ride or die (mafia au). ༄ ryomen sukuna.
― summary: you were living your best life, single and newly employed but sukuna had to swoop in to collect his payment (aka, you).
― TW: 18+ plot holes, dubious consent, choking, vaginal fingering, dom/sub undertones, a little bit of blood, uhhhh I think that's it?? I mean honestly sukuna comes with a warning.
word count: 3,721.
Crazy and high.
That’s how you felt as the man before you began to decide whether or not to kill you.
Crazy and high.
That’s how you felt when he asked what your boyfriend meant to you. Nothing. Your answer was breathless.
Crazy and high.
That’s how you felt when he grinned at your answer. His eyebrows furrowed as he questioned you once more.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” you confirmed, shaking your head. “W-we were broken up, months ago.”
He watched you for a moment that held too long. “That’s not what he said.”
Despite the situation, you feel a current of red hot anger moving through your veins. Maybe it was the pent up anger of having to be mature throughout the whole relationship as your ex tainted your image. Maybe it was the fact that even apart and allegedly six feet under your ex was still ruining your life. Maybe it was the fact that you were drugged, kidnapped, and presented before this made-up king on the day of your first real job. Or, maybe it was a combination of everything. “Well, he said a lot of things, but it says a lot about you if you choose to believe him.”
You are grabbed by the hair and yanked back, the grip was tight and your eyes met the ceiling. You wince at the suddenness and less at the pain.“Apologize,” a voice hissed. You clenched your jaw stubbornly, sliding your eyes down to see the demon who watched as if it was nothing but a pleasant exchange. He watched you curiously, chin resting in his hands, eyebrows still furrowed. The lighting was still too dim for you to make out too much of his face. Asshole.
A yank to your hair and you realize that you had said that out loud. “You want to die, don’t you, bitch?” That wasn’t Sukuna. No. It was the disrespecting, self-destructive, low-life who had his hand in your hair that spoke. Sukuna’s eyes don’t waver as you thrash, your tied wrists jerking around behind your back, and yell at the man to let go. He observed you as if you were a zoo animal that needed to be caged. He watched as your seemingly timid figure, clawed at the hand, not realizing the man behind you was triple your size. He took note of the blood on your blouse and the rips on your skirts, the strands of hair sticking to your face and your neck from the nervous sweat. Sukuna meets the eyes of his guard who waited patiently for the finalé. Waited for his boss to make the call. Waited to put an end to the stupid girl at his feet. Poor guy. Sukuna smirks and gives a small shake of his head.
The grip lightens and soon enough, it's gone. You raise your hands to rub the sore spot, not realizing Sukuna had stood up. You mistake his footsteps for the man behind you. You turn around to glare only to find a row of masked army, posted dutifully against the concrete wall. All of them are sized similarly. All equipped with a number of weapons. Vests heavy with bullets. Belts adorned with glinting knives. You try to lock eyes with any of them but they stare ahead. Sukuna had recruited these men that looked straight out of the games your ex-boyfriend played. Call of Puberty or whatever. It couldn’t have been easy. These types of men were not bought with money. They’d do anything for him. You had no idea how you had been able to escape them in the car but you’d rather not test your theories in such a vulnerable position. Newly intimidated you turn back around.
Only to find another problem.
Your nose bumps against Sukuna’s and you let out a soft yelp at the sudden proximity, jerking back quickly. But his hand is already there, behind your head, long fingers encased you, holding you close to him. He is smiling. Up close, you are able to make out his features much more clearly. The left side of his face was scarred almost handsomely. His hair was a faded pink, his face decorated with tattoos on his forehead across his nose, jaw, chin, neck and maybe even further down but the blood stained shirt covered his torso, cutting your eyes short. Your breath becomes ragged, coming in short bursts as your eyes widen in a mixture of apprehension and fascination. You looked like the deer he had shot last week. “Why so skittish?”
It felt almost intimate if not for the situation. Caught between the tumultuous flurry of fear, your body mistakes your racing heartbeat for attraction directed at the killer before you. You struggled to find your voice. “I am not.”
Sukuna's satisfaction becomes evident in the gleam of his dark, lidded eyes at the rasp of your voice. His enjoyment at your disorientation was palpable, a sinister delight that sent a chill down your spine. His hot breath mingled with your own. You are dazed and he is happy. “Oh, but you are,” his dark and lidded eyes scan you one more time, before delivering the verdict. “I’ve decided.”
Crazy and high.
Mad and madder.
That's how you felt when he leaned in closer and bit your bottom lip. And you could not find it in yourself to care for the words he had just let out.
