not realizing you’re talking to your ex-boyfriend!sukuna while drunk !
you were way too drunk and the sigma chi house was spinning.
the music thumped through the walls and your head felt light and fuzzy, but you were smiling anyway, red cup dangling from your fingers as you leaned against the wall for balance. your friends had disappeared ages ago and you didn’t really mind.
that’s when you saw him.
tall. pink hair. tattoos crawling up his arms. he looked really familiar but your drunk brain couldn’t connect the dots. you just knew he was stupidly hot standing there by the stairs with his arms crossed.
you stumbled over with a bright smile.
“hi,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “you have the prettiest eyes. like… scary pretty.”
sukuna looked down at you and his eyebrow raised, but he didn’t move away. the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
you nodded, stepping closer until you were leaning into his space. he smelled so good. warm and a little sweet, just like someone you used to know.
“mhm. my ex had eyes like yours,” you mumbled, resting your forehead against his arm because the room wouldn’t stop tilting. “he was mean looking but really nice to me. i miss him a lot actually.”
sukuna stayed quiet, one big hand coming up to steady you by the waist so you wouldn’t fall.
you kept talking, words spilling out easily now that someone was listening.
“we broke up because i thought he didn’t care enough but… he used to do the sweetest things. like bringing me coffee before class or letting me play with his hair even when he acted all tough about it.” you sighed softly. “i think i messed up. i still wear his hoodie to sleep sometimes.”
his grip on your waist tightened just a little.
“you’re drunk,” he murmured.
“super drunk,” you agreed with a little laugh, tilting your head up to look at him again. “but i mean it. he was the best. made me feel safe even when he was quiet and scary. you kinda look like him, it’s weird.”
sukuna let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. he guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, taking you upstairs without saying much. you didn’t even question it. his room felt familiar but everything was blurry.
he sat you on the edge of his bed and grabbed a bottle of water, crouching down in front of you so you could drink it. his hand rested gently on your knee the whole time.
“you’re really nice,” you whispered, eyes half closed. “my ex was nice like this too. when nobody else was looking.”
he didn’t answer right away. just brushed some hair out of your face with careful fingers and helped you lie down. when you reached out and grabbed his hand he paused.
“stay?” you asked softly.
sukuna sighed, but it was the soft kind. he sat on the edge of the bed and let you keep holding his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles while you drifted off.
“yeah,” he said quietly, watching you fall asleep in his bed again. “i’m not going anywhere.”
apocalypse - one
undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]
warnings [mdni] - angst | implied trauma | mean sukuna
wc - 7.3k
series masterlist
∞
ryomen sukuna knew three things about his soulmate.
she drank too much caffeine, she slept curled on her side whenever anxiety crawled beneath her skin and whenever she read for hours on end or colored, the noise in his head quieted enough to let him breathe.
it was fucking irritating.
the first time she got under his skin, it was in the middle of his first match.
he’d nearly put his fist through the guy, rage sitting ugly beneath his ribs as blood pooled in his mouth and sweat dripped down his spine.
then suddenly, he was overcome with serenity he’d never experienced before.
a calmness that wasn’t his own, never his own.
something soft slipped beneath his skin then, warm and quiet in a way he wasn’t used to. like somebody had pressed cold hands against the back of his neck after years of burning where he stood.
he’d won that match.
“again?” toji muttered from across the gym, cigarette balanced lazily between scarred fingers.
sukuna rolled his jaw once before slamming another punch into the heavy bag hard enough for the chains overhead to rattle violently.
“fuck off.”
toji smirked, tongue peaking out to lick at the scar against his lip.
the gym smelled like rust, sweat and the metallic ting of blood that both men were used to. it was a shitty set up buried beneath the city in the lower levels of an abandoned parking structure. it barely looked legal from the outside and the inside wasn't much better.
the concrete floors, flickering lights and men all too violent to exist comfortably above ground.
and it was the place ryomen sukuna felt alive.
sukuna had been fighting since he was fifteen and filled with a rage even he couldn’t understand.
toji found him bloody outside a convenience store after some older guys tried jumping him for gambling money.
it was clear they didn’t get the money but sukuna took that fire in his gaze out on them.
sukuna still recalled the way toji looked down at him, droplets cascading down his sharp features and dark hair, damp cigarette hanging from his mouth while blood dripped steadily from sukuna’s split brow.
“you fight like an animal,” toji began, taking a drag of his fading cig before tilting his head at the salmon haired boy, “what if i told you that you could beat the shit out of guys every day and get paid for it?”
a fucking dream is what that was. he gets to utilize his anger and he could finally get out of his father’s house.
how could sukuna even say no?
somehow, it turned into this.
years later, ryomen sukuna had become the name whispered through underground rings across the city. not because he was the biggest or the strongest, but because he was cruel.
there was something deeply unsettling about the way sukuna fought.
controlled, almost lazy sometimes. like violence came so naturally to him that he didn’t even need to think about it.
people feared men who fought emotionally.
they feared ryomen sukuna more because he never did.
most nights, he fought beneath screaming neon lights while crowds chanted his name loud enough to shake the walls.
they bet on him like he was a sure thing and fuck, did he get a shitload of money from it.
he’d leave each night, beaten and bruised with a duffel of cash hanging off his shoulder.
he was living the dream.
that was until he arrived home, in his apartment downtown, and sat in silence while somebody else’s emotions bled quietly into his chest.
a girl he’d never met yet somehow knew like the back of his hand, all too intimately.
he knew she liked coffee because of the bursts of energy he’d feel during mornings where he usually slept in because his fights usually carried into the night.
he knew she did yoga often because his muscles weren’t as sore as they would get when he was younger and god knows it wasn’t his doing. he didn’t stretch nearly as much as toji nagged at him to.
he also knew that she despised him.
that one was obvious.
their bond always sharpened after his fights. her irritation sat bright and hot beneath his ribs every time he came home bruised and bloody.
sometimes he couldn’t differentiate between his own rage and hers.
maybe they were more alike than he thought.
truthfully, sukuna didn’t know how to do things any differently and frankly, he didn’t care enough to.
he hated this whole soulmates shit. why would the universe ever pair two people together with the utmost certainty that they were perfect for each other?
and what fucking masacre did this girl commit to be bonded with him of all people?
violence was the only thing sukuna had ever been good at and he wouldn’t change that for anyone, especially some girl who was almost a mere figment of his imagination.
he did that sometimes. pretended that he was a non-existent and that he was merely hallucinating her.
non-existents made up a very small part of the population and they were essentially humans who didn’t have soulmates. like toji was.
lucky bastard.
sometimes sukuna believed toji was lying because he’d get this distant look on his face some days, kind of like himself when he felt his own soulmate torment him.
so maybe he was a late bloomer?
either way, he was in a better situation than sukuna was.
“your girl’s pissed again?” toji commented dryly from where he leaned against the boxing ring ropes, head tilted with a knowingness sukuna hated.
toji was the one sukuna had to confide in because who else did he have?
when he was overwhelmed as a young teenager about his soulmate, toji would be the one he would reluctantly go to. the older man had taken him under his wing, so yes, he did trust him more than anyone.
he also knew that toji cared about him in his own fucked up way.
sukuna’s knuckles ached tonight, phantom annoyance curling beneath his skin that didn’t belong to him. it was her.
probably studying somewhere in the city while silently wishing death upon him.
the thought almost made him grin.
throughout the years, pissing her off became a hobby of some sort, though he knew she didn’t find it nearly as amusing as he did.
“at least you know she’s got personality.” toji stated once more as sukuna finally stopped punching and turned to shoot the man a glare.
“shut the fuck up.”
toji huffed out a laugh, “god help you both when you finally meet.”
the thought made sukuna freeze momentarily.
it was almost sad.
usually, at least from what sukuna knew, people usually couldn’t wait to meet their soulmates.
then there was sukuna, filled with dread at the mere idea.
sukuna hated even talking about the bond.
he hated how aware he was of her.
because despite everything, the distance and never seeing her to begin with, she felt woven into him already, like a haunting.
some nights, when his insomnia clawed violently at his nerves after fights, he’d feel her wrap her arms around herself beneath warm blankets god knows where.
and sleep came easier those nights.
he couldn’t explain it and truthfully, he didn’t like to think about it.
he hated talking about her because the truth was ugly.
that he didn’t particularly hate her. which is exactly why he knew meeting her would ruin everything.
naturally, his solution was to sabotage everything which is why he started to sleep around with non-existents whenever he got the chance.
and he knew what it did to her.
good. he hoped it made her despise him enough to never want anything to do with him, whether they meet now or twenty years down the line.
sukuna didn’t want anything to do with her.
∞
you hated downtown on friday nights.
it was always too loud and all too crowded.
neon signs bled into rain-slick streets while bass-heavy music spilled from every open doorway along the block.
girls stumbled across sidewalks in tiny dresses and tall heels, drunken laughter cutting through the humid summer night air while taxis lined the streets endlessly.
the city looked beautiful after dark, but you still wanted to be everywhere but here.
“stop looking at people with that judgy look of yours.” shoko muttered beside you, nudging your shoulder lightly as the three of you crossed the street.
“i’m not judging, i’m just looking around…” you defended with a huff as you hugged yourself protectively, little kitten heels clicking against the pavement.
“you are judging,” utahime confirmed, “it’s your classic disgusted and glare-ey look.”
“well excuse me, you’re the ones who brought me to crackhead-ville.” you glared at the two girls as shoko rolled her eeys before hooking her arm through yours anyway.
she pulled you towards the entrance of yet another overcrowded building downtown.
apparently, tonight’s party was being held somewhere above an abandoned old bar. or beneath it.
either way, something you found entirely too ominous but you were too distracted when shoko was explaining to actually disagree.
your soulmate had spent the entire evening restless beneath your skin. not angry but worse.
aware.
you felt him constantly tonight.
a steady pulse of adrenaline humming through your bloodstream that didn’t belong to you.
your chest had felt tight since leaving the penthouse, some strange tension settling low in your stomach like your body was anticipating something before your mind could catch up.
it was unsettling.
you blamed the lack of sleep, or rather, you blamed him. you blamed him for it all.
