BungeeCum

"-lots of tattoos, dick length 8.5-9 inches, circumcised, good stamina, and cums A LOT."

Your cheeks were absolutely enflamed as you relayed your request to the stranger over the phone.

"My, that's a tall order," Shinji smirked, "I have just the person for you, doll. He'll be right over. Thank you for choosing Dick Dash!"

And he hung up right in your face.

As soon as the phone call ended, your palms began to sweat.

Were you really that desperate for decent dick to go and blindly order it off the phone like you were simply ordering a pizza?

Nervously, you began to pace around your living room, your hands continuously running over your jeans to eliminate the moisture from your palms.

Ding dong.

Well, you're about to get the answer to that question.

You stood on your tip-toes to look out of the peephole. All you could see was...red.

You unlatched the door and a tall, redheaded male - covered in tattoos, just as you'd asked - stepped over the threshold.

His hair almost matched the color