
"Sukuna," the man across from you evenly spoke, maybe sensing the tension crackling between you as your words sank in for him as he scribbled something down on the paper in his lap. "Does that change how you feel? Or-"
"It just makes me hate him more," he grumbled, and you shrunk closer to the edge of the couch. But what he said next just left you wishing you'd never shown up at all, "Makes me hate myself more too."
"Why do you think that is?"
You shouldn't be here.
You shouldn't hear this.
"Because she never would've fallen in love with him for the first place if I hadn't been such a dickhead in denial when I had her," Sukuna snapped, his raw voice threatening to crack. "It's my fault she even met him."
"You can't blame yourself for everything," his therapist tried to reassure him, but you were casting a cautious glance over to see Sukuna scratching the back of his hair with an emotion that looked a lot like shame on his face.
So distracted by how foreign it felt to see him like this, your brain didn't even realize the man across from you was speaking to you until he repeated his question.
"Is there anything you feel that you might be culpable for here too?"
A lot?
It would be a pretty long list if you started just naming off every messy thing you'd done since you decided you were done sleeping with Sukuna.
"This is a safe place where you can be honest and we'll work through it," he added, offering you a smile that actually seemed sincere.
Your lips slowly began to part, ready to just ruin it all. Put it all on the table and lose if you had to.
At least you wouldn't be in this limbo anymore.
"I had sex with Satoru," you admitted, hot tears you hadn't been expecting starting to well up before you blinked them back. "He was there in the tape too, but uh, we didn't really do anything until he showed up on vacation."
"You slept with Gojo?"
And there it was.
The rage.
You'd spent years trying to tame him, dousing him in water before his flames could turn into wildfires.
But maybe you were just fueling it.
"We were both drunk and just having fun, and I don't know, I asked him to come inside my room," you offered an explanation, not sure if it was even owed or if you were throwing gasoline on him once again.
"What the fuck?" He hissed.
You waited for him to say he was going to murder or maim Satoru, to make threats or ask what the hell were you thinking.
To ask why.
"I'm sorry," you swallowed your pride, offering a pitiful bob of your shoulders. "I know we're not together but it was still shitty of me to do."
Sukuna wasn't your boyfriend.
He'd never been your boyfriend.
But you weren't stupid enough to think that it made what happened totally fine.
Completely forgivable.
And maybe, some part of you didn't want him to forgive you.
Craved to not have to make the hard choice at all and force him to do it for you. To abandon you the way you had always suspected he would.
"Why would you-"
"It seems to me that you're trying to sabotage your relationship with Sukuna by sleeping with someone you know would upset him," the therapist hummed, and you faltered.
Physically flinched as you reflexively itched to reject it.
Yet you couldn't.
Just sitting there like an idiot and blinking back.
"You're scared of being with him."
You were.
But did he have to actually say it out loud?
You were bending over to snatch your bag from the floor rather than deal with it, ignoring both of them saying your name as you started towards the door, shoving it open and leaving rather than hear them break down all your inner thoughts.
If your head was clearer, not so clouded and stuffed full with him, you might've figured you wouldn't have made it out of the building without Sukuna catching up to you.
He grabbed your hand right as you reached the door, trying to stop you from going, but you just shook him off, stepping out into the rain as he followed suit.
“Can you please stop for a second?” Sukuna groaned, and you were once again reminded of another night you’d been shoving down.
One where you asked him if he loved you and he couldn’t answer.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” you childishly mumbled, convinced that if you do, you’d start crying, and if you crumbled, you’d let him console you.
“Then I will,” he stubbornly insisted.
The immature urge to cover your ears and pretend you couldn’t hear him was incredibly tempting, but you just paused in place, limbs threatening to tremble as the rain soaked through both of you.
"Just forget about the fucking past," he scoffed, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around practically straight into his chest. “Can't this be enough? Can't I be enough?"
"How am I supposed to forget?" You retorted, poking a finger against his annoyingly firm muscles as you tried to pull back. "You don't get it. I literally lost everything, I-"
"I lost you," he snarled. "The albums, the money, the fame, they’re nothing to me.”
Now.
Why couldn’t he have realized that a year ago and saved you both the heartbreak?
“You’re my everything, okay? What the hell do I have to do? Get on my knees for you? Carve out my fucking heart and hand it over on a silver platter?” He was rambling, raindrops clinging to his lashes as he grabbed your finger and pulled it down.