“ew, ew…” you muttered as shoko pulled you through the door into what you could only describe as chaos.
warmth and noise hit you instantly.
bodies crowded wall to wall beneath flashing lights while music shook violently through the floorboards.
cigarette smoke lingered in the air despite the open windows somewhere deeper inside the space.
you physically recoiled.
“oh my god,” utahime muttered beside you, laughing softly at the expression painting your features, “you look horrified.”
“i am horrified!”
shoko snorted, “rich kids.”
you threw her a glare before the three of you squeezed through the crowd until you reached a quieter section tucked near the back of the room.
a curved leather couch sat half-empty beneath dim red lights, thankfully far enough from the speakers that your skull stopped vibrating the second you sat down.
you exhaled deeply, chest deflating as you blinked up at your friends who were looking at you with amusement.
“drinks?” utahime questioned as shoko nodded eagerly while you merely hummed, shoulders tense as you gazed around the sea of bodies.
utahime disappeared toward the bar while shoko took a seat beside you, the leather beneath you sticky in a way that had you shuddering, sitting at the very edge of the couch.
fuck, you hated this and you couldn’t explain why.
yes, you hated parties in general but you just felt wrong.
“you’re being weird tonight.” shoko observed, eyes narrowed on your tense figure.
you frowned faintly, “i know…i feel weird.”
your skin felt like it was buzzing, chest vibrating in a way it usually wasn’t.
it wasn’t necessarily bad, but simply off.
you felt your soulmate more than ever tonight, you were almost hyperaware.
he felt electric.
every emotion coming from him felt sharper somehow, close enough that you could almost mistake them for your own.
your pulse kept jumping for no reason.
fuck, you hated this.
“is it devils dick?” shoko casually asked as your eyes closed momentarily.
how would you explain that it was both yes and no.
yes, the bond felt different tonight.
but no, it wasn’t muscle aches or phantom pain you were feeling on his end, though you didn't want to speak too soon.
it was a friday after all. friday nights usually meant bruised ribs by saturday morning.
“oh my god, guys!” hime stood before you, handing shoko her drink before placing a water bottle in your hand, “everyone’s saying gojo and his crew are gonna be here!”
your eyes rolled gently, very much aware of utahime’s obsession with those random illegitimate fighters.
underground fights happened constantly throughout the city.
illegal betting rings buried beneath clubs and abandoned buildings, violent enough that respectable people pretended they didn’t exist despite everyone secretly knowing otherwise.
your father even told you how known politicians and well known figures even placed bets they hid from the public.
and lately, there was one name that everyone kept talking about-
“do you think sukuna would show up?” shoko questioned, eyes wide with excitement, taking a sip of her cherry vodka as you looked between the two girls.
ryomen sukuna.
you’d heard it constantly from utahime the past few months.
uathime, shoko, sora and percy often went on double dates to these underground fights you had zero interest in.
you were very much used to fifth wheeling alongside your friends, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was rooted in the prospect of spending the night in a filthy underground boxing ring riddled with people and violence alike. yuck.
still, amongst all the fighters utahime gushed about, ryomen sukuna seemed to be the most known.
the undefeated underground fighter with pink hair and a snake tattoo across his shoulders and collarbones.
people were terrified of him just as equally as they were obsessed with him.
“percy says sukuna knocked his opponent unconscious in under thirty seconds last week!” shoko stated, taking another sip as utahime nodded frantically.
“he’s insane!” utahime gushed, “like, gojo is obviously a show off and just cares about the clout he gets but sukuna? he’s terrifying…”
utahime continued, you were sure. you could see her mouth moving but you didn’t-couldn’t register the words she'd uttered.
the world around you turned hazy, just enough to feel like everything slowed in a way that definitely wasn’t normal.
your heartbeat stopped, not metaphorically, but physically.
a sharp wave of adrenaline crashed violently into your chest hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs.
you went still, every muscle in your body tightening instinctively.
you could see both of the girls leaning towards you, brows furrowed in concern, mouths moving and uttering words you knew were dipped in concern. you couldn’t hear any of it.
you swallowed hard, eyes darting up and around you, as if a siren was luring you towards the crowd, come to me, come, come.
fuck, were you drugged or something?
your heartbeat stuttered painfully beneath your ribs, once, twice then again.
you felt like you’d been dropped underwater while everyone else remained above the surface.
the bond felt raw and entirely too overwhelming.
it felt like standing at the edge of something life-altering, like your soul had recognized something before your mind could catch up to it.
for the first time since you’d first felt your soulmate, he didn’t feel far away.
you had grown used to the idea of him, something intangible and not truly real.
merely a ghost haunting the edges of your nervous system, phantom bruises in the middle of lectures and an adrenaline rush at three in the morning.
he was the deep-seated exhaustion that riddled your body but didn’t belong to you.
but this felt real. close enough to touch.
the sensation crawled slowly beneath your skin, winding around your ribs like invisible string being pulled tighter and tighter and tighter until you thought you might choke on it.
the realization hit your bloodstream like a drug.
he was here, you knew it. you could feel it in your bones.
your eyes darted towards the door that had swung open, summer air rushing inside alongside four figures dressed almost entirely in black.
the first thing you noticed was height.
they all carried themselves with the same dangerous sort of confidence, the kind that came from men who had never truly feared consequences before.
one of them had snowy white locks, the tallest of the bunch, bright enough to catch beneath the flashing lights, sunglasses balanced lazily across his nose despite the fact that it was nearly midnight.
another stood beside him, quieter with shoulder length black locks with stretched gauges in his ears and sharp eyes that swept across the room once before settling into bored indifference.
the third one was shorter than the rest but still tall, black locks in two spiked buns with a joint resting between plump pink lips, eyes hooded in a way that exposed that joint not being his first of the night.
they were all attractive in a way that felt almost unfair and dangerous.
people moved out of their path without being asked.
your eyes turned to the one trailing just a step behind them and your breath caught so violently, it hurt.
the salmon colored locks gave him away.
ryomen sukuna.
tattoos curled dark against tan skin disappearing beneath the collar of a black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders.
even from where you stood, you could see the dried blood and bruises across his knuckles.
he looked nothing like what you’d imagined from shoko’s descriptions.
and simultaneously, exactly like it too.
something deep inside you snapped taut, your stomach dropping.
you could tell he was dazed too, jaw locked and eyes blinking at a slow pace, eyes looking around the sea of bodies.
the soulmate bond surged so hard beneath your ribs, you physically recoiled, fingers gripping the edge of the leather couch.
oh god. no, no, no.
oh my god…
“oh my god,” utahime whispered beside you, though unlike you, she sounded impressed rather than horrified.
shoko looked moments away from passing out entirely.
“that’s him!” she breathed out quietly.
you couldn’t answer, breath stilling and hands trembling.
because sukuna had stopped walking.
fuck, the realization came slowly enough to feel cruel.
maroon eyes met your own and the room around you dissolved entirely. the music became muffled noise, lights blurring and the crowd disappeared.
all you could see was him. him. him. him.
he was all you could see, feel and you knew all he could see was you.
sukuna felt it the second he stepped through the doorway.
you.
the bond snapped violently alive beneath his skin hard enough that his entire body locked for half a second mid-step.
he almost thought someone had drugged him until he remembered he hadn’t even drank anything yet.
then what was this feeling?
his eyes locked on yours and he felt the most alive he’d felt in his life.
something even the ring and the violence couldn't offer.
there you were, all too pretty and wide eyed.
he barely heard gojo speak beside him anymore, the lanky man rambling on about some idiot from last week’s fight who apparently called him out on twitter after.
sukuna ignored him completely because across the room sat a girl staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.
and in some ways, he was your ghost.
he haunted you and lived under your skin in ways he was sure you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
his soulmate.
years of phantom feelings crashed together all at once so violently, it almost made him sick.
because the realization hit him harder than he’d anticipated and yes, he had anticipated this.
the moment he’d meet his soulmate.
well, he dreaded more than anticipated it.
it hit him hard because he realized that he knew this girl.
sukuna had never met you, yet, he bet he knew you more than the two girls hovering over you. more than fucking anyone.
you were the girl whose stress bled into his bones during finals week, the girl who wrapped her arms around herself at night and somehow lulled him to sleep from miles away.
you were real.
and you looked soft.
that was the first thing he took note of.
soft skin, soft wide eyes, soft pink shimmery gloss coating your plush lips he recognized only through phantom warmth he’d felt against his own skin before.
his soulmate was a pretty little thing, so pretty it almost made his chest ache. in your tiny skirt and halter top.
far too fucking pretty to belong anywhere near him.
“sukuna?”
choso’s voice cut through the haze faintly and sukuna snapped out of it, gaze finally leaving hers to glance at his friend who tilted his head towards the other side of the room.
sukuna resisted the urge to glance at you as he made his way across the room.
fuck, fuck, fuck!
this couldn’t be happening, this was a fucking nightmare.
just as he made it across the room, he felt it.
warm fingertips brushing his own skin despite his hands at his sides.
his pulse stuttered once.
his gaze snapped to yours once more and your eyes widened instantly when you noticed his hand drift to his neck where your own hand was resting.
slowly and carefully, sukuna lifted his own hand.
his fingers brushed lightly against the side of his jaw, a barely there touch.
yet, across the room, your breath hitched sharply as warmth bloomed against your own jawline seconds later.
not imagined or coincidence. it was all real, so so real.
your stomach twisted violently.
oh no. no no no no.
shoko was gazing at you, “what’s wrong?!”
you couldn’t answer, eyes stuck on a pair of crimson that held you hostage.
her eyes narrowed as both her and utahime followed your gaze before catching sukuna’s eyes on you.
then they both looked between you both a total of five times before realization hit.
“wait,” shoko whispered harshly, hand shooting out to grip your arm, “WAIT.”
utahime’s jaw physically fell open, “holy shit…”
your heartbeat pounded so violently, you thought you might faint right then and there beneath the flashing red lights.
what you despised most is that it made sense.
of course it was him. a violent and dangerous underground fighter, fuck, that explained everything so perfectly.
if fate was a person, you’d have her by the neck right now.
because sukuna was still staring at you, as if he knew you already and perhaps, he did.
then horrifyingly, he smirked.
and suddenly, you understood exactly why the entire city feared ryomen sukuna.
sukuna moved before he could really think about it, jaw clenched but determined.
one second he stood on the other side of the room and the next, his body was already weaving through the crowd toward you like the bond itself had wrapped invisible fingers around his spine and dragged him to you. you. his soulmate.
people moved instantly to let him pass.
you took note of that immediately.
you noticed the way conversations died around him, the way bodies shifted out of his path and nobody dared touch him, even accidentally.
it was fear, you realized. people feared him.
the recognition made your stomach twist.