Throughout the steps back to your room, you are nauseous. His words ringing in your head like a warning. You were relieved. But mostly, you were confused. He had spared you. No, he had ripped everything away from you. You were not thankful. Just relieved. That was it. Nothing more.
You will not be a victim of Stockholm syndrome on the first day of captivity.
Another thing was rushing through your head but it was not the words exchanged or the fact that you were most likely to be jobless in case you did make it out (highly unlikely), but rather something else . . .
A recap. A wildly inappropriate and embarrassing recap. In all honesty, you could’ve convinced yourself that you had dreamt the whole interaction if not for the dried blood on your lips and the sound of his reverberating hum that had echoed in the silent room.
If not for the shocked moan, if not for the feeling of his smile against your lips, if not for the hot tongue that had coaxed your mouth into a pliant mess. If not-
Shaking your head you tried to focus on your steps. You had to stop. Distraction you needed a distraction. You decide to focus on the pair of Sukuna’s masked guards that were now guiding you to a room. They were taller and leaner than the ones in the basement and dressed in Tom Ford. They seemed more agile, more alert. No wonder you were free of the ropes that had caged your wrists. They would not make the same mistakes the others had. They will not let their attire hold them back.
You look around the hallways, there's nothing traditional about them. The walls are painted a crimson color so dark it was almost black. It seemed to bleed into the air, permeating the corridor with an unsettling energy. The flooring is a marble that seemed to glare at you for even looking at it. Definitely expensive. It wouldn’t be a surprise. You doubted Sukuna was donating his blood money to charities. He looked and dressed like he could afford to buy countries, it only suited him to live like he did.
Your thoughts are interrupted when the guards stop in front of a tall mahogany door. One of them reaches in his pocket to retrieve a long silver key. With a deliberate motion, he inserts the key into the lock, turning it with a resounding click that reverberates through the silence. The room is dark and you cannot make out anything inside. You wait for one of them to reach inside and turn on the light but they simply stand. You stare at them, unmoving. They stare back, equally blank.
“Get in,” one of them says, still not moving. His voice is calm but laced with warning. Hesitantly you step inside only to jump when the door is thrown shut with a slam that echoed. You hear the door click and come to the conclusion that you’ve been locked inside. You inhale your shock and try to locate the light switch.
“Assholes,” you mumbled into the darkness, “all of them. Stupid jerkfaces.”
Your hand brushes against a smooth spot in the otherwise roughened wall, and smile victoriously when the lights turn on. The room is as big as your apartment but there is nothing lavish about it. The furnishings are functional but lack any sense of warmth or personal touch. To your right, a queen-sized bed in the center accompanied by two side tables honing a singular lamp on top. There's a desk pushed against the wall next to you and just above it was a seemingly new T.V. You delve deeper into the room and locate a door to a walk-in closet that led to a bathroom. What the hell was this house?
You step into the bathroom and observe yourself in the mirror. Your hair was a mess. Your cheeks stained with the mascara that had dripped from your eyes. Your gaze falls upon your swollen lips, stained with blood, a vivid reminder of the violence and danger that has infiltrated your world. Your fingers tentatively brush against them, tracing the tender flesh, and a shiver reverberates through your body. It is a visceral shock, a jolt of reality that reminds you of the gravity of your predicament.
Was this your life now? From securing an internship to landing a job at the same building you had met your boyfriend. From scrounging for change to make up for the student loans. From shopping at stores until you felt satisfied. From sloppy lunch dates to being enslaved by a man wanted by the country.
Hopeless.
Your vision blurs at the sudden tears that coated your eyes. You blink, once, twice, trying to get rid of them but they just fall. Racing down the path already created for them.
Within the walk-in closet, you discover a treasure trove of clothes, each garment carefully selected and tailored to fit your size. The array of outfits spans a wide range, from elegant gowns to stylish blouses, from casual shorts to impeccably fitting pants. From shorts to the most perfect pants. In a flurry of misplaced emotions, you had tried on almost everything, watching yourself in the mirror. The way the denim hugged your curves. The way the material of pants danced when you walked. The way the skirts cinched your waist and drew attention to your seemingly elongated legs. Almost everything had fit you perfectly.
Too perfect.
You push back the question of just how Ryomen Sukuna would have access to all this information but you didn't need to trouble yourself with any more questions. The day had terrorized you enough, you didn’t need your psyche to do it for you all over again. You knew if you began thinking you would come back to the point of cursing a dead man you had cut out of your life.
