— ᨳଓ . 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 is a little worried about scaring your newborn ...
sukuna stands in the doorway of the nursery like he’s been summoned to a fight he’s not sure he can win.
the baby—his baby—is three days old and currently asleep in the bassinet, wrapped in a pink blanket that looks absurdly small against the sheer size of him. he hasn’t held her yet. not really. not the way you do, all soft and natural like you were born for this. he’s touched her, sure. brushed his knuckles over her tiny fist. let her grab his finger once while you were changing her. but actually holding her? that feels like a different kind of risk.
you’re in the rocking chair by the window, half-asleep yourself, watching him with that patient, knowing look that makes his chest ache.
“she’s not gonna bite you,” you murmur, voice thick with exhaustion.
he grunts. “she’s got no teeth.”
“exactly.”
he doesn’t move. he just stands there in his black t-shirt and sweats, arms crossed, staring at the bassinet like it might explode. his hands—big, scarred, covered in ink that’s faded just slightly with time—feel too rough for something so small. he’s killed men with these hands. broken bones. torn flesh. and now there’s this tiny, fragile thing that’s half him and half you, and he’s supposed to… what? rock her? change her? sing to her? the thought of any of those things makes his stomach twist.
“what if i scare her?” he asks, voice low. “what if she looks at me and just… knows?”
you blink, sitting up a little. “knows what?”
“that i’m not—” he stops. exhales through his nose. “that i’m not built for this.”
you stand, crossing the room slowly, and slide your arms around his waist from behind. your cheek presses to his back, warm and familiar. “you’re her dad.”
“i’m also a murderer.”
“retired.”
he huffs, but there’s no humor in it. “she doesn’t know that.”
“she doesn’t know anything yet. except that she likes when you talk to her.”
he glances down at you, one eyebrow raised. “she does not.”
“she does. her heart rate slows when she hears your voice. the nurse said so.”
he doesn’t respond. just stands there, quiet, watching the rise and fall of the baby’s tiny chest. she’s got your nose. your mouth. but her hair—dark, already thick—is all him. and her eyes, when they’re open, are the same sharp, calculating shape as his. it’s unsettling. like looking at a version of himself that hasn’t learned how to be cruel yet.
you give him a gentle push toward the bassinet. “go on. she won’t break.”
he hesitates for a long moment. then he uncrosses his arms, steps forward, and reaches down. his hands look enormous against her tiny body, but he’s careful—gentler than he’s ever been with anything in his life. he lifts her slowly, cradling her head the way the nurse showed him, and settles her against his chest.
she doesn’t cry. she doesn’t even stir. the baby only makes a soft, sleepy sound and nestles closer, her tiny fist curling against his shirt.
sukuna stares down at her, frozen.
“see?” you whisper, smiling. “she knows you.”
he doesn’t answer, holding his daughter like she’s made of glass, his heart hammering in his chest. she’s so small. so warm. and when she opens her eyes—dark, familiar, trusting—he feels something crack open inside him that he didn’t even know was there.
“hey,” he murmurs, voice rough. “it’s me. your… dad.”
the baby blinks up at him, unfocused, and makes another soft sound. an acknowledgment. like she’s saying hi back.
sukuna exhales, long and slow, and something in his shoulders eases. not all the way. not yet. but enough.
“you’re not scary,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to his arm. “not to her.”
he doesn’t argue. just holds his daughter closer, letting her tiny fist wrap around his finger, and wonders how the hell he got this lucky.
Sukuna tells his daughter how to deal with bullies :)
Ryomen Sukuna’s stomach twisted into knots when he first received the call from the assistant principal of his daughter’s elementary school.
“She’s having a rough day . . .” the woman started to say over the phone. “Her teacher claims that a few of her classmates were picking on her during-”
Click.
The woman was met with the all-too-familiar buzz of an abruptly ended phone call, as this wasn’t the first time she had to call Sukuna for one reason or another.
And, just as it happened a few months ago when they delivered the news that his five-year-old girl had been struck down with a stomach bug, Sukuna could be seen through the windows of the front office speeding down the road, flicking off the cars that honked at him, and swirling his vehicle into the school's lot. He treated the parking lines as if they were a suggestion, his crookedly parked car now a source of misery for the poor vehicles that would have to maneuver around it.
It was rather comedic — the way he, a pissed-off, enormous man with tattoos decorating his muscles, so drastically contrasted against the soft pink, blue, and yellow paintings of shapes and animals that decorated the school lobby.
And, this time, you were with him.
And the sight of you walking into the main office alongside your husband made the assistant principal’s palms sweat, and the nervous woman silently sent up a merciful prayer on behalf of the bullies and their careless parents.
The sniffling little girl’s teary eyes widened upon seeing you both. She jumped out of her seat, running into the open arms of her kneeling father with a squeal of relief.
“What happened, sweet girl?” He asked, his face and voice a poetic, chaotic mix of concern and anger.
She was too upset to talk. Too upset to be understood clearly.
She only hiccuped, moved away from her father as she wrapped her arms around your lower body, and, sadly, she mumbled, “momma.”
You stroked her forehead with your thumb — a gentle touch that represented all the love you felt for her. But, the piercing glare you gave the assistant principal sent a shiver down the poor woman’s spine.
“I want names and addresses,” you ordered.
“W-Well,” the woman swallowed thickly. “We must maintain a certain level of anonymity for the safety of-”
“Sukuna,” you interrupted, turning back to face him with a poisoned smile. “Take her to the car, please.”
Hand-in-hand, he and your daughter made their way out of the building. Though he knew you wouldn’t leave that building until you figured out who exactly made your daughter burst into tears, Sukuna too had his own way of handling things.
He opened the back door for the crying girl and watched as she entered the back seat.
Resting his arm on the car roof, he said, “I’m thinkin’ a little ice cream will turn that frown upside down, huh?”
She shook her head as she buckled her seatbelt.
“A lot of ice cream?”
She nodded slowly.
“We have a deal.” He touched her wet cheek lightly, stroking away the falling tears. The sight of them never failed to snap his heart into pieces. “I told you what to say to those brats when they’re mean to you. You remember?”
She nodded slowly yet again.
“What was it?”
“Uhhh,” she thought for a moment, then, as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in her head, she grinned. “You said to tell them to die!”
“That’s right. When we get home, I’m gonna teach you a couple of bad words to add on to that, alright?”
“And then you said that, um, to sometimes punch them. Or say go to hell.”
“Yep,” Sukuna nodded. “Sometimes, words aren’t needed. Fists are.”
The little girl looked down at her tiny fists — specifically the left one with a Good job! smiley sticker given to her by her teacher for completing her homework.
“Listen. No matter what happens, you call me and your mom.” Sukuna said. As if summoned, you stepped out of the doors of the school with a piece of paper in hand and a look of pure satisfaction. “We’ll always protect you. Now, what do we say when someone’s mean to us?”
“Go die! Go to hell!”
“That’s right,” With a smile, he high-fived her, and made his way to the driver’s seat.
yuuji could never be quiet. not when he has no concept of an inside voice. you've tried to teach him. you've knelt down to his level, put a finger to your lips, and demonstrated a quiet voice in the softest tone you could manage.
he had nodded seriously, his little face scrunched in concentration, and then he had turned around and shouted for sukuna at full volume, spooking you so much that you jumped at least half a foot in the air.
his inside voice is just his regular voice.
his regular voice is just shouting.
and his shouting could be heard three blocks away.
so when sukuna had asked you to stay the week, muttering something about a brat who wouldn't stop asking when you were coming back, which was as close as he ever got to admitting he'd missed you too, you had already agreed before he finished talking. he didn't dare look at you when he said it, his attention fixed on his phone, voice pitched gruff and carefree—but you felt the softness tucked underneath. by the time you arrived a few days later, your overnight bag slung over one shoulder, your bag had barely touched the floor before a tiny blur of pink hair came barreling down the hallway.
“auntie!”
you barely had time to breathe before a frantic pitter-patter against the hardwood that grew louder and louder until impact.
a small body slammed into your legs, wrapping both little arms around you in a hug so enthusiastic it nearly knocked you both off balance.
small fingers dug into the fabric of your jeans, the impact pushing you back a step, with your bag slipping from your shoulder and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
his face pressed into your thigh, his breath warm through the denim, and the sound he made - a tiny, muffled squeak - said everything his words hadn't caught up to yet.
“there you are!” you laughed, crouching to scoop him into your arms. “i missed you too.”
“i missed you sooo much! like this much!” he declared, stretching his arms as wide as they would go before immediately hugging you again. “uncle kuna said you were coming after breakfast yesterday.. then after bedtime.. then today!”
from the living room came a scoff.
“you’re late.”
you glanced over to find sukuna leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, his face the picture of practiced indifference despite the unmistakable ease that had settled over his expression the moment you’d walked in.
“i said i’d be here this morning.”
“it’s nearly noon.”
“it’s eleven.”
“so-so.”
you rolled your eyes.
“good to see you too.” all you got in return was a low hum.
before sukuna could pretend to be any more indifferent, yuuji looked between the two of you, his little head swiveling back and forth with zero attempt at subtlety, his mouth forming a perfect little 'o' of realisation.
“uncle kuna missed you lots!”
sukuna’s glare slid toward his nephew.
“i did not.”
“you did!” yuuji insisted, nodding so hard his pink hair bounced, he puffed out his cheeks and scrunched his brows together, attempting sukuna’s deep, gravelly voice. “you kept lookin’ at your phone an’ going, ‘where is she?’”
“i absolutely did not say that.” he said, his finger moving in a slow, bored wag that made it clear he found the accusation ridiculous, swatting away the very idea.
“you did!”
“i said you were asking.”
“nuh-uh!” yuuji puffed out his cheeks. “you asked too!”
for a fleeting second, something suspiciously close to embarrassment crossed sukuna’s face.
“tch.”
he reached over and ruffled yuuji’s hair just enough to make him squeal.
“little snitch.”
the next morning, you had dressed yuuji in his little teal dinosaur sweater, the one with the tiny yellow spikes along the back and sleeves that he insisted made him look like a ‘real t-rex’, and had fed him his favourite breakfast of buttered rice and ripe strawberries sliced into thin ovals while he chattered about something about flying and a giant cat and a mountain made of candy, the logic looping in knots the way only a toddler's imagination can.
you simply had nodded along, giggling, brushing a grain of rice off his chin with your thumb.
sukuna had slept in because he'd been up long past midnight with whatever quiet work kept him glued to that laptop of his, shoulders tense, jaw set, and three empty mugs, their insides stained dark, abandoned beside him by the time dawn arrived.
so it had just been you and yuuji at the park—with your morning consisting of the nephew you’ve come to love like your own chasing seagulls back and forth with the single-minded passion of a much larger predator, becoming instant friends with a ruffled akita twice his size, demanding the swings and slides more than you can count.
by the time you headed home, you had a tired but happy toddler in tow, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink from the sun, with his little hand wrapped trustingly around your palm.
you had settled him on the rug with his dinosaurs while you collapsed onto the couch, feeling like you'd already run a marathon before noon.
yuuji had been completely absorbed in narrating an elaborate battle between a t-rex and a triceratops, his voice doing all the comical roars, screechs, and stomps needed himself on the rug just moments ago, his bright laughter filling the space like sunshine.
but then—silence.
you glanced down at the rug.
yuuji could never be quiet. not when he’s eating—every bite is accompanied by little hums of approval, his cheeks puffed out with grains of rice sticking out his mouth, tiny hands gripping his spoon like it's a treasure, occasionally looking up at you with wide eyes and going "auntie, this is the BEST food i've ever had", or when his tiny feet always seemed to pad on every creaky floorboard in existence.
but right now?
nothing.
no little voice asking a million questions in a row.
not a single giggle, nor a single pitter-patter of tiny feet running back and forth down the hallway.
empty.
the action figures lay abandoned, one of them tragically facedown.
you sat up a little straighter, frowning.
sukuna's eyes narrowed, his head tilting just slightly as he listened.
