Brother's best friend!Sukuna who’s tattooed and pierced to hell and back, and smirks like he knows your secrets. He walks around your house as if he owns it, as if he’s lived there for years, as if your parents might as well be his. Every morning, he’s there, leaning back against the kitchen counter, shirtless and scarfing down a bowl of cereal, looking you up and down in your Hello Kitty pyjamas and bed hair, and chuckles to himself.
“You’ve wasted the whole day away, princess,” he rasps, “pretty pointless to get up at all at this point.”
Brother's best friend!Sukuna who treats you like you’re his sister. He smacks you on the head when you forget to say please and thank you to your parents, tuts with your brother when you wear something a little short or revealing, and creeps up behind you, unleashing a tickle attack without repercussions because he’s far too big and muscular for you to do a damn thing.
Brother's best friend!Sukuna who’s never afraid to sit beside you in the living room, plopping himself down to watch whatever you’re watching and complaining the entire time. He rolls his eyes at the cheesy lines, scoffs when an unrealistic scene comes on — something about how basketball players ‘ain’t thinking all that shit they’re monologuing about, we just throw the fucking ball’ — and does it all with his knee touching yours.
Sitting too close to you, forcing you to cling to the arm rest, and spreading his thick thighs like he owns the sofa and you’re just paying rent, he leaves you painfully aware of every breath you take and every shuffle you make.
Brother's best friend!Sukuna who raises a pierced brow when you’re caught lingering a little too long on his very noticeable bulge through his basketball shorts. Who never hesitates to tug your skirt down, fingers grazing your thigh. Who drops his heavy arm around your shoulder in family pictures your parents insists he has to be in, fingers once again just barely skimming the top of your breasts.
Brother's best friend!Sukuna who walks into the bathroom whenever he pleases, even if you’re in there already, showering or wrapping yourself up in a towel. You used to complain about it, blood rushing to your face and stomping your feet, but your parents, god bless them, only rolled their eyes and argued that he’s practically your brother, that he doesn’t think of you like that, and that you’re being sensitive. But they don’t see the way his eyes linger on your exposed skin, the dewy sheen on your shoulders, the water droplet dipping between the valley of your breasts, nor do they ever witness his knuckles brush away some left over soap suds from the crook of your neck, silver rings nipping.
They don’t know that his hand, calloused and imposing, have dug into the plush of your thighs, climbing higher and higher than a brother would under the dinner table or a carefully placed jacket on a lap in the car. They don’t know that his pinky has followed the seam of your jeans or wormed its way past the lace of your panties.
And certainly, if they knew that you’ve felt the dangerous allure of his tongue piercing on your skin — the wet muscle swirling around the pad of a finger, drinking up the blood that had dripped out when you cut yourself, all while he kept his eyes on yours — they might rethink the whole idea of him being ‘family.’
Brother's best friend!Sukuna who you don’t notice in your doorway in the dark of the night, a mere silhouette of shadow, piercing red eyes having watched the movement of your arm under your thin covers, heard the breathy moans and whines escape through bitten lip, and absorbed the sinful melody of his name on your tongue.
Brother's best friend!Sukuna who says, “Any louder and the whole family woulda come running. Probably think I’m attacking you.”
And laughs when you reply, “Maybe that’s what I want.”
“Careful,” he begins, sharp canines on display as his lips curl up into a devilish grin, “I might just be tempted.”
