chapter 6 snippet since it's taking me a gajillion quarter quelltillion years to finish. i'm so sorry genuinely, i know it isn't fun to wait but you all will have around 10k+ words to read when i finally do post it. lotsa stuff happening um..
wc: 515
Hesitation and yearning woven in the low timbre of Sukuna's words, eyes flitting down for a second: "Are you sure you-"
"Yes," you breathe into his mouth, hardly letting him finish his sentence before lift your lips to meet his in a tentatively tender caress.
It takes Sukuna off guard, his brows raising and eyes widening, but he wastes no time to gently press his mouth to yours, unspoken feelings heavy in his action.
Your first shared kiss in years. A heady tepidity pools deep in your core, relaxation washing over the two of you when your mouths find their rightful place together.
You both are testing each other with your delicate kisses, taking time to memorize the brush of Sukuna's mouth on yours.
Devotion, gratitude, cherishing— all laced in the gentle dance of your lips, meeting softly over and over again, slowly melding together in a mix of longing and pure unbridled need.
"I've been waiting to kiss you forever," Sukuna whispers, quietly groaning as he pulls back for a breath. His hand falls from your face to squeeze your hip, grounding himself in you so he doesn't float away into the clouds.
You open your eyes slowly, chest burning from the lack of air. "Kiss me again- the way you want to," your sultry whisper sends a shiver down Sukuna's spine.
He wastes no time capturing your lips once more, tugging your body impossibly closer to his. A low sound in the back of his throat; something between a growl and a moan, makes the dull ache between your thighs all the more prominent to you.
Your hands slide up to lightly pull him further down for a better angle, but Sukuna only lifts you into his arms. And in turn, you wrap your legs around his hips, his thick fingers splayed on the curve of your ass— your kiss still unbroken.
The kiss deepened fast: his mouth moving over yours hot and hungry, tongue sliding feverishly over yours with a lasciviousness as if he was trying to devour you. Your hands slide up his nape; fingers curling into the coral strands tightly.
Sukuna's been painfully hard, clothed dick grinding against your embarrassingly soaked panties.
If you weren't so turned on you probably would be embarrassed, but you couldn't care less. Not with the tantalizing pressure on your neglected cunt.
Both of your chests are rising and falling rapidly with your strained breaths, hips rolling together in a desperate rhythm.
Sukuna can feel you all over him; on his mouth, nails scratching his scalp, the dampness of your arousal over his pants, the throbbing of his dick—It's all so dizzying. You're dizzying. The mix of perfume and something so naturally you enveloping him, hazing his mind.
Sukuna's never felt so intoxicated over a little grinding and kisses, he knows this is all because it's you. Getting lost in you was too easy.
And when you moan into his lips, breaking the kiss with a breathless sigh, "My room's the first door on the right."
He knows he never wants to be found.
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"She had spent her whole life learning how to be careful—careful with her body, her voice, her heart, and the truth of who she was.
Then Sukuna entered her life, all sharp edges, quiet obsession, and dangerous tenderness. He was not soft with the world, but with her, he became something close to gentle.
A secret romance between a trans woman still learning she deserves to be loved openly, and a man who makes it impossible for her to feel hidden."
cw; smut. fluff. homophobia (from parents)
one | two | three | four | five | seven
Five years after graduation, your life looked nothing like the one your father had planned for you.
You were twenty-seven now.
Your hair had grown nearly to your waist before you cut it back to the middle of your spine, keeping the micro bangs Sukuna claimed were “annoyingly distracting.” Your style had settled into something unmistakably yours—dark skirts, soft knits, heavy boots, silver chains, stacked rings, smudged eyeliner, and little flashes of ruby red that always matched the promise ring Sukuna had given you years ago.
The promise ring no longer sat alone.
A wedding band rested beside it now.
You and Sukuna had married when you were twenty-five, though the proposal had come almost a year earlier in the least surprising way possible.
He had spent weeks acting suspicious.
Not romantically suspicious.
Sukuna could not plan softness without becoming visibly irritated by the effort. He started guarding his phone, hiding receipts, and refusing to let you open one specific drawer in his desk. Every time you asked what he was doing, he told you to mind your business.
Naturally, you assumed he had either bought you something expensive or committed a crime.
Then one cold evening, he took you to the little campus courtyard where you had once waited for him after architecture classes. The university buildings were quieter then, glowing beneath winter lights. Most students had already gone home for break, leaving the walkways empty.
Sukuna stood beneath the tree where he had kissed you after your final sophomore project.
He shoved both hands into his coat pockets.
You looked around. “Why are we here?” He stared at you. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember. I’m asking why.”
“Because.”
“That is not an answer.” He clicked his tongue, looking more annoyed by the second.
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you breaking up with me?” His face went blank. “What?”
“You brought me somewhere meaningful, and now you’re glaring.”
“I’m always glaring.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I’m not breaking up with you.”
“Then why are you acting weird?” Sukuna muttered something under his breath. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small ring box.
You stopped breathing.
He held it out.
For one long second, neither of you moved.
Then you looked at him.
Sukuna’s ears were red.
Not from the cold. “Open it,” he said.
Your fingers trembled as you took the box.
Inside was a dark metal ring set with a small ruby and a cluster of tiny black stones. It looked like something carved from fire and night, elegant without being delicate.
Your vision blurred instantly.
Sukuna pointed at you.
“Don’t.”
“You’re proposing.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t get down on one knee.” His eyes narrowed. “You want me to?”
“No. I just—” Sukuna dropped to one knee so abruptly that you gasped. “There,” he said. “Happy?” You covered your mouth. He looked up at you with the ring box still in your hands, expression severe enough to frighten anyone who did not know him.
But you knew him.
You saw the tightness in his jaw.
The nerves beneath the irritation.
The terrifying man who had stared down professors, your father, and half the world was afraid you might say no. “Y/N,” he said, voice lower now, “marry me.” You laughed through your tears. “That wasn’t a question.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
“Sukuna.” His eyes softened. “Please.” That single word undid you. You nodded so quickly your hair fell into your face. “Yes.” His shoulders dropped. “Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” Sukuna stood and pulled you into him, kissing you before either of you remembered the ring was still in the box. You laughed against his mouth, and his hands tightened around your waist like he had just won something he had already spent years believing belonged to him.
The wedding was small.
Maya and Nori stood beside you.
Ren served as Sukuna’s witness and complained that he had never seen a groom look so irritated while being that happy.
Your mother attended alone.
Your father did not.
That absence hurt, but not in the sharp, destroying way it once would have. By then, you had learned that grief could soften without disappearing. It could become a quiet room inside you rather than the entire house.
Your mother sat in the front row wearing a deep green dress and crying before the ceremony even began.
When she saw you in your wedding gown, her hand flew to her mouth.
You wore black lace over soft ivory, long sleeves, a fitted waist, and a veil decorated with tiny silver stars. Your hair fell loose down your back. Your makeup was dark around the eyes, your lips painted a muted rose.
For a moment, your mother simply stared.
Then she whispered, “My daughter.” You nearly ruined your makeup before the ceremony started.
Sukuna had complained when he saw the tears.
“I bought waterproof everything.”
“You didn’t buy my makeup.”
“I paid for it.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is financially.” You had laughed, and he kissed your forehead, careful not to disturb the veil.
Married life did not change Sukuna very much.
He remained rude.
He remained impatient.
He still complained about strangers walking too slowly in grocery stores and once refused to return to a café because the tables were “arranged without respect for circulation.”
At work, he had become even more successful.
He was no longer simply the frightening young engineer everyone tolerated because he was brilliant. He had become the frightening lead engineer clients specifically requested because no one else caught problems as quickly as he did. He earned more money than either of you had imagined during college, worked with large firms, and occasionally traveled for projects he always insisted were badly timed.
At home, however, Sukuna had somehow become clingier.
Marriage appeared to have convinced him that personal space was no longer legally required.
If you sat on the couch, he stretched across it with his head in your lap. If you were working at the dining table, he stood behind your chair and leaned over you until his chin rested on your shoulder. If you were cooking, he wrapped both arms around your waist and followed your movements like a very large, deeply unhelpful shadow.
“Sukuna.”
“What?”
“I need to move.”
“Move.”
“You’re attached to me.”
“I know.”
“I need the refrigerator.” He tightened his arms. “Ask nicely.” You turned your head. “Please move.”
“No.”
“You told me to ask nicely.”
“I didn’t say it would work.” At night, he slept wrapped around you.
One arm beneath your neck, the other around your waist, one leg tangled with yours. He had once insisted he did not snore, despite the fact that you had recordings proving otherwise. “You edited those,” he said.
“I did not.”
“That’s not my voice.”
“It sounds exactly like you.”
“I sound better.” He also remained relentlessly affectionate.
Sukuna kissed you whenever he entered a room, even if he had only gone to the kitchen. He touched your waist when he passed behind you. He rested his hand on your thigh under restaurant tables. He kept you close at parties and acted deeply offended if you spent too much time talking to Maya and Nori without checking on him.