"kuna," you said softly, nudging his leg with your foot. "where'd yuuji go?"
the silence stretched, earning a hum of disapproval from the pink haired man, and a low grumble rumbling from his chest. "that brat's up to something."
with you having a nephew of your own back home, you knew better than most that the silence of a child is not one to trust.
one minute too long and the house could be upside down.
“yuu! what ya up to!”
silence.
no tiny dinosaur roars.
no exaggerated stomping.
no delighted little giggles.
"yuu?" you called, already pushing yourself off the couch.
your heart gave an uncomfortable little squeeze as you checked the kitchen, empty and clean, the counters wiped down from breakfast. then the hallway, stretching long and quiet, the doors all closed. then the staircase, your steps quickening with each empty room you passed, heavy breath catching in your throat as the weight bloomed hotter in your chest.
"..yuuji?"
by the time you reached your bedroom, your pulse had crawled into your throat.
you finally found him, curled into a tiny ball in the middle of your bed, fast asleep.
one small hand still clutching the collar of your worn out robe in his sleep, which he'd apparently dragged clean off its hook and dragged onto the mattress like treasure.
the worry melted clean from you.
a sleepy sigh escaped him as he nuzzled even deeper into it, his tiny nose buried against the fabric.
it completely dwarfed him, the oversized sleeves pooling around his little body as though he’d first tried to wear it before it made a much better blanket.
you remembered him he declared, with all the solemn conviction a three-year-old could muster, that you were “the coziest auntie ever” because you smelt nice. you simply laughed, chalking it up to the little sense that toddlers seemed to live by.
now, watching him cling so tightly to something that carried your scent, you wondered if maybe he’d meant every word.
you could picture the way he must’ve toddled into your room on determined little feet, stretching onto his tiptoes to reach the robe, proudly tugging it free, then wrestling the mountain of fluffy fabric all the way onto the bed before collapsing into it, satisfied with a job well done, deciding he’d done enough work for one day.
“so clingy,” you whispered, unable to keep the fondness out of your voice.
“..just like your uncle.”
as if he can form and understand a solid sense of what you’ve said through the haze of sleep, yuuji’s nose wrinkled in his sleep.
you brushed a few unruly pink strands of hair away from his forehead, then pulled the robe up over his shoulders, tucking it beneath his chin.
for now, there was only the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, with the afternoon sunlight spilling across the dust boards, and the little boy asleep beneath your robe, convinced that as long as he could catch traces of you nearby, the world would still exactly in place.
thank you for reading, please like and reblog (๑>◡<๑)ྀིྀི.
Frat!kuna x classical musician!reader goes to watch ballet together
Frat!kuna couldn’t say no to you. He couldn’t say no to you when you forced him to eat a kale salad at a restaurant, or when you made him listen to classical music a little while ago. Don’t get him wrong, he was happy to oblige all since they weren’t a big deal for him—at the same time, he knew deep down that even if it was something he would vehemently disagree to do if someone else suggested it, simply looking at your pretty doe eyes alone would convince him.
So when you entered the room, hiding something behind your back with a cheeky smile, he braced himself for another situation where he would succumb to your beauty and allow himself to be thrown into a situation he despises.
“Look.”
He looked up from his phone, sitting up slightly from the soft blankets draped across your bed. He couldn’t help the slight curve of his lip at the sight of your grin, heart never failing to flutter at the sparkle in your eyes, even when they looked more mischievous than anything. “What?”
You showed him two tickets, hiding your smile behind them with a giggle. “I got two free tickets for a ballet performance.”
He cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Ballet?”
“Yeah! It also has a pit orchestra! Aren’t I lucky?”
“…And you want me to go?”
“Please?” you asked, coming to the bed to sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You gave him a pout and your best puppy eyes that had his tension immediately loosen.
Sukuna rested his hands on your hips, one of them rubbing your back. He was already feeling his muscles turn weak at your expression and the word ‘yes’ was already at the tip of his tongue, but he pushed it down for now. “You want me to go to a ballet performance?”
“It’s a great introduction to you listening to live orchestral music, since you have such a horrible attention span!” The way you said so brightly and audaciously made him deadpan at you. “Plus it’s ballet! How could you say no to ballet!?”
He raised a brow at your enthusiastic answers that made it sound as though you were speaking common sense. But that train of thought was quickly cut off when you leaned in to press a chaste kiss on his lips and pulled back with an even brighter smile.
“Come on, Kuna, please?”
He hesitated. “Is there a dress code?”
Your smile froze, slightly dimming as you leaned away from him, and finally it morphed into a grimace. Gaze flitting from his tattoos and piercings, then down to his sports brand t-shirt, sports shorts and a pair of white sports socks, then to the bedside where his baseball cap was rested that he usually wears backwards, then imagining his collection of sports sneakers, your grimace turned down right offensive with a look of pure judgement in your eyes.
“You think there isn’t?”
He narrowed his eyes, pinching your sides and earning a yelp from you. “You got a problem, brat?”
“I’ve never seen you wear anything other than this,” you said defensively. “Or on better days maybe some jeans and a nicer t-shirt, and you do look great! But you know.”
“So you think I’m unacceptable?” he grumbled.
“You think going to a nice venue in a gym rat costume is acceptable?”
He scrunched his nose, sulking for a brief moment, before he sighed heavily, burrowing his face into his neck. “Fine.”
You cheered loudly in glee, giving him a tight hug and a big rough kiss on his cheek, feeling the twitch of his mouth against your lips. “Thank you, Kuna!”
“What do I have to wear?” he sighed again, though he squeezed you back with his own kiss on your cheek.
“Do you have a suit?”
“Oh, for fucks sake.”
──────────୨ৎ──────────
A loud scream reverberated in your humble dorm room upon opening your door. He wore a simple black suit over a white collared shirt, fitting his muscles all too well as the fabric stretched over his bulging biceps and gifted pecs.
“You look so good, Kuna,” you coo, placing your hands on his forearm to appreciate his attire.
“What’re you talking about, woman? You’re the one who chose the fit when we went shopping.”
You shoved a finger on his lips, digging into the plush skin harshly to shut him up. “Shh, let me enjoy the view of you wearing actual clothes for once.”
“Oi.”
“Shh.”
He rolled his eyes, but his chest swelled from your compliment and a defeated smile made its way on his face. Leaning in, he took your finger away by your wrist and pressed a kiss on your pulse.
“You look good too.”
──────────୨ৎ──────────
Sukuna couldn’t really tell whether the goosebumps on his arms were from the live orchestra racing the tempo of the dancers, or the way you grazed your finger across his palm so feather-lightly. He glanced at you, heart fluttering at your focused gaze prettily reflecting the lights of the stage—even though the free tickets meant that the two of you were seated at the very back, you had a content smile on your face watching the performance.
He gently brought you closer by the arm gently hugging your side, prompting you to tuck your head against his chest. Before you could even look up at him, he lowered his head to place a kiss on your temple. And when your eyes did meet with his mirthful ones, you beamed up at him and leaned in to peck his lips much to his delight.
“Are you enjoying it?” you whispered against his ear.
Sukuna simply hummed and rested his head on top of yours.
Word count: 14,605 (more dialogue than typical for me)
Tags/warnings: Angst to comfort, fluff, my most suggestive/sexual story but no actual smut, mentions of painful/toxic past relationships, discussions of coercion, hypersexual undertones for Sukuna, avoidant attachment undertones for reader, weird passages of time, flawed characters, discussions of drug usage and addiction (side character), unhealthy coping mechanisms, culturally accurate misogyny, retiredteabag's first scary adventure into dialogue-heavy storytelling
When Harry Met Sally AU: (see summary)
Recent College graduates share a contentious car ride from their hometown to the big city where they have been newly employed, during which they argue about whether men and women can ever truly be strictly platonic friends. Years later, they meet again, and in the company of their respective friends, attempt to prove the lifelong question one way or another. Can they move from unwilling to deep friendship without sex becoming an issue between them? And after the pain of their previous relationships, are either of them even fit for love?
The two of you met in late spring.
The car ride from your hometown to the big city stretched ahead of you, the excitement laden with an unwanted obligation. You shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Sukuna's beat-up sedan, already regretting your mutual friend's bright idea to carpool the six-hour journey.
Itadori Sukuna had been sat beside you, having agreed to drive "the first leg of the journey", which ended up as him driving the whole way. His music was loudly playing through the speakers, one hand was draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
He had that look about him, the kind of casual confidence that you really only ever saw on a man like himself. Though you both were recent alumni of the same university, and by some insane chance actually had a connection through one of your roommates, you had never hung out with his crowd.
Even so, post graduation, you were headed to the same city. So there you were, buckled into his carpeted seats.
His girlfriend had sadly said goodbye with a messy kiss before he hopped in, embarked toward a full-time job, and coincidentally, your boyfriend waited for you in the very same direction.
It was supposed to be convenient, sharing the trip.
The first hour passed in relative silence, punctuated only by occasional comments about traffic or which exit to take, maybe a short story about mutual classmates here and there. Somewhere around the first rest stop, after you'd both stretched your legs and grabbed terrible convenience store coffee, the conversation shifted into something more substantial.
"So," Sukuna said, merging back onto the highway, "how long have you and what's-his-name been together?"
You lean down to untie your shoes and hum, "Kenji. and three years now. We met in Yaga's class, actually, he graduated last year." You sipped your coffee, wincing at the bitterness. "What about you and...?"
"Misa. A little over a year, I guess." He glanced over. "You think you'll marry him?"
The question caught you off guard; Not only did he seriously not seem like the type to marry, but he also did not seem like the type to think about it or care. "Uhh, I don't know. Maybe? We haven't really talked about it."
"Talked about it?" Sukuna's tone suggested what he thought of that. Chuckling, he continued, "I mean, either you know, or you don't, right?."
You didn't like the idea of being stuck in the car with someone you were arguing with, so you just sighed a bit and murmured, "I don't know, I don't think it's that simple."
"It kind of is, though." He switched lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. "Three years... I mean, you either want to spend your life with someone, or you don't. That should be communicated up front."
You turned in your seat to face him properly. "Really? And you know you want to spend the rest of your life with Misa?"
Something flickered across his face, "Hell no." Laughing, he merged back.
You gaped open-mouthed, "Wha- how could you say that!"
He turned a moment to look at you, smiling, you had smacked your hand on the console between you both in shock, the man turning between you and the road before speaking, "Are you kidding? You think she wants to marry me, either?"
You paused, "You are incredibly unromantic."
"You're the one saying, 'oh, I don't know' when I asked." He shrugged, mocking your tone with a casual gesture that seemed to dismiss everything. "Romance is more about finding someone you don't want to strangle after living with them for a year."