“oh my god,” shoko whispered harshly beside you, nails digging into your arm, “he’s coming over here!”
“i can see that.” you hissed back faintly, though your voice barely sounded like your own.
fuck, you should leave. you should absolutely leave.
except, you couldn’t move, body drilled to where you sat, frozen in place while ryomen fucking sukuna rossed the room toward you like some predator chasing prey.
closer and closer and closer.
until suddenly, all his 6’4 glory was towering above you.
your breath caught embarrassingly hard.
up close, he was worse.
taller than you’d imagined and broader too.
there were faint bruises scattered along his jawline beneath the dim lights, on the very spot that you woke up feeling sore. fresh cuts healed across his knuckles.
and his eyes, god, they looked at you with the same recognition burning through your own chest.
sukuna looked down at you for a moment too long.
fuck, you were even more ethereal up close.
that thought hit him first and annoyingly hardest.
his pretty little soulmate sitting curled into the edge of a leather couch looking at him with wide doe eyes, almost expectantly with a mix of fear and restraint.
“hey.”
his voice slid down your spine like smoke.
low, dangerous and rough in a way even your mind couldn’t conjure up.
fuck, was this really happening?
your throat tightened instantly, “hi.”
the word left you horrifyingly softer than you’d intended and sukuna’s lips twitched at the sound.
your voice was his favorite sound, instantly.
“um,” shoko hummed, eyes wide as she shared a glance with utahime, “we’ll give you two a second.”
you almost wanted to yell in protest, but the two girls were already shuffling away, shooting you encouraging looks.
as you glanced up at the dangerous man once more, you felt your heart still in a way you hadn’t ever felt before.
not in fear or apprehension but calm.
he made you feel calm, your body stilling and quieting in a way you hadn’t expected.
regretfully, fuck, you despised it, but when that gentleness overcame you and you looked up at him…
his disheveled pink locks, his handsome rugged features and his dark eyes, all of it was him.
and you felt stupid for trying to deny that this man was your soulmate.
who else would it be?
“i’m sukuna,” he stated lowly, moving to take a seat beside you, leaving an appreciative distance between you, “ryomen sukuna.”
your name left you softly with a nod.
as you gazed at each other, the same realization overcame you both.
even with barely an introduction, you knew each other.
while sukuna had only fond memories of what you’d done for him, your mind was riddled with poisonous ones.
this was the man who often trained in the middle of the night, filling you with soreness and a rush of adrenaline that left you sleepless most nights.
he was the one who fucked other girls knowing what that put you through.
your heart clenched.
beyond all those things, he was the one who hugged himself to sleep after that one night of utter hell.
he was the one who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps left you nauseated and pained in bed.
as much as you wanted to forget those things, to snap yourself out of the sad patheticness that riddled you, how could you?
how could you when those were the only memories that kept your hope that he wasn’t a total monster alive?
your eyes travelled along his bloodied knuckles, “you get those a lot.”
sukuna’s fists instinctively clenched at the attention.
“and you burn yourself with whatever you do your hair with at least twice a week.”
your eyes widened instantly.
“and you get punched like every other day!”
sukuna’s mouth twitched and you hated how your eyes drifted towards the movement and your heart stuttered.
“barely.” sukuna stated cooly, a small smirk painting his features.
your eyes drifted toward him again before you could stop yourself.
and then you remembered.
every phantom feeling, every sleepless night and every ache.
all attached to him.
the violence, the pain, the girls.
your jaw tightened, "you’re not exactly the best person to be connected to, you know.”
sukuna’s expression didn’t shift much, still cool, but you felt it.
the hollow drop in your stomach that wasn’t yours. guilt.
real and immediate, it almost made you laugh in disbelief.
of course he felt guilty, he had to know he was a fucking nightmare.
sukuna leaned back slightly, jaw working once as his gaze flickered away from yours for half a second, “yeah, i bet.”
your brows lifted, “that’s it?”
his eyes returned to yours, low and indifferent.
you scoffed, anger bubbling up so quickly, it nearly startled you, “that’s all you have to say?”
sukuna let out a breath through his nose, “what do you want me to say?”
“oh, i don’t know,” you let out a sharp little laugh that held not an ounce of humor, “maybe sorry would be a good place to start?!”
sukuna’s head tilted, “sorry.”
you stared at him in utter disbelief before a laugh left you once more, this time softer and dripped in something worse than anger, “wow…”
sukuna’s eyes borrowed, “what?”
“you’re unbelievable is what!”
“you asked for sorry.”
“not like that!” you nsapped, voice rising just enough to have your cheeks flushing, “not like you’re apologizing for stepping on my shoe!”
his expression hardened slightly and you felt it immediately, the irritation beginning to curl beneath his skin.
ugh, you hated how the closeness made both your emotions so heightened.
“you have no idea what you put me through,” you continued, voice trembling despite you rbest efforts, “none.”
sukuna’s gaze darkened, “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like i wasn’t there too.”
you blinked at him, something hot and ugly twisting in your chest.
was he for real?
“you were there?” you repeated quietly, “you were there?”
his jaw clenched, “don’t-”
“no, please,” you leaned forward slightly, anger sharpening every word, “explain it to me. because to my knowledge, you were the one making my life miserable while i was the one trying to keep us both sane!”
sukuna looked at you for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching.
the lights washed over his face in flashes of red, making him look even more unreal than he already did.
“you think i wanted this?” he stated more than asked and your heart clenched.
hurt shot through you, your eyes growing glassy against your will because you knew he wasn’t referring to the pain he’d put you through.
he meant the soulmate thing in general, fate as a whole.
he didn’t want you.
you bit the inside of your cheek, willing your tears to stay in your eyes before breathing out, “no. but neither did i.”
silence settled between you then, not peaceful but loaded.
sukuna could physically feel your hurt and his eyes dropped briefly to your hands where they trembled in your lap.
your fingers curled instantly, too proud as you hid the movement.
it was too late. he’d seen it.
even worse, he’d felt it.
“i didn’t know.” he stated lowly and you froze.
your eyes flickered up, “what?”
his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, expression unreadable.
“at first,” he clarified, “i didn’t know what it did to you.”
your chest tightening, knowing what he was referring to and his words didn’t soothe you in the slightest.
“and after?”
in fact, it made it all worse.
especially as he said nothing.
your face fell slightly, all the anger in you cooling into something quieter and melancholic.
“after, you knew.”
his gaze remained on you as his fingers flexed once against his thigh, “yeah, i knew.”
your eyes burned and you hated yourself for it.
you hated that it still hurt despite knowing already, you hated that hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way the bond never had.
“why?” you asked, the one word absolutely humiliating as much as it was devastating.
sukuna looked away first and somehow, that hurt too, “because it was easier.”
your lips parted faintly, “easier?”
he lout out a grunt, “if you hated me, you wouldn’t look for me.”
the words settled between you like something deadly.
for a second, you genuinely couldn’t speak.
then you did, “that is the stupidest, shittiest thing i’ve ever heard.”
hsi eyes snapped back to yours, scowling, “careful.”
“oh, fuck you!” you hissed lowly, “you don’t get to do that! you don’t get to hurt me on purpose and then act like it was some noble sacrifice.”
his jaw tightened, “it wasn’t noble.”
“yeah, no shit.”
“it was necessary.”
you laughed once, incredulous, “necessary? well, congrats, you got what you wanted, i absolutely fucking despise you.”
sukuna’s jaw clenched, eyes glaring at you, “good. because you don’t know shit about me, this saves us both the hassle.”
“i don’t know you?” you shot back, “i know you more than anyone, probably. i know your body hurts more often than they don’t. i know you clench your jaw when you’re mad. i know you can’t sleep because of your nightmares and unless somebody practcially forces your nervous system to shut down, you could go days without it. i know you’re so angry at the fucking world, it makes you so hateful.”
sukuna went still, too still.
you swallowed hard, eyes burning once more, “and i know that for years, i was the one cleaning up the damage you left behind.”
his eyes darkened, “cleaning up?”
“yes,” your voice cracked despite yourself, “me. i was the one hugging myself to sleep because you wouldn’t. i was the one stretching every morning because your body always felt like fucking concrete. i was the one coloring like a goddamn toddler at three in the morning because it was the only thing that made your anger stop choking me!”
sukuna said nothing and you hated that even more.
you wanted him to argue back, to answer, to fucking care.
“do you know how pathetic that feels?” you whispered, “taking care of someone who kept hurting me?”
his expression shifted, barely, but you felt it again.
the guilt, even deeper this time.
sukuna looked at you like he wanted to say something cruel and couldn’t quite manage it, settling with, “you didn’t have to do all that.”
your laugh came out watery, tears now trickling down your heated cheeks.
fuck, you felt nauseous, you felt so fucking sick.
“yeah, i know that now.”
something passed across his face then, a flicker of pain so quick, you almost missed it.
but the bond didn’t allow you to miss anything. you felt it bloom in your own chest, sharp and unwanted. his.
for one terrible second, you almost let it soften you.
almost.
because there it was again.
that tiny, stupid sliver of hope you’d spend years nurturing because it was the only thing that kept you mildly sane.
the one that whispered that maybe he wasn't all cruelty. maybe there was something beneath all that violence and pain.
maybe the boy who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps got bad had to exist somewhere inside the man sitting in front of you.
you looked at him then, through your blurry vision, really and truly looked.
the hard line of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes and the casual arrogance sitting across his shoulders like armor.
and that hope crumbled quietly inside your chest.
not dramatically or all at once, but piece by piece, like something old finally accepting it had been dead for a long time.
utter disappointment filled you then. you should have known better.
this shouldn't be surprising.
sukuna had spent years telling you exactly who he was, painting you the worst image of himself and you had hoped it was just that.
the worst of himself.
except the worst was all of him.
sukuna was cruel. not because he didn’t know better but because he did.
because he’d known what hurt you and decided hurting you was easier than wanting you.
you swallowed around the ache in your throat, suddenly exhausted in a way a thousand years of sleep couldn’t fix.
all you wanted was to be home now, cuddled up with ani in your room alone.