And he wanted you constantly.
Not in a way that ever frightened you.
Never in a way that ignored your boundaries.
But if it had been entirely up to Sukuna, the two of you would have stayed in bed every morning, every evening, and most afternoons.
He developed the most shameless routine.
He would find you reading or sketching, sit beside you, and begin with ordinary affection. A kiss to your shoulder. His hand resting on your knee. His face tucked against your neck.
Then his mouth would linger.
His fingers would move.
You would glance at him and find his red eyes already softened into the expression he knew weakened you.
“Sukuna.”
“What?”
“No.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You’re about to.” He would rest his chin against your shoulder and look up at you with those absurdly soft eyes.
The same man who made entire conference rooms nervous could look painfully sweet when he wanted something. “You feel so good,” he would murmur. “That is not an argument.”
“It is to me.”
“We had sex yesterday.”
“That was yesterday.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I’m always right.”
You would try to ignore him.
Sukuna would kiss your cheek.
Then the corner of your mouth.
Then your jaw.
“I missed you.”
“You were in the other room.”
“For forty minutes.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.” Most of the time, you eventually gave in.
Not because of pressure.
Because you wanted him too.
Because even after years together, Sukuna still touched you with the same care he had shown the first night you trusted him completely. He never treated your body like something he tolerated or something that required explanation. He knew what made you feel beautiful. He knew where you were sensitive. He knew when to tease and when to slow down.
Afterward, he always became impossibly soft.
He would hold you against his chest, run his fingers through your hair, and ask whether you were okay even when you had reassured him a hundred times.
One evening, after you had both lost an entire afternoon to his neediness, you lay beneath the sheets with your cheek against his chest. “You’re exhausting,” you murmured.
His arm tightened around you.
“You like me.”
“I love you.”
“Exactly.”
“That does not mean you can seduce me every day.” His fingers traced your spine. “Why not?”
“Because we have responsibilities.”
“You draw.”
“That is a responsibility.”
“I work.”
“You skipped checking your email for three hours.”
“Good.” You lifted your head. “What if there was an emergency?”
“They’ll call.”
“What if they call?”
“I’ll ignore it.” You laughed and dropped your head back onto his chest. “You used to be so serious.”
“I’m still serious.”
“Not about work.”
“I’m serious about you.” Your smile softened, Sukuna noticed immediately.
He kissed the top of your head.
Five years earlier, you never would have imagined this kind of ordinary happiness.
Not because it was perfect.
Because it was yours.
Your life had warmth in it now. Familiarity. Small routines that belonged only to the two of you. Coffee made too strong in the mornings. Music playing while you cooked. Half-finished sketches taped to the walls. Sukuna’s ties draped over chairs despite his insistence that he hated mess.
For a while after graduation, you had worked as an architect.
You were good at it.
Very good.
You understood design intuitively. You could see how spaces should flow, how windows changed the feeling of a room, how light could make something cold feel alive. You were praised by supervisors and trusted with larger projects quickly.
From the outside, it looked like success.
But after a few years, the old heaviness returned.
Not as severe as when you studied engineering.
Architecture was closer to what you loved. It gave you creativity, but only within limits shaped by budgets, codes, clients, and deadlines. You spent more time revising designs for other people than creating anything that felt truly yours.
You became quieter.
You stopped drawing for pleasure.
Your sketchbooks remained closed for weeks.
At twenty-five, Sukuna noticed before you admitted it.
Of course he did.
He found you one evening sitting at the dining table, staring at an unfinished rendering on your laptop. Dinner had gone cold beside you.
He stood in the doorway for a moment.
Then he said, “Quit.” You looked up. “What?”
“Your job.” You blinked, Sukuna crossed the room and closed your laptop.
You stared at him.
“I’m working.”
“No, you’re suffering near a computer.”
“I’m not suffering.”
“You haven’t painted in four months.”
The words silenced you.
He pulled out the chair beside you.
“You hate it.”
“I don’t hate architecture.”
“You hate what you’re doing with it.” You looked down at your hands.
“That’s different.”
“Not enough.”
“Sukuna, I can’t just quit.”
“Yes, you can.” You almost laughed.
The conversation felt strangely familiar.
Years earlier, he had said the same thing when you were miserable as a student trapped in your father’s plans. “I make good money,” you said.
“So do I.”
“I don’t want you paying for everything.”
“I already pay for most things.”
“That is not the point.”
“It is exactly the point.”
You frowned at him.
“I worked hard for my degree.”
“I know.”
“My parents paid for it.”
“I don’t care.”
“I spent years becoming an architect.”
“And now you’re unhappy.”
Your throat tightened.
Sukuna reached for your hand.
The ruby promise ring and wedding band pressed against his fingers.
“I make enough for both of us,” he said. “More than enough.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I want you happy.”
His voice softened.
The argument left you.
Sukuna rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. “You wanted art before anyone told you what was practical.” Your eyes began to burn.
He saw it and sighed. “Here we go.” You laughed weakly. “You’re telling me to throw away my career.”
“I’m telling you to stop throwing away yourself.”
The words struck deep.
You looked at him.
Sukuna leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Paint. Draw. Make ugly sculptures. Sell them. Don’t sell them. I don’t care.”
“My sculptures wouldn’t be ugly.”
“They might.”
You gasped.
His mouth twitched.
“Make whatever you want.”
“What if I never make money?”
“Then I make money.”
“What if people think I’m lazy?”
“I’ll tell them to die.”
“Sukuna.”
“What?”
“You cannot threaten everyone.”
“I can try.”
You laughed despite the tears in your eyes.
His expression softened.
“There she is.”
You resigned two weeks later.
The first month felt strange.
You kept waking early because your body expected work. You checked email accounts that no longer mattered. You felt guilty every time Sukuna paid a bill, though he became visibly irritated whenever you apologized.
“You’re my wife.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like a tenant.”
“I just don’t want to take advantage.”
“You spent four years making dinner when I came home late.”
“That is not the same.”
“You rubbed my back through three project deadlines.”
“Sukuna.”
“You kept this house alive while I worked.”
“You make it sound like I fought a war.”
“You dealt with me.” You laughed. “Fair.” Then the art returned.
Slowly at first.
A charcoal portrait.
A small canvas covered in black, red, and soft pink.
Sketches of women with long hair and jewelry like armor.
A series of paintings about hidden names and open doors.
Sukuna turned one of the spare rooms into a studio without asking.
He installed shelves, better lighting, and a long table sturdy enough to support canvases and clay. He complained the entire time that your supplies had terrible organizational systems, then labeled every drawer himself.
Your work began selling online.
Not immediately.
But enough.
Then more.
People connected with your pieces. Some saw transition in them. Some saw escape. Some saw the strange beauty of becoming yourself after being told not to.
You did not tell the world every part of your story.
You did not have to.
The art spoke in ways you had once been punished for wanting.
Your mother bought the first print from your online store.
She did not tell you.
You recognized the address after the order came through.
For a long time, you sat in front of the computer staring at her name.
Your relationship with your mother had begun six months after graduation.
The call came on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
You almost did not answer. When you saw her name on the screen, your stomach tightened.
Sukuna was sitting beside you on the couch, reading an engineering report. He glanced at the phone. “You don’t have to.” You looked at him.
Then answered. “Hello?” Your mother’s voice trembled. “Hi.”
Silence followed.
You waited.
She breathed in. “I’m sorry.” The words were so unexpected that you stopped moving.
Your mother cried then.
Not loudly.
Quietly, as though she had spent six months holding the sound beneath her ribs.
She told you she had replayed graduation every night. Your father lifting his hand. Sukuna stopping him. You standing there with tears in your eyes while she chose to follow her husband instead of her child.
Her daughter.
She said the word carefully at first.
“I failed my daughter.”
You had closed your eyes.
Sukuna’s hand found yours.
Your mother asked to see you.
You agreed to lunch.
The restaurant was small and quiet, chosen because it sat halfway between your city and hers. Sukuna drove you there, of course, though he waited in the car because you asked to meet her alone.
“If she upsets you, call me,” he said. “I will.”
“If she raises her voice—”
“I’ll call.”
“If she says something stupid—”
“Sukuna.” He looked at you.
You leaned across the center console and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be okay.” He reluctantly let you go.
Your mother was already seated when you entered.
She stood immediately.
For a moment, she stared.
Your hair was longer. Your makeup was softer than graduation day but still unmistakably feminine. You wore a black skirt, boots, layered necklaces, and the ruby ring Sukuna had given you.
Your mother’s eyes filled with tears. “You look beautiful.” The compliment hurt.
Not because it was cruel.
Because you had wanted it for so long.
You sat across from her.
The lunch lasted nearly three hours.
She asked about your name.
Your work.
Sukuna.
Your transition.
She asked clumsy questions sometimes, but when you corrected her, she listened. She apologized for every moment she had stayed silent while your father hurt you. She admitted that silence had been easier than protecting you and that she had spent years pretending helplessness was the same as innocence.