You smiled a little despite yourself. "Is that really your bar for marriage? Tolerability?"
"You say that like it's nothing." He glanced at you again, and there was something almost defensive in his expression. "Most people can't even manage that. They get married because "they're in love", or the sex is good, but then six months later, bam, they realize they hate how the other person chews their food or whatever, and suddenly they're divorced."
"So you're planning to just find someone you tolerate well enough? Man, I feel bad for Misa..." You shake your head at his implication and stretch your legs in front of you.
Sukuna shakes his head, "I'm saying love isn't enough. You need more than that." He paused, considering. "You need to at least be somewhat" he adjusts the visor, searching for the word, "...friends, too. They gotta be someone who you want to be with even when they're driving you crazy." He used his hand as an air quote on "friends".
"Does Misa drive you crazy?"
"No." The answer came quickly, a higher tone. "But that's just cause our thing doesn't allow for the crazy to come out, we're not serious like that. Just comfortable."
You settled back into your seat, processing this. "I think I'd like more than comfortable, actually."
"Yeah?" Sukuna's smirk returned. "Good luck with that. Let me know how it works out for you in twenty years when you're still chasing some perfect fairy tale instead of building a real life with someone."
The comment stung more than it should have. Who was he to say something so harsh to someone he had just met? How come he was so abrasive? You couldn't tell why he wouldn't just concede. "At least I'll know I didn't settle."
"Settling." Sukuna shook his head. "That's what people say when they're holding out for something that doesn't exist. Every relationship is settling in some way. You think there's some perfect person out there who matches everything you want? That's a fantasy."
"I think there's someone out there who makes you want to be better. Someone who... I don't know, challenges you and supports you, and makes you become like the best version of yourself." You crossed your arms. "And I don't think that's settling."
He is still for a moment, and you think you've won, until he just flattens his mouth, almost rolling his eyes, "Sounds exhausting, or like counting on a whole lot of luck."
You groan, "It sounds like actually being in love."
The man was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that suggested irritation. "You know what your problem is?"
"Please, enlighten me."
"You know, your friend told me that you're gonna be a personal assistant. No wonder, cause I bet you overthink everything." You squirm in your seat to face him, and he murmurs something along the lines of "right up your alley".
You turn away, watching the countryside blur past the window. "I would be willing to wait for the person I'm meant to be with."
"Give it a few years. You'll change your mind."
You were done fighting, eventually, he caught your drift, and the conversation shifted, moving into safer territory like your new jobs, mutual friends, and professors you had. But an undercurrent of tension remained.
Somewhere around hour four, Sukuna pointed out something in your line of conversation that would become the cornerstone of your argument. Only at this time, you didn't know how important it would become.
"You have a lot of guy friends, huh?" He asked it casually, but there was something leading in the question.
"I mean... a few. Why?"
"Just wondering." He paused for a long moment, but eventually he said it. "You really think men and women can be friends?"
You rolled your eyes, having heard it all before. Clearly, to you, this man was trying to be annoying, "Oh, please, of course. I have plenty of male friends."
Sukuna snickered, and for some reason, it bothered you more than anything else in this whole discussion. "No, you don't."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm saying, you might think they're your friends, but I guarantee at least half of them want to sleep with you." He said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. You gasp, and he continues, "That or they're closeted," when you were stuck looking for a reply, he added, "That's just how it is."
"That... is so not true."
"It absolutely is." Sukuna merged into the exit lane as signs for a rest area appeared, landing the final blow with certainty. "Men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."
"That's ridiculous." You felt heat rising in your face, annoyed by his finality. "Not everything is about sex."
"I didn't say everything was. I just said it gets in the way. Even if neither person acts on it, the thought is there. One person catches feelings, or wonders 'what if', and suddenly the whole friendship thing is compromised."
"So you're saying it's impossible? Under any circumstances?" He nods. "Nuh uh, no. They all know I have a boyfriend, they don't see me like that."
"I'm just saying, I've never seen it work." He pulled into the rest area parking lot, cutting the engine. "One person always wants more. Or they sleep together, and it ruins everything. Or one of them gets into a relationship, and the friendship fades because their partner is uncomfortable. I'm surprised your guy is cool with it." He turned to look at you directly. "Show me one example of a real, lasting friendship between a man and woman where neither person has ever thought about it."
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Ran through your mental list of male friends, you didn't hang out with a bunch of single guys but you would definitely call them friends.
"Itadori. Literally all of my guy friends."
"Kid," He shakes his head, "that's just not true."
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "First of all, we are the same age; secondly, just because you don't respect women enough to want to talk to them unless you're boning, doesn't mean every man is the same."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who says I don't respect women?" He unbuckled his seatbelt too, following your lead. "Come on, let's just grab dinner. We've got two more hours of this."
You followed him out of the car, still worked up, not responding to his last words.
"Sure, sure, I can tell by how you treat Misa that you're really quite the feminist." You draw out your words, hoping that the poor girl wasn't in love with this bastard.
Sukuna turned, looking down on you with an arched brow, "Oh? And how do I treat her?"
You scoffed a laugh, "'Oh hell no, I'm not going to marry that!' 'Our relationship doesn't allow for her to bother me', blah blah blah. You're such a womanizer!"
For some reason, Sukuna did not seem upset; in fact, as you spoke, his little grin grew more and more. "Listen, lady, I treat Misa exactly how she likes being treated; you don't think she sees what we've got the same way? She doesn't want something serious with me, and I've got no complaints."
After a few comments about you passing judgment on him, he pushed open the diner door, a bell chiming. At the table you were seated at, you scanned the menu while your road trip buddy went to the bathroom.
You ordered off the 24 hr breakfast and got a cup of caffeinated tea. You massaged your temples, confused as to how your roommate had ended up hanging around a man this insufferable. Smug and cynical and so certain he had life figured out when clearly he was a player and incapable of mature relationships.
When he returned, the waitress was ready for his order. He dropped down in front of you to grab his mug of coffee. After a few awkward moments of not looking at him, he leaned back in the booth.
"Look," he said, less antagonistic. "I'm not trying to piss you off."
"I'm not pissed off?" You said. Clearly, pissed off.
"I'm just saying-" he laughs again, "this idea that men and women can be close, like proper friends, uncomplicated companions... it's... I mean, it's a little naive. That doesn't mean you can't have guy friends. But there's always going to be that thing underneath it." He raises a brow, "I'm tellin' ya to look out."
"That thing?" You ask, ignoring his mocking care for you.
"Attraction. The possibility. The knowledge that you two could be something else if circumstances were different." He gestured with his finger as if pointing between you and some invisible man, took a long drink of his coffee, and sighed, "Even if both people are in relationships, even if neither one would ever act on it, it's there. And that changes things."
You considered this, turning your water bottle in your hands. "So what you're saying is that you've never had a female friend."
He looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think, "No. Not a real one at least." When he saw your unamused face, he continued, "Hey, I know they haven't seen me as a friend either." He put his hands up, as if being ordered to by a cop and took a bite of his hash browns. "I've had plenty of women I was friendly with, but pure friendship? Get out of here." He shook his head. "That's different. That's intimate in a way that crosses lines."
"You..." You paused to think, "Are so full of yourself." He looked up from his heaping fork, a brow raised, "You really think every woman who has called you a friend just wants to sleep with you?"
"Let's be honest here." Sukuna gestured at himself. You scoffed. "Better to acknowledge what it is than pretend it's something else and end up hurting people."
You started to eat quicker, ready to be done with this trip and never see this man again. The last two hours of the drive passed with less conversation. You both retreated to your own thoughts, the weight of the disagreement sitting heavily on your mind.
"You know, Itadori, this is really a shame, cause you were gonna be the only person I knew in the city."
Sukuna shook his head, "Nu uh, aren't I taking you to your man's place right now?"
You rolled your eyes, "My only friend."
He sucked on his cheek, "Ahh, I see...friend."
When he finally pulled up outside your boyfriend's apartment building, you grabbed your bag from the back seat, eager to escape the confines of the car and his frustrating certainty about everything.
"Well," you said, not quite meeting his eyes, "thanks for the ride."
"Yeah." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Enjoy your stay."
You hesitated, hand on the door handle. Some part of you wanted to say something more, to end on a better note. You were here in a new city, with a new scary job, with nobody but your college lover to know you. It was such a shame to leave like this, but the words wouldn't come.
"I hope things end up well with Misa," you finally said. "That it works out the way you both want."
The man's expression softened just a smidge, "Sure, I hope you find what you're looking for too. Even if I think you're chasing a fantasy."
"It's not a fantasy." You sing-songed, turning, you shut the passenger door.
He rolled down the window, "If you say so." His tone wasn't unkind. "Take care of yourself."
You climbed up the stone stairway to your boyfriend's apartment complex buzzer, pulling your bag up after you. As Sukuna drove away, you found yourself annoyed at how the weekend had started. Six hours in a car with someone who seemed determined to be wrong about everything.
You were certain you'd never voluntarily spend time with Itadori Sukuna again.
--
Two years later
Time carved its changes into both your lives in ways neither of you could have anticipated. The occasional argument would occur, but you still loved your boyfriend deeply. And truthfully, arguments were perfectly natural for critical thinkers, and you had always been attracted to a talkative man.
You had actually invited your boyfriend to stay with your family this year, the prospect of your first Christmas together bringing the first set of butterflies you had felt in a while. He had politely declined, though. It was alright, he wanted to be with his parents. You understood, but there was a small tickle of pain when he did not ask you to join them.
That was neither here nor there; now you were on your way back from your hometown, post-Christmas chills in the air.
It was at the gate that you spotted him. Certain your eyes were playing a trick on you. But no, how could you forget the distinctive smirk, the pink hair, and ever broader-shouldered frame? He was unmistakable even in a crowded airport.
Even though you had only known him for six hours of your life.
Sukuna Itadori was stood near the window, looking out at the planes on the tarmac, and for a moment, you considered walking up to him, but decided against it, ultimately pretending you hadn't seen him at all.
But fate seemed determined, and as you approached the gate, he turned and caught sight of you too.
Recognition dawned slowly just as you turned away from his face. Boarding, you shook the idea away, certain he would pretend as well, or, more likely, he wouldn't have recognized you at all.
Once you were seated, a flight attendant asked if you would like a drink. You agreed after the gentleman beside you mentioned how good his tea was. That was something you simply could not pass up.
After ordering, the strange gentleman beside you maintained a steady conversation. Just as you were starting to hope that he wasn't planning on talking the whole flight, you felt a tap on your shoulder.
"Say it isn't so." You heard his foux shock.
And even more to your surprise, he remembered your name. Of course, you remembered Sukuna; how could you not with such a good memory... but why would he remember you?
You stutter, "Hey, wow, it's been a while..." You nod, looking back at the man to your right.
"Oh," The stranger grinned, "do you two know each other?"
"We're actually childhood friends," Sukuna interjected, grinning, and the man seemed elated at the idea.
"Oh... we're definitely not." You sigh, sliding a hand down your face.
The man did not seem to hear, "Would you like to take my seat? Catch up?"
"You're too kind." Sukuna beamed coming in to take the man's seat at your side.
He whispered your name, "Well, well, well, how have you been?"
"Itadori. Good. Busy." You set down your tea. "You?"
