₊⟡ total devotion
rockstar!sukuna x leadsinger!reader | band au | angst & smut | oneshot | based on this cover of how deep is your love (mitski) | 4k words
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how deep is your love? - mitski cover
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"Open your mouth."
Sukuna is breathless; shadows dance across his sharp features in the warm light of the dressing room. He has you sitting on of the tables, legs parted, making space for him as he drives his hips into you. His index and middle fingers, inked and thick, adorned with silver rings, slip past your smudged lipstick into the warm and wet crevice of your mouth. The sensation of your tongue swirling around his digits is enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head.
The room fills with obscene noises.
Somewhere amongst your suppressed moans against his digits, and the rhythmic thud of the dressing table nudging the wall with every thrust, and Sukuna's own breathless groans against the sweat-slicked skin of your neck, the sound of Yuki laughing at something Choso has said outside can still be heard; the sound Suguru testing his bass guitar outside still travels through the door. Your heart hammers within the confines of your chest but you aren't sure if it is the product of Sukuna's thick cock dragging along every inch of your walls or the anxiety that someone may hear you.
Sukuna drops his hand to your throat, pulling you in even closer, holding you in place with each desperate thrust.
"W-what if they hear?" you ask in between sharp exhales, feeling his length repeatedly hit that spongy sensitive spot inside you.
He merely groans, "You say that every time– it'll be fine."
The truth is that he loves fucking you stupid; he loves the high that someone may pound on the door in the next few minutes to say that the band will be on in five, or perhaps Choso is going to try and jiggle the door handle because he needs to touch up his eyeliner or something.
“Fuck,” he mutters between kisses, voice low, “you have no idea how much I need you.”
A sequence of words that are always confined to the secrecy of dressing rooms like now. To hotel rooms on tour. To late night phone calls when he is halfway across the city, one hand palming the hardening print in his boxers. To moments shared by the two of you which nobody else knows of. Years upon years of sneaking around from high school to now, you would think one of your bandmates would have caught on already.
The realisation always sits heavy on your chests that perhaps this is as good as it will ever get; when Hiraeth was first formed, it was just a fleeting idea that crossed the minds of your friend group. You had met Sukuna at thirteen, when the two of you shared music together on Thursdays. The first interaction was so incredibly awkward because you were taking singing lessons then, and practicing, completely unaware that Ryomen Sukuna was in the practice room just opposite, listening while he tried miserably strumming the chords to King for a Day. He said you sounded like a goat. You retorted that he was a shit guitarist. Somehow, you became friends.
Then came Yuki, who sat next to you in English and you discovered she plays guitar just like Sukuna. Then Choso came along, who has apparently had a crush on Yuki since he first saw her in Chemistry back in eighth grade, and had a knack for the drums. Suguru joined in the junior year of high school; a military brat, who had to move houses a million times a year actually managed to stay in the band and make it work.
The late night practices in your parents' garage. Doing shitty performances at your school talent show to playing local dive bars and then outdoor festivals. Getting signed by a label. Now the five of you play sold-out shows in stadiums. You wouldn't any hardship during those times for anything.
The innocence of high school was lost long ago. Sometimes you still miss it. Like now, when whatever you and Sukuna have is incredibly complex and a small part of you yearns for the simplicity of just being friends with stupid crushes on each other once again. The sneaking around was fun until it wasn't, and now it is just a dirty secret.
You push the thoughts away.
Your free hand reaches for his pink hair, spiked with gel previously but now, no doubt ruined from your touch. Tugging on the pink strands, his face leaves the crook of your neck and meets yours in a rushed, needy collision of kisses and tongues swiping across bitten, swollen lips.
Sukuna pulls back, eyeing the glassiness of your eyes, rimmed with black liner and mascara beginning to run down your powdered cheeks. He continues pounding into you as your other hand finds balance on the hard wood below you. He cups your jaw firmly with his massive hand, forcing your gaze to remain on him as a fucked out look takes over your delicate features.
"Are you going to cum for me, baby? Hm?"