It was not.
You both knew that.
Forgiveness did not happen in one lunch.
Trust did not rebuild over soup and coffee.
But a door opened.
Your mother began calling every week.
At first, she stumbled over your name.
Then she stopped stumbling.
She started saying daughter in ordinary ways.
“My daughter is an architect.”
“My daughter made this painting.”
“I’m visiting my daughter this weekend.”
The first time you heard her say it to someone else, you cried in the bathroom.
Sukuna found you sitting on the closed toilet lid with a tissue pressed beneath your eyes. “What happened?”
“She called me her daughter.”
He stared at you.
“That’s what you are.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because she said it.”
He sighed and knelt in front of you.
“You cry over everything.”
“You married me knowing that.”
“I did.”
He wiped your cheeks.
“Terrible judgment on my part.”
You laughed.
Your mother eventually began visiting the house.
The first visit was awkward.
Sukuna answered the door and stared at her long enough that she visibly reconsidered coming inside.
“You can let her in,” you said from the hallway.
“I’m deciding.”
“Sukuna.”
He moved aside.
Your mother brought flowers and a lemon cake.
Sukuna inspected both as though they might contain explosives.
Over time, even that softened.
Not completely.
He remained civil because you loved her, but he never forgot that she had failed you.
Your mother understood.
She never demanded his forgiveness.
That helped.
By twenty-seven, she called you several times a week. Sometimes to ask about your art. Sometimes to complain about work. Sometimes simply to hear your voice.
She mailed you jewelry she thought suited you and sent old family photographs with little notes written on the back.
In one photograph, you were seven, sitting beneath a tree with your legs folded neatly, drawing a woman in a long dress.
Your mother had written:
You were always my daughter. I’m sorry it took me so long to see her.
You kept the photograph framed in your studio.
Your father never called.
You heard about him occasionally through your mother. He remained angry. He claimed she was encouraging you. He refused to use your name. He said Sukuna had turned you against the family.
At first, the news hurt every time.
Then less.
Then differently.
You stopped waiting for him to become the father you needed.
You already had a family.
It was Sukuna leaving coffee outside your studio when you forgot to eat.
Maya and Nori coming over with wine and snacks to celebrate your first gallery showing.
Your mother sitting in the front row while you spoke about one of your pieces, whispering proudly to the woman beside her, “That’s my daughter.”
It was the home you and Sukuna had made.
The ordinary, messy, beautiful life that waited behind your front door.
One summer evening, you sat on the studio floor surrounded by paint tubes and unfinished canvases. The windows were open, letting warm air move through the curtains. Music played softly from a speaker near the shelf.
Sukuna appeared in the doorway still wearing his work clothes.
Tie loosened.
Sleeves rolled.
Expression tired.
You looked up.
“Hi.”
He crossed the room without answering.
Then he lowered himself onto the floor beside you and rested his head in your lap.
You laughed.
“Long day?”
“Everyone’s stupid.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
You ran your fingers through his pink hair.
Sukuna closed his eyes.
“Did you eat?”
“No.”
“You tell me not to skip meals.”
“I’m different.”
“You are not.”
“I’m bigger.”
“That is not how nutrition works.”
His arm wrapped around your waist.
He pressed his face against your stomach.
“What are you painting?”
You looked toward the canvas.
A woman stood in the center of it, half in shadow, half beneath a field of red flowers. Behind her, a doorway opened into gold light.
“I don’t know yet.”
“It’s good.”
“You didn’t look.”
“I’ve seen your work.”
You smiled.
Sukuna shifted, turning his face toward you.
His eyes softened into that familiar expression.
You recognized it immediately.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
He kissed your stomach through your shirt.
“I missed you.”
“You were gone eight hours.”
“Exactly.”
“You need dinner.”
“I need you.” You laughed, pushing lightly at his forehead. “You always need me.”
“Yes.”
The simple answer warmed you.
You looked down at the man in your lap.
Twenty-seven years old.
Brilliant.
Impossible.
Still rude to most of the world.
Still gentle with you in ways no one else fully understood.
He reached for your left hand, turning it until the ruby promise ring and wedding band caught the evening light. “Happy?” he asked.
You considered the question.
The old pain still existed.
Your father’s absence.
The years spent hiding.
The body you had once feared would make you impossible to love.
But pain was no longer the center of your life.
It sat at the edges now, surrounded by color.
Your studio.
Your art.
Your mother’s phone calls.
Your friends.
Your husband’s head in your lap. “Yes,” you said.
Sukuna’s thumb moved over your rings. “Good.” You bent down and kissed him. He immediately reached up, caught the back of your neck, and deepened it.
You laughed against his mouth.
When you pulled away, his eyes had gone warm and heavy.
“Sukuna.”
“What?”
“Dinner first.”
He frowned.
“You’re cruel.”
“You’ll live.”
“Barely.”
You touched his cheek.
He turned his face and kissed your palm.
For a moment, the room became quiet.
The woman on the canvas waited beside her open door.
The summer light shifted across the floor.
Sukuna looked up at you like he had when you were nineteen, sitting frightened on the edge of your bed in a pink tank top and purple panties.
Only now, nothing about you was hidden.
“You know,” you said softly, “you were the first person who called me a pretty girl.”
“I know.”
“You were the first person who said my name like it belonged to me.”
“I know.”
“You were the first person who chose me.” His brows pulled together.
“No.” You blinked.
Sukuna sat up. “You chose yourself.” Your throat tightened.
He touched your chin. “I just had the good sense to agree.” You laughed, eyes burning.
He pointed at you.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You are.”
“You said something nice.”
“I do that sometimes.”
“Rarely.”
“Enough.” You wrapped your arms around him, Sukuna held you immediately now.
No hesitation.
No awkward patting.
His arms closed around your waist, and he buried his face against the side of your neck. “You’re my family,” he murmured.
The same words he had given you on graduation day.
They had sounded like rescue then.
Now they sounded like home.
You kissed his temple. “And you’re mine.”
Outside, the evening deepened.
Inside, your unfinished art waited, your mother’s framed note rested on the shelf, and your husband held you like he still could not believe the world had ever tried to call you anything other than beautiful.
Your life had not become the one your father chose.
running into ex-situationship frat!sukuna at a concert for an artist that he put you onto
a/n: yayay i’m back! didnt expect my first post to get so many likes omg😋 anyways reader lwk just going thru it- sukuna isn’t rlly talking oops
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.:*+☆+*:.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
each hand carried a cold drink as you weaved your way out of the drink line, dodging sweaty bodies and loud chatter. the condensation from the drinks dripped down your wrists and arms, making you all the more desperate to make it back to your friend sooner.
for it being your first concert, you expected to have more fun and not to have a pounding headache. the instruments were so impossibly loud, to the point where you could feel every hit of the drum or every strum of the bass physically shake your chest.
and like every other college student, you decided to fight off the misery with alcohol.
double the headache and give it to the next day.
but… maybe you shouldn’t head back to your friend so soon.
you’re at the back of the pit now, behind the sea of jumping bodies and head banging; far enough from the music where you still feel in the moment but not assaulted by the roughness of the band.
you wipe the cold condensation off the can of seltzer meant for you friend by wiping it against the fabric of your bottoms. surely, this should make it more bearable to hold.
as you take a sip of your opened can, your eyes naturally drift to a familiar sight. the familiarity almost makes you nauseous but you can’t point it out.
it could be the bitterness of the drink after all.
but the posture… the spiky hair… everything about this person.
reminds you of sukuna.
and suddenly the band is drowned out, but not the singer. not the yearning in his voice, not the lyrics that he sings as if he were personally mocking what you once felt when looking at the person in front of you.
“tell me where you’re gonna be when i’m gone”
you no longer feel like you’re standing at the back of a concert. instead, you’re sitting in his passenger seat, looking out the window at the white covered streets and hearing the song for the first time as he sings along with his thumbs thumping against the steering wheel.
“you’ve got more of my own heart than i’ve got”
you still remember the way you quietly replayed the lyrics in your mind long after the song had ended; how he’d sung it with more emotion, more enthusiasm- more something, in his tone, and whether it had meant anything or if you were just overthinking.
“will you walk to class alone on tuesday?”
you can still smell his musky cologne mixed with the hot smell of the car’s heater.
“are you choosing someone better?”
and you still remember the look in his eyes when he’d glance over from time to time, even though you pretended to not notice.
“are you still gon’ wear my sweater?”
but based off the way he acted towards the end, perhaps there never was a look. maybe he never felt anyway towards you and it was all one sided.
“what’re you doing here?”
your heart drops a million miles down to your ass.
he’s now standing in front of you, the same brow raised as always when something threw him off.
“making use of the student discount.” you throw out quickly, feeling the walls draw up.
it’d be best to keep it cold anyways. then, you won’t have to worry about seeming too pathetic in front of him.
yeah, you’re doing great without him. at a concert with friends, drinking, having the time of your life.
that’ll show him.