"Same. Work's been hectic." You paused, then there was a brief exchange of 'how were the holidays', and 'what are you doing now?' before he eventually stumbled upon it. "So, how are you and your guy? I'm sure you have a partner."
"Yeah, we're good. I'm actually on my way to seeing him now." You left out the part where Kenji worked long nights and recently never made time for serious conversation that didn't involve him raising his voice, but Sukuna didn't need to know about that.
"And you?" You asked in turn, he looked at you with a wry smile, as if waiting for you to explain, you couldn't remember the name of the woman he had been messing around with before, so you just asked, "Are you seeing anyone?"
"You could say that." You leaned back, and he spread his legs wide, "We're engaged and all.", wiggling the ring in your area of vision.
"Oh! Congratulations." You paused, trying to avoid saying "wow, you?". Something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. How was it that he was getting married? "I'm happy for you." And somehow, you meant it.
"Yeah." He looked down at his hands, and you noticed he was more considerate of his volume now. "It's been good. Different than I expected, but good."
The intercom dinged to let you know you could unbuckle your seats.
"So, tell me more, how are things with you and the lucky guy? You must be glad to be on your way home."
You didn't want to really talk about it, for some reason, you were feeling a bit jealous about his upcoming marriage, so you tilted your head, "Yeah, you could say that." You laughed, but there was no humor in it.
You had some difficulty keeping your eyes trained on his; he had acquired several new tattoos over the years that kept drawing your attention, but you didn't want him to think you were checking him out or anything. After some mildly awkward catch-up about work and hobbies, Sukuna hummed, "So," and after a short silence, "Executive assistant. I guess you made your little Type A dreams come true."
You roll your eyes, "I did." You felt a small surge of pride despite knowing he was teasing you.
"That's great. Really." He seemed genuine. "I remember you talking about that. In the car."
You bring your eyebrows together, "You remember that?"
"Oh, I can remember most of that drive." He accepted a tomato juice from a passing cart, making a face at the taste. "You were funny."
"I was?"
"Sure you were." He turned to look at you properly.
And you spent a horrible length of time trying to remember when you had last been complimented so easily like that.
--
Late the next spring
It would be almost another full year before you saw Sukuna again, and just like before, you wouldn't be looking for him. You had thought when you last spoke that the New Year would be filled with good fortune, but as it would turn out, your lives would take many turbulent shifts in the time it took for the winter to come back around.
You were walking into your neighborhood's bookstore on a rainy and windy Saturday afternoon. You were looking for a birthday gift for a colleague, something thoughtful but not too personal, and the small independent bookshop near your new apartment seemed like an easy place to browse.
You were in the romance section when you heard his voice.
"You've got to be kidding me."
You turned to find a certain salmon haired man standing at the end of the aisle, holding a couple books, the top one appeared to be on sports training. He looked as surprised as you felt.
You squinted, trying to find some words before landing on, "Is this going to become an annual thing?"
"That can't be right. I can hardly remember the last time I saw you." He moved closer, glancing at the book in your hands. "'Cowboy needs a little lovin' '?"
"It's not for me." You shudder, showing him the cover of the half-naked model. "It's for a colleague, I'm sure she'll love it."
"...I believe you," he said with an unconvincing tone, "sure you don't want a copy for yourself, though?"
"Oh, yeah," You look down at the cover, "just my type." You rolled your eyes and set the book down, fond of his smile that didn't mock. "How've you been?"
He looked around the shop before answering, "Busy." You traced a finger across the casing you were leaning against.
"Just busy? I haven't seen you in over a year, the flight back, right?" You knew you were right, but asked anyway. Cringing when you think back on that time, how you waited for your now ex to come and pick you up, eventually realizing too slowly that he had forgotten, and you would need to figure it out yourself. How he hadn't told you he had "stayed home" for New Year's, and how you had tried to make it work for months after that.
"That's right..." The man's expression shifted, became something more guarded. "Ehhh...a lot's happened since then."
Something in his tone made you pause. "Yeah, same. How are you? You had your wedding, right?"
"No, yeah, I definitely did." You scrunch up your face at his cadence; he doesn't seem happy about it. He knocks his knuckles against a bookcase. You were just starting to get the uncomfortable notion that an early divorce was in his voice when he proceeded.
He looked around again, like someone might hear, like the weight of something was pressing on him.
"My wife, well, she and I aren't together anymore." He said it bluntly, shaking the thoughts out of his head.
Well, that had not at all been what you had expected. "Sukuna, I'm so sorry. That must be hard."
"Sukuna...." He wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, staring down at it. "That's a first, you've only ever called me by my last name."
You didn't know if that was true but it didn't feel like the time to ask, "I don't know what to say."
"Nobody does." He finally looked up, sighing, and you could see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "People want to help, but there's nothing I can do without airing out her business, and I'm not really interested in doing all that.
You looked down at your shoes, not even pretending to know what he meant. "I'm sorry." They're the only words you can get out. You were hurting too, as much as you wanted to pretend you weren't, but you knew this must be different. Kenji hadn't even proposed... not really at least.
"I kinda wish none of it had happened, almost felt like a waste of both of our time."
You shake your head. "It doesn't have to be a waste. This stuff isn't linear. You can be sad about losing someone even if the relationship wasn't working."
"Yeah, that's what people say." He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair. "Her family hates me. They think I changed her for the worse and left her because of it."
You don't understand, so you can't exactly console him. You just mutter, "They probably would've sided with her regardless."
"Yeah, that's true, logically, I know that." He took a shaky breath. "But I feel like I let them down, not sticking it out."
You sat in silence for a moment. This bookstore trip had not at all gone according to plan. The café hummed with other conversations, other people living their normal lives, while the both of you silently seemed to mourn people who weren't even dead.
It suddenly hit you, like it randomly will, that feeling that everyone is living their own lives, and even though you live in the same city, you never really know what anyone is going through.
"Are you seeing anyone?" You asked carefully. "A therapist, I mean."
He chuckles,"Yeah, actually, pretty much once a week. Apparently I'm supposed to sign up for some Nar-Anon family group."
You pause, a little bit more of his story coming out, "For what it's worth, I'm sure you're handling this better than you think you are."
He tilted his head, and a smirk came across his face, and for a moment, he looked exactly like he had when you first met him, "I'm standing in a bookstore unloading on someone I barely know, but thanks." He ties your name to the end of his sentence, and it feels like a sweet reminder that you both weren't technically strangers.
"We spent six hours in a car together arguing about the nature of love." You returned his smile. "I think that counts for something."
Sukuna appeared to consider this. "You know, you're probably the only person I've talked to who doesn't speak to me like I'm about to freak out any given moment."
"Do you...want people to look at you like that?"
"God, no." He took a loud sip of his coffee and grimaced. "This is terrible. Why do bookstores always have the worst coffee?"
You can see he is ready for a change of subject, "It's part of the aesthetic."
"Pretentious literature requires pretentious bitter coffee?"
"Something like that." You smile.
The two of you went on to talk for another hour, the conversation flowing easier than it had any right to. Sukuna told you about moving out of the apartment he'd shared with Emi, the woman who was now his ex-wife, about his work, and trying to find some kind of normalcy. You told him about your recent promotion, about the project you were heading up that was consuming all your time, but you did not mention Kenji, and thankfully, he did not ask.
When you finally left the bookstore, rain still falling softly outside, Sukuna actually walked you to your car.
"Thanks," he said, hands shoved in his pockets. "For listening. These types of conversations are always weird."
You squint up at him, never having anticipated him of all people finding a strange conversation uncomfortable, "Hey, not at all." And you meant it. "I'm serious, Sukuna, if you wanna catch up or want someone to talk to, call me."
"Yeah?" He looked almost vulnerable, something you'd never seen from him before. "You want to give me your number?" He makes a weird face at you, "That's not going to complicate things?"
You paused and rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone. "I think we're way past worrying about complications."
And the smile he gave you felt perfectly natural. After you'd exchanged numbers, Sukuna hesitated before turning to leave.
"Hey," he said, "that thing I said in the car. About men and women not being able to be friends."
"Yeah?"
He shrugged, "I'm pretty sure I was wrong about that."
There was something very mature about admitting when you're wrong, and as you watched him walk away, disappearing into the rain, you felt with strange certainty that something had shifted between you. Maybe he had come back into your life for such a time as this, and you into his, after all that had passed, to be a friend.
--
That Summer
It started with text messages. Simple things at first, Sukuna sending you a photo of truly terrible coffee with the message "Even worse and somehow $7". You would respond with pictures of your latest project and "entirely optional purchase btw", asking his opinion on design elements you knew he wouldn't understand but somehow always had thoughts about anyway.
Then came the phone calls. Late-night conversations were surprisingly easy with someone who held such strong opinions so weakly. When neither of you could sleep (which, unspoken of but very present, your loneliness appreciated), the two of you would always have something to go on about. Sukuna told you about his experience with group therapy, about this slow process of untangling the pain and guilt of loving someone you didn't want to. And you told him about the disastrous rejections you had made to the poor men who asked you out.
And slowly, you opened up a little about how you and Kenji had ended.
For some reason, you liked to pretend it was some other guy who had torn you up so humiliatingly. You didn't lie exactly; you just never said Kenji's name. And besides, Sukuna didn't ask for details; he knew if you wanted to, you would share.
The thing was, you had been with Kenji for so long, it felt embarrassing for Sukuna of all people to hear about the specifics. The shame you felt, some of it valid, some of it overkill, drove you to extreme individuality, or maybe independence.
"So what was wrong with this one?" He asked during one of these calls, his voice rough with after-work exhaustion, but still actively engaged in the most recent guy you turned down.
"Nothing, really. He was nice. Successful. Good-looking." You sighed, curled up on your couch with tea and a bowl of pasta. "There was just no spark, you know? No connection."
"Hey, maybe you're being too picky." You heard something in a pan sizzling on his line.
"Sorry, not really interested on taking love advice from you."
"Ouch." But he was laughing. You had both become comfortable enough to joke around with one another. "Fair point." He must have turned on the sink to douse the pan and after a pause, he asked, "So what are you looking for then?"
"I don't know. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone I can talk to naturally." You paused.
"That is a tall order." He chuckled.
"Is it though? Shouldn't that be...like the bare minimum?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Of course it is, actually, I would say that should be pretty standard."
--
A month after the bookstore, the two of you had dinner. It happened after a conversation about the new place that opened up nearby, and it had been such a fun change of pace in your mutually boring lives that you decided there would have to be another. And after that, the dinners became almost a weekly tradition, usually it was a hole-in-the-wall place that Sukuna found with incredible food and questionable ambiance.
"How do you even find these places? I've lived here for over three years now and never heard of it." You asked, looking around at a ramen shop that seemed to consist entirely of a counter with eight seats.
"It's a gift." Sukuna slurped his noodles. "Also, I'm a cheap bastard and this place is perfect."
You chuckle because he was cheap, "You're not cheap. You're frugal." What a lie.
"That's what cheap people say to feel better about themselves."
"True." You hum, only after having kicked his shin under the counter, and he grinned.
It was a nice change of pace, these dinners, and somehow, after weeks and weeks, the two of you still had things to talk about.
It was during one of these dinners that Sukuna brought up your ex.
"So," he said, pushing into a steak, one of your fancier picks, "Whatever happened with the guy you were with during our lovely introduction?"
"What?" You looked up from your pasta. "I told you. We broke up, you know that."