“right,” you whispered, nodding once to yourself.
sukuna’s brows pulled together slightly, “right what?”
you pushed yourself to your feet, smoothing trembling hands over the front of your skirt because you needed something to do. anything that didn’t involve looking at him.
“this was enlightening.”
his eyes narrowed, “sit down.”
the command sparked something sharp beneath your ribs, the thorn twisting in your heart.
you let out a hollow laugh, “fuck you.”
his jaw flexed, “don’t make a scene.”
your name left him then and you hated the way your stomach fluttered at the melody of it in his voice.
fuck, your heart hurt.
because he was your soulmate. yours.
because some sick, twisted part of you had expected the universe to redeem itself when you finally found him.
you expected the first moment to feel like every story you’d grown up hearing, witnessed amongst your friends.
warmth, recognition and relief.
instead, you were standing in front of the man who had turned your body into a battlefield and your heart into collateral damage.
“i hope i never see you again.”
something flickered across his face then and you didn’t stay long enough to decipher it.
you turned around, the crowd swallowing you almost immediately as you walked away.
music slammed back into your skull, bodies pressing close as you pushed through them with shaking hands and blurred vision.
your chest felt too tight, lungs too small for the oxygen your body ached for.
behind you, you felt sukuna rise before you saw it. the immediate pull.
his presence growing closer and your heart stuttered stupidly.
some miserable, pathetic part of you sparked alive at the thought before you could kill it.
maybe he did care.
maybe he was going to take back all the words he regretted, that he would stop you and apologize properly this time.
he would say what you’ve been waiting years to feel.
the thought was so humiliating, it almost made you sick.
“fuck are you lookin’ at?!”
you heard his voice aimed at the crowd of people that were watching you both, probably since your conversation on the couch.
you shoved through the door and stepped into the narrow hallway outside the main room, the music muffling instantly behind you.
the air was cooler here, damp with rain and cigarette smoke, blue neon bleeding through the cracked windows at the end of the corridor.
you took in a breath like you hadn’t breathed in days, eyes shutting as your heart hammered against your chest, trying to simply process everything that had taken place.
“hey.” his voice followed you out and you froze, heart stilling.
stupid, traitorous thing.
you turned slowly, eyes fluttering open.
sukuna stood a few feet away, tall and shadowed beneath the hallway light.
away from the party, he seemed even more dangerous. less like a person and more like a warning your body had spent seven years failing to understand.
he was an enigma.
for one breath, neither of you spoke.
your hope stood there too, fragile and shaking, fucking pitiful.
waiting.
sukuna’s gaze dragged over your face once, catching on the wetness beneath your eyes and his expression tightened faintly.
say it, you thought bitterly.
say sorry! say you didn’t mean it!
say something!
his jaw worked once, “no one can know.”
your brows furrowed, the hope dying cleanly.
“excuse me?”
sukuna stepped closer, voice lower now.
his mouth opened to clarify when his gaze met your own once more.
your wide glassy eyes. your pretty face that was streaked with tears, your plump bitten lips.
the little sniffles that left you, making his ribs ache.
and suddenly, he froze, the words stuck in his throat.
fuck, he had to get it together.
“about this.”
your lips parted faintly, “about us?”
the word us felt absolutely pathetic in your mouth.
all too soft and hopeful. undeserved, even.
something in his eyes shifted at the sound of it but it was gone before you could hold onto it.
“there is no us.”
oh. you actually felt that one.
not through the bond, nor as some phantom ache borrowed from him.
the pain was yours, all yours.
you laughed once, quiet and disbelieving as you took a small step back, “wow…”
sukuna followed you, taking one step forward as his jaw clenched, “listen to me-”
“no,” you shook your head slowly, voice trembling, “no, i think i understand perfectly.”
sukuna’s eyes darkened, “you really don’t.”
“oh my god,” you shook your head, “i can’t believe i thought-”
you stopped, humiliation burning up your throat.
sukuna stared, taking a step closer, his chest now brushing your chin, “thought what?”
his voice was almost desperate and you swallowed, blinking hard, “nothing.”
his face tightened and he felt it anyway, of course he did.
the hope and hurt.
the fact that some tiny, unbearable part of you had wanted him to come after you because he simply couldn’t let you leave.
sukuna looked away first as you took a step back. fucking coward.
“it’s dangerous.” he stated as you stared at the side of his face.
“dangerous?”
“yes.”
“for who?”
his gaze cut back to yours, “for you.”
you almost laugh but he continued before you could.
“people know me and if they know about you, they’ll use you. you make me weak.”
the words landed colder than you'd expected.
sukuna watched you closely, as if waiting for the fear to register and maybe it did.
somewhere deep, deep down, but anger got there first.
“so that’s what this is?” you whispered, tears leaving you without you noticing, “damage control?”
his silence was answer enough and you nodded faintly, tears burning hot once more.
“right.”
“you need to keep your mouth shut about it.”
you flinched before you could stop yourself and sukuna paused, regret flashing through instantly.
“don’t talk to me like that.” you stated lowly and his jaw clenched.
“i’m trying to keep you safe.”
“oh, how big of you.”
the hallway seemed to shrink around you both.
outside, rain tapped gently against the glass.
inside, bass thudded like a second heartbeat through the walls.
you looked at him then, this man that fate had tied to you with an invisible string and cruelty dressed up as destiny. and for the first time since you’d felt him at sixteen, you stopped wondering what it would be like to find him.
because now you knew and god, you wish you didn’t.
it felt like losing something you’d never even had.
“is that all?” you questioned lowly, clearing your throat once.
sukuna stared at you, nose flaring and throat bobbing once, “yeah.”
another piece of you gave out as you nodded, “okay.”
the word was so calm, it made his eyes sharpen.
you turned away, walking past him but his hand caught your wirst before you could take full step.
skin met skin and the bond went silent, completely and utterly silent.
no buzzing or aching or distance.
just him, all warm and real. terribly real.
your breath hitched at his touch. it was the first time he’d ever touched you.
sukuna froze too, fingers wrapped around your wrist like he’d touched fire and couldn’t make himself pull away.
for one second, just one, all the cruelty fell quiet.
and you felt him beneath it, scared and lonely, wanting and waiting.
you felt it and you hated him for letting you feel it now.
slowly, you looked down at his hand then back up at him, “let go.”
his grip tightened by a fraction, “this is the best thing for the both of us.”
your face crumpled before you could stop it.
you pulled your wrist free and this time, he let you.
“oh, trust me, not having to be stuck with you? i couldn’t agree more.” venom laced your words as sukuna’s expression changed, tightened and you felt the hurt then.
sharp and immediate and you were glad for it.
you turned and walked away then, tears streaming down your cheeks and a sob left you as soon as you were out of his vicinity.
for the first time, the bond didn't feel like a thread pulling you closer…
it felt like noose.
∞
an | was so late with this but had the worst past few days so SORRY! anyways PLSSS lmk what u think cuz i'm iffy abt the direction of this BUT this is lowk my fav thing i've written omg! this is kinda like a prologue pt2, next chapters will deffo be longer! i cannot wait to write more of these two and sukuna's a dick but bear w him ! also each chapter in the masterlist will be titled a song and i recommend listening to it while reading for the vibes 🫡
also lowk need toji BAD i wanna give him some lore so lmk if u want a one-shot of him in this au!
tags: he's just intelligent af and she's a jerk, fem reader, college setting, modern au, sukuna has his tattoos, he also has piercings, he's a little condescending shit, she's also very arrogant, she's the frat party rat, drug mention, laced drink, alcohol consumption, a little violence, no one is really sane but who's sane in college, sukuna is more pedantic than he normally is, colleagues to project partners to something else.
sum: you're paired up with Sukuna, the weird quiet sharp nerd of your lit class, for your midterm project, but you have so much to do... like the parties, the volleyball team, and all of the things that don't involve being buried in books and boring ass researches, so you're pretty sure the big lonesome nerd will take no issue in doing it all by himself, right? wrong.
art: @to00fu
In which sukuna gets shy and forgets how to speak when you fix his chain in front of his frat brothers
A reference to this series
It’s a friday night.
You had come over to the frat house after class, by now it was normal for you to randomly show up. It was the end of the week, with your body and mind both sore and tired from all the work you’ve done all week , eyes heavy, you went straight to sukuna’s room, plopped on his bed, and drifted to sleep.
How many hours had passed since you fell asleep , Three? Four? You don’t even know , you sit up , rubbing the sleep out of your eyes , with no signs of sukuna around, your throat is so dry it feels like thorns are pricking at it.
Now you were downstairs looking for water.
Unbeknownst to you, everyone’s already there ,
The second you stepped into the kitchen, Shoko noticed you first.
Then Sukuna.
And just like always, something in him changed immediately.
He’d been leaning against the counter beside Toji and Geto, lazily picking apart some story Gojo was telling while half the room listened in amusement. Tattoos stretched beneath the sleeves of his black shirt, rings catching against the fluorescent kitchen light every time he gestured.
He looked Confident and Sharp-edged. Like he always did.
Then his eyes landed on you and as soon as they did,His posture straightened subtly.
The tension in his jaw eased.
Like his entire nervous system recalibrated.
You walked over quietly, still sleepy enough that you barely noticed everyone watching. Sukuna’s gaze followed you the entire way until you stopped in front of him.
“You okay?” he asked immediately.
“Mhm.” Your voice came out soft from exhaustion. Then your eyes caught on the silver chain hanging crooked beneath the collar of his shirt. “Your chain’s twisted.”
“Huh?”
Without thinking much of it, you stepped closer.
Conversation around the kitchen slowly faded.
Your fingers brushed lightly against the cool metal resting against his throat as you fixed the clasp, carefully straightening where it had turned sideways against his skin.
And Sukuna went completely still and no,
Not in a dramatic way.