“oh, i didn’t know you listened to malcolm.” sukuna’s tone only seemed to pick up more confusion.
what the hell are you supposed to say? “yeah i never did until i started missing you?” you’re just gonna look like a bird, honestly.
“everyone does now.” you shrug.
not bad. not terrific either.
“fair…”
a small silence fills the two of you, metaphorically. the drummer is still playing the fuck out those drums in reality.
“y’know… uhm… the frat’s throwing a party on friday.” sukuna adds almost hesitantly.
seriously? he ghosts you after months of what you thought was something developing, avoids you like the plague around campus, and now has the audacity to invite you to a party?
what happened to an apology? not even a meager ‘sorry’ for ghosting you after all that? after meeting his family? after all those study dates? after genuinely being you first everything?
does his brain just light up with sparkles after trying to make everything okay when it wasn’t?
maybe it was petty, but if you were a guy, you surely wouldn’t feel like ghosting a girl on a random tuesday after spending the night before telling her how perfect she was and how grateful you were for her.
“yeah? well i’ve gotta head back… so…” you smile awkwardly before hastily slipping away.
“are you gon-?” but you were quick to get out of there
what a way to ruin a night. if anything you just feel irritated now.
୨୧ — Sukuna loves seeing you so full of him. So pliant. So messy, too. It’s almost primal, he thinks, the way his breath hitches and his hips stutter uncontrollably when he empties into you. A raw, territorial satisfaction settles deep in his gut, a possessive hum resonating in his chest.
He’s marked you, claimed you from the inside out. And the visual? The creamy white evidence of his desire leaking from your fluttering entrance? It’s the most exquisite art he’s ever witnessed, a masterpiece painted by his own body, into yours. He can’t help but trace the puffy rim of your cunt with his fingertip, watching in fascination as he pushes a little of himself back inside, claiming you all over again.
A soft, needy sound escapes your lips, and a dark, satisfied smirk touches his. A soft, needy sound escapes your lips, and a dark, satisfied smirk touches his own, “What’s wrong? is my little wife already feeling empty again?” he murmurs, the low vibration of his voice making you clench around him. “Can’t have that, can we?”
With a deft shift, Sukuna is moving, flipping you onto your stomach with an easy strength that steals your breath. He drags a pillow under your hips, lifting you into the perfect position. He kneels behind you, admiring the view: the arch of your back, the dip of your waist, the way your legs are already falling open for him. A fresh wave of hunger crashing over him.
He spreads you apart with two thumbs, a silent groan rumbling in his throat at the sight. You’re still so wet, so ready. Your hole is swollen from his attention, glistening with your slick and the remnants of his release. He leans down, flattening his tongue to lick a broad, messy stripe from your clit all the way to your entrance, collecting the mixed taste of both of you on his tongue.
“Mmm,” he hums, “still so sweet. Even better now.”
He eats you with a devouring sort of reverence, a man starved. This isn't about foreplay anymore; it's about consumption. He wants to devour every sigh, every tremor, every wave of pleasure that breaks over you. He wants to feel you come apart on his tongue, to taste your release as it floods his senses.
Because he knows, with a certainty that resonates in his very soul, that he will never get enough of this. Never get enough of you.
SUKUNA x reader – A hungry Sukuna is a problem all on his own. After a long day at work, he doesn't want to argue anymore and just wants some peace for once. But you're just as stubborn as he is, and you've decided that this time, you'll make him apologize. Which one of you will make the first mistake this time?
The bedroom door quietly opened, and Sukuna stepped out with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. His black shirt stretched tightly across his shoulders and chest, showing off his defined muscles and tattoos as if it hadn't been made for an ordinary human being.
He walked over to the kitchen counter, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of water. He didn't look at you even once.
„So. How was your day?” he asked, trying to get you to talk to him. You paused for a moment. “Normal.”
„Hmm.” He nodded. „Glad to hear that.“
„What’s for dinner?”
„I haven’t started cooking anything yet.”
„Then you will.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
„No, I won’t,” you snapped back.
„I was going to call you at work and ask you to buy some sushi rice because we ran out. But you know what?“ “My phone is dead. The charger must have fallen through the floor.“ You said it sarcastically.
Actually, you had planned to make something for dinner that Sukuna didn't like. The problem was that Sukuna liked pretty much every kind of food.
„You’ll have to go grocery shopping if you want to eat tonight,” you remarked.
Thunder rumbled outside.
The first retaliation was going to be simple.
You decided to punish him in the one way you knew would definitely get to him—food. Until he started behaving like a normal human being, he wasn't getting any homemade treats from you. He could survive on instant noodles for all you cared.
Meanwhile, Sukuna stood silently by the window of your apartment, watching the weather outside. Rain pounded against the glass so hard that the world beyond it looked like a blurred watercolor painting.
„Well, you've got to be kidding me...”
It was pouring. No, actually, it was even worse than that. If someone were to choose a winner for the worst storm of the year, today would take the gold medal without a single competitor.
„And buy some mushrooms. It's too late for sushi anyway,” you remarked with amusement.
Sukuna didn't answer. He simply draped his jacket over his shoulders, grabbed his helmet, motorcycle keys, and wallet, and a moment later, the front door slammed loudly behind him.
It was almost ridiculously obvious that his sudden hurry wasn't because he was eager to fulfill your request. He was simply hungry. And a hungry Sukuna was a disaster all by himself.
As soon as Sukuna was out of sight, you placed your magazine on the coffee table and casually glanced around the living room. Then your eyes landed on the coffee table.
His phone, he'd forgotten it. A mischievous smile appeared on your lips.
„Well... it'd be a shame not to take advantage of this.”
You reached for it. The screen lit up „Ah Unlocked? Seriously? Such an egoist, and he doesn't even lock his phone?”
You quietly laughed and opened his contacts. The first name that caught your eye was...
✦Satoru Gojo.✦
It couldn't have been more perfect. You opened the chat, your fingers flying across the keyboard.
*Hey, dude. How are you? Haven't seen you in forever. If you're around, come over tonight.*
You paused. „No... that doesn't sound enough like Ryomen.” You deleted the message.
*Gojo, come over. I'm free.*
You scrunched up your nose „That's way too short.”
*Hey, dude, come over. I've got something to drink at home.* You couldn't help yourself and burst out laughing. „He would never write this.” In the end, you settled for a simple message.
*Come over tonight at ten.* Sent.
“Perfect.” But your creativity didn't end there. You went back to the contact list.
✦Suguru Geto.✦
“hah You too.“ You smirk for yourself
*If you're free, come over tonight.* Sent.
Then another detail occurred to you. You added the same sentence to both messages.
*Don't bother knocking. Just come inside.* Sent.
You leaned back in the armchair, perfectly satisfied. „This is going to be a disaster...” And that was exactly why you were enjoying it. You quickly placed the phone back exactly where you'd found it.
Same angle, same position. As if nobody had even touched it. From the bedroom came the sound of a closet door closing. Your smile widened a little more.
Come on, Sukuna... Just wait until your doorbell rings.
This was chapter 5 I hope you enjoyed it!🙉
If you haven't read the previous chapters yet, you can find chapter one and chapter two through the links below, or you can find them on my profile.
SYNOPSIS you’ve been ryomen sukunas friend since you two were only little. It’s never been easy having to deal with him. But growing up has only made it worse
TAGS smut , mdni , friendship-ish relationship with sukuna , college au ft unwilling frat!kuna , spanking , dacryphilia , toxic rls , praise , slow burn , athlete sukuna , twin jin and sukuna
EXTRA NOTE once again i thank u all so much for all the lovely comments uve been sending me! im glad to see that some people are actually enjoying my work cos i used to post on ao3 and that never really went well lmao
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youve been spending all your time with sukuna now, well, you always have. it seems as if no matter how hard you try to think you can never imagine a time where sukuna wasn’t there. you were attached at eachothers hip. but it was different this year, you had friends in highschool. you’d hang out with them aswell, sukuna also had friends but he never seemed to care for any of them.
you stopped talking to your highschool friends, usually this summer break is meant to be the summer break of your life. but you havent had that kind of fun yet, not when college is waiting for you in a couple of weeks
your friends sort of drifted away over the time during the holiday. it hurt your heart a little, you thought that you had a close bond with them.
you felt a little stupid. you were completely stressing over this and sukuna seemed fine with none of his friends calling or texting. you couldnt tell him, honestly you could barely even tell the guy anything. he was your friend, he knows you better than anybody. he could recite every little habit you had, the exact hexcode colour of your skin, what face wash you use, your favourite colour to paint your nails, you spent years with him, but he just wasnt ever a person you would talk to like that.
with sukuna things were difficult, he was cold and dismissive to people. he never seemed to care for a lot of sappy things and emotions. you never tried talking to him about this stuff, about opening up, but you could just guess what he’d do. he’d huff and get annoyed like you were crazy. he was never one to be publicly kind.
there was this one time you were crying over some movie you watched with sukuna, you were 8 and overly sensitive. you shed a couple of tears over a dog in the movie and sukuna just rolled his eyes and later went on to laugh at you. thats what you had grown to expect from sukuna. you dont expect him to try and be nice and comforting and a good friend. he was your friend to an extent.