"Yeah, but why?" He waves his fork around, "I've told you everything, can't you spill about this? I mean, the two of you were together three years. That's not nothing."
You considered how much you even wanted to share, you hadn't told hardly anybody, hell, even your family knew not to mention his name. You never made it a rule or anything, but nobody dares. Most days, you tried to just avoid anything that would make you think of him and how pathetic it all made you feel.
But Sukuna had proved to be someone easy to speak with, and quite objective, no matter your feelings, and besides, maybe it was time you were able to talk about it. You took a bite of your food, as casually as you could, admitting, "We were together over six years...actually."
Sukuna squinted, a confused expression, "No...hold on, how can that be?"
"Uhhh, it can be because that's how long we were dating, duh." You reach for your glass of water, and for some reason, your heart was beating rather fast.
"But that would mean you were together... like... recently?" He shook his head at you, as if you didn't understand your own life's timeline.
"I wouldn't exactly call it all that recent." You clinked your fork into the bottom of the dish, skewering more pasta.
"Hold on. You were together for six years?" He seems shocked, only not realizing you were telling the truth.
"Yes." You exasperate, rolling your eyes at his expression.
"You were with that one guy all this time... like... when you were telling me about that breakup... it was with him all along? College boy?"
You blink up at him.
He straightened up, "I mean... damn you dodged a bullet." It was a nice way for him to put it.
"Eventually, I guess."
Sukuna's hand found the counter after he set his own fork down; all too invested now, he seemed quite serious. "Jesus, girl, you were with him for over six years?"
"Thank you, Sukuna, for repeating it." You grin before pulling away, tucking any other explanation into the back of your brain. "What about you? Any relationships between Emi and now?"
He rolls his eyes because he knows you know the answer, "God, no." Horrified by the thought, he groans, "I'm a mess, you know that. I'm not bringing that into a relationship."
You sigh, "You are not a mess."
He calls your name, teasing, "I'm in therapy with Narcotics Anonymous, where even I feel unwelcome because I decided to leave when things got tough."
"That's a pretty extreme glossing over of your story." You flagged down the server for the check. "But you're a functional mess. That counts for something."
"I'll definitely be putting that on my dating profile. 'Functional mess seeks patient woman with low standards.'"
"You'd get more responses than you think."
Walking back to your cars afterward, Sukuna brought up something that had clearly been on his mind.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you thinking of seeing anyone right now?"
"What? No, why?"
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Just wondering if I'm monopolizing your time. If you need to cut back on these dinners to make space for someone. I mean... I wanna encourage you to do that."
"Sukuna, if I had someone I was serious about, I wouldn't be calling you all the time, and we wouldn't be having these dinners anyway; you're not 'taking up' my time."
He's still for a moment, thinking, "Okay. Good." He paused by his car. "Because this... hanging out with you. It's like, a fun part of my week. It'd be a shame to not have someone to complain to."
"You can always count on being able to complain with me." You bumped your shoulder against his. "That is what real friends are for."
"Yeah." But something in his expression was uncertain as he chuckled to himself.
--
That Fall
The restaurant was nicer than your usual spots, a sleek place in the city with low lighting and expensive-looking cocktails. You'd suggested it for several weekends now, having wanted to try it after hearing your friend rave about the food after her disastrous date there.
Sukuna had agreed without complaint, even though you knew it was more than he was usually willing to spend on himself.
"This place is fancy," he said, looking around with amusement. "Are we celebrating something?"
"Do we need a reason?"
"I guess not." He picked up the menu, "Though my wallet might have some complaints."
"My treat."
He dropped the menu right back on the table, "Absolutely not."
"Kuna-"
"Girl, it's not happening." He was clearly not amused. "If you want to go to expensive places, that's fine. But don't go offering to pay my share."
You knew better than to argue when he got that look. "You may be a big shot EA, but even I can afford a few expensive meals once and awhile." He teased. You knew he made more than you did.
The food, when it came, was just as good as you'd hoped. You shared plates, wanting to try his order too, and you talked about everything on your mind, and also nothing at the same time. The easy comfort of your friendship wrapped around you like a comfy sweater.
It was somewhere between the main course and dessert that the conversation shifted.
"Anyway," Sukuna said, swirling the drink in his glass. "I went out again last week."
"You always make that sound so ominous." You knew about him and his coworker, Toji's antics.
"It wasn't really a date." He shrugged, as if you needed the clarification..
You felt something in your chest, quick and unexpected. "And how did that go?"
"Fine. She was nice." He took a drink. "We slept together, and she got mad when I was less than keen on spending the night." He seemed so matter-of-fact about it all, but you saw how he almost shuddered when setting his drink down.
This wasn't weird, you told yourself; the two of you had talked about his one-night stands before. "That's... to be expected, I think." You raise a judgmental eyebrow at him. Not knowing what else to say, you ask, "Did you at least have a good time? Any plans to go see her again?"
You knew there weren't.
"I don't know if it was good or bad. It just was." He ran his finger along the condensation of his glass, and there was something almost clinical in his tone. "I'm not gonna call."
You blinked. "Of course not."
He rolled his eyes, finally smirking again, "It's not how it sounds." Sukuna ran a hand through his hair. "It's just easier this way. There aren't expectations or complications. It's more like...just physical..." He pauses when he sees your face and quickly adds, "for now."
"That doesn't sound healthy." You murmur. This was a topic the two of you had touched on. Sukuna seemed averse to a relationship, but never said no to a woman who hit him up at a bar.
"Says who? You know I'm upfront about it all. I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious. If they're okay with that, what's the harm?"
You didn't want to say that you were starting to think he used sex as a way to avoid actual intimacy in such a nice restaurant with such nice service when the conversation was so light, so you just rolled your eyes.
"Aren't we both just enjoying being single without the pressure of a relationship?" His tone had a question to it now.
You weren't judging him... or are you? You don't know, but you shrug, not believing him when you say, "Yeah, I guess we're both just casual for now."
But he laughs at you. "No, no, you're not fine with casual. You're still worried about getting hurt again."
The ease of his saying it shouldn't have surprised you, but even now, his bluntness caught you off guard, it helps you know where your tone comes from when you say, "Wow, okay. Are you my therapist now?"
"I'm your friend." Sukuna leans back in his chair, something hard in his expression. "Let me ask you something. When's the last time you had sex?"
You felt heat rise in your face. You had talked about pretty much everything with Sukuna, but for some reason, this topic always left you feeling a bit scandalized. "That's none of your business."
"Exactly. So maybe don't judge my choices when you're clearly not making any of your own."
"And what does that mean?"
He leaned forward. "You spend all your time working or hanging out with friends. You always avoid actually putting yourself out there. I'm constantly hearing from you or your girls about the latest boy you rejected. I'm just saying, don't judge me as if you're perfect yourself."
The words hit harder than they should have, or maybe you just didn't understand why you cared, "I'm not avoiding anything. I just haven't met the right person."
"Or you're scared. Just like you're accusing me of being."
You both fell silent, the tension thick between you. Around you, other diners laughed and talked, oblivious to the argument playing out at your table.
"Look," He finally said, his voice softer, he rolls his eyes, "whatever, that was probably out of line."
"No, you're right." You agreed, although you wished he hadn't said it, you would settle for him admitting his own flaws. You pushed food around your plate. "Every time I think about dating seriously, I remember how stupid I was with Kenji. I don't feel like doing it again, and besides, I just haven't been able to catch feelings."
"Great. So we're both fucked up."
You think about denying it, but you had wondered the same thing for a while now, "Apparently." You managed, "Great friendship we've got going on here. Two emotionally stunted people enabling each other."
At least the two of you were honest. Sukuna grunts,"No way am I enabling you, I'm counting on you getting over this weird phase you're in and falling in love."
"Good luck." You meet his eyes.
Sukuna didn't seem to have an answer for that.
The rest of dinner passed with forced lightness, both of you trying to recapture the easy comfort from earlier and not quite managing it. When the check came, Sukuna grabbed it before you could, ignoring your protest. He probably felt bad for taking things too far.
Outside the restaurant, you stood on the sidewalk, neither of you quite ready to leave but not sure what to say.
"I'm sorry," you finally offered. "I don't want you feeling like I'm judging your dating life."
"No, you were right, I don't know why I am this way." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Maybe I'm just a mean fuck, I don't know. But if I trust anyone to tell me, it's you."
"Maybe you just have to be aware of it so you can grow from here."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I have a smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."
Sukuna's laugh was genuine this time. "I'm pretty sure that's an insult, not a compliment, but okay."
"It's both."
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. It was weird. You two never did this, and he stiffened when your hands found his back. For some reason, you just felt like it was the right thing to do. Neither of you had been particularly emotional tonight, but something seemed to have changed in between the words neither of you had said. After a second or so, he returned the gesture, and his weight felt almost unrealistically gentle for his size.
"We're going to be okay," you said into his chest. "Both of us."
It was out of nowhere, he didn't seem to have expected it, but he also didn't seem to mind, "Yeah." His arm tightened around you. "Of course we will."
But neither of you sounded entirely convinced.
--
That Winter
Sukuna sat across from Toji in their usual bar, nursing a beer and only half-listening to his friend's story about some disaster at work. His mind kept drifting to you. That afternoon, you had texted him about finding a new spot with coffee that was "aggressively mediocre." It reminded him of when you two started getting close.
"Are you even listening?" Toji asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Yeah, sorry. Our boss is an idiot, the job is impossible, the usual." Sukuna took a drink. "What were you saying?"
"I was asking about your girlfriend."
Sukuna pauses, beer in hand, squinting. "...I don't have a girlfriend."
"Right, the woman you spend every waking moment with but aren't dating." Toji rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to call her."
"She's my friend."
"Uh-huh." Toji's tone was deeply skeptical. "And this is... what, a booty call you text constantly, have dinner with multiple times a week, and apparently think about enough that you can't focus on my very important story."
"It's definitely not like that with her."
"Then what's it like?"
Sukuna considered how to explain it. "She's... I've just known her for a while, we just talk. About anything. Like I'm talking to you, but..."
"But she's a woman."
"That's not what I meant."
"But it's true, isn't it?" Toji leaned forward. "Look, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with having female friends. But the way you talk about her... man, that's not friendship. That's something else."
"No, seriously, we're just friends."
"Okay, fine. Let me ask you this." Toji finished his beer, signaling for another. "If she called you right now and said she met someone, that she's in a serious relationship... how would you feel?"
The thought made some surprising feelings twist in his gut. "I'd be happy for her."
"Bull. Shit."
"Nah, you don't get it, I would-"
"You'd be devastated. Don't lie to me." Toji accepted his new beer from the bartender with a grin. "I've known you for years. I can tell when you're full of shit."
Sukuna was quiet, turning his own beer in his hands. "It doesn't matter how I'd feel. I'd be happy for her to find someone good after all this time."
Toji pauses, "And you don't suppose you could be that person?"
"I know I couldn't." Sukuna's voice was suddenly firm. "Toji, I was married, you know that, I'm divorced in my 20's. I'm fucking around with random women all the time. You really think I'm in a position to offer anyone a real relationship?"
Toji rolls his eyes, "Ah, not this shit again, you know, I think you'd be ready if you just let yourself be."
"You, Toji, really are not one to talk."
--
Spring, the next year
"What exactly is it that you do with these women? You just get up out of bed and leave?"