But the kind where someone forgets how to function entirely.
His hand tightened slightly around the cup he was holding while he stared down at you, breathing quieter ,shoulders stiff beneath your touch.
Gojo blinked. Then blinked again.
“No fucking way.”
You didn’t even notice.
You were too focused on fixing the chain properly, fingers brushing against the warm skin of his neck every few seconds.
“There,” you murmured finally. “Better.”
Silence.
You looked up confused.
Every single person in the kitchen was staring.
Toji looked moments away from losing consciousness laughing. Geto had physically covered his mouth trying to hide a grin while Shoko watched like she’d just witnessed a rare astronomical event.
Gojo pointed directly at Sukuna.
“HE’S BLUSHING.”
Your eyes snapped back upward instantly And there it was.
Faint pink dusting across Sukuna’s ears and creeping slowly over the bridge of his nose while he looked at you like his brain had short-circuited.
Your lips parted slightly to say something,
“…wait.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered towards Gojo without taking his eyes off you once.
That only made everyone laugh harder.
“Oh this is BAD,” Geto said through laughter. “He’s gone.”
“To think,” Shoko sighed dramatically, “the campus plague finally domesticated.”
“Fuck off.” He told them.
But there was no bite in it.
Not really.
Because you were still standing close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off your body, your fingers lightly resting against his chest after fixing the chain.
And Sukuna looked wrecked by it.
You smiled , you just couldn’t hold it in.
“Aww,” you teased softly. “You’re embarrassed?”
His eyes narrowed immediately, but it lacked its usual sharpness.
“Don’t start.”
“You’re literally red.”
“I am not.”
“You kinda are,” Toji interrupted giddily.
Gojo looked ready to pass away from excitement. “I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MAN EXPERIENCE HUMAN EMOTION.”
Before you could say anything else, Sukuna suddenly grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you against his chest.
A small startled sound left you as his arm settled around your waist instinctively, keeping you tucked against his side like proximity itself calmed him down.
“Enough,” he muttered lowly.
But when you tilted your head up at him, smiling still lingering on your lips, the blush deepened anyway.
And the kitchen absolutely lost its mind.
“HE GOT SHY.”
“THIS IS INSANE.”
“Somebody take a picture.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” Gojo announced dramatically.
Sukuna flipped everyone off immediately.
Yet even while doing it, his thumb rubbed absentminded circles against your waist beneath the hoodie.
Like touching you had already become second nature to him.
He had learnt to be gentle with you at all times, which was kinda shocking for someone like him, but he did.
And when you reached up one more time to flatten the collar of his shirt, Sukuna leaned down automatically without even realizing he’d done it.
The room erupted so loudly someone from upstairs yelled asking if a fight broke out.
Everyone was enjoying this way to much.
Meanwhile Sukuna buried his face briefly against the top of your head, muttering,
“You’re never coming downstairs with me again.”
You could only laugh a little because you know that’s far from the truth.
Crazy gf!reader changing bio to ‘single’ after Boyfriend!Sukuna doesn’t reply to a text immediately
The door slams open.
“What the fuck is your problem? I didn’t respond for one fucking hour, and suddenly we’re done?” he asks, irritated beyond hell. He drops his heavy duffel bag on the floor and comes to sit behind you on the sofa. You’re lying on your stomach on the carpet, painting your nails. You don’t reply. He rolls his eyes and nudges your thigh with his foot. “Don’t ignore me, you stupid, pain in my ass. Put ‘Sukuna’s girl’ back in your bio. Now.”
Innocently, you turn to look at him. A challenging brow is cocked up. “Or what?”
Sukuna’s eye twitches.
“Look, idiot, I would have texted back if I had my phone on me. You know I didn’t. I’ve got nothing to apologise for, so if that’s what you’re waiting for, you’ve got another thing coming. Now delete it, or I might start thinking we really are broken up, in which case I won’t be held accountable for the things I do.”
An eerie silence takes over. You put the nail polish down and sit up. Quietly, you mumble, “...so you hate me.”
With a blank stare, he watches you wrap your hands around your neck and squeeze hard. Gurgling sounds escape into the air as you writhe on the floor, moving like a drying-out fish. Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. “Quit it. I’m serious. You look constipated.”
“Shut…up,” you wheeze out. “I’m -hah- dy…ing.”
Impatiently, he pulls your hands away by the wrists, like you’re a misbehaving toddler who’s just picked up dog shit. “Enough.”
Realising the act isn’t working, you pause for a second, and he knows from that look in your eyes that you’re calculating your next step. Maybe you’ll try to make a run for the window again, or you’ll tackle him with your claws out, or maybe you’ll smash the TV up and pin it on him. It’s impossible to predict your next moves, even after how many years he’s been with you.
Naturally, you do none of the things he anticipated, and you simply resume strangling yourself.
Sukuna groans. “Fuck my fucking life. Was I a dictator in my past life or something? Christ.” Whilst you shamelessly discard any dignity you have, Sukuna picks up your phone and gets into your socials with ease. He changes your bio back, and replies with his own dick pics to the assholes who sent their micros, and calls it a day. “I’m hungry,” he suddenly says. “Wanna go to a drive-thru?”
As though nothing happened at all, you stop choking yourself out and shrug. “Yeah, actually. ‘was waiting for you to suggest it so I don’t look like a big back.”
A corner of his lips curve up. “I think that moment’s passed, sweetheart.”
“Ugh, I’d rather you call me a whore,” you reply, nose scrunched up.
Sukuna snorts. “Yeah, bet you do.”
is this even coherent? I think I'm out of practice
Ryomen Sukuna was having the kind of day that made him want to commit a felony.
Work had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster. His clients were being brain-dead idiots, his emails had been piling up since 6:00 AM, and his boss had the audacity to drop a massive, last-minute project on his desk right as he was packing up to leave. By the time he finally unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He was exhausted, he was pissed off, and he was fully prepared to pour himself a massive glass of whiskey and not speak to a single soul for the rest of the night.
He pushed the door open, dropping his keys into the bowl by the entrance with a loud, aggressive clatter. He shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening his tie with a harsh yank.
“I’m home,” he called out, his voice a low, gravelly grumble.
He expected you to be in the kitchen, or maybe curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show. He expected you to ask him how his day was, which would inevitably lead to him ranting for twenty minutes straight.
Instead, there was silence.
Sukuna frowned, his bad mood spiking just a fraction. He walked down the hallway and stepped into the living room.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table. The entire surface was completely covered in hundreds of microscopic, brightly colored plastic bricks. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was slowly falling apart.
But the best part? The absolute most ridiculous, endearing part?
You were squinting so hard your nose was scrunched up, and the very tip of your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth in pure, unadulterated concentration. Your fingers, which were currently trying to snap a tiny, translucent green piece onto a microscopic brown cylinder, were trembling slightly from the effort.
You hadn’t even heard him come in. You were entirely, completely consumed by your task.
Sukuna stood there in the doorway, his suit jacket dangling from his fingers. He didn’t say a word. He just watched you.
You were a serial hobbyist. Every month, it was something new. Knitting, painting by numbers, making weird little clay frogs that currently haunted his nightstand. He usually just rolled his eyes, funded your little hyper-fixations, and let you do your thing.
But this? This tiny, intricate Lego flower shop you had apparently bought today? It had you in a chokehold.
Snap.
The tiny green piece finally clicked into place.
You let out a massive, dramatic gasp of victory, throwing your hands up in the air like you had just won the Super Bowl. “Yes! Take that, you stupid little plastic bitch!”
Sukuna let out a sudden, loud snort.
You jumped, spinning around so fast you nearly knocked over a pile of pink bricks. When you saw him standing there, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The sheer, radiant joy on your face was blinding.
“Babe!” you squealed, scrambling up onto your knees. You carefully scooped up the tiny, completed structure in your hands and held it out toward him like it was the Holy Grail. “Baby, look! Look what I did!”
Sukuna slowly walked over, dropping his jacket onto the sofa. He looked down at your hands.
It was a tiny, incredibly detailed Lego flower shop. And sitting right in front of it was a single, slightly lopsided plastic rose that you had clearly customized.
“I made you this one,” you beamed, your chest puffing out with pride. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s for your desk at work! Because you said your office is depressing! Do you like it?!”
Sukuna stared at the tiny plastic flower. Then, he looked at you.
You had a faint smudge of left over dinner on your cheek. Your oversized shirt was slipping off one shoulder. You were looking up at him with such pure, unfiltered adoration and excitement over a piece of plastic that it actually knocked the breath out of his lungs.
And just like that, it happened.
The stress of the last fourteen hours? Gone. The anger at his clients? Evaporated. The tension in his shoulders, the pounding headache behind his eyes, the overwhelming urge to burn his office building to the ground? It all just melted away, completely washed out by the sheer force of your ridiculous, beaming smile.
He didn’t just love you. That wasn’t a strong enough word anymore.
He looked at you, sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic bricks, offering him a fake flower to make his bad day better, and a single, crystal-clear thought rang through his head like a bell.
I need to marry this girl.
Not ‘I want to.’ Not ‘someday.’ Need. He needed to marry your crazy ass. He needed to lock this down permanently, because if he had to go through the rest of his miserable, stressful life without coming home to you poking your tongue out over a Lego set, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
“Sukuna?” you blinked, your smile faltering just a little when he didn’t immediately respond. You lowered your hands slightly. “Do you… not like it? I know it’s kind of dumb, but—”
“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice thick.
Before you could even process the command, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, completely ignoring the fact that he was crushing at least ten Lego pieces under his expensive suit pants.
He reached out, his large hands gently cupping your face. He didn’t even look at the flower shop. His red eyes were locked entirely on yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.
“Babe?” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Are you okay? Was work bad?”
“Work was a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “But I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of his stress leaving his body. “I love it, baby. It’s perfect. I’m putting it right in the middle of my desk.”
Your smile instantly returned, brighter than before. “Really?!”
“Really,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. It wasn’t heated or rough; it was incredibly soft, filled with a kind of overwhelming reverence that made your toes curl.
When he finally pulled back, he kept his face inches from yours. He looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.
It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of absolute, undeniable fact. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but the weight behind his words was heavy enough to anchor a ship.