You walk back into the shower after picking out a silk pajama set hanging in the closet. Turning on the shower and undressing, as the warm water cascades down your body, soothing your tense muscles, you take a moment to relish in the simple comfort of the shower. With each passing minute, the weight of the day's events begins to wash away, if only temporarily. As you reach for the body wash, your fingers brush against a familiar label. Surprised, you examine the bottle more closely, and to your astonishment, you discover that it is an exact replica of the one you use at home. A sense of surrealism washes over you as you realize that the products in this bathroom are not mere imitations but rather the very same ones you have come to rely on in your daily routine.
He had these brought from the security of your home.
Unsettled once again, you close your eyes, feeling the hot whispers attempt to relax your stiffened body.
You feel refreshed after the shower. Dressed in silk and hair wrapped in the fluffiest towel to ever exist. Somewhat free of your conflicting thoughts you step outside the door to your closet, still drying your hair.
Sukuna's gaze lingers on you, a sinister satisfaction evident in his dark eyes. As you go through your nightly routine, diligently applying the creams and lotions to your face, his presence feels like an unwelcome intrusion. Every motion, every touch of your hand, draws his attention like a predator observing its prey. The subtle satisfaction in Sukuna's expression is unsettling, his amusement at your compliance apparent. His presence, like an invisible weight, hung in the air. He watched as you massaged your temples, seeking solace in the simple act of self-care, unaware of the twisted pleasure it brought to him. His enjoyment at your satisfaction, at the contented hums that escaped your lips, bordered on sadistic
He felt his pants tighten. He watched as your previously distracted gaze raised to meet his giant figure sprawled out comfortably in your temporary bed. He grinned at the sudden shriek you let out. “Making yourself at home?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Greeting my guest, what else?”
You clench your jaw, refusing to meet his gaze directly. His predatory eyes continue to roam over your body, making you feel exposed, vulnerable. The weight of his gaze feels suffocating, as if he is stripping you bare with his eyes alone.
It took you two heartbeats to realize that you basically were. You did not wear a bra or underwear because the closet had everything but the necessities to hide your freshly hardened nipples. It was all intentional . So here you were, in front of your captor, commando mode. You quickly throw your wet hair over your chest, trying your best to cover what the man had already seen.
Sukuna's grin widens, stretching across his face, revealing a set of teeth that adds an unsettling edge to the situation. With a self-assured air, he lifts his hand, running it through his tousled pink hair in a seemingly nonchalant gesture. The action draws your attention, momentarily diverting your thoughts from the impending doom that surrounded you.
In a startling display of confidence, he pats the space next to him, beckoning you to draw closer. “Come here.”
Your affronted scoff breaks the tension in the room for a moment, a flicker of defiance shining through your fear. Despite the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, you refused to cower before him.
"I am not coming anywhere near you," you assert firmly, your voice carrying a mixture of determination and apprehension. The words spill from your lips before you could control it.
For a brief moment, the atmosphere seems to shift, the balance of power momentarily wavering between you and Sukuna. His grin falters ever so slightly, a glimmer of surprise flitting across his dark eyes. It's clear that he's not used to defiance, to someone resisting his commands.
Yet, despite the daring response you've mustered, you remain acutely aware of the danger that surrounds you. Sukuna's unpredictability leaves you on edge, uncertain of how he might react to your refusal.
"Not even on my face?" He pouted mockingly before his tone became menacing. “You don’t have a lot of options right now, doll. Come here.”
Doll.
You repressed a shiver and weighed your options. Which were basically none. Running for the door holds little promise, as you suspect it's likely locked, effectively trapping you within this nightmarish space. Seeking refuge in the bathroom offers no solace either, as the man before you seems all too capable of bypassing such simple barriers.
Your mind races, searching desperately for a glimmer of hope. Yet, the room felt like a claustrophobic cage, suffocating and closing in on you. Fear and desperation intertwine, clouding your judgment as you grapple with the limited options before you.
To choose him is to relinquish your autonomy, to place yourself at his mercy. Submitting to his control means opening yourself up to the unknown. However it is clear what you needed to do.
With a heavy sigh, you find yourself moving closer to Sukuna. You were a butterfly drawn into the intricate web spun by a spider. Too distracted by the beauty to recognize the threat until it was too late. The trepidation lingers, your heart heavy with a mix of resignation and defiance. It was a compromise.
Simple action. Simple defiance that consequently had your head against Sukuna's shoulder and his fingers in your pussy.
- - - - - - -
"You gonna do it again?"
"N-no."