“You’re supposed to be mad at me. I fucked Satoru while you were out buying me a beautiful apartment. Shouldn’t you be like, shouting or screaming, or something?” You argued, a fresh stab of hurt joining the rest seeing the way he recoiled from you when you pointed it out.
“So what?” He tried to sound tough.
Like he didn’t care when he so clearly did.
“Maybe you should watch the sex tape,” you shrugged, struggling not to shake, to be strong enough to say everything you needed to say. “See if you still think you love me then.”
“Stop saying shit like that,” he snapped, and it just made you more sure of your suspicions. “You are sabotaging us.”
“I think I need some more space,” you mumbled, knowing he was right and still refusing to admit it.
“You’re just running away from me. And I’ll be back at home tonight wondering whose fucking arms you’re in and why they’re so much better than mine,” he accused, finally letting a hint of that anger out. You felt a tiny hint of pride, knowing that he was finally getting the full experience of what he put you through for years.
But the truth was you were running away.
Avoiding him to avoid hurting yourself any more.
You only seemed to hurt him more when you were with him anyway.
Without you, Sukuna was doing great. He’d always been perfectly fine to fend for himself.
You didn’t want to stick around for when the sentiment wore off and it struck him you were the source of all his woes.
“Don’t be an idiot. Go on tour. Be there for the band,” you added, resignation replacing your regret as you sold yourself another half-truth that you were doing what was the best for both of you.
“Come back inside so we can actually talk about it,” he said, teeth gritted.
“I can’t,” you swallowed, shaking your head.
The idea of turning around and walking back into the building was too much. Sniffling as you wiped a wet streak from your face.
“I miss being your friend, but I really don’t know how to be anything with you right now,” you confessed, pulling yourself away from him even if it felt like you were cutting some heavy invisible cord connecting your soul to his.
It was selfish.
Impulsive.
Acting like a scared child ducking under a table just from a thunderstorm, before any lightning had even struck.
But it was the truth.
You loved Sukuna.
You just didn’t want him to destroy himself by trying to love you back.
He had been enough for you.
But now you weren’t good for each other.
He didn’t follow you this time.
Didn’t trail after you when you stormed off.
Sukuna let you go.
You didn’t stop until you were several blocks away, the drizzle from earlier turned into a torrential downpour, hair soaked and sticking to your face as you struggled to contain your tears.
How the fuck were you supposed to go back to the apartment he bought you?
Go sleep in that bed or curl up under the covers when you’d be seeing that haunted hurt look on his face every time you closed your eyes?
They were right about you.
You wished you were different.
Wished you could just be okay with all of it and pretend to be totally fine moving forward instead of standing on the sidewalk completely soaked as you stifled sobs.
Someone passed by under an umbrella, their shoulder nearly knocking into you as you looked up just in time to see them snickering and snapping a photo.
Disgust coiling bright and hot and unbearable at the realization this stranger had seen you naked - and now had the audacity to laugh at you for it.
Rather than panic, you reacted on impulse, taking the phone out of the dickhead’s hand and throwing it onto the concrete before stomping on it for good measure. Glaring right back at him as you dug the base of your foot into the shattered glass as you forced the lump back down your throat.
“I think you dropped that.”
“You fucking whore-”
Yeah, you were sure people were saying worse online.
But nothing could really compare to leaving someone you loved behind because you were too fucking terrified to let them love you too.
You shut him out the way you just shut Sukuna out.
Walking without really thinking until your teeth were chattering and it hit you that you weren’t sure where you were anymore.
Déjà vu washing over you as you looked up at the stormy sky, bottom lip quivering as you pulled out your phone to call the same person you had last time.
Suguru.
a/n: not gonna be online much in the next couple days but hope you guys enjoyed this
violently sobs I'M SO FUCCCKING DONE!!! Sukuna yearning makes me wet, and that's not appropriate given what's literally going on😭 @indiewritesxoxo one of my favourite writers PLEASE READ THIS MASTERPIECE!!! I always hesitate reading the next chapter of no. one party anthem because I know I'm not gonna stop thinking about it...
tw: explicit sexual content, friends-with-benefits dynamic, sexual language, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex references, edging, biting/marking, praise/teasing, emotional denial, situationship/fwb relationship, developing feelings, angst, college au.
Heaven and Hell
Getting fucked by Gojo is like experiencing heaven. The kind of heaven you never believed in, the kind that comes with a price tag attached to your sanity, your pride, your carefully constructed walls. Because Satoru Gojo is also hell. He's the annoying itch beneath your skin, the smug smirk that makes you want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure, the stupid white hair that falls perfectly into his stupid blue eyes that see right through you.
