"Just breakfast"
Sukuna x reader
Warnings: Violence, strong language, arguments, mature themes, sexual content (18+).Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these themes.
The story is about Ryomen Sukuna and you, who have been living together in an apartment for three years. Sukuna works as a famous tattoo artist. But lately, they've been getting on each other's nerves, petty issues are piling up, tensions are rising, and a simple breakfast situation turns into a toxic argument that reveals long-standing problems in their relationship.
chapter 1
The silence in the apartment wasn’t natural.
Not after it. Not after what had happened over just one breakfast. You sat on the edge of the couch, your hands folded in your lap and your gaze fixed on nothing. Not because you had nothing to do, but because any movement would mean admitting that the silence between you really existed.
And he knew it. Of course he knew it. An unwanted memory crept into your head on its own.
*Morning.*
The kitchen was flooded with light and on the table was a plate that was supposed to be your little moment of joy after waking up. Your favorite dessert, strawberry shortcake with cream filling. Something you had saved just for today when you woke up. Now there was only an empty plate. And a silence that suddenly sounded suspicious.
You blinked. Slowly. Once. Twice.
And then you turned, he was standing on the kitchen counter.
Propping himself up with one hand, as if it didn’t concern him at all. As if the world wasn’t one thing poorer. He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t even seem interested in how confused you were looking at him. More like… normally, And that was the worst part.
“You…” you started slowly.
Your voice trailed off as your brain refused to accept what you were seeing.
“Where’s the cake!”
His gaze slid up to you for just a moment. Then back down.
“I ate it.” *The sentence sounded like a weather report.*
“…what?” you gasped.
“It was just dessert,” he said then, without looking at you. And that was all that was enough. “Just dessert?” you repeated incredulously. Your voice rose faster than you intended. “I kept it! It was mine!”
Only then did he look at you. His gaze, which didn’t seem surprised, More like… bored, as if you were bothering him with something so trivial.
And that was the moment when it could still be funny. An absurd argument about breakfast. About cake. About nonsense that you’ll laugh at in a week. But his next words changed it.
“Yours?” he said, as if testing the word on his tongue. “Do you really think,” he continued provocatively, “that you decide what’s yours?”
That wasn’t what it was about!” you blurted out. “You just take what you want, and then you turn it against me!”
“I turn it against you?” he repeated irritably.
“You always find a reason to be dissatisfied.”
“No, I just don’t want you to treat me like—”
“Like what?” he interrupted, more sharply.
“You’re not listening to me at all!” you raised your voice.
“Because you’re talking nonsense,” he replied immediately.
“I’m talking nonsense?! You’re taking my breakfast and insulting me!”
“Are you doing this about food?” he said slowly. And that was worse than shouting. Because it wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a trivialization of your words.
“It’s not about food!” you blurted out.
“So what’s the matter?” his voice rose a tone. “About attention? About control? About wanting to feel important?”
You froze.
“Sukuna! Don't make it my fa—”
“You’re the one making a drama out of it,” he interrupted you sharply.
And then it started pouring out. Words that weren’t just about breakfast. Words that piled up one after the other, as if they had been waiting for years to be released.
“Nothing ever satisfies you.”
“You never do what you have to.”
“You just keep contradicting me.”
“And you always control me!”
“Do you think you’re special?” he said suddenly, more quietly. And that was worse than shouting.
“You’re not.”
At that moment, your heart clenched and felt the hurt of his words. And then all you remember is the moment you stopped talking. Not because you lost. But because you understood that in this version of the conversation, no answer would change anything.
And there was only silence in the kitchen.
Silence after an argument is not peace. It’s a pause when everything unsaid settles and becomes heavy before exploding again.
The silence didn’t disappear in the morning, on the contrary, it settled between you like dust that couldn’t be seen but could be felt everywhere.
You didn’t say a word, nor did he. You moved around the apartment like a shadow all day. When you heard his footsteps, you went to another room. When he entered the kitchen, you locked yourself in the bathroom. It wasn’t a game, you just didn’t have the strength to reopen the conversation that was going nowhere anyway. And then he left for work and the apartment finally fell silent.