He is used to this – used to the needy look in your eyes like you are begging for salvation. You are completely at his mercy. Still, every time this happens, he feels as though he is seeing that look in your eyes for the first time again and it drives him absolutely insane. You start murmuring 'please' which makes him fuck you even harder; the mirror bangs against the plaster wall with each thrust. Your voice is hoarse and you swallow hard in hopes that the tight feeling will go away but it doesn't; Sukuna lightly smirks as he presses his thumb to the soft pad of your bottom lip.
Raw hunger flickers behind his crimson eyes. Both of your hips rock in sync; your back arches as you chase your finish and your hands fly to grip the taut muscles on his tattooed shoulders. As your walls tighten around him, his rhythm starts faltering and with a few more obscene squelches, he pulls away completely, pulling you down to your knees to paint your mouth with hot white spurts.
You swallow.
Sukuna tells you that you are always so good for him.
Then, he smoothens out his hair again with one last glance in the mirror. Turning to you, his fingers pull up the straps of your top before a chaste kiss is pressed to your temple. A cigarette is withdrawn from the confines of his pocket, lazily placed between his lips and lit before he caresses your jaw one last time.
As usual, Sukuna realises that his gaze lingers for a moment too long before he clears his throat. "See you in a sec."
Still, left the haze of his smoke, you exhale shakily and smoothen your top down in the mirror. It takes a special kind of fucked up to do what the two of you do. The others are in the next room. Choso is probably practicing his drumming on his knees, sunken into the couch between Yuki and Suguru.
But the band has always been like this. Intense chemistry on stage which translates into stolen glances, lingering touches, and unspoken confessions off-stage. The arrangement between you and Sukuna is something that nobody is privy to. The teasing from your bandmates is something the two of you have gotten used to. Ew, Yuki, he's like a brother to me. If you had a dollar for everytime you caught yourself saying that. As if Choso's affections for her weren't obvious either.
The door finally opens. Suguru looks up from his guitar.
"You took a while," he remarks, raising an eyebrow.
Somehow, your hands are still fidgeting with the hem of your top.
You wave him off, ignoring Sukuna's eyes burning a hole into the side of your head from across the room. "Bad hair day and then I got my period."
Before he can say anything else, a giggle reverberates through the room. Your attention betrays you before the drop in your chest can; Sukuna is sitting by the amp, hunched over trying to sort his guitar before you are due on stage in the next few seconds. Yorozu is pressed up against him, her arms looped loosely around his neck, her lips grazing the side of his face in a way that is much too familiar.
For a split second, Sukuna stills and his eyes lift. He only looks for a fraction of a second before he tears his gaze away again, jaw tightening as if nothing happened just ten minutes ago.
Yorozu laughs softly against his skin, completely oblivious.
You swallow hard. He knows better than to let his gaze linger for too long; he has never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve but he does enough to show everyone he cares about you in a way he doesn't pay attention to others.
Sukuna exhales through his nose, fingers stilling briefly against the strings when Yorozu presses another kiss to his face, but he forces himself to keep moving. She says something sweet to him now but he only smiles flatly. He has always been so good at compartmentalising. It’s how this works and how it’s worked for years. You exist in one space that is completely sacred and untouchable by the outside world.
You aren't even sure how Yorozu came to be. Sukuna has never been the boyfriend type of guy – and then when he started bringing her to more and more rehearsals and now the North American leg of the tour, it confirmed something ugly within you that perhaps this is as good as it will ever get with him. The non-committal nature of it all will end up saving the band from future issues.
Still, whenever you hear a giggle from her or when she is perched on his lap completely unaware of the tension in the room, your heart still drops to your stomach like it did the first time he introduced her as his girlfriend.
In the corner, Higuruma huffs as he finally ends the call he was on. He claps his hands together, summoning everyone into the corner of the room.
"Right," he announces, "no mention of the new album, absolutely no more flashing the crowd– "
He points at Yuki square in the face but she only grins.