You're sitting across from him at the burger place that reminds you both of your old college town. Sukuna is adding ketchup to his bun as he shrugs, "Sure."
"Well, explain to me how you do it." The man raises his brow as if your request made no sense. You continue, "What do you say?"
"I say I've got an early meeting or an early haircut, an early tattoo appointment, who cares-"
You stop him, "You don't take meetings. You said the one thing you like about your job is that you never have to sit through meetings."
He puts a finger up, taking an egregious bite, "They don't know that, they've just met me."
You just stare at him with your mouth agape. Sukuna begins to grin. "That's disgusting." You shake your head and dip a fry into your shake. You always regret doing it; it's never as good as you hope it will be, never as good as it once was.
"I know, I feel terrible." He shows no remorse at all.
"You know, I am so glad nobody I cared about ever got involved with you. They just would have ended up being some other woman you got up out of bed and left at 3 o'clock in the morning to the excuse of..." You fish around for something, "...needing to mow the grass- mind you, you don't even have a lawnmower- not that they would know that."
Sukuna chuckles, stealing one of your fries, "Why are you getting upset? This has nothing to do with you."
"Yes, it does." You say matter-of-factly, setting your smash-burger down. "You are an affront to all women you come across, and I, believe it or not, am a woman."
The man before you sighs, "Hey, I don't feel great about this, but I don't hear anyone complaining."
You scoff, "Of course not, you're out the door too fast."
He turns as if to look agast at the other customers, a silent audience who weren't listening, then he looks back at you, pauses strangely,
"...I think they have an okay time."
You meet those eyes, his ego always has this way of bugging you, "And how would you even know that?"
"What 'dya mean, how do I know? I know."
"What?...because they..." You flounce about for the word, shaking your hand about, but childishly, you can't bring yourself to say it.
Sukuna shakes his head, seemingly amused, "Yes, because they..." and he waves his hand around, mocking your own unconscious movement.
He's actually starting to bother you now, "And how do you know that they're really-" You waggle your hand again, and Sukuna stops you by grabbing it in his fist, laughing now.
"What are you saying? That they fake their orgasms?"
You yank your hand away, and a crawling feeling shivers over your neck. You lean back in your seat to look at him. You shrug. "It's possible." You don't say what you're thinking, which is (based on your own experience) that it's more likely than not.
Sukuna chuckles and hits the table this time with his palm when he tries to choke his laugh; it catches the attention of those at other booths. "Get out of here." He cackles.
"Why?" You bend your face to try and catch his eye as he goes in for a big bite, "Most women, if not all, have... absolutely done it."
"Well, they haven't faked it with me." Sukuna's voice has finality in it, like he wants this conversation to be done with now, but his behavior is actually bothering you now.
"How. Do. You. Know."
Sukuna grabs a napkin and wipes his fingers, holding your gaze for a long moment before simply, "Because I know."
You're now officially too annoyed to actually carry on, so you just huff, deciding to let it go. But, like he usually does when you give up on things like this, he just refuses to let you. "What? You don't think that I could tell the difference?"
You shake your head, wiping down the table a bit unnecessarily before mouthing a silent, "no".
"Get out of here." He just shrugs, like it doesn't bother him.
You're not sure if it's because he doesn't care about all those poor women he takes to his bed, or if he really just has that enormous of an ego.
--
Almost Winter
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, hear me out." You passed Sukuna the bread basket across the table at your usual place. It had finally become the case that you were sick and tired of hearing about his late-night escapades, and it just so happened that your co-worker, Fushiguro, was into his type.
Large, a bit broodish, and good for a chat. "She's perfect for you. She's also a physical therapist, so she's into fitness like you are. She's funny, she's stable, she's-"
"Not interested." Sukuna hummed taking a piece of bread just to have something to do with his hands. "I don't need you setting me up."
"Why not? You need to date someone seriously. This fuck boy stuff really isn't doing you any favors. Trust me, she'll like your tattoos too."
"Yeah, sure she will. You know what would help me?" He leans back in his seat, "You getting laid."
You nearly choked on your water. "Excuse me?"
"I'm serious. When's the last time you even went on a date? Like, an actual date, not drinks with coworkers that you pretend isn't networking."
"I literally do date, and what exactly does that have to do with my friend?"
"Name one guy you've seen in the last eight months."
You opened your mouth, then closed it. A while ago, you actually had tried to go out with a guy. The prospect of...liking someone, it had gnawed at you so painfully leading up to your evening that you almost backed out. Later that night, you were overcome with this frantic anxiety when he had reached out to hold your hand, something so small and simple. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to do it. Everything had been fine, but any emotional closeness he tried to bring seemed to trigger an ever stronger need for distance.
You never talked about it with Sukuna, which was weird because these days you told each other everything.
As of late, it became clearer and clearer that you were convincing yourself something was just wrong with every potential relationship that came along, you would go out of your way to find flaws in order to not grow attached. Every time, even with friendships that grew closer, when things began to get too serious, it's like you needed space. Your independence felt much safer than any vulnerability, and receiving affection -- to you-- was more vulnerable than giving it.
You had left early from that date, stricken with shame, and deciding never to talk about whatever this problem you had was, "That is so not the point. I can see you deflecting." You reply to the man across from you.
"That's exactly the point." Sukuna leaned back, arms crossed. "Don't tell me to go out with your girlfriend, you'll only be mad at me about how it ends up."
"Ew." You didn't want to think about what he meant by that.
He licks his fork, "I'll gladly take her out once you finally loosen up with some guy."
"Don't drag me into this." You sigh. Knowing that you would never allow yourself to be in a position to beg for fondness ever again. Maybe you were just frightened of abandonment, but something in you had changed with the humiliation of Kenji. Now, you were safe to never need another man again, and the idea of it had a confession coming out.
"You know," You grin strangely, "you were right all those years ago. I used to have a problem with chasing a fantasy, but I don't think I'm really interested in a relationship anymore."
Sukuna stops whatever he was doing. He squints for a moment, his brows coming together in a way you rarely ever see. There is a long pause before he says, "I didn't want to be right about that."
"Sure you did."
His mouth slightly quirks. "Okay, maybe a little, but not really."
You tap your foot, remembering how sweet Fushiguro (your coworker) had begged to meet your "beefy tattooed friend". You pulled out your phone. "How's this: I'll let you set me up if you let me set you up,"
Sukuna's eyes jump up from his plate. You quickly add, "and you have to take it seriously."
"That's a terrible idea."
"Scared?"
His eyes narrow. "Of what?"
"Of putting yourself out there. Of actually letting yourself like her instead of running away the morning after."
He squints at you, his jaw tightened, a little smile, a little ego, but after a long moment, he nods. "Fine. One date. But I get to pick the guy for you."
"Of course, you know I've already picked your date."
"Deal."
You shook hands across the table, both of you trying to ignore the fact that the gesture felt more like a challenge than an agreement.
Three weeks later, you found yourself sitting across from Toji Zenin, a guy Sukuna knew from work (and had told you all about). He was handsome in a conventional way. He had nice dark hair.
You liked dark hair. He also had a flirty smile and big hands; you should like him. He would have been a good catch, but as hard as you tried that night, you just couldn't seem to be at ease.
"So, Sukuna tells me you're into fitness too," you said, cutting your steak with precise movements.
"Mm-hmm." He pushed himself forward, chewing quickly before speaking, "Tell me a bit about what you do."
You launched into a detailed explanation of your latest team development project, and he nodded at appropriate moments while your mind drifted, explaining what an Executive Assistant even does. You wondered how Kuna's date was going. Fushiguro was a coworker, but also a friend. She was smart, funny, and also quite beautiful.
A part of you was distracted thinking about whether they would sleep together. If he would bring her to his place, if he had cleaned, how he would do it, if tomorrow she would tell you about how mean he had been, or maybe if she would say...something else...
The thought of it made you feel a bit weird. You hoped he didn't mess it up with her.
"Don't you think?" Toji asked, and you realized you'd completely lost the thread of conversation.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said, the future of sports betting is pretty unsustainable in comparison to regular gambling, don't you think?"
"Oh. Yeah, for sure." You took a drink of your wine and tried to focus. How on earth had you landed on sports betting? "I've actually heard about the analytics of it...I'm pretty sure that stuff is more and more like slot machines..." Your words were getting quieter; you didn't really care to talk about this stuff, but then again, you wouldn't mind talking about it with Sukuna.
Maybe it was exactly what you had feared, maybe you just didn't like the fact that you were on a date. Maybe you were wrong when you thought you were over all this stuff. Maybe none of this would ever be enough for you.
Suddenly, you were feeling a bit upset, but it wasn't an angry feeling; it was much worse than that.
You blink hard, remembering how Kenji had looked at you when you said you wanted to be married. It had been after months of arguments; he was hardly home, he was always irritable, you never asked anything of him because it was too burdensome, you knew it.
He had said some variant of, "Fine, we will." He had sounded annoyed, and he had seemed to think it would make you happy.
You had felt like it should have been. But it hadn't.
This love thing just didn't work for you, you know that now. You had learned a long time ago that shutting down is the best response to any of these strong emotions, especially when you know they are coming out of nowhere. You know how to rely on yourself; you no longer wanted any kind of emotional support.
And now you feel silly.
"Well, the key is finding the right people, people who have like... mules, you know, that's where the long-term value is." He smirked up from his plate. Poor Toji, he hadn't done anything wrong, but you felt you needed to go now, slink off and apologize about whatever came to mind.
You nodded, letting him talk, though.
When the dinner came to its end, the two of you had officially slipped back to "polite conversation", and as you drifted nearer and nearer to the exit, you said some variant of, "I'll call you."
He smiled noncommittally, and you had a feeling he was aware you would not call.
--
Inside your apartment, you immediately texted Sukuna.
That was terrible, how could you do this to me.
He hadn't done anything wrong; you just wanted to tell him how you were feeling, and even though you knew you couldn't get into the details of why it would never work, you wanted to open the possibility for your next conversation. After a moment, you add,
How was yours?
And then,
Be nice to her
His response came quickly after, surprising you:
I'm always nice.
Followed by,
Ehh, leaving now. She's sweet, but not really for me.
You're so lucky I'm not banging her.
You sigh,
Please do not. Not if you're telling me she's not your type.
He "thumbs-up"ed your message, and instead of replying directly he offered,
Want to come over? I have beer.
You consider it. Something inside of you wanted to hear about his date. About what they talked about, what he had said to her, why he didn't think she was 'for him.'
Be there in 20.
When you arrived, he was already on his second beer, you curled up on your couch in the comfortable clothes you had quickly changed into.
"So, Toji was that bad, huh?" He asked, dropping down beside you, handing you a sweet cider.
You consider joking, but you can't seem to find it within yourself, "Not actually, no." You hold back on saying 'I wish it had worked', because it's not as if you had tried, "You forgot to mention he's a gambling addict."
Sukuna chuckles, "He's not."
"Could've fooled me." He chuckles again. "How was Fushiguro?"
"Beautiful." He rolled his shoulders back on the cushions, spreading his thighs out. If he still had shoes on, you envision him knocking them off and lounging like a jungle cat, "she laughed at my jokes." Sukuna shrugged, and you turned to face him. "Felt nothing."
You pause, "Nothing?"
"Nothing." He leaned his head back against the couch. "We had dinner, we talked, she's cool. And the whole time I just kept thinking..."