‘why’ve you got that look on your face?’ sukuna looked at you with furrowed brows. he looked annoyed, or confused, you couldnt tell.
‘what look?’
‘like youre-’ sukuna sighs ‘never mind’
you stared at him for a bit before going back to look at your phone. he was crouched on his bed playing some game, you dont know, you dont care for that kind of stuff.
‘are you staying for dinner?’
‘when i have i ever not stayed for dinner?’
‘was just asking. kaoris coming over, its a bunch of bullshit.’
kaori, jins highschool sweetheart who he knocked up at 15 and now once again at 18. everyones been on her case trying to tell her to abort her baby but shes been pretty stuck on having a second one with jin. youve never exactly remained judgemental, and you really did love choso, but now you were just getting weirded out.
she has a kid already and shes still in school, now shes got another one and she hasnt even reached her final year yet. obviously abortions are hard things to get and having to cope with having children is even harder but now even you thought it was getting to a point. choso practically has 4 parents and hes still impossible to raise
‘i dont see why shes so stuck on having a second kid’ you sighed, feeling pity for her.
‘shes fucking stupid, thats what it is. getting all sappy over a clump of cells when shes got a whole life ahead of her’
‘i suppose’ you agree for a moment ‘kids arent easy, obviously but i dont think shes thinking that far ahead of anything’
‘i dont think shes thinking of anything’ sukuna grumbled, losing a round in his game and laying down.
a moment of silence passes before you turn to look at him. ‘have any of your friends from school talked to you during summer break?’
‘yeah, but ive been ignoring them all’
‘why havent you ignored me?’
sukuna pauses for a minute and thinks for a while while shrugging ‘youre the only one who matters’
you smile a little at that. sukunas never been the one to say he cares, he shows it - or he tries to, but this confirmation makes you feel better. that you werent imagining this whole friendship thing with him.
‘is that why youve been so pissy?’ he starts questioning you now
‘its just that..’ you sigh for a bit. trying to think of how to put this thing to words. ‘i thought i was close with them, you know, they were my friends. and now schools over and the only notifications i get is you telling me to come over and my period tracker telling me im fertile’
sukuna chuckles that a little, but he gets this weird knot in his stomach that he hates and it feels so unfamiliar and it makes him want to gouge his eyes out. hes been enjoying summer, hes been enjoying only spending time with you but it seems like you havent.
he hasnt thought twice about those people he hung out with during school because he feels like he has enough with just you. it seems clear you don’t feel the same and something ugly starts to enter his head.
‘they were annoying anyway. its fine.’ sukuna attempted at trying to be nice, he doesnt do this kind of stuff often.
‘yeah well it just sucks, kuna. you’d assume spending 5 years together would lead to something more than just radio silence the second you graduate’
sukuna hums. he doesnt know what to do here. hes not that kind of friend and certainly not that kind of person. ‘college is a few weeks away. you’ll meet new people’
‘i guess.’ you remain silent for a bit before you remember something ‘oh fuck!’
‘what is it now?’
‘its college move in day in a couple of weeks aswell and what if my roommates a total freak’
‘then just avoid them’
‘no i cant kuna, you know, when you have a weird roommate theres only one way out of it’
‘which is?’
‘killing yourself, obviously’
‘or you could always talk to the dean?’
‘no i can’t, have you ever seen any movies about college? the dean is useless’
sukuna takes a deep breath ‘are you aware of the difference between movies and real life?’
‘dur? movies told me at id get peer pressured to have sex and drugs and cigarettes and i havent been offered anything! this sucks’
sukuna sighs and checks the time ‘its 6. we have dinner with teen parents now’
‘fuck dinner im gonna end my life ive lived shit from an asshole’ yoi started to stir and sukuna braced himself for what he knew was coming ahead
‘and all my friends have left me on delivered and i know im being aired because theyre constantly posting on their close friends story that they forgot to remove me from and im going to go to college knowing im gonna to fuck all because ive never done anything with myself and i have no clue on what im gonna do with my life and the deans gonna realise that and then my scholarship is gonna get revoked and my parents are gonna pay for fuck all and im gonna slave student loans for the rest of my life! and jins having another fucking baby that we’ll probably have to end up taking care of eventually and i can barely sleep as is’ you started to ball tears and yell as sukuna tries to grip onto your shoulders
‘you done yet?’
‘oh and my best friend fucking SUCKS’ you cry into his shoulder.
sukuna pathetically pats your back until you stop crying because you two have dinner with his family and kaori in like 10 minutes and he wants this over with. its also really uncomfortable when you cry and he feels really weird whenever you do and it tingles something in him he’d rather not get too deep into
he feels your breath calm down against his shoulder before slowly pulling away. ‘you feel better now?’ he looks down at your face, your lips blushed up red and your eyes puffy and your face blushed pink. he didnt want to think about it, he ignored how cute he thought you looked and he didnt want to think about you in anyway possible.
you nodded your head and wiped your tears away and finally sighed. ‘i do. thank you kuna’
‘great because we have dinner to get to’ sukuna grabbed your arm and you stumbled as his hand pulled you off.
jin and wasuke made the table while kaori secured choso into his high chair. she wasnt showing yet but sukuna kept looking at her stomach for any signs until you punched his arm and he shoved back at you.
nobody was happy to have this dinner at all because you all knew that the conversation would inevitably spiral in wasuke pestering jin and kaori about their baby and sukuna would try and get a word in before wasuke started raging on about how sukuna was the fruit of the devil and bla bla bla bla bla.
avoiding wasukes tangents as much as possible, the entire table just sat in silence awkward silence while sukuna kicked you under the table to bother you and choso attempted to sing his nursery rhymes. he was incredibly off tune.
wasuke glared around the table like he was looking for a target, sukuna avoided eye contact at all costs and jin kept loading his mouth with food so he wouldnt be able to respond and kaori busied herself with feeding choso.
unfortunately for you, wasuke found himself a new victim that was pretty unpredictable. wasuke called your name and you choked on your lasagna as choso, kaori and sukuna gave you pity glances. even choso stopped his attempts at saying ‘mama’.
you turned to look at wasuke ‘yeah?’
‘what were you uh.. going to college for again?’ he stares at you really intensely. you’re on the verge of peeing yourself.
‘english literature, history and’ you squeak before coming to continue ‘film studies’ your face scrunches in embarrassment ‘it sounds a little silly when i say it out loud’
you reach your glass of water with trembling hands. hes probably going to launch on you about how useless the humanitarian subjects are and how theres no future in film anymore because of nepo babies in the industry. its fine. youre fine. you hear these things all the time. everything will be fine.
‘interesting..’ wasuke thinks out loud. you grip your cup a little too tightly.
“there are fine things in history.’
what the fuck?
sukuna raises a brow and jin looks utterly puzzled and you let go of a breath you didnt even know you were holding.
‘you know, i think everyone these days has such disrespect for the humanities. there is such beauty in them, i think society forgets about how much of the human world is built from them. where would we be without the greeks or shakespeare’
‘pretty sure thats why its called humanities, dad’ sukuna states obviously
‘shut the fuck up ryomen.’
‘k’ sukunas silenced instantly, trying not to get up into another rant of his father calling him satan.
wasuke goes on. and on. and on. and it continues until even after everyone finishes their food and now you and kaori are rushing to clean up the dishes until wasuke follows you into the kitchen.
‘and it its just really revolutionised how we see-’
‘yeah.. yeah totally- sorry to cut you off there- i have to go home.’ you put an end to his rambling.
‘i’ll walk her out!’ sukuna says way too quickly as he jumps from his seat and grabs your arm again.
‘oh well, bye then!’ wasukes voice mutes out as sukuna rushes to get out of the room.
‘bye wasuke!’ youre able to call out as sukuna drags you
‘hes fucking ill im sick of him.’ sukuna whispers in your ear as you nod, agreeing.
sukuna reaches the door, opening it for you as you put on your shoes. he tries to avoid looking at the bend of your lower back, looking anywhere but down. the cold wind blowing your hair into your face. you get up to hug him like always.
‘not staying the night?’ sukuna says as you pull away from hugging him bye, he doesnt wrap his arms around but pats your back pathetically in a way to return the gesture.
‘no i, i still have some cleaning up to do in my room for college’ you sigh.
sukuna hums ‘need me to walk you home?’
‘no its fine. i’ll see you.’ you go ahead to walk off.
‘bye then.’
sukuna lingers at the door for a bit to watch you walk off. he bites his cheek and walks off.
AUTHOR NOTE Hope u could all enjoy this chapter😳😳 this will probably be the last chapter before they enter college. i wanted to something with kaoris character and i had like a convo w her and reader planned out but shes not really in the story I Tried making the showing dynamics in this chapter and some of sukunas pov Hope we Fw it.. also i hope u all dont think im a weirdo for posting really quickly im english so im still on summer break and i spend hours of pure writing
let me know if you want to be added onto the tag list!