You hate how good he is at this. How he knows exactly when to push and when to pull, when to be insufferable and when to be irresistible.
Right now, he's being both.
His mouth is pressed against the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven, that infuriating chuckle vibrating against your skin. "Mmhmmmm like that?" he coos, stopping his rhythm to grind deeper, rubbing against your neglected clit. The pressure is maddening, a tease that makes your whole body clench around nothing.
You're a mess beneath him. Your legs are hooked over his shoulders, your back arched off the mattress, your fingers twisted in the white sheets because touching him would be a concession you're not ready to make. His cock is buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him in your throat, the thick length stretching you open in that familiar burn that never quite becomes comfortable but always becomes addictive.
"I- I-uah- -ye- mhm- keep g-going," you manage to get out, eyes threatening to close with the overbearing pressure consuming you. Your voice is wrecked, nothing like the composed, sharp-tongued version of yourself that exists outside this bed. He does this to you. He reduces you to sounds, to need, to a trembling mess that can barely form words.
He doesn't listen. Of course he doesn't. Instead he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck, sharp and sudden, and your eyes fly open as a yelp tears from your throat.
"F-FUCK SATORU WHAT THE HELL!!" You shove at his shoulders, trying to create space, but he's heavy and solid and he doesn't budge. Your hands press against his chest, feeling the rapid drum of his heartbeat beneath his warm skin, and it only makes you angrier because he's enjoying this.
"Wanted to wake you up, baby," he pouts, pulling back just enough to look at you with those wide, innocent eyes that fool absolutely no one. The pout is so obviously fake, and it makes you want to scream.
You'd totally leave if the fuck wasn't so fucking good.
That's the problem. That's always been the problem. You could handle his arrogance, his teasing, his infuriating habit of pushing every single one of your buttons if he didn't fuck you like this. Like he was made for it.
Like he was made for you.
"D-don't do that shit," you whimper, the complaint dying in your throat when his dick re-enters your sloppy cunt, veins dragging along your gummy walls. The sensation is so overwhelming that your head falls back, a broken moan escaping before you can stop it.
"K-kay m'sorry," he moans into your neck, dragging his tongue and kissing the bite to soothe. His hips resume their rhythm, slow and deep, each thrust a deliberate press against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl so much to the point of cramping.
He knows exactly where it is. He's mapped your body like a territory he's claiming, inch by inch, orgasm by orgasm.
And when he tries for your lips, you twist your head, avoiding him.
Your cheek presses against the pillow, and you stare at the wall instead of his face. You can feel his breath stall, can sense the flicker of hurt that crosses his features even though you're not looking. But you don't care. You can't care.
"We talked about this," you groan, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.
Because what are you and Satoru? Just fuck buddies. Nothing more. That's what you agreed on when you stumbled into this arrangement three months ago, both of you drunk and lonely and stupid. Friends with benefits, no strings, no feelings, no complications. A clean transaction of pleasure between two people who happened to share a friend group, who happened to be horny, finding each other's bodies convenient.
You wanted it kept that way. That's what you both agreed to.
But it's like he's trying to make you like him. And it's hard not to.
Yes, he's annoying as fuck. He leaves his notes scattered across your desk when he studies in your dorm. He steals your hoodies and returns them smelling like his expensive cologne, a scent that lingers in your sheets long after he's gone. He sends you memes at three in the morning, calls you at inconvenient hours just to hear your voice crack with sleep, shows up at your door with takeout when he knows you've been skipping meals.
He annoys you in a way that makes your eye rolls become more playful than biting. When you scold him for being late to your study sessions, he just grins, and you find yourself fighting a smile instead of delivering a real lecture. When he acts dumb, pretending not to understand basic concepts just to get you to explain them, you can't help but melt at how stupid he is. His stupidity almost being cute.
And that's the worst part. Because Satoru Gojo is probably the smartest person you know. He aces exams without studying, solves complex problems in his head while doodling in the margins, speaks three languages fluently and is learning a fourth just because he's bored. He's a genius wearing the mask of an idiot, and he wears it well enough that most people buy it. But you know better. You've seen the sharpness in his eyes when he drops the act, the way he observes everything and everyone with a quiet intensity that makes you feel exposed.
He sees you. And that terrifies you.