"–and please for the love of god, do not fight someone in the crowd again–"
He looks sharply at Sukuna for that last bit.
Sukuna scoffs in response but he is not even looking at Higuruma anymore; you can feel his velvet eyes on you. He thinks you are mesmerising – something he would never outwardly admit.
You are the only thing he concentrates on when performing, and he replays the moments when you run up to him, completely buzzing from the adrenaline, and you're singing to him as though he is the only one in the room.
Choso clears his throat and Sukuna tears his gaze from you once again.
When the stage manager begins ushering the five of you away, Sukuna doesn't even glance back at Yorozu until she calls his name. He manages a smile; you don't look at her, but if you did, you would have seen the despondent look in her dark eyes.
"You could be a bit nicer to her." You murmur.
Sukuna quirks a brow at this. "Like I'm nice to you?"
Your face feels hot but you say nothing as you are all led under the stage. The platform has been dimly lit, and Suguru's guitar which has been strapped to his back nearly hits you square in the face when he turns.
Sukuna’s reflex is immediate.
At the last second, his hand braces against the neck of Suguru’s guitar before it can collide with you – the impact thuds harmlessly into his palm instead. His other hand braces your head into his chest.
“Watch it.” He grits, shooting Suguru a look.
Suguru huffs out a laugh, oblivious. “My bad, Ryo”
But Sukuna doesn’t move right away. His hand is still planted on tge side of your head, his body angled just enough that it blocks you from the cramped shuffle of bodies and equipment moving through the narrow space under the stage. You can feel your skin burning at the residual warmth of him; filling your nose is the faint scent of smoke clinging to his clothes.
“You alright?” he asks, quieter now, angling his face down to you. The noise coming from the pit outside is almost deafening.
You nod quickly. “I’m fine.”
Your voice comes out steadier than you expect. Slowly, he lets you go. You look away.
"So remember we are playing the cover towards the end, and then the new song at the end."
You almost roll your eyes. "Yes, Sugu– hardly going to forget our own setlist."
"Last time you forgot the lyrics to–"
"Cho gave me molly–"
"I said take half of it." Choso says in defence, holding his hands up. This earns a scoff from Sukuna because you tripped so badly last time that he spent most of the evening babysitting you in the tour bus after the concert ended.
In the dark light, you feel someone toying with your hair.
"You look like an absolute dream," Yuki grins at you, fingers twirling a thick strand of your hair before setting it against your collarbone. "Doesn't she?"
Everyone hums in agreement, but Sukuna pauses long enough to make it obvious that he is staring down at you. His hand finds yours in the dim light and he gives it a quick squeeze, but he lets go like he is afraid a second longer would betray the tension between the two of you.
Pre-show ritual, he tells himself, calms his nerves.
"You look great." He says quietly, into the darkness.
His arm feels hot pressed against your side as the five of you wait for the platform to start rising. The crowd outside are screaming Hiraeth's name loud enough that the foundations of the stage feel as though it is buzzing. Despite this, you can still hear the pulse in your ears.
By the time you emerge from beneath the stage, the noise of the crowd swells even more than you thought possible, bleeding through the walls and vibrating under your skin.
The crowd chants your name like you are a goddess.
From the far side of the stage, Sukuna gazes at you like you are one.
────₊˚⊹♡ ────
Sweat rolls down in beads on the side of your temple but you push on under the hot lights. When you sing the first word of How Deep Is Your Love, your melodic singing fills the entire venue.
“I want you to breathe me in…”
Upon the strike of Sukuna's first chord, and then Yuki joining soon after as rhythm guitarist, the crowd completely erupts. The music takes over like it always does; it courses through your veins like fire, syncing with your pulse, drowning out everything that came before it: The dressing room. Yorozu. The tight, ugly feeling in your chest of sneaking around with Sukuna. Only having access to him in the safe confines of an empty room.
Choso adjusts, dark eyes smudged with black liner twinkling under the hot lights. His drumming becomes more powerful as the next chord strikes. Suguru's head nods to the tempo, his fingers working nimbly on the bass. His long black hair is starting to come loose from its bun.