Hey, so I know this might be totally ooc but I love making Sukuna fall in love with a soft person who's totally opposite of him. It's my fav type of fanfic about him. Okay so there might be grammatical mistakes so pardon for that. This is for fun purposes only. Don't feed my work into AI. She/you pronounces.
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Sukuna. The frat king. The guy who was the second name for trouble. The one who was arrogant and thought of himself as mighty, didn't specifically had a type but he knew damn well it won't be someone soft or nerdy. It's almost pathetic.
And yet that one day something happened that didn't simply have a turn back.
The campus was buzzing with students filling the grounds and hallways before the final bell rang. Sukuna walked in the ground, bag slinging over one shoulder hands in pocket, his mood forever that particular one that seems like everything personally offends him, frowning at everything. He's mindlessly walking past the crowd of students when his eyes land on someone. A girl. Petting a cat on campus and feeding her cupcakes. So soft and nice.
Pathetic.
He thinks to himself.
He watches for a second, not like he's secretly mesmerized or interested, just watching because he thinks it's ridiculously pathetic and annoying. And yet..he felt something in his chest. He's never seen something like this before or maybe never bothered paying attention to. He ignores it and walks away.
The following few days he keeps seeing her everywhere. Well, not because he was looking for her but it's more like when you're going on a vacation and you see a person in your flight once and then you see them everywhere on your whole vacation. Something like that was happening to Sukuna on campus.
Sometimes she was seen petting that same cat or feeding grain to birds. Sometimes completely focused in whatever book she was reading while walking through the crowd of students. The other day, she was seen carrying a stack of books to help their old professor even tho she herself was little.
Nerd. Pathetic.
That's what Sukuna thinks to himself while huffing every time he looks at her.
Well, she's not a nerd exactly. But more like a quiet person who only talks with that small friend group she has and lives in her own little bubble. Soft and kind. She's way too soft and kind to everyone.
The first time he actually got to be near her was when he was in chemistry class and somehow he found an empty seat only next to her. He was scribbling and doodling mindlessly in his notebook. Chemistry isn't really his thing. Not like he's good at other subjects as well, but chemistry is just something that makes his blood boil or maybe he's just overly dramatic.
He could feel something or specifically someone's gaze boring through his skin.
"What!?" He asks annoyed as he turns to look at her.
"You're doodling in your notebook.." She's frowning while accusing him softly.
He just gets annoyed more.
"And? Mind your own business."
She just frown-pout and goes back to writing down important notes. For some reasons, that made Sukuna feel a pang in his chest.
He groans and slumps back in his chair.
The second time he got to talk to her was when he found an empty seat next to her again, or let's say he made some arrangements to get it. Not like he'd admit it. He's been falling shamelessly in chemistry so the professor asked you to help him if you could.
"Chemistry isn't that hard, y'know?"
"Whatever." He groans again, already getting tired.
"You should focus on your studies."
"Oh yeah? Well too bad I don't care." He says sarcastically.
"You should if you want to pass. Or care for your future."
"Don't lecture me, woman." He grumbles again.
"I'm not lecturing and it's Lemon."
Lemon. Her name. So finally he found out her name too. Hmm.
"Whatever. Just shut up."
And yet, that afternoon, he was found taking tuition from you in the campus Library. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. But for some reasons, his heart does that weird thing again when she frowns when he gets a question wrong or gets distracted. She scolds him but hell even now she's so polite about it. Damn.. Sukuna might explode.
Months have passed since he first saw her. He subconsciously looks for her in the crowd or find a reason to sit next to her which he would say that was the only seat available (he makes arrangements intentionally for that). And strangely if you notice, Sukuna hasn't been fucking any girl ever since that one day. Yeah he still goes to parties and let girls swing over him or cling to his arms. Sukuna has never been the type to flatter or entertain anyone. He's too arrogant and mighty for that, so he doesn't give a damn to those girls. But really, He hasn't been seen making out with anyone at the parties anymore.
And for everyone's surprise and so unlike their usual frat king, he seems kind of distracted all the time he's in the party. His mind seems to be somewhere else or particularly, on someone else. Not like he'd admit it. He doesn't think about people, does he? And yet.. there's this slight weird feeling going in his chest everytime a particular,or maybe someone's particular thought crosses his mind.
It was only of the other usual nights. Heavy music going in, people dancing till they pass out while some were shamelessly making out, alcohol's smell everywhere. He's seated on his usual couch, physically present but mentally somewhere else. Subconsciously his eyes scan the crowd and his eyes land on something. He doesn't care. But his eyes dart there again. And oh-
Oh the sight in front of him. What the heck!??? She's here?? Since when did she start coming to parties? And oh.. she's wearing that stupid little cream colored frock with pink flower patterns on it. That's so ridiculously cute and soft. Who wears that in a party? But oh, if she doesn't look so adorably breathtaking. And then as if realization hit him, his eyes widen for a split second. She's here. In his party. Wearing that cute frock. And surrounded by people. Men specifically. And they'll eye her. Something about it made Sukuna's eye twitch and fists tight. As if subconsciously he stands up and start walking towards her but then he realizes what he's doing and stops in his track. What the fuck is he doing? Why's he going to her?!
As he was mentally contemplating whether to go or not and finding Answers to the questions he has no answers to, she's already dragged to somewhere by her friend. And as he returns back and looks there, she's gone. Great. Just fucking great!.
The rest of the party his eyes seemed to scan the crowd every few seconds. Sure he wasn't looking for her, right? He's just scanning if there's going to be some trouble happening. And as he looks for her trouble again, his eyes lands on a specific sight. She's there. With a guy. And she's.. SMILING at him??!!! Oh no, no, no, ain't no way that's happening. Sukuna's already moving towards her before he can even think and in a few long strides, he's already there. Of course, grumpy like usual.
"What are you doing here? Didn't seem you the type for the parties."
"My friend dragged me."
"Oh yeah? Then where is she?" He asks mockingly.
"There." His eyes follows her finger and oh, there she is. And of course, drinking. Idiot.
His nose smells something on you.
"Did you drink?" He questions it, not nicely of course.
"..No. someone bumped into me and spilled it over me. I did wash it but it's still smelling.
He can't help the eye roll and the Tch that slips past his lips.
"And I assume you forgave them?" He doesn't ask, he's more like stating an annoying fact. And his annoyance only worsens when you nod. Of course. Of course you forgave them instead of fighting. You're just so polite and kind. Pathetic. He thinks again but we all know he doesn't really mean it maybe.
"Come." He says gruffly.
"..Where?"
"Tch. Just follow."
He leads you out of the party in the cool air outside, away from drunk idiots and loudness enough to blast eardrums, before bringing out a smoothie and handing it to you.
(He got it arranged when he saw you in the party) and oh well.. suspiciously enough he knows your favorite one. Strange.
Silence falls over as you accept it with a polite smile and starts drinking, looking way too content for someone drinking something as simple as a smoothie.
He's sure he once heard her say something like Kuna. Did she call him a nickname??
"..what did you just say?!"
"Tuna. I said tuna. I like tuna fish."
Oh.. right. Must have imagined it. Because why would she give him a nickname, right?
Great. He's now even imagining her calling him nicknames.
Almost an year has passed by now since them being well..not friends but not exactly strangers either. She occasionally asks about his tests and sometimes even help him with his doubts, not like he asks for it. His eyes seem to frequently search for her in the crowd, he surprisingly specifically arrives early just to wait for her at the campus gate to walk in with her. That something in his chest not budging and inch, instead it seems to keep growing every day. Seems like Sukuna, the grumpy frat king, who's the foundation of troubles, has a stupid crush on a soft girl who's way too polite for his liking and totally opposite him? No. It can't be that, right? Sukuna doesn't do crushes. But let's be honest, he won't admit it but we know. Someone's got him hooked up and it's not just a timely attraction or amusement, it's genuine interest. Something that keeps thoughts occupied in your mind all the time. But Sukuna would never admit it. He can't. He's too prideful and arrogant for it. Or maybe..he doesn't want to mess this up.
It was around the time when the campus held an event, almost like a fun gala. Food Stalls, games, exhibitions, singing stage..etc. Sukuna seems so out of place standing there. He's not the type to attend these types of things or if he does he would be in a corner having a drink or throwing a fight. But here he is, standing amongst the crowd, searching for only one thing. And oh, he's not in his usual baggy jeans or his usual jewelery and rings but instead.. he's wearing a normal sweatpants and a hoodie looking like a normal person for once instead of a gangster. Well because someone mentioned they like soft dressed people.