In the evening, the lock clicked. He returned.
You heard his heavy footsteps in the hallway, putting away his keys, jacket, shoes. Before, you always smiled at that sound. Today, you didn’t even look towards the door.
In the kitchen, you prepared a simple dinner, just for yourself, one plate, one glass.
No second place setting.
It was a small thing, but it was the one he noticed immediately. He sat in the living room for a while and watched you with the same gaze as always. Only this time it wasn’t indifference, more of anticipation. He waited for you to say something. You didn’t.
When you were done eating, you took your plate away, washed it, and walked past him without a word.
“You’ve been ignoring me all day,” he finally said. You shrugged. “So what?”
That was the only answer he got. You went to sleep alone, you just got up from the couch, walked past him and locked yourself in the bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world.
This was the first time you had slept alone since you had been living together. But you had to admit that having your entire king-size bed to yourself was a win. But there was a catch, the whole bed smelled like him, every blanket, every pillow and every sheet smelled of him. You didn’t deny that his scent turned you on, but not today! You were still angry. You hid under the covers and closed your eyes. But somewhere deep down you missed something that you didn’t want to admit.
His arms that you fell asleep on almost every night. His soft purring when you snuggled up to him at night. That familiar scent that always calmed you down. And his touch when he stroked your hair or had sex with you. But this time there was nothing, just an empty space next to you.
And outside the bedroom door, Sukuna sat on the couch for a long time. He didn't even try to knock on the door, he just stared into the darkness. And for the first time, he know how unnatural the apartment was without your voice.
Maybe I really shouldn't have eaten that cake. The thought irritated him almost as much as the whole argument.
It was just dessert.
But...
It obviously wasn't for you "just dessert".
He remembered your expression when he looked at the empty plate. How she'd just looked around in confusion at first. And then the disappointment in your eyes. She wasn't mad about the food. She was mad about him because he'd made light of it. Because instead of a simple "sorry," he'd started to provoke..
Today was going to be completely different.
He was looking forward to going home after a long day at work. For peace, for you and an evening spent in bed with you pressed beneath his body.
Instead, he sat alone in the living room.
Over a cake!
Over one stupid piece of sugar.
"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, slowly clenching his fingers into a fist as his nails dug into his palm.
She’d kicked him out of bed. The thought irked him more than he’d ever admit out loud.
It wasn’t that he minded the couch. The couch was just a piece of furniture. It was the principle of the thing. The bedroom wasn't yours; it was his. Yet you’d turned it into your own "sovereign" territory, acting as if you had the right to decide where he slept.
He wasn't in the mood to do anything now—you’d basically ruined his whole day with that argument, and he’d actually wanted to make love tonight. Damn it, and now he couldn't. He felt terrible—the feeling was indescribable—and genuinely offended that his girlfriend would cast him aside so "brutally."
Damn it, woman—can't you see he's swamped with work all day? He takes care of you, and this is how you repay him?
He would literally spank your ass right now if he were you in the bedroom. "You brat." When your buttocks were red from his slaps. And when he decided you were punished enough, he would hold you tightly around the waist with his hands as he plunged into your pussy, his tongue licking your folds and his fingers teasing your clothed mound and sucking it and pushing you to it, your body stopping exactly the moment you felt yourself close. Damn right! That was what you deserved for your behavior today. He would let you beg for his touch and crawl towards touch and beg him to fuck you. Yeah, that's exactly what you deserved. Damn, now he feels excited and feels his cock getting hard between his legs.. Sukuna gritted his teeth and took one last look at the locked bedroom door, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation before he stood up abruptly and went straight to the shower.
Just wait until you apologize and see how much you enjoy apologizing to him for your impudent impudence. Because if you think you can simply banish him from your own bedroom...Then you are very mistaken.
Hi, I'm a beginner writer and I would be grateful for your support. If you liked the story and wrote a comment, I would be very grateful.🫶
Please do not copy or republish my story without my permission. Sharing the link is, of course, allowed, and I would be very happy if you did so.