Your eyes find Sukuna without meaning to but he is already looking at you. He thinks that he hasn't stopped looking at you since Yorozu left his side. There is no quick glance away this time.
His gaze is fixed, unwavering, and there is something in it that makes your stomach tighten.
"No inhibition, no fear. How deep is your love?"
The words linger between you, heavier than they should be, layered with everything you have never said out loud. Every stolen moment, every boundary blurred beyond recognition, every unspoken truth that neither of you has been willing to confront.
He feels every syllable because it is almost as if you are singing directly to his very soul.
"Is it like the ocean? What devotion are you?"
Sukuna notices that you step closer and closer to him, microphone to your lips yet you have completely forgotten about the audience now because whatever you are doing feels incredibly personal. The smell of your perfume, one that he gifted you for your birthday earlier this year, completely fills the air around him with sweetness.
You do not relent, and find yourself closing in until there is nothing left between you but a breath’s distance.
"How deep is your love? Is it like nirvana?"
He can almost kiss you.
Your voice dips but the intensity is still there, though it feels more intimate now. The stage is almost claustrophobic. Sukuna's throat tightens and his fingers strumming on the guitar strings feels more like he is doing it absentmindedly.
When you lean into the next line, the space between your mouths nearly disappears.
He feels as though you may as well have stripped him bare. Behind the two of you, Choso, ever the anchor, keeps his rhythm steady, but even he isn’t immune to the tension boiling over in front of his very eyes.
The force behind his drumming gets heavier, like he is trying to hold the entire performance together as something intangible begins to slip. He locks eyes with Yuki from across the stage; she strikes her chord slightly off, and her fingers hesitate for a second before recovering as though it never happened.
The fans scream louder, picking up on the shift in energy, their chants blending into the music.
Suguru plays steadily, trying to level himself with the music and the singing but the scene in front of him is too obvious to deny what everyone already had suspicions of.
"Hit me harder again, how deep is your love?"
Yuki tears her face away from her microphone for a moment, the glimmer on her cheekbones catching the lights overhead. "What the fuck are they doing?" She yells to Suguru, but he only shakes his head, continuing on with the song.
Perhaps its just a good performance – the two of you have always been electric and mystifying all at once. The fans know it, amongst themselves they can see it. Hell, he can recall in almost every interview or fan interaction there has been some sort of question teasing how close you and Sukuna are.
But the look in your eyes now feels like an unspoken confession of years and years of tension.
Sukuna inhales sharply, the sound barely audible, but you feel it. You feel the way something in his composure slips. For a brief moment, something flickers on the side of the stage; your eyes trail past his head to Yorozu who is watching all of this from the side-lines, eyes blazing with something softer than fury but nothing short of realisation.
His muscles continue to ripple beneath his inked, taut skin as hi
Inadvertently, he finds his gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips; for a moment it feels like he might cross the line, and lean in for the kiss that every fan has been shipping for years. All the noise sounds like it is underwater now. All the lights blur around you.
"How deep is your love?"
The two of you are drenched in the heat of the stage lights. But with one last lingering look, you force yourself to step back and the distance between you and Sukuna resumes as you move to the other side of the stage.
Sukuna’s fingers falter on the strings for the briefest moment – a hitch that only he notices, though the crowd and the band remain oblivious to his hesitation. His sharp red eyes follow you, tracing every curve and line of your body that he has gotten to know behind closed doors. He knows deep down that this is not something as simple as lust and desire anymore; he has been tethered to you more completely than he ever wants to admit to himself.
He inhales sharply, lips parted as the song ends. Still, with his chest rising and falling, his eyes are on you and the rest of the world melts away. You are grinning at the crowd erupting in cheers but something sits heavy in his stomach, twisting in his gut.
Because as much as he pretends not to notice every time you brush against him, or your fingers catch his slyly when you walk past, his chest always tightens and he feels as though he cannot breathe around you.
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sorry but sukuna is a cheater cheater pumpkin eater