It doesn't help how good he fucks you. His dick pounds into you, bruising your cervix with each hit, and the pain and pleasure blur together until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. When his cock first sinks in, you never get used to the burn. It's always too much, too thick, too deep. Your body resists, clenches, tries to reject him, but he doesn't rush. He waits. He holds still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust to the stretch while his thumb circles your clit in lazy patterns. And then the burn slowly shifts to pleasure, the resistance melts into acceptance, and you're left gasping as he begins to move.
Satoru loves edging you. He loves pissing you off, pushing you to the brink of a remark or a yell, only to thrust into that perfect spot that makes you see stars. He loves the way your face contorts with pleasure at every snap of his hips, the way your mouth falls open on a silent scream, the way your nails dig into his shoulders when you're about to come. And then he stops. He pulls back, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge, and watches you writhe beneath him with that insufferable smirk.
"Not yet," he'll murmur, and you want to kill him.
But worse than all of that is the way your pleasure gets him off. He'll eat you out for what feels like hours, his tongue tracing patterns that make your thighs tremble and your back arch. He'll finger you with those long, nimble fingers, curling them just so, scissoring you open until you're a sobbing mess. He does all the work, takes all the time, and the only payment he wants is the sound of your moans, the sight of your orgasm, the feeling of you coming undone around him.
"aweee, you've never been touched this deep?" he coos, his fingers buried inside you to the knuckle, knuckles pressing against your entrance. His thumb is on your clit, rubbing slow circles that make your hips buck. "Small fingers can't reach?"
"O-oh my god, s-shut u-" The words are cut off, interrupted by a loud moan when he starts scissoring his fingers, stretching you open in a way that makes your vision go white.
"Shut up? But I thought you wanted me to keep going," he says, voice dripping with false innocence, mocking the way you had been previously pleading for him to go faster. "f-fasteeer toruuuu!!" he chuckles. You want to hit him, but godddd the way he's making you feel.
His thumb presses harder, his fingers curl, and you come with a scream that you don't bother to muffle.
And when you're lying there, spent and shaking, he kisses your thighs, your stomach, the inside of your wrist. He whispers things that sound suspiciously like sweet nothings. He looks at you with those blue eyes that hold too much tenderness for a man who's supposed to be just a friend.
You push him away. You remind him of the rules. You tell yourself that this is temporary, that you'll end it before it gets too complicated, that you're in control.
But you're not in control. You haven't been in control since the first time he fucked you, since the first time he made you feel like you were the only person in the world, since the first time he looked at you like you mattered.
And that's the real hell. Because Satoru Gojo makes you want things you said you didn't want. He makes you imagine a world where the kisses aren't avoided, where the mornings after don't end with you slipping out of his bed before he wakes, where the label "boyfriend" doesn't sound so bad.
He makes you want to fall, and you're terrified that you already have.
a/n: I always feel like a whore after writing smut
I might just be slow, but I only found out today that pillsatoru deactivated their blog, and I’m genuinely in mourning right now.
This is actually so sad. I loved their fics so much, and I really, really hope they come back.
The hate writers get is genuinely so depressing to see. Someone takes time out of their day to make something for you, and people still choose to harass them and bully them to the point of deactivation. Like, genuinely, get a job. If you don’t like something, just scroll. No one in hell is forcing you to be a dick or to spread hate.
You knew Sukuna worked too much. You’d known that before you ever started whatever this was with him. You knew that every extra shift, every call‑in, every overtime hour usually meant the difference between him scraping by and actually having enough money left at the end of the week to breathe. You knew that. It didn’t mean you had to like it.
The afternoon had started suspiciously well, which should’ve been your first warning. You and Sukuna had been sitting on a bench outside a convenience store, sharing a carton of fries you’d bought after wandering aimlessly around the city for nearly two hours. Not a date… definitely not a date. Just the two of you hanging out. Alone. On a Saturday. After he’d specifically cleared his afternoon. Totally not a date.
“You keep stealing the good fries,” he complained.
You looked up from the carton. “The good fries?”
“The crispy ones.”
“Those are all the fries.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You grabbed another one, and Sukuna immediately narrowed his eyes. “That was a crispy one.”
You giggled. “Too slow.”
“I literally bought them.”
“And?”
His jaw twitched, and for a second he almost smiled back at you. Almost–until his phone rang. The smile vanished instantly. You watched him pull it out, and his expression shifted. Not annoyed or irritated, just tired, which made your stomach sink because you knew that look.
He stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Yeah.”
Silence followed. You kicked your feet against the pavement, picking at the corner of the fry carton while he listened, sighed, and ran a hand through his pink hair.
“How long?” he asked.
Your stomach dropped.