As he stands there searching the crowd,his eyes falls on as specific stall. There she is. Looking all soft and pretty as always. The sight almost makes his breath caught in his throat. And what? She's on a pastry stall??? Ugh of course. Typical her. Still he starts walking towards her. When he stops in front of her, he doesn't know what to say. Surprisingly, she's the one person who actually seems to hesitate him. Usually he has his way with words and people and he can get whoever he wants, but she's the only person whom he actually gets hesitant around. Because he doesn't want to mess up with her. He doesn't wanna lose whatever thing he have with her now. So he just..
"What are you doing here?" He asks in forever that grumpy, gruff tone of his.
"I think selling pastries?"
"Tch. I know that, smartass. I'm asking why?"
" Because I love pastries."
What? You love them? Oh he didn't know that. And well.. he's gonna buy it now, just because you said you love them . Well not like he'd ever admit it. It's because he's hungry, right? (He doesn't love sweets at all.)
"How much is one?"
"You're buying? I thought you said you aren't a sweet tooth?"
"Tch, just tell me the price." He sure does get annoyed easily, or maybe he's just bad at handling these feelings. After all, it's the first time he's feeling this way about someone.
"3 dollar for one pastry, 5 dollars for two."
"Wth? That's so cheap. Are you trying to gain loss or something!?"
"Maybe because I'm selling it to spread happiness and not earn profit."
He falls silent at that. Of course. Of course, that's what she would do. She's so ridiculously gentle and kind, it's almost aching. And..it kinda makes his chest swell with affection. Again, not like he gonna admit it.
He hands her a few bucks and takes one. Before she can say anything about the change, he says.
"Keep it."
She frowns. "Am I a charity case?"
He glares at her, damn she's cute but she got a really good way with annoying his shit.
"Did I say you are!?"
"...No." She still protests to give it back. But he cuts her off before she could say anything.
"Just buy a smoothie with it or whatever." He hates how soft he sounds. Of course not visibly, but that is a big thing coming from her.
"Why don't you buy it for me?"
He goes very still. Is she asking him to buy her a smoothie?
"..what?!"
She gives him a polite sweet smile, the kind of smile that eats her eyes in the skin and spread her pretty delicate lips wide. And oh, Sukuna forgot how to breath for a second.
Then realization hit him. She's smiling at him and asking to Like,go with her and buy it together? Is that a smoothie date?
Absurd. Sukuna doesn't do that. And yet he can be seen walking with her to the nearby smoothie stall. So big and grumpy with a small soft princess buying mango-strawberry smoothie. So girly.
(She made him drink it too.)
He went away for a while when one of his friends called him somewhere only for him to come back to the sight of her talking with a guy. He's well dressed, polite smile... looking like a nice guy, and he's touching her..he even brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. And worse, she's smiling back and she looks away. For some reasons, he doesn't like it. He knows he has no right to get jealous, no well sukuna doesn't get jealous, right? But whatever it is, it's not pleasant. From what seems like it could be her.. boyfriend. I mean.. she's pretty, kind and polite. It wouldn't be a surprise if she got a man too, just that Sukuna wished it was..him maybe. He knows she has no restrictions to date anyone and that she can do whatever she wants but why does he want to strip them away? Why does he feels this ugly feeling in his chest?
And irony isn't lost on him as much. Why would a soft, sweet and kind girl like her ever want a troublesome bastard like him? But it doesn't mean it hurts any less.
And just as he's quietly dealing with his jealousy and slight disappointment,he snaps out of his thoughts when he heard her voice calling him. And as much as he wants to turn around and leave, he finds himself walking towards her again because he can't just leave her like that, not when she himself called him, she's his..sweet girl after all.
When he reaches her, he stands there stiffly and looking extra grumpy but it's more like.. quite sadness this time. He doesn't say anything first.
"Hey, meet my brother."
Hmph, Of course, it's her brother. No Wait- his eyes widens. What did she just say? Brother?! Oh..brother..he's her brother. Right..
"Hi.." He awkwardly shakes hands with the guy. Her brother gives him a knowing smile and pats her shoulder once.
"Oh, so you're him, hmm? The one she keeps talking about."
He goes still for the third time this day. She does what? Talks about him? In private? What the...? He couldn't even finish his thoughts when her brother's voice snaps him out of his thoughts again.
"So I assume you'll take good care of my sweet girl, hmm? Y'know she really pure by heart."
He just nods once, he's still mid processing all this. The guy smiles at them once and leaves, leaving them alone again. He doesn't exactly know what her brother meant but from what it sounded like..he suggested.. dating? Or a date?
And now they're walking towards that small ramen shop downtown, her favorite spot. Of course he knows about it (stalker idiot). The shop is filled with cozy lighting, soft paintings and it's all about peace and softness and nothing about his usual dark and crazy places. He looks so out of place there, so ridiculous sitting in a place that isn't his type, he doesn't belong to. But he's sitting with her and she's happy about it so he's exactly where he wants to be.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
So that's it for today.
I know this isn't exactly good writing but I genuinely forgot the story when I sat to write. Anyway, I hope you like it. Please don't copy, repost, or claim my work as yours or feed it in generative AI. Bye bye MWAHH. Lemme know if anyone wanna be tagged in the next posts.
Cologne and Beads of Sweat
Chapter 1: Nuisance
Warning: slightly suggestive themes;
“Ryomen, water that damned plant while you're at it before you head out,” the owner's grumpy voice cuts across the silence. His wrinkly hands swishing side to side in the air.
That damned plant is a short lemon tree potted near the entrance. The first time Sukuna saw that plant, he reeked of cologne, standing with a scowl at the entrance. He could feel his back of the head dampen, heat forming the beads of sweat on his nape as they rolled down his shoulder blades.
"Someone water that damned plant!" It was the owner's voice back then too.
A young blonde man seemingly his age snickered a little as he poured a whole bottle on the plant. He looked up at Sukuna, not registering his annoyed gaze. His eyes squinted a little, as he started cheerfully:
“Now, why would you wanna come here, mister? You seem out of place."
"Huh?" It came out a little too rough. "None of your business. Call your boss here."
He was not cut out of this, all this endless waiting and pent up tension. Hot, humid air tickled his face as he felt more sweat forming near his hairline. The day hadn't even started and he already wished he were cooped up elsewhere munching on his favourite noodles. Time really waltzes away when you need it to rush the most. Fingers impatient, he rubbed his eyebrow a little before clearing his throat, announcing in front of the balding elderly man that he was indeed looking for a job. Briefly for a second he felt that passionate spirit awaken, who used to love digging in to the academic books back in old days.
Life has never fancied him. It never rewarded him of that infamous success that everyone seemed to be talking about. It was a bizzarre thing, turning him into a bitter ghost, a wretched soul. This suited him more, drifting aimlessly, place to place. At least, that's what Toji kept saying, that a person should not bind himself rooted in place. That's why he himself drifted from one place to another, from city to city. He looked satisfied with his life. A normal person would call it a time spent useless, but regardless, Toji was satisfied doing whatever. Satisfaction would be enough if only Sukuna could get his hands on it. So, he was more than bewildered when the balding man smiled a little at his tattooed face that stamped his rebellion and asked, how soon should he have expected him to come.
The following day marked his first day at work as a waiter. Though that feeling of satisfaction, he couldn't quite muster it yet, it's like all there was to him was indifference, tranquility and so much rage underneath all of it. Nevertheless, he delivered, completing every task given. Even his break went quiet, except that old hag that kept interrupting his smoke break. She kept going on and on about her family business of owning a bookstore. Her wrinkly face lit up as she went on:
"Getting a job here of all the places, how lucky for Abe. He won't have to worry about shady customers. One look at you and it's all over for them."
This woman was a nuisance. Sukuna felt his ears buzz a little, familiar waves rising from his abdomen up to his neck. Squinting his eyes a little, he turned his back to her while his fingers skimmed through a tiny box of nicotine.
"I wish I had an employee like you."
Here it goes again.
The more she talked, the more bitterness he felt on the tip of his tongue.
"Can you look after the girls working here? Nothing too much, just keep an eye on them whenever you can."
For fuck's sake.
Now they wanted him to play the role of a babysitter. It's like the world can not really get into its head that Sukuna dreads anything other than doing things for himself, that is also to drag himself from day to day. Unapproving of the old woman's request he stayed quiet, not daring to take a glance in her direction and as if she sensed that, she padded slowly towards the entrance of her green building. Satisfied with himself, the corner of his mouth dragged up as a slight chuckle made the cigarette smoke huff out in waves.
As if.
He already had too much on his plate on its own.
That evening was the first time he ever took a glance towards the so called "girls" that old woman was talking about. You and the others, sitting comfortably in the right corner of the tea house admiring the eastern design of the room. You looked so cozy that his stomach churned a little. His mind raced trying to remember the last time he felt that comfortable too but it got all too blurry and dark, so he gave it up, walking over to the table with a little notepad in his giant hands. At first, he tried to fight the scowl forming on his face for a while, but he gave up eventually. The usual stern look was embedded on his skin.
"Ready to order?" His voice came out low and rough, making the girls side eye a little as they grinned and ordered sweets alongside some butterfly pea tea.