"What?"
He turned to look at you. "I kept thinking I'd rather be here." The silence almost killed you. What did he mean by that?
"Home." He clarifies.
The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning neither of you seemed ready to examine. But then his words were flowing out, "I didn't really... want to sleep with her."
That drew you up short, surprised you, "Really? I mean... You didn't anyway..."
"Yeah, I didn't." He pursed his mouth, adding, "It was weird to not have that expectation. I knew you wouldn't want me to. But it was nice all the same."
You didn't know what it was that he was saying exactly, "It's not that I 'didn't want you to', I just didn't want you hurting her."
"Right." He takes a gulp.
"There's no expectation to sleep with the women you're around, you know that, right?" It seems too obvious to you, but he scrunches up his face.
"I don't know, I'm kinda a slut, you say it yourself." And you do, but you wouldn't say it right now, not when you're being honest with one another. "I don't really know why I go out and do that shit."
"I mean..." You look out the window, because he wasn't meeting your eyes anymore, "I guess because it feels good?"
He shrugs, "I guess."
The truth was, Sukuna felt he had very little control over his own choices; he was a promiscuous guy, he had been in college, and he had been when he met his ex-wife. But when he was in a real relationship, he was loyal.
He hadn't even minded the fact that she would only show her affection with sex when they were together. He had loved her, he had loved being with her, had loved making love to her...maybe not so much in the end.
But he had loved when she loved him, though. No matter what.
"Well," you finally said, trying to keep your tone light, "at least we tried."
"Yeah." He had a lot of breath in his voice, his eyes were looking somewhere far away. "At least we tried."
People always talk about how those who fall into addiction do so to cope with a poor family life, or maybe a toxic relationship, a dissatisfaction with their current predicament, but that hadn't been the case for Emi. Maybe she had tried them for fun, maybe it was boredom, he could never really be sure; everything had fallen apart so fast.
It didn't take long before it bled into their relationship, taking its toll on her, making her... different. Everything about the two of them had always been passion, from start to finish. They had gotten married young, fallen so quickly into each other, but eventually the nights they shared had Sukuna feeling like there was this... well of affection he could no longer draw from anymore.
All too quickly, she only ever seemed to maw at his body like a hungry animal. Maybe it used to be fun, but he couldn't seem to remember that time.
He would stumble onto eggshells at first, but eventually, he had learned not to turn her down. One night, she had come home, her touch had been so slow and heavy, it didn't feel like her anymore. And when he placed his palms against her cheeks and kissed her so intently, whispering a questioning, "maybe not tonight?", she had just burst into tears.
And he just couldn't understand.
She was hurting so terribly, and it wasn't him, it wasn't her family; it wasn't even her job that she was getting closer and closer to losing, it wasn't anything at all, but to her, it felt like everything was caving in.
That night, he hadn't wanted to, but she made him.
He must not love her anymore. That's what she had wailed to him that night. She wept, but it wasn't true. He would do anything for her. Anything to make her know. And so he did it, to prove it to her.
It wasn't so bad. He had been much stronger than she was; she couldn't have forced him to do anything even if she tried.
The women at the bars couldn't force him into anything either,
Still, somehow, he felt this tight lack of control in his chest; he didn't like being this way. Sometimes he enjoyed it, sure, he liked pleasuring women, that had always been true.
But when he had been with her, he knew now that was when he started to crave it as if it were love itself.
To her, it had been just that.
It had been all the love she could give, and thus, all the love he received.
And that night, quietly drinking with you curled up on his sofa, Sukuna decided what he really wanted was to stop, even if it took some time.
--
Some time later, New Year's Eve
The party was everything you usually hated: crowded, loud, full of people you barely knew, making forced conversation while waiting for midnight. But Fushiguro had insisted, and you were trying out this exposure therapy thing, and besides, you'd also completely run out of excuses to stay home alone.
You were watching her across the room, mutual friends and strangers around, but in the moment, you're focused on how she's dancing with Kuna's friend, Toji. They looked so good together. It was funny how it happened. You and Sukuna's best friends might genuinely be perfect for one another.
You couldn't deny you were a little jealous.
It comes and goes in waves. You love your independence, but sometimes you're lonely, you refuse to rely on someone, but there's still this hole in your heart that wants something, something you refuse to give it.
You had been propositioned the night before, inviting you to a different party, but you had said no.
Recently, you started to wonder more and more about what your problem was. Even now, you were contemplating a graceful exit when you spotted Kuna across the room.
He was alone, holding a drink and looking about as comfortable as you wish you felt. When your eyes met, his expression shifted, his eyebrows raised, and he wiggled a finger in a "get over here" kind of way.
"Fancy seeing you here," you said, working your way through the crowd to his side.
"You weren't just about to leave, were you?" He handed you his cup without being asked, and you took a grateful sip, giving him a nod. "Say it isn't so. Let's get out of here?"
"God, yes."
You didn't discuss where you were going, just let him walk you through the quiet streets until you began to come upon a familiar park you both had visited these past couple of summers. It was empty at this hour, the playground equipment casting strange shadows in the streetlight.
You couldn't deny it. You and Sukuna were getting older.
You always felt like this during the new year, this panicky feeling you couldn't ever give a name.
Thank God, Sukuna was here with you.
The desires you kept hidden sometimes peaked their head up, but it was comforting to remember that you had him. You had each other.
The two of you walked around for a bit, and the outside air started to leave a chill on the back of your neck. Eventually, you came upon the swingset and took a seat.
Sukuna brought up New Year's resolutions, and you just chuckled.
Maybe the stress from the holidays was getting to you, maybe you had taken a few too many sips from his cup, but you said what you had been wanting to say for a while now. Honesty was always easier with him; you found it more helpful, too, with this new maturity he had developed.
"I just wish I wasn't like this... but I feel like I can never change."
Anytime you teetered on the edge of bringing it up, your friends would talk about how it wasn't a big deal, that you were just self-sufficient, but Sukuna didn't say anything. Not for a long while.
"Remember that conversation we had?" Sukuna asked as you both sat on the swings, the metal chains creaking gently. "In the car. About whether men and women could be friends."
You look over at him, his feet were firmly placed on the mulch, you stop the slow kicking of your legs, "Hard to forget. You were pretty adamant."
"I was wrong." He kicked at the wood chips beneath his feet.
"Am I getting deja vu or have you said that to me before?"
"I'm trying to say people can change, you know?" He pauses, looking at you seriously.
You felt so glad you could have someone like him. He just...understood you, he would listen without making you feel crazy,
"You think so?"
"I do...at least... I'm trying...you know that.." He sighs, and you turn back to look at him.
You know it's true. You've seen it. You pointed it out after Toji and Fushijuro got together because Sukuna doesn't go out to drink anymore, he doesn't bring girls home, or at least, he doesn't tell you about it.
And there was something so raw in his expressions recently. He spoke with less certainty these days, but somehow that made him seem more level-headed.
He threw his hands out of his pockets, admiring the winter air, "You know I can't imagine my life without you in it." You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.
That was sudden. What was he saying?
He didn't stop, "Talking to you is the best part of my day. Don't act like I haven't told you that before. When something happens, good or bad, you're the person I want to tell."
You pulled back from him mentally, unsure of how to respond, "Kuna..." You stand up and slowly pace away, requiring the comfort that it brought.
"And I know we said friends. You're my best friend."
You stop, how had you not expected this? You start to feel sick to your stomach, because deep down, you had always known this was coming; you had been teetering on the edge of it for forever, and somewhere deep inside you, you had hoped it could stay that way. Tucked away and safe. A dark fantasy you never shared even with yourself. Something, that in your moments where you were the most honest with yourself, you allowed yourself to find romantic.
"...I... you know I feel the same-"
"No, listen," He shakes his head like he's in pain. You stop pacing and face him. He's looking down at his shoes, hands in his lap, "Toji asked me something a while back, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."
You watch as he leans his head against the swing's chain, staring, waiting for you to ask, so you do, "What did he say?"
"He asked how I'd feel if you met someone. If you got into a serious relationship." His hands tightened on the swing chains. "And the truth is, I genuinely think that it would kill me." He sounds like someone is choking him. He doesn't have enough air, even though he's heaving.
Sukuna purses his lips, shaking his head, "The thought of you with someone, it makes me want to....I don't even know." He sighs your name because you are starting to cover the sides of your head with your hands. "I want you to know you can be loved... like that. I want to see you safe and comfortable with someone, I want... I want to show you."
You couldn't breathe either. Exhaling, you dig your nails into your palm. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm tired of this weird thing we have going on. And because I want to tell you the truth? And because... I want to show you it can be good. That it doesn't have to be scary. I'm..." He shakes his head again, finally getting off the swing, running a hand over his mouth, "I'm saying it because I'm tired of lying to everyone. You know it. You have to." He's shaking his head, like he expects you to finish his sentence, "I'm in love with you."
Sukuna throws his hands up, a "what now" type of gesture, and then there is just the moon and stars in the space between you. Little puffs of warm air that are clouding the chilly night. He keeps going, maybe because you haven't said anything yet, and he needs to fill the space.
Maybe it's because you're hurting him just like you hurt everyone else who gets close. "...and I know that's probably the worst thing I could tell you because it ruins everything, doesn't it? but I can't-"
You take a step back, shakily breathing.
You're not some wounded animal, but he's looking at you like you might dash, a scared little deer.
"I really don't think it would have to be that different. We can be honest with each other, can't we? Haven't we been? I swear I'll do whatever you want, I'll be whatever you need. You know you can trust me....you know that."
In some deep recesses of your mind, you wonder if you would have ever allowed yourself to envision this happening. It doesn't feel real. Of course, you think, how had you not seen this coming?
It's scary, your hands are shaking, and every part of you is telling you to haul ass and get away from here, to text the next morning that the two of you were drunk, knowing he was dead sober, maybe pretend this never happened, to forget, or maybe, to never allow closeness with Sukuna again.
But louder than any fear, there's a crashing wave of realization that you cannot let that happen. With your wobbly feet, you tiptoe nearer, reaching for his hand.
He had been waving it around just a moment ago. You don't know why you do it, you just feel as though you should.
You and Sukuna rarely touched. It just wasn't really your thing, and he didn't mind. But right now, in this moment, it felt like the most correct response.
You stood up as straight as you could and closed the distance between you both and pulled him by his back into your arms. If you hadn't, maybe you might have actually sprinted. For a second, he froze, shocked, and then his arms came around you in turn, pulling you closer, almost painfully so.
He was trembling. How strange.
His grip was relentless on your body, cradling you so close that you wouldn't have been able to escape, unless you asked.
He felt like he must be breaking you; he knew how you got, how you just...couldn't let someone in, not if it meant love. So when you finally broke apart, he took the moment to rest his forehead against yours.
"I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't, but I'm in love with you, and I need you to believe me,"
"I just..." And you're doing it all wrong; the words aren't coming. You love him, too. Of course you do, how could you not? He's the safest place you have. He's so worried, you're sure, that in telling you his feelings, he's ruining your safety, but as he holds you there, you realize he hadn't. Not really.
He cannot see your face, you look down, forehead no longer on his, tuck yourself into his chest, and hiccup some air. "You know I..."
And he's nodding, and his shaking hasn't stopped, so you try to speed it up. "No! No, I'm saying.... that I... oh, Kuna, how could I not love you?"
And you've crumpled to your knees now, but he's falling after you, as if he hadn't heard the words. Holding your shoulders, you gasp, "You know I'm horrible at this, I'm so bad, I could never be what you deserve-"
His grip tightens, he's frantically shaking his head, but he doesn't interrupt, "Damnit, Sukuna, of course I love you too."
And right there in the empty park, at quarter till midnight on New Year's Day, you feel a weight unlike anything you've ever felt come off your shoulders as Sukuna drapes his own over yours.
It hadn't been easy; the sickness did not depart, but at least you weren't hiding anywhere but his chest anymore.
The two of you sat there too long to tell, a stupid laugh or a mildly agonized whimper joining the quiet.
After a while, you pulled back a bit wetly just enough to see his face properly. "What do we even do now?"
"Well," Sukuna said, and he was being very soft, very genuine, wiping a stray tear off your cheek, "it's almost midnight. We could kiss at the stroke of the new year like everyone else at every other party."
And the idea of Itadori Sukuna offering you a kiss was genuinely so bizarre that you covered your warming face in your hands. You let your weight rest against his, and he takes it on completely, without complaint. In fact, for him, it's a great pleasure. You mutter into his coat, "We're not at the party."
"No...we're not."
In the distance, you could hear fireworks starting early, people too impatient to wait for midnight. It appeared Sukuna was too; his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.
But now it was just his cheek that had a tear.
"I'm not good at this," he said quietly. "It hurts to want you this badly."
"I know." And although it was different, you really did.
"I'm going to fuck it up, almost certainly."
"Almost certainly." You covered his hands with yours, for the first time, allowing an inkling of hope to bubble to the surface. "You know I will too."
Will. What a definitive word. So committed, but you know you meant it.
"We're going to be fine. We have been all this time."
He nods, and quietly, he feels like this might be a dream. "We have." He seems like he's testing out new words, trying them out on his tongue. "I want to make this official. I want you to know you can trust me with this. I want to be good for you."
You're shaking your head, and all you can utter is, "So long as it's you and me."
Perhaps it had been so frightening because the idea of losing him was so much worse, but it was Sukuna. You could trust him to hold this tender part of you. You knew he would take care of it.
When midnight came, you were still in that park. He had dragged you to your feet, and as if you were still teenagers, with an expression of anxiety and excitement, a gentle nod his way, he quickly bent himself to meet you, and a quick and over-too-soon peck was placed ever so softly on your lips.
You were so inexperienced, so repressed, the feel of him caused another swell of panic to crest, that perhaps it wouldn't work. And how terrible that would be. But then he was covering his face. A stupid grin barely hidden, and his presence alone soothed you once more.
Both of you were near laughter at the absurdity of it all. All these years of friendship, of circling around what you both felt, of pretending that what you had was simple when it had never been simple at all.
You wrapped your arms around him again, if nothing else but to feel his heat. Now that the seal was broken, it was easier to allow yourself this closeness. "You know," you said eventually, wrapped in the man's jacket as you both saw fireworks bloom far away. You're chuckling strangely, "What was that you said about men and women not being able to be friends?"
"Huh?" He's a bit dazed, "I took those words back."
"I think I recall you saying all those years ago," you leaned back, his arm automatically wrapping behind you, "that you would need a lover who is also a friend."
"...Did I say that?"
You're not so sure, "I think...I mean, it's probably for the best that we're so close."
Sukuna smiled, nodding. He grasped the back of your hand up to his face to press a kiss there. "Probably...When did you get so wise?"
You whisper, "I have a very smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."
His tone was teasing now. "I thought I got promoted."
You furrow your brows until, "Ahhh, wow....Boyfriend?"
"Almost sounds too plain," He pulled you closer.
You agreed, it sounded way too casual, you shake your head, smirking, the ease of conversation returning, almost as if nothing had changed al all, "Sukuna Itadori, are you proposing to me in a park at twelve-thirty on New Year's Day?"
He hadn't been, he was going to spin something about how perhaps friends were always more romantic than lovers, but he's grinning now, "Would you say yes if I were?"
You turned to look at him properly, at this man who had gone from an irritating stranger to your best friend to the person you couldn't imagine living without.
You hadn't expected his response, and you flounder a bit before just choking, "Ask me again in a couple of years."
His spine straightens up promptly, "Years?" Your eyes did not sway and he runs a hand through his hair, "Fine. Deal, I'll wait." He kissed your hand again. "Clearly, you know I'm good at that. But I'll have you know I'm never letting you forget you said yes."
As the two of you stand, walking back in the direction you came, you think about all that had transpired this night. Leaning against him, you smile, "Oh, I'm counting on it."
Around you, the city celebrated the new year, full of noise and light and promise. But in that quiet moment, just the two of you, it felt like the only thing that mattered was right here. The secret hope you'd both been searching for, the one that had been obvious all along if you'd just been brave enough to see it.
He had been with you this whole time. Sometimes love was friendship itself, and sometimes, the most important thing was recognizing when that couldn't be enough anymore, and having the courage to reach for something more.
They say when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
For Sukuna and you, that had started far before romance had joined the equation.
Only now, whatever the answer to the age-old question, you and Sukuna sadly never solved it.
you could never get tired of admiring your husband heian era!sukuna ♡
most people couldn’t look at him for long.
the moment they caught sight of him, their eyes dart away. some out of fear, or some out of disgust. they believe a creature like him isn’t meant to be looked at.
you think they are all blind.
the evening is quiet, lantern light casting a warm glow across the room. it has become part of your nightly routine before bed, these quiet moments spent with your husband after the day has settled.
sukuna sits against the bed frame, one pair of arms folded while the other rests loosely across his lap.
his crimson eyes follow you as you crawl toward him. you sit down beside him and gently take one of his hands, then another.
his brows rise as he looks at you expectantly.
you compare them, turning them over in your palms. thick fingers, calloused skin, veins running beneath flesh capable of tearing apart crowds.
yet you trace them carefully, as if they are something precious.
“four arms..“ you murmur.
“you say that as if you’ve only just noticed,” he says, clicking his tongue after.
you move closer, inspecting the markings that wind around his skin. your fingertips follow the dark lines traveling over his wrist and shoulders.
“they’re beautiful.”
he looks at you, and you swear there’s a faint blush adoring his cheeks, even though he’s heard you say so many times before.
beautiful? no one has ever used that word for him before you.
you continue before he can respond.
your hand slides to his chest, tracing the markings there as well, and you can feel his gaze burning into you.
then your attention lowers— to the second mouth resting on his stomach. the feature that causes most people to recoil.
you start to lean forward, but sukuna’s eyes narrow. “what are you doing?”
“hm?”
his stomach mouth opens slightly, revealing sharp teeth, just to close again.
you examine it with genuine curiosity— it is quite the most strange part of him, and therefore something you want to understand even more.
without hesitation, you press a small kiss on top of it.
“…why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after coming back up.
for perhaps the first time in centuries, the king of curses looks genuinely caught off guard.
“what was that for?”
you tilt your head, and one of your hands come up to trace his lower lip.
“i do kiss these as well, no?”
a low, strange sound escapes him, a little similar to a low laugh.
you shift your attention upward again, this time toward the smaller eyes beneath his main pair.
you‘ve always found them quite interesting.
carefully, you brush your thumb beneath one. “so you can see from them as well?”
“obviously.”
you continue to examine him shamelessly.
the shape of his face, then the markings crossing his cheeks. the extra eyes.. the sharp angles of his features.
every detail. every part others fear— you love looking at them, love memorizing them.
when you finally look up, sukuna is already looking at you, a little amusement written over his expression.
“what’s so amusing?” you ask.
two of his hands rise, and two large palms settle against your cheeks. the contrast between his size and yours is almost comical.
“just why are you so different?” his thumb brushes across your cheek.
for a moment, neither of you speaks, then you lean forward and kiss one of the markings on his face.
“wouldn’t be here if i was like everyone else, hm?” you reason.
Tags/warnings: Angst to comfort, fluff, my most suggestive/sexual story but no actual smut, mentions of painful/toxic past relationships, discussions of coercion, hypersexual undertones for Sukuna, avoidant attachment undertones for reader, weird passages of time, flawed characters, discussions of drug usage and addiction (side character), unhealthy coping mechanisms, culturally accurate misogyny, retiredteabag's first scary adventure into dialogue-heavy storytelling
When Harry Met Sally AU: (see summary)
Recent College graduates share a contentious car ride from their hometown to the big city where they have been newly employed, during which they argue about whether men and women can ever truly be strictly platonic friends. Years later, they meet again, and in the company of their respective friends, attempt to prove the lifelong question one way or another. Can they move from unwilling to deep friendship without sex becoming an issue between them? And after the pain of their previous relationships, are either of them even fit for love?
Frat!kuna who spent all of his college life partying, listening to EDM, pop, hip-hop—always in loud, chaotic environments, listening and liking music based on vibes—was obviously very uneducated with classical music.
"No come on! Listen to this part," you said, replaying a passage of some famous piece by a composer he barely could pronounce.
"Listen to the slight pause before the orchestra joins in here—absolutely phenomenal."
Frat!kuna who loved you, really, and tried his best (or best in his own definition) in dipping into your passion, but found that he already missed the deep beat of the bass in his own playlist.
“Sorry, babe, but it’s still boring.”
“Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue is a fusion of jazz and blues. This is far from the conventionally ‘boring’ classical music!” you whined, shaking him by the shoulder.
Frat!kuna let you shake him, smirking in pure amusement at the sight of your pout and exasperated eyes. He leaned in to shut you up with a kiss, humming in delight at the sound of your sigh as you relaxed against him.
“Babe, just give up.”
“No.”
Frat!kuna who rolled his eyes affectionately as you continued your efforts in teaching him the beauty of the piece. Comparing different audios, pointing out how certain instruments were highlighted more in the other, how the piano has a more ‘crisp’ sound in one while the other had a more ‘hearty’ and ‘deep’ timbre to it.
Frat!kuna who just listened to your pretty voice keep going on and on, and by the time your ranting ended, it was obvious he was only just watching your lips, respectful for once for not shutting you up by pushing you against the bed for more exciting activities, but not enough to stop being distracted.
Frat!kuna who continued to have his weakly ‘lessons’ with you on lazy Saturday afternoons, even ditching his frat parties to be with you for your seminar of classical music, telling him that you’ll start basic and slow, but made him listen to a video of Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no.2.
Frat!kuna who couldn't understand your talking, but having you wrapped in his arm, his chin tucked on your shoulder, and his lips pressing tenderly against your jaw as you explained certain music passages definitely beat a party that you weren’t even going to be there.
Frat!kuna who slowly, but gradually started to feel his heart flutter at certain passages that you pointed out before when he tried listening them on his own, all the details you’ve mentioned starting to piece itself together.
Frat!kuna who sooner or later listened to your recommendations with you on your bed, lying down together with entwined limbs, and closed his eyes as he burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, enjoying Debussy’s soft harmonies from Pagodes that drifted through your cozy room.
Frat!kuna who grunted slightly, admitting defeat in his round-about way to you that he is starting to fall in love with classical music—and already, you.
very very self indulgent fic inspired by listening to Bernstein's conducting/performance of Rhapsody in Blue
dividers: @/suupersonic
Frat!kuna x classical musician!reader goes to watch ballet together