NOoOooOoOOoOoOooO. Not today. Not now. You already knew. You knew before he even said it. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”
You looked away before he could see your face. The call ended. A few seconds passed, then he said, “I gotta go.”
There it was.
You nodded. “Oh.”
His brows furrowed. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to sound casual. Normal. Totally unbothered.
“Okay.”
Sukuna stared at you. You stared at the road. He knew. You knew he knew, but neither of you were going to say it.
“They need someone to cover,” he said.
“Okay.”
“You mad?”
“No.”
A lie. A terrible lie. Possibly the worst lie ever spoken.
Sukuna scoffed. “You’re literally pouting.”
“M’not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You shoved another fry into your mouth aggressively. Sukuna stared, then snorted–actually snorted, the jerk.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You look like someone kicked your dog.”
“I don’t even have a dog.”
“You look like someone would kick your dog.”
You glared at him. He looked annoyingly amused, until his expression softened slightly.
“They’re short‑staffed.”
“Okay.”
“I need the hours.”
“I know.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yuji needs new shoes.”
Your gaze flickered up. Sukuna looked away. “Kid grew out of the last pair in like three damn months.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Choso’s helping with rent already. I’m not dumping more on him.”
Your chest tightened, because there it was–the real reason. Not cigarettes, not stupid spending, not because he wanted to leave. Because there was a five‑year‑old waiting for him at home who somehow managed to outgrow everything the second it was bought. Because Choso was already carrying enough at sixteen. Because Sukuna had been playing the role of provider for so long that saying no almost wasn’t an option anymore.
“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he said quietly.
You hated that, because you knew it was true. He wasn’t ditching you because he wanted to. He needed the money. You knew that, but the stupid hurt feeling wouldn’t go away. Because for one afternoon–one stupid afternoon–you wanted him to pick you. Just once.
You immediately hated yourself for thinking it, because that wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Bills weren’t fair. Rent wasn’t fair. And Sukuna had never gotten the luxury of putting feelings before survival.
Still… it hurt.
“Whatever,” you muttered. There it was–the dangerous whatever.
Sukuna sighed. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You get this tone.”
“What tone?”
“That one.”
You stood up. “There is no tone.”
“There is.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is.”
You grabbed your bag. “Go to work, Sukuna.”
His jaw clenched. You knew that look too–the one where he wanted to argue but couldn’t, because he really did have to leave. So instead he stood, towering over you.
“Walk home safe.”
“Yeah.”
“You got your keys?”
“Yeah.”
“Phone charged?”
“Yes, dad.”
That earned you a glare.
Good. Maybe he should suffer too.
“You being annoying on purpose?”
“Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed, then he reached over and flicked your forehead. Hard.
“Ow!”
“Brat.”
Then he started walking backwards toward the street. “Text me when you’re home.”
You rolled your eyes.
He pointed. “Seriously.”
“Okay.”
“Promise.”
You huffed. “Promise.”
Only then did he finally leave, and somehow watching him disappear around the corner felt way worse than you’d expected.
The walk home sucked, mostly because it gave you time to think, which was terrible. Thinking was terrible. You replayed the afternoon over and over–the way he’d looked disappointed too, the way he’d tried explaining, the way he’d said he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t have to–and somehow that only made you more upset, because if he’d been a jerk about it, you could’ve stayed mad. Instead, he’d been reasonable, which was annoying.
Your phone buzzed.
Ryo🤰: Made it.
You ignored it.
Another buzz.
Ryo🤰: You home yet?
Ignored.
Five minutes later:
Ryo🤰: Answer your phone idiot.
Ignored.
Then–
Ryo🤰: Don’t make me come check.
You immediately typed back:
You: You’re literally at work.
His reply came instantly.
Ryo🤰: So you’re alive.
You stared at the screen for a moment, then locked your phone.
Nope. Not doing this. You were too sad and too grumpy to talk.
Three hours later, you were curled up in bed, still grumpy, still refusing to text him properly, and still pretending you weren’t checking your phone every ten minutes. The quiet of your room made everything worse, and when the sudden knock at the door echoed through the apartment–three sharp raps–you froze. It was nearly midnight, and before you could even process who would be knocking at this hour, your phone rang. Sukuna’s name lit up the screen, making your stomach flip as you answered with a flat, “What?”
“Open the door,” he said.
You sat upright, confused. “...What?”
“Door.”
“Sukuna.”
“Door.”
“You were literally at work.”
“I still am.”
“What?”
“Open the damn door.”
Still confused, you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, only to find him standing there in his work uniform with tired eyes, messy hair, and a paper bag in his hand. You blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”
“You wouldn’t stop sulking,” he said.
“I wasn’t sulking.”
“You ignored me for three hours.”
“That’s not–”
“Sulking.”
You glared at him, but the irritation didn’t hold. He looked genuinely exhausted–dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’d worked a twelve‑hour shift–and yet he’d still come all the way here. Your anger weakened immediately, traitorous thing that it was.
He shoved the paper bag into your arms, and when you looked inside, you found your favourite takeaway–the exact thing you’d mentioned wanting earlier but never ended up getting. Your chest tightened just a little.
“Sukuna…”
He looked away, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “I know today sucked,” he muttered.
You stared at him.
“And I know you were upset.” You opened your mouth to deny it, then closed it again, because pretending now felt pointless.
Sukuna sighed. “I just…” He struggled with the words, like saying them physically hurt. “I need the money.”
Your heart squeezed because he sounded almost guilty, like he'd done something wrong when he hadn't. Not really. “I know,” you said softly.
His shoulders loosened slightly, just a fraction.
“I know,” you repeated.
Silence settled between you, and before you could think better of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Sukuna froze completely, like you’d hit him with a truck, but after a moment his arms came around you–slow, heavy, warm. You felt him exhale, the kind of breath someone lets out only after holding it in all day.
“I’m still annoyed,” you muttered.
“Mhm.”
“You left me.”
“Mhm.”
“You suck.”
“Mhm.”
He rested his chin on your head. “Still bought you food.”
“…Yeah.”
“Still came here.”
“…Yeah.”
“Still got another shift tomorrow.”
You groaned, and he actually laughed–a low, tired sound against your hair. And despite everything, the stupid hurt feeling finally faded. Because maybe Sukuna couldn’t always choose you first; life didn’t give him that luxury. But even after a miserable shift and an exhausting day, he still ended up on your doorstep at midnight. And maybe that counted for something too.
a/n: Inspireddd by the faaact exams are preventing me from talking to my girlfrieeends :(
lowkey me every time they tell me they gottaaa goo (also, I wrote this while listening to snoozeeee just in case anybooody else wanted to do that too😓)
You don’t even notice when he slips out onto the balcony.
You’re too busy curled up on his bed, scrolling mindlessly, one of his hoodies drowning you, sleeves covering your hands. The door’s cracked open just enough to let the night air in, cool and soft, and there’s that faint smell you always associate with him. Smoke.
You wrinkle your nose a little. “Gross,” you mutter to yourself, even though he’s not in the room to hear it.
A minute later, the door slides open properly. Sukuna steps back in like nothing happened, hair a little messy from the breeze, shirt hanging loose, cigarette already gone. He looks at you sprawled across his bed and just… pauses for a second. Like he always does.
“You’re gonna wreck the sleeves,” he says, nodding at his hoodie, eyes flicking to the way you absentmindedly pick at the loose threads.
You don’t even look up. “Good. Then you can’t take it back.”
He huffs, low and amused, walking over. “Wasn’t planning to.”
You finally glance at him. He’s standing right at the edge of the bed now, looking down at you with that same lazy expression, but there’s something a little softer underneath it.
“You smell,” you say bluntly.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning closer.
“Like cigarettes,” you add, scrunching your nose. “It’s ugly.”
“Ugly,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word.
Before you can say anything else, his hand comes up, tilting your chin just slightly. You blink, confused for half a second– and then he kisses you. It’s quick at first. soft snd familiar.
Then he exhales.
Warm breath, laced with smoke, slips into your mouth before you even realise what he’s doing. Your eyes widen, instinctively pulling back, coughing lightly as you push at his chest.
“Sukuna–!” you choke out, half laughing, half scandalised. “What the hell was that?!”
He’s already grinning. Not big, just that stupid, smug curve of his lips. “You said I smelled,” he shrugs. “Thought I’d share.”
“You’re disgusting!” you smack his arm, sitting up properly now. “That is so– ugh!” But you’re laughing. He notices, making his hand slide to the back of your neck, pulling you back in before you can complain again. This time, the kiss is slower. No tricks. Just him.
You hesitate for a second… then melt. Because of course you do.
When he pulls away, your forehead bumps lightly against his, and you can still faintly taste it, mixed with him, and it’s annoying how it’s not even that bad anymore. You narrow your eyes. “You did that on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
“I hate you.”
“Mm.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek, casual. “Still kissed me.”
You go quiet for a second, trying to think of a comeback. Nothing comes. He watches you struggle, amused, then flicks your forehead lightly. “Dumbass.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, grabbing his shirt and tugging him down onto the bed with you. He lets himself fall, arm wrapping around you automatically like it’s second nature. You bury your face into his chest, muttering, “If I get lung cancer, I’m blaming you.”
He snorts, resting his chin on your head.
“You’ll live.”
A pause.
“…don’t do that again,” you add.
Another pause. “Maybe.”
You pinch his side.
He groans. “Alright, alright– fuck– fine.”
You smile into his shirt. Five minutes later, you tilt your head up and kiss him first anyway.
a/n: this was made a whiiiilllleeee back. idk if it's my lack of sleep or if this actually sounds choppy😭
I CANT UR WRITING IS LITERALLY THE SWEETEST EVERR, I LOVE THE ONES WITH BABY YUJI ESPECIALLY THE ONE WERE HE BREAKS SUKUNAS PHONE IT WAS SO CUTE AND FUNNYY AND I WOULD LOVE TO READ MORE OF ITTT
IM SO THRILLED TO HEARRR!!!! baby yuji is literally the cutest!! I really enjoyed writing that piece. I think anyone with siblings can totally relate lmao. ANDD TYSMMM for your kind words😭💗I'll definitely try to create more similar fluffy drabbles! <3
Sukuna had never begged for anything in his life. Not money. Not forgiveness. Not help. Not even when he was twenty and working three jobs while trying to raise a screaming toddler who kept drawing on the walls with permanent marker while Choso slammed doors and screamed that he hated him.
Sukuna handled shit himself. Always. That was why this felt so wrong.
Why it felt like his ribs were cracking open every second you stared at him without saying anything. The apartment was dead quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows. You wouldn’t look at him.
That hurt worse than the yelling did.
Honestly, he wished you’d screamed.
Instead you just stood there near the kitchen counter with your arms wrapped around yourself like if you loosened them for even a second you’d fall apart.
“You done?” you asked quietly.
Sukuna swallowed. His throat actually fucking hurt.
“No.”
Your laugh came out broken. Small. “What else is there to say?”
Everything. Too much. Not enough.
The problem was Sukuna had never learned how to explain himself without sounding angry. Even now, his jaw was tight enough to crack teeth apart. His huge frame stood frozen near the front door like he didn’t know if he was allowed any closer.
Because he probably wasn’t. The image kept replaying in his head. You're calling him over and over. Him ignoring every single fucking call like an idiot. The bar and Yorozu hanging all over him.
His arm around her waist because he was drunk and pissed and stupid and wanted to hurt you after the fight.
And then your face when you walked in.
Jesus Christ.
He’d seen people die before and somehow that look still haunted him worse.
“I said I was sorry,” he muttered hoarsely.
You finally looked at him then. Red eyes. Wet cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t erase it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” your voice cracked. “Because I don’t think you get it, Sukuna.”
His stomach twisted violently hearing his name like that.
Not Ryo.
Not even Ryomen.
Just Sukuna. Cold and distant, as if you were referring to a stranger.
“You embarrassed me,” you whispered. “You humiliated me.”
His chest caved inward.“I know.”
“You made me feel stupid for loving you.”
That one physically made him flinch, actually flinch. You noticed too because your face crumpled for half a second before hardening again. Good. He deserved it.
Sukuna dragged a hand down his face hard enough to redden the skin. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s the problem.”
Silence.
The constant drum of rain, the sound of your uneven breathing. He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t fucking breathe in it.
“You think I wanted her?” he snapped suddenly. “You think I looked at her like I look at you?”
“You had your hands all over her.”
“Because I was angry!”
“And that makes it better?!”
“No!” His voice thundered through the apartment before he caught himself. You stepped back instinctively, tbat nearly killed him. The second he noticed fear flash across your face he looked sick with himself.
“...fuck,” he whispered.
You wiped your eyes aggressively. “I think you should leave.”
“No.”
Your head jerked up. “No?” you repeated in disbelief.
“I’m not leaving till you hear me out.”
“There’s nothing to hear!”
“There is for me.” His voice cracked on the last word, actually cracked. You both froze. Sukuna looked almost startled by it himself, like his own desperation disgusted him. His fists clenched so hard his tattoos stretched over his knuckles.
“You think this is easy for me?” he asked quietly. “You think I know how to do this shit?”
“You should’ve thought about that before–”
“I know!” he barked.
Then softer, broken. “I know.”
God, he looked awful.
Not physically. Sukuna always looked intimidating no matter what. Six foot something of muscle and sharp edges and dark eyes.
But emotionally? He looked ruined. Hair messy from shoving his hands through it nonstop. Eyes bloodshot. Hoodie half soaked from the storm outside because apparently he hadn’t even bothered with an umbrella when he chased after you.
“You didn’t even come home,” you whispered.
His face twisted because that was the worst part. You’d waited for him, called him, texted him. And he’d ignored every single one because he’d been angry after your argument and wanted to “win.”
God, he hated himself.
“I know.”
“That whole night I thought maybe something happened to you.” Tears spilled faster now. “I was terrified.”
His breathing stuttered.
Then you laughed bitterly. “And then I walk in and see you with another girl.”
Sukuna looked like someone had punched him directly in the throat.
“She didn’t matter.”
“But I did,” you whispered. “And you still did it.”
That shut him up, because you were right. Completely right. The silence stretched so long it became unbearable.
Then finally–
“I don’t know how to lose you.”
Your eyes flickered. Sukuna stared at the floor like the words physically hurt to say. “I don’t know how to do that.”
His voice had gone rough. Not angry rough, raw rough.
“I’ve lost damn near everybody else in my life. Parents. Friends. People leave. Shit happens. Fine.” His jaw tightened. “But you…”
He looked at you finally.
And God.
You’d never seen him look afraid before. Not truly afraid.
“I can’t fucking do that with you.”
Your face wavered. Sukuna noticed immediately and stepped closer before stopping himself halfway like he didn’t trust his own body anymore.
“You’re all over this place,” he whispered desperately. “You’re in my routines. My brothers love you. Yuji asks for you before bed every damn night. Choso tells you shit he won’t tell me. Your stupid hair ties are all over my bathroom. Your coffee order’s stuck in my head permanently.”
He laughed once. Humorless. “I see somethin pink in a store and think of you automatically. That’s sick.”
A tear slid down your cheek.
“I fucked up,” he said shakily. “I know I did.” His breathing got uneven. “And I swear to God I’ll spend every day makin up for it if you let me.”
You stayed quiet. And that silence was making him unravel. Sukuna took another step forward, then another, until he was right there. Close enough that you could see his hands trembling.
Sukuna.
Trembling.
“I don’t know how to beg,” he admitted quietly. “So if I’m shit at this, that’s why.”
Your lips parted slightly. Then his voice dropped even lower.
“But please.”
The word sounded painful, like glass in his throat.
“Please don’t leave me over the worst mistake I ever made.”
You looked down immediately because your eyes filled too fast. Sukuna panicked. Actually panicked. His hands hovered near you before gripping his own wrists instead.
“Fuck– no, don’t cry, baby, please–”
“You made me cry!”
“I know, I know, I know–”
His words stumbled over each other desperately. You’d never seen him like this.
Never.
Sukuna was the kind of man who got angry when he got hurt. The kind that buried feelings so deep they turned poisonous.
But now? Now he looked like he was drowning right in front of you.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “I’ve been outside this apartment for an hour tryin to figure out how to make you stay.”
Your chest tightened painfully. “I almost didn’t come up,” he admitted. “Thought maybe you’d be happier if I disappeared.”
Your head snapped up immediately. “Don’t say that.”
His eyes softened instantly at your reaction. There you were, still caring, even now. That nearly destroyed him all over again.
“I love you,” he said suddenly.
You froze.
Sukuna almost never said it first. Almost never said it at all. But now the words were falling out of him uncontrollably.
“I love you so fucking much it makes me sick sometimes.” His voice shook. “You think I touched her because I wanted her? I did it because I knew it’d hurt you and I was angry and stupid and selfish.”
His face twisted in disgust at himself.
“And the second I saw your face I wanted to rip my own fucking arm off for touching her.”
Your breath hitched.
“I know sorry isn’t enough,” he whispered. “I know that.”
Then finally–
The thing that broke you completely.
Sukuna reached for your hand carefully. Tentatively, like he thought you might pull away. And when you didn’t? His entire body visibly sagged in relief.
“Please,” he whispered again. Not angry, not proud, just desperate.
“Tell me how to fix this.”
.
.
.
Will you forgive him?
I was listening to "Players Prayer" by Lloyd, and it inspired me to write something new. It’s definitely different from my usual style, but please thank the weather and the assignments and exams I have piled up for this weeeek :'( I'd honestly forgive sukuna bc i'm so downbad for him, but wat about u guuuys?