From that day on he found you in the right corner of the eastern motive ornamented room almost every week. Even though you always repeated the same "two sandwiches and the butterfly tea," he couldn't help but ask about the order each time. No, it was not because he wanted to hear your voice or some related bullshit, it was because he excelled at everything on the first try and he so turned out to be the best employee of the month, the most punctual of them all. Though, not as punctual as Maurice apparently, who seemed to glue his body over yours each time he struck up a conversation, batting his eyelashes, beaming with a lopsided grin, sliding his fingers briefly across your nape. That was the image he was met with each time he spotted you two together. But really, that was no surprise for a person like him. He knew how much an average human craved such intimacy, chasing the thrills of it. He knew those things all too well, but knowing and understanding are two contradictory terms. He couldn't seem to understand the need to dedicate one's being to that illusion, something so fickle that could ruin a person's life in a heartbeat.
Love. Attraction. spark? Whoever came up with those terms must have been one hell of a pathetic guy. Or so did Sukuna think. That is why, during his smoke break he wasn't surprised to see you two pressed up against each other in the dark alley between the shops, Maurice grunting a little, cradling the side of your face with his hand, as his other hand slipped to hook underneath your knee.
Humans. Animals. The same thing. The though flew across his mind as he decided to avert his gaze, wanting to smoke in peace. He seemed to have made some kind of noise, because your eyes found his and your face flushed. Pushing Maurice a little too rough, you quickly slipped past Sukuna. He shrugged with a grin when Maurice's dumbfounded gaze dropped on his.
Animals indeed. Curious animals.
He didn't mind though. He kept to himself, not gracing his coworkers with his words, doing his daily tasks as usual to achieve that satisfaction, but it felt empty. That's his fault for believing in Toji. Yes, how could that fucker have known better, it's not like he was a philosopher. So, Sukuna decided to leave this shithole of a place. He didn't know when exactly, but the decision was made.
Deep in thoughts, the soil overflows with water as it drips across the concrete. The damned lemon tree is watered.
"Are you out of your mind?" Your voice trembles. "If you were not my friend, I would've slapped you right now."
"Friends help each other, don't you know that?" He knows that annoying voice all too well. "Once is all I'm asking."
“No, don't ask me that again. I'm leaving," the chair screeches.
“Huh... Fine. Can we do that again though?" That raised tone of speech hurts Sukuna's eardrums. God, is he becoming more sensitive or is this Maurice guy just so. Fucking. Noisy.
“If you decide to be weird again, I'm kicking you out.”
Sukuna feels his ears ring. You are both so annoying. He had indifference at least but fuck, what did he do so wrong in past lifetime that it turns into annoyance.
Noticing Sukuna on your way out, you flash him a nervous grin, fidgeting your manicured fingers on the black handbag:
“He's helping me. As a model. I sketch. He's a childhood friend."
He feels his scowl deepen.
Whatever.
Your face falls a little.
Nuisance.
That's what you are.
Strolling down the narrow street, you grin. How fucking pathetic. Explaining, blabbing on, as if he gives a damn.
He was making a face...
Your stomach churns, you should've brought some water.
Entering the subway station, cool air threads across your hair. People move like ants. Everyone looks so busy, fidgeting. You'd have to fight tooth and nail to find a proper place not to get crushed inside.
He smelled of cologne... That fuzzy smell tingling the tip of your nose. His big hands were probably so warm. He had his nails painted black. He always did, as if he was born like that. You often find yourself staring at them, connecting them to his ink lines peeking under the white shirt so thin, it almost looks see-through. That goes well with his pink spiky hair that hardly ever messes up whenever he smooths his hands over it, deep in thoughts. He always looks so out of place, seemingly too different and too big to be walking around the vintage place as a waiter. In your mind he could've easily been a noble lord somewhere in ancient times, strolling down the engawa with a face that for once showed no sign of scowl. How old-fashioned of you.
Engrossed with such thoughts, you find your stomach twisting nervously again, stumbling into the packed train. Your hand slips as you finally manage to hold onto the metal pole, taking out your phone from your handbag, not surprized when the screen shows Maurice's incoming texts. Photos. He holds his head dramatically in two of them, while he looks melancholic laying on his side in the third one. You did ask him to model for you, interested to see how artists worked in the environment such as that, but over some time your childhood friend got so into it that he sent some photo references on his own. The fourth picture has him fully naked into a graceful pose near the window. How cheeky. You two did fool around some months ago out of curiosity. It felt safe, good, but repeating it more than twice, you felt the same sadness engulfing your heart that seems to come every night before sleep. Your noisy mind turning even noisier, you stared at the ceiling jumping from one thought to another until the birds started chirping outside and the sky lit up with the first rays of sunshine. Being intimate with Maurice left you pleasured but sad. You are built that way. Insomniac, sad freak. Over-worker, but not someone who despises themself.
You must have been so lost in thoughts staring at Maurice's last picture that looking up, you just register a hand much bigger than yours holding onto the pole just above your fingers, not quite touching them. The fingers manicured in black. Wrist tattooed in dark circle.
Fuck.
You feel your whole skin heat up. Sweat drips out of every pore on your body as you slowly look up at the massive figure standing just behind you. Your eyes meet his in a flash, but his seem to be glued onto the screen of your phone. Your fingers shake, throwing the phone into the bag after pressing every possible button to shut off the screen. His eyes finally fall on yours, his brows forming twin creases between them.
“I- H-hi, I have to sketch those. He models for me."
He stares, eyes not leaving yours. Train shakes, forcing people to squeeze tighter, forcing him to press against you a little further.
Great, you. You seem to have a knack for embarrassing yourself in front of him.
"Please, do not misunderstand,” Your voice dims with each word.
You don't even know why you're speaking to him, and in a defensive manner at that.
His eyes finally leaving yours, now skim across your face, sliding across your manicured fingers matching his black, across you mouth and furrowed eyebrows, your steady shoulders. His other hand lifts replacing the first one on the pole as the latter slides a little further to the right, basically caging you in place.
Smelling that snaky cologne, you shift sideways, averting your gaze, trying to look engrossed in the shitty mass of people being pressed against each other, when you feel his heavy palm sliding up your forearm to rest onto your shoulder, pressing against the side of your neck.
“Sneaky,” His voice booms, hoarse and condescending, layered with sinister snicker. And it feels like the whole buzzy crowd quietens.
“No! I told you-"
“That you sketch what, naked men? In your bed? Or theirs?"
He has never talked to you before, granting you the "scowl specials," but really, he was granting that to everyone, except Mr. Abe. So, hearing his gruff, deep voice for the first time leaves you annoyed... and bewitched.
"I do the normal type of sketching! I study anatomy that way!" Your voice rises with each sentence, your face glaring up at his.
The corner of his mouth lifts up as his eyes darken further, no sign of playfulness in them. The voice in the train calls out the name of the passing station as his cologne shifts farther and farther, leaving your side. His massive figure leaves emptiness as it vanishes towards the entrance and out. Your heart squawks, uneasiness settling into the round of your stomach, but your fingers itch a little, wishing his rough hands have had slipped and rubbed against yours for a passing second.
The walk back home is quiet, except for the group chat exploding with incoming messages. Some write about getting a new internship, while others complain about their bosses. Your phone lights up, your sister's voice coming from the other side:
“I don't think I can make it today, I am really busy with the upcoming exams. I'll drop by your workplace tomorrow and let's go home together then."
Thinking that today went well, you open the door to your apartment. You change into your casual clothes, eat the leftover rice and stew, cooking up some scrambled eggs in the meantime. Eventually, the room darkens a little and you feel your eyelids droop, your body searching for some rest. That's when you decide that you should probably just slip under the covers and for once get a good night's sleep…
…
For the nth time tonight, the screen of your phone glows with 3:30 A.M. written on it, when you shut it off again, laying your head against the pillow, sentences swimming across your mind. God, if only you could fall asleep. Dreading the thought of staying awake the whole night, you get up, walking towards the window, huffing, tension bursting off of your skin.
You should cry.
It's not like you are sad or anything, no, it's so that that could exhaust you to sleep, force you to slip into the slumber. Forcing your tears to fall, you think about everything and nothing at once and eventually, sniffing into the white tissue in your hand you climb into the cool bed. Your nose congested, you huff against your fingers, eyes closing, forcing your mind to still. You feel like you won't dream tonight, your head will pound, but you don't think that your mind will draw up the setting of the crowded train again.
The train so stuffed of people that it almost bursts. You standing inside, holding the pole so tightly. Sukuna right behind you. Pressed up against your back. His strong fingers holding onto the pole just above yours. Your consciousness drifting. His left hand lifting up caging you in just like before until its massive frame lands onto the lower part of your stomach. Pressing there. His fingers spreading across. Pressing more. Possessive. The pads of his fingers sharing their warmth to the plush of your lower belly. Your lashes trembling. Your hands switching their hold onto his hand there, snaking around his elbow and wrist. The warmth spreading and spreading and spreading until it bursts downside wet.
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