"Say sorry." He emphasizes the word by a particularly hard thrust of his long fingers.
"I’m - Please !"
“What is it?”
“I’m so- SUKUNA!”
His name on your tongue sounded like a lullaby.
“You’re not telling me anything, princess.”
His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot so deep you didn't even think it was possible. Your mouth is parted in a silent gasp and your back arched against his broad chest. He was still dressed whilst you sat in his lap as naked as the day you were born. Your stained silk pajamas long forgotten on the marble floor. His other hand slides up from holding your thigh open to tracing a path between the valley of your breasts and wrapping around your throat. Your sudden whimper at the grip had Sukuna chuckling half-heartedly. His body was hot against your skin. You could feel the taut muscles against your back.
You could feel every rising breath.
His amusement ended with an involuntary groan when you clenched around him. “You like that? Huh? Fucking whore.”
You shake your head to deny it. But to your surprise you feel your release building. You feel yourself clench at his fingers
“ Feels good, doesn’t it?”
You had to stop him. This was so wrong. For so many reasons. He had taken everything from you, ripped you out of your little bubble for his own selfish reasons- You had to stop him. And as your hands grip his wrist, his thumb lands on your clit. You absolutely keened at the contact, feeling your legs tremble. But it felt so good.
“You’re so fucking wet. Makin’ a mess all over my clothes. C’mon, say sorry and I'll let you cum.”
The sounds of his fingers thrusting into you were loud in the otherwise silent room. Wrong. It was all so wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. It was too much for you to handle.
“You hear that? Your pretty little cunt just taking it all in. All for me.”
You try to bury your face in his neck but his grip on your throat tightens. You were getting close. Your vision was becoming hazy from pleasure but you don’t dare tell him out of fear that he’d deny it for his own sick enjoyment.
You were basically burning. It’s right there. You were close. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued the relentless attack on your pussy, plunging, twisting, curling... You were so close, you could feel it. You could just feel yourself pulsing and gushing all over his fingers. You were a mess. Moaning, whimpering, whining in Sukuna’s ear.
His grip on your neck loosened and you found yourself biting onto the point between his shoulders and neck. His jaw was clenched and lips parted in concentration.
“Say sorry,” he grunted, feeling you clench and tremble. “Say it.”
He wanted to give it to you so bad but you were defiant. Tight-lipped. Miserable. A mess. His erection is prominent against your leg, the giant bulge brushing against your lower back as your body jerked and grinded against his fingers.
“Don’t you wanna cum?”
You don't answer, feeling it coiling in your stomach. But then Sukuna was pulling out his fingers, refusing to give you what he wanted. No, no, no, no, n-
“You think, I can't tell when you’re about to cum?” He breathed against your ear, breathing hard, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. Then he raised his head and looked down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. “Grinding on my fingers like that, you want it, don’t you?”
You nodded too fast.
He smirked, his hand fell from your throat, brushing against your nipple. Asshole. “Say the magic word.”
“Sorry,” you gasped out not realizing that you had been holding onto your breath. “‘M sorry.”
He seemed satisfied. With your apology, in mind he went back to work with a newfound energy. He pinched your nipples, earning a high-pitched moan from you, before switching over to the other one whilst his other hand traced along the already damp and swollen lips. Your legs widened shifting in his lap, looking for the friction you craved, hoping he’d take the hint just this once.
“You’re all wet and creamy. Fucking leaking all over me.”
You moaned at his words and you both groaned when his fingers finally, finally, slipped inside you. The sound that left his mouth did something to you that even his fingers couldn’t. A shiver runs down your spine, and soon enough you are arching against him.
“A-ah, I’m clo- O-oh.”
“Yeah? I feel you pulsing, doll, so fucking tight. Look at that, such a pretty and perfect cunt. I bet you’ll look so good riding my dick, c’mon, baby. Cum.”
Three more strokes and a thumb circling your clit, you were soon experiencing the most earth shattering orgasm ever. His soft hair brushed against your face as you leaned back against his shoulder, your pussy convulsing around his fingers from the aftermath. Your legs trembled. After making sure there was nothing more left, Sukuna pulled his fingers out and licked them swiftly.
You watched him still breathless, still shocked at what had just happened.
"You sound good when you apologize," Sukuna teased before he was sliding you off and leaving through the door he had come from. His pants still stained with your cum.
What the fuck?
a/n: literally my first time writing smut hehe. lemme know how I did!
honestly I don't even think I had a plot in mind when I started writing but I wanted mafia sukuna so bad 😭😭😭