Your brain short-circuited. You sat there, frozen, the tiny Lego flower shop still clutched in your hands. “What?”
“You heard me,” he smirked, his usual arrogant confidence bleeding back into his tone. He leaned in and pressed a loud, wet kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m gonna marry your crazy ass. Put a ring on your finger so big you won’t be able to lift your hand to build these stupid little toys.”
“They’re not stupid!” you squawked, your face flushing bright red as his words finally registered. “And you can’t just drop that on me while I’m holding a Lego!”
“I just did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, completely ruining your posture. He buried his face in your neck.
You let out a breathless, watery laugh, carefully setting the flower shop down on the table before wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You ran your fingers through his pink hair, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of his muscles.
“Okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, Ryomen.”
“Good,” he mumbled against your skin. He shifted slightly, his knee crunching against a pile of plastic. He winced. “Now, help me up. I think a fucking Lego is embedded in my kneecap.”
cw: cussing, sick freaky behaviour mentioned, justice is served
a/n: so whos happy now LOLLLLLL
I KNOW maybe some of you want more justice so tulip girl will get her karma,, after this i will make an epilogue for this! stay tunedddd thank you for the support for this <33
gojo satoru x reader , satoru confesses to you a million times, until you finally reciprocate
“Be my girlfriend!”
You’ve heard those words come out of the Gojo Satoru thousands of times.
Maybe more.
No one would believe you if he didn’t loudly announce it every single time, either. He says it like it’s his catchphrase.
Gojo Satoru? Everyone knows him. He’s basically a celebrity.
You? People pass by you and forget you were ever there. People in your class don’t even know your name.
So when he confesses to you, it feels like it has to be a joke. Something for other people to laugh at later.
The first time it happens, you’re sitting outside near the soccer field, doing homework.
You had your headphones in. Favourite song on repeat because you got tired of your playlist. Your pencil continues to move while everyone else is busy being loud.
You don’t notice when someone approaches.
Satoru, however, does not understand the concept of a quiet entrance.
He clears his throat loudly, like he’s trying to interrupt your playlist personally. The sound slices through your music and your attention snaps upward.
He’s standing there with a bouquet, grinning like he’s about to win something.
Suguru is behind him, leaning slightly like he’s waiting for the punchline. Calm face. Patient eyes. The kind of presence that makes you feel like you should brace yourself.
Satoru steps closer and thrusts the flowers toward you.
“Be my girlfriend!”
Then, in a whisper, but still very much part of the performance, he adds. “Please.”
Your stomach tightens.
It happens fast, the way your instincts always kick in with people like him :
This is going to be embarrassing. This is going to be a story. This is going to end with everyone laughing and you trying to disappear afterward.
You don’t even give him a second chance to explain.
You stand up, quick and firm.
“Look,” You say, and your voice comes out sharper than you meant. “Just because I don’t hang other people friends, or because I don’t fit into your loud little world, it doesn’t mean you get to play games with me.”
Satoru’s grin wavers for the first time.
Your hand moves before your brain can talk you out of it.
You slap the bouquet out of his hands.
Flowers scatter on the ground. A couple petals land near your foot, and somehow that makes it feel even more ridiculous.
You grab your backpack and start walking away.
Satoru blinks after you, stunned in a way that’s almost funny.
You didn’t look back. Not because you were trying to be mean, just because you couldn’t handle watching him and his buddies making fun of you.
Behind you, you hear him breathe out—then you hear Suguru’s voice, quiet and practical, like he’s checking whether this went wrong in a way that can be fixed.
Satoru says something under his breath, half offended, half confused.
Then someone has to throw in a comment—Because of course they do.
“Wait—What just happened?”
You keep walking anyway.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Valentine’s Day turns the whole school into a cheerful mess like every year.
Pink decorations. Sweet smells. People carrying chocolates like they’re going into war.
You do your best to ignore it.
You keep your head down, walk faster, and try to stay out of the main hall where everyone crowds together to show off.
That plan lasts exactly until you see the cart.
A rolling cart is coming down the hallway, surrounded by students who look way too entertained by whatever is inside.
At the front of it is Satoru—perfectly dressed, perfectly smiling, perfectly loud even from far away.
Suguru follows behind him, hands in his pockets, expression neutral, like he knows this is going to be a disaster but can’t stop it.
Satoru bounces on his toes and announces. "Thanks for the snacks, everyone!”
People cheer. Someone laughs. Some of them call out.
“Satoru, that’s unfair!”
“Shut up and stop flexing, dude!”
Satoru winks and sticks his tongue out as if he was trying to ragebait everyone.
Then the cart turns.
And you see it.
Mountains of chocolate. Stacked so high it looks like it belongs in a store display, not a school hallway. Different wrappers. Different sizes. Neatly arranged in a way that makes you wonder how long he had to plan it.
Satoru’s eyes swing around the crowd.
And then—directly to you.
His smile widens so quickly it’s almost suspicious.
He steps away from the cart, and for a second you think he’s going to do some grand dramatic thing for everyone’s entertainment.
But he doesn’t.
He walks straight to you, holding a box wrapped in bright paper. Much neater than the chaotic mountain behind him.
He offers it like it’s personal.
“Please,” He says. “Be my girlfriend.”
A couple people nearby gasp and giggle, like they’re watching a cute scene instead of a stressful confession.
Your eyes flick down to the box.
Chocolate.
A lot of it.
You glance up at him.
“…You brought all that,” You say, trying not to sound too annoyed. “And you picked Valentine’s Day to confess.”
Suguru, behind him, murmurs something that sounds like. “Try being sincere instead of loud,” but he says it under his breath, so it might not count.
Satoru keeps his attention on you.
He’s still smiling, but there’s something steady in his eyes now, like he actually wants an answer this time.
You take the box carefully, then lift your gaze again.
“Thanks for the chocolate,” You add, and your tone turns dry at the end. “I’m not dating you though.”
Satoru’s immediately expression drops.
“Hey! Then what’s the point of the chocolate?!”
You shrug before walking away.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
At this point, it’s basically a routine.
Satoru confesses.
You reject him.
He confesses again, because he’s stubborn and dramatic and clearly allergic to the concept of the word ‘no’.
The whole school knows the routine too.
Even people who don’t pay attention to anything else still somehow notice when Satoru is gearing up, because he moves like he’s about to give a performance.
Today, you’re walking past the courtyard with your bag on your shoulder. Quiet day. Low energy. You’re trying to get to class before your patience runs out.
You make it three steps.
Then Satoru appears out of nowhere.
Suguru is with him too, a little behind, looking like he’s prepared for whatever happens next but also hoping it doesn’t become a disaster.
Satoru points at you.
“Please,” He says, loud enough for nearby students to look over. “Be my girlfriend!”
You don’t even turn fully toward him right away. You sigh first, like the sound is a reflex.
Then you look up.
“…Again?” You say.
Satoru grins like you just complimented him. “Yes!”
You close your eyes for a second, just to gather yourself, then open them again.
“We’re not doing this again.” You say.
Suguru’s eyebrows lift slightly. Whether on purpose or no, that kind of spooked you.
Satoru clears his throat, then tries again with the same energy.
“Please be my girlfriend!”
You stare at him.
Then your gaze drops to the flowers he’s holding—except today it’s not like the usual. It’s something small and wrapped,.
You exhale, slow.
“Fine." You say, tired and honest all at once.
Satoru freezes.
His smile doesn’t vanish—It just gets stuck halfway, like the gears in his brain forgot to keep moving.
“Wait.” He says, and his voice drops because suddenly he can’t hear anything except you. “Fine?”
You tilt your head, annoyed at yourself for making this easier than it should be, but committed now.
“Yes,” You say. “You heard me. Now, move.”
Satoru’s eyes widen so hard it’s kind of impressive.
He looks around like someone might have misheard you.
Then he turns back to you, pointing at his own chest like he needs confirmation from the universe.
“…You said yes? To me?”
You nod.
“Yeah. I said yes. Can I go?”
Satoru sputters once, then finally breaks into a ridiculous, bright grin.
“Okay!” He declares, turning to Suguru mid-celebration like they just won the lottery. “See? I did it, Suguru!”
Suguru covers his mouth, trying to hide a smile.
And you—because you’re you—walk forward like you didn’t just become Satoru’s girlfriend after what has to be a million confessions.
Behind you, Satoru jogs to catch up, still acting like you’re the best thing that’s happened all week.
And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
a/n - this girl who used to liked me just followed me again after BLOCKING and ignoring me 💔
modern college au short drabble fluff fem reader performative sukuna 4.3k words
The bell above the shop door chimed softly as you stepped inside, the sound swallowed almost immediately by low, dreamy vocals drifting from the store’s speakers—some lo-fi track you didn’t recognize but immediately wished you'd saved to your study playlist.
Warm amber light spilled from pendant lamps hung at uneven intervals, casting the rows of vinyl racks in a honeyed glow that made everything feel slower as the air smelled of old paper, worn cardboard sleeves, and something faintly like the vanilla candle burning on the counter near the register.
Dust motes floated lazily through beams of late afternoon sun slanting through the front window as you exhaled, shoulders dropping an inch. ‘Home sweet home…’
A few other customers milled about, a couple near the jazz section and an older man flipping through classic rock with the careful reverence of someone who had all the time in the world.
The store was the kind of place that asked nothing of you except to exist in it.
Exactly what you needed after the week you’d had. Your fingers brushed against the canvas strap of your tote bag as you adjusted it on your shoulder, the familiar weight of your notebook and pens shifting.
The Hangyodon keychain—limited edition, Sanrio’s 50th anniversary; you’d nearly cried when you managed to snag one after dragging Nanami around the Shibuya for six hours—swung gently with the movement, the little fish’s face staring up at you with its permanently vacant expression.
Shoko’s birthday.
Right! That’s why you were here.
You made a mental checklist as you wandered toward the indie section: something she could put on while chain-smoking and pretending to study for her organic chemistry exam. Something with texture. With feeling—because for all her deadpan exterior, Shoko Ieiri felt things harder than anyone gave her credit for.
The vinyls were organized alphabetically by artist, the cardboard sleeves crisp and full of promise as you ran your fingertips along their tops as you walked, the slight drag of plastic covers against your skin grounding you in the moment.
Mitski? Maybe. No, too obvious.
Faye Webster! … She already has that one.
Alex G—
You rounded the corner, and stopped.
No way.
There he was.
Ryomen Sukuna, bent slightly at the waist, his broad back partially blocking the display case behind him as he examined something in his hands. He was wearing a gray Nirvana hoodie—the In Utero cover art faded from what you assumed was actual wear rather than aesthetic artifice—with the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms with black shorts and a cap pulled low over his face, though you’d recognize that build anywhere.
The height of him and the way he seemed to take up more space than should have been physically possible… and he was holding—you squinted, heart doing something strange in your chest—a Clairo vinyl. Sling, the pale blue cover.
The soft, tender, bedroom-pop album that had absolutely no business being in the hands of someone who looked like he could snap a lacrosse stick in half with his thighs. Beside him, propped against the shelf, was another: beabadoobee. Beatopia, the whimsical pink cover with the strange fantasy creatures.
Your brain short-circuited.
What the hell?!
The store’s ambient music seemed to swell in the silence of your shock—some gentle acoustic guitar, a woman's voice humming about nothing in particular.
A floorboard creaked somewhere to your left as the cashier was humming along behind the counter, tapping their fingers against the register in a rhythm only they could hear. You stared for exactly four seconds too long. Long enough to watch him turn the Clairo sleeve over to read the tracklist… long enough to see the concentration on his face—the slight furrow between his brows, the way his mouth moved almost imperceptibly as he read.
Oh, absolutely not.
You couldn’t do this, could not have a run-in with Ryomen Sukuna of all people!
Not here!
Not when you were wearing your rattiest jeans and last night’s mascara smudged under your eyes because you'd been up until 2 AM finishing a paper.
Not when he was wearing that hoodie and looking like that and buying music that suggested he had an inner life you'd never even considered. You’d known him for over a year—if ‘known’ was even the right word…
Sukuna’s circle, that’s what people called it, you’d been dragged in because Shoko wanted another girl around, because you and Nanami were academic rivals in the most affectionate sense, because somehow you'd passed whatever unspoken test let you exist in the orbit of the most infuriatingly competent people at school.
… But you’d never talked to him. Not really, not alone at least.
He was loud in group settings. Cocky, cutting, charming in a way that made you want to roll your eyes and laugh despite yourself. He could back up every boast with grades that didn’t make sense for someone who never seemed to study, with athleticism that left the rest of the lacrosse team in the dust, with a casual confidence that felt like gravitational pull.
And he was big, not just tall but broad in a way that made doorframes seem smaller; made you feel smaller. There was a reason no one ever tried to physically intimidate Sukuna, the way he moved suggested controlled violence, like a tiger that had learned to walk on two legs but hadn’t forgotten what its claws were for.
You’d spent a lot of time not looking at his arms, at the biceps that strained against hoodie sleeves, at the way his hands dwarfed whatever he was holding.
Like that Clairo vinyl.
You shook your head, hard.
Nope. Nope.
Panic flared as he began to turn as you scrambled toward the nearest pillar by the stairs, sliding down until your back hit the wood with a soft thud. You tucked your chin into your knees, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
“Please just leave. Pay and leave. If he sees me, I’ll never hear the end of it, or worse, I’ll be the one person who knows his secret and he’ll make my life a living hell,” you told yourself, eyes squeezed shut.
But you had forgotten one thing. Attached to the strap of your tote bag was a small, bulging Hangyodon plush, the ugly-cute teal fish stared out into the aisle, its bug-eyes a dead giveaway as the heavy, rhythmic sound of footsteps approached.
They stopped right in front of you.
“Y/N.”
His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very floorboards beneath you as you looked up slowly, your neck stiff. Sukuna loomed over you, his silhouette blocking out the shop’s dim lighting.
You stood up awkwardly, your legs feeling like lead, your hands balling into tight fists at your sides but he didn’t move back, instead, he stepped closer, raising a thick arm and slamming his palm against the pillar right above your head.
The sheer scale of him was suffocating. He leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne and something spicy—like cinnamon and ozone—wafted off him. Up close, his presence was a physical weight. “You saw those, didn’t you?” he asked, his crimson eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat as he gestured with his chin toward the bag in his other hand.
You gulped, your gaze flickering from his sharp jawline to the records he’d just bought. Lying to Sukuna was a death sentence for your social life, and he had a way of sniffing out a floral lie from a mile away so you nodded once, a sharp, hesitant movement.
“Don’t tell a soul,” he muttered, finally backing off an inch, though the tension didn't leave the air.
He shoved one hand into his hoodie pocket, the fabric straining against his bicep. “Why?” you found yourself whispering, the adrenaline making you bolder than usual. “Is it a crime to like Clairo? Or… are you just performative because of the hoodie?”
Sukuna paused, his head tilting. A dangerous glint entered his eyes. “Performative? Watch your mouth, brat. I’ve probably been listening to Cobain since before you knew how to read a map.”
“Right. And the Beabadoobee? Is that for your ‘grunge’ aesthetic too?” you retorted, a small, nervous smirk tugging at your lips as he stared at you for a long second, stunned by the sudden bite in your tone. He’d clearly pegged you as the quiet, boring student who followed Nanami around like a shadow.
Then, his chest heaved, and a short, genuine laugh barked out of him. “You’ve got more of a mouth than Kento let on,” he chuckled, the sound deep and surprisingly pleasant. “Fine. You caught me. Just keep it between us.”
The air in the record store felt pressurized, like the cabin of a plane losing altitude as you blinked, staring at the empty space where he’d been standing. Your brain was struggling to process the glitch in the matrix: Ryomen Sukuna had just laughed.
Not a mocking huff or a dry sneer, but a genuine sound that had vibrated in the air between you, before your survival instincts could kick in, your mouth staged a coup.
“Wait.”
He stopped, his momentum dying with a slow, deliberate grace as he tilted his head, the sharp curve of his jaw catching the harsh hum of the overhead fluorescents.
The black Nirvana hoodie stretched taut across his shoulders as he exhaled, the fabric straining against his frame. “What?”
The word was flat, but it carried a jagged edge of curiosity that made your pulse jump. “How did you… well, see me anyway?” you blurted out, the question sounding thin and breathless in the narrow aisle.
He turned then, a slow pivot on his heel as his crimson eyes dissected you once more. They swept over your mussed hair and the frantic heat blooming in your cheeks, pinning you to the spot.
He didn’t answer, instead, his gaze dropped, sliding down your body with agonizing slowness until it landed on your bag. Specifically, on the small, bulging eyes of the Hangyodon keychain dangling from the zipper.
His lip curled in a mix of revulsion and dark amusement. “That hideous fish-lips thing gave you away. It was shaking harder than you were.”
“Excuse me?”
Sukuna took a step forward. Just one, but he was tall enough that it erased the safe distance between you. “You heard me,” he drawled, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating in your chest. “It looks like something a kid would win at a carnival and immediately regret. It’s an fuckin’ eyesore.”
“That’s Hangyodon,” you snapped, your voice climbing an octave in indignant defense. “He’s a classic! He’s myopic. He has dreams of being a comedian and fails at them. He’s—”
“Ugly,” Sukuna finished, deadpan.
“Charming,” you corrected, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. “There’s a difference, but I wouldn’t expect someone wearing a cracked 90s reprint to understand nuance.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Behind the counter, the cashier stopped shuffling papers as the hum of the AC felt like a roar. Sukuna’s eyebrows rose, a silent and dangerous challenge. “You’re really going to stand there and defend a polyester fish while I’m holding Clairo vinyl?”
“At least my fish has a personality,” you countered, your heart hammering against your ribs. “What’s yours? ‘Brooding guy in black’? How original. Groundbreaking, really.”
He moved, hovering over you, his shadow swallowing yours. You could see the fine, pale scar cutting through his right eyebrow and the way the light turned his irises into pools of molten garnet. “You talk a lot of shit,” he murmured, leaning down until his breath stirred the stray hairs at your temple, “for someone whose hands are still trembling.”
“I’m cold,” you lied, the word catching in your throat.
“Sure you are.”
His hand came up as your breath hitched, certain he was about to tilt your chin up or push you back. Instead, his long, calloused fingers brushed past your shoulder, his knuckles ghosting over your collarbone.
The contact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your toes. He hooked one finger around the keychain, lifting the plush until it was level with his eyes.
Up close, you saw the silver ring on his middle finger and the faint, rhythmic way his thumb rubbed against the band—a restless, nervous habit that felt too human for a monster like him, “Myopic,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a secret. “So he’s blind, ugly, and a failure.”
“He’s relatable,” you whispered.
Something flickered in his expression—a hairline fracture in his mask. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close enough to be terrifying. “You’re weird,” he said as he let the keychain drop. His hand lingered, his thumb catching on the strap of your bag for a second too long before he pulled away, leaving your skin burning in the wake of his touch.
He held your gaze until the air felt too thick to breathe, then, he turned and headed for the door as you watched the way his broad shoulders moved, the easy, predatory confidence of his stride.
He had to duck his head to clear the frame. At the threshold, he stopped one last time as he looked back, his eyes tracing over your frozen stance, your fingers still white-knuckled on your bag, your lips parted in a silent question.
A faint, genuine softness touched the corners of his mouth. He ducked his head, a sharp and quick motion to hide the ghost of a smile as he stepped out.
The bell above the door chimed and the cold night air rushed in to fill the vacuum he left behind as you stood there, your skin tingling and your heart performing a frantic, ridiculous rhythm against your ribs.
“…Weirdo,” you breathed into the silence.
You quickly moved to the counter, grabbing ‘Punisher’ by Phoebe Bridgers for Shoko—the perfect blend of haunting and clinical—and a copy of ‘Loveless’ by My Bloody Valentine for yourself as the cashier, an older man with thick glasses, grunted as he scanned the items.
“Busy day for the young ones,” he muttered, his voice gravelly. “That big fella who just left... nearly knocked over my jazz display with his shoulders. Friend of yours?”
“... Something like that,” you murmured, sliding your card.
“Right. Twenty-five even. Have a good one,” he said, sliding the bag across the counter. You tucked the vinyls into your tote and pushed through the door, expecting the cool afternoon air to clear your head.
Instead, you stopped short, Sukuna was leaning against the brick wall of the shop, arms crossed over his broad chest as the fabric of his sleeves were bunched up, highlighting the sheer mass of his biceps and the casual power in his stance.
The vinyl bag dangled from one finger, swinging lazily. He looked like he’d been waiting for a while.
“You,” you said.
“Me,” he mocked.
“You’re still here,” you noted, finding your voice. “Waiting to threaten me again? Or did you realize Clairo has a B-side you missed?”
Sukuna let out a huff of air, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Careful. You’re getting comfortable, and we both know you were vibrating like a phone on silent back there.”
“What are you—”
“You come here often?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”
“Just asking.”
You hesitated, clutching your bag a little tighter. “Yeah. It’s quiet.”
“Hm. Figures,” he said, his eyes lingering on your face for a second too long, the tension between you thick and strangely heated. The vinyl bag swung from Sukuna’s finger like it weighed nothing, his gait a lazy, predatory slouch that screamed: ‘have detention every Friday and I’m proud of it.’
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said, glancing up as the sunset caught the sharp line of his jaw, highlighting the faint, irritated twitch in his cheek.
“No, I’m not. My apartment is in this direction.” You pointed over your shoulder at a cluster of gray brick buildings, already taking a step to leave… but you didn’t get far as his hand landed on your lower back—firm, unyielding, the heat of his palm searing through your shirt, steering you around like you had never actually had a choice.
“Who said anything about your apartment?” Sukuna kept his eyes forward, but that smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. His fingers pressed slightly, a silent command. Walk. “I’m hungry. You’re coming with me.”
You dug your heels in on instinct but the pressure on your back didn’t budge. If anything, he pulled you closer to his side, herding you past the intersection like you were a stray cat he’d decided to keep.
“I’m— what? You don’t just abduct people for food, Sukuna.”
“It’s lunch, dumbass.” He said it like you were the one being difficult, thumb tapping an impatient rhythm against your spine. “You look like you haven’t eaten in twelve hours, and I’m feeling generous. Don’t make me fucking regret it.”
Your stomach chose that exact moment to betray you with a low, embarrassing growl as Sukuna’s smirk widened into a full-on, jagged grin—all teeth, no mercy. “That’s what I thought.” He gave your back a light shove, just enough to stumble you forward a step. His laugh was low, rough, right by your ear. “Move it, short-stack.”
“Short-stack?” You twisted to glare at him, but that only made his hand slide to your waist, steadying you—or restraining you, hard to tell. “I’m average height.”
“For a middle schooler, maybe.” He didn’t let go, nor did he slow down. His thumb traced a lazy circle through your shirt like he had all the time in the world. “Keep up. I hate waiting.”
"You hate everything."
“Not true.” He looked down at you, dark eyes glinting with something dangerous and amused. “I like Bea’s music.”
The restaurant was three blocks away. You already knew you weren't getting out of this—not with his hand a warm, heavy brand on your back, not with the way he matched his long stride to your shorter one like he’d been walking beside you for years.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“And you’re still walking with me.” His fingers squeezed once, quick and almost gentle, before his palm settled flat again. “Shut up and let me buy you food. You can insult me after you’ve got carbs in you.”
Behind you, the gray brick buildings shrank smaller and smaller. Ahead, Sukuna's shadow stretched long in the dying light, and his hand never once left your back.
The ramen shop was a hole-in-the-wall joint squeezed between a laundromat and a graveyard for old books. Inside, the air was thick and humid, smelling of roasted pork bone and ginger as the sound of boiling water and the clack of wooden spoons on ceramic filled the cramped space.
Sukuna didn’t ask, he just barked an order at the lady behind the counter: “Two tonkotsu, extra chashu, and a side of agedashi tofu. Make the soup spicy as hell on one of ‘em.”
“I didn’t say I wanted spicy,” you hissed as he nudged you toward a booth. “I know. That one’s mine.” He slid into the seat, his knees knocking against yours under the small table. “Sit.”
He leaned back, stretching his arms along the top of the vinyl booth as his hoodie rode up, revealing a strip of toned stomach and the waistband of his boxers.
You looked away so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash, staring intently at a chipped soy sauce bottle. “Weirdo,” he said.
“Real original.”
“Both things can be true.” He tapped a rhythm on the table with his knuckles. “So… You’re friends with Shoko.”
“Obviously? She’s the one who introduced me to you and the rest of the guys.”
“And Kento.”
“We’re... adjacent. Academic rivals with benefits!”
You paused, seeing his eyes widen. “Not those kinds of benefits, you pervert! We proofread each other’s essays. It’s a symbiotic relationship based on mutual suffering.”
Sukuna snorted, the sound rough and mocking. “Nerd shit. Absolute fucking nerd shit.”
“You’re literally holding a Clairo vinyl, Sukuna.”
His eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine irritation crossing his face. “We’re not talking about that.”
“Oh, we absolutely are.” You leaned forward, feeling bold in the steam-filled room. “How many Beabadoobee albums are there?”
“Three.”
“Wrong stupid. Four, if you count the Our Extended Play EP, which you should, because it has Glue Song on it.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes. “You actually know her music, or did you just Google that to piss me off?”
“I know music. Some of us don’t just wear band shirts for the aesthetic.” You gestured vaguely at his Nirvana hoodie to tick him off.
“I already told you—”
“What’s the name of Beabadoobee’s cat?”
He stared at you, his mouth slightly open. “Miso,” you continued, deadpan. “She has two. The other one is named Kimchi. Unlike someone I know who tries to act like a delinquent while listening to bedroom pop.”
The waitress appeared with the tofu—golden-brown, crispy cubes soaking in dashi. Sukuna didn’t break eye contact as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks. “You’re fucking insufferable.”
"You bought Beatopia.”
“I bought it for the production quality, you brat.”
“Sure. I’m sure the pastel pink cover art looks great next to your collection of... I don’t know, brass knuckles and skulls?”
He shoved a piece of tofu into his mouth, chewing with deliberate, slow movements. “You’re not going to tell anyone.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not a narc.” You took a piece of tofu for yourself, the outside crunching satisfyingly before the soft center melted on your tongue. “I just think it’s funny, the scariest guy in school, the guy who made the varsity captain cry in the locker room, likes songs about being tired of being pretty.”
“Terrorizing the lacrosse team is a hobby,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “That’s rich coming from someone whose favorite emotional support fish is blind.”
“He’s not legally blind, he’s myopic! He just needs a little help navigating his tank!”
“He’s a lost cause. Just like you.”
The ramen arrived then, huge steaming bowls that smelled like heaven as Sukuna broke his chopsticks with a sharp crack. You watched his hands—large, scarred across the knuckles, but oddly precise as he swirled his noodles.
“... Okay,” you said, blowing on a spoonful of broth. “Real question. What's your favorite Bea song?”
He chewed a slice of pork, taking his time. You expected a deflection, maybe a “shut up and eat.” Instead, he looked at the table and muttered, “See You Soon.”
You froze, noodles dangling from your chopsticks. “That’s... actually a deep cut.”
“I told you I knew her music. Don’t act so shocked.”
“Yeah, but See You Soon? That’s a B-side single. That’s for people who actually feel things, Sukuna.”
“I feel things,” he snapped, though his ears were turning a faint shade of pink. “For example, I feel like if you don’t shut up, I’m going to start charging you for the entertainment value of this conversation.”
“I’m just saying. I had you pegged as someone who only listened to heavy metal or the sound of bones breaking.”
“My playlists would give you a fucking stroke. It’s a mess.”
“I bet it is. Okay, Clairo. Favorite track?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Amoeba.”
“Solid choice. Not her best, but solid.”
“Then what’s her best, genius?”
“Slow dance, obviously. If you disagree, you’re objectively wrong and your taste is trash.”
Sukuna laughed, it was low, rough, and sounded like gravel being kicked around—entirely too attractive. A few people at the counter turned to look, due to how loud and obnoxious it sounded. “You’re annoying,” he said, but the ‘mean’ edge was gone, replaced by something that sounded suspiciously like fondness.
“Takes one to know one.”
The bowls were soon empty, the salty-savory warmth settling in your chest as Sukuna wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—normally gross, but on him, it just looked... rugged.
He leaned back, his eyes tracking over your face, lingering on the dark circles under your eyes as he stood up abruptly, tossing a handful of crumpled bills onto the table—way more than the check.
“I’m not taking your charity—”
“Shut up. It’s not charity, it’s a bribe so you don’t tell the wrestling team I like bedroom pop.”
He was already out the door before you could argue. Outside, the air had turned crisp as Sukuna was a few paces ahead, his shadow long against the pavement.
He slowed down, waiting for you to catch up. “Am I going the right way now?” you teased, falling into step.
“I know where you live.”
“... That’s not creepy at all.”
“I pay attention, you idiot. Hangyodon gave you away weeks ago.”
You walked in silence for a block, your bags bumping together with a soft thud-thud rhythm. When you reached your building, you stopped at the steps. “Thanks, Sukuna. For the food… and for being a semi-decent human for an hour.”
He shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. “Don’t mention it. Literally. If I hear one word about this at school—”
“Your secret’s safe.”
He turned to leave, but stopped after two steps as he looked back over his shoulder, the streetlights reflecting in his eyes. “Hey.”
“Eat more. You look like shit.”
“Wow. My hero.”
“I’m serious.” His jaw set.
“If you keep showing up at the shop looking like a stiff breeze could kill you, I'm gonna have to keep buying you food. Consider it community service for the myopic fish. Someone’s gotta look out for you since you’re clearly failing at it.”
A laugh bubbled up in your throat, genuine and bright. Sukuna’s expression softened for a split second—a crack in the mask—before he turned away. “Thursday,” he called out, not looking back. “Same time. Don’t be late or I’m eating your portion too.”
“I didn’t say yes!”
“You’re already thinking about the gyoza, don’t lie!”
You watched him disappear into the shadows of the street, the scent of cinnamon still lingering in the air as you clutched your vinyl bag, a small, ridiculous smile tugging at your lips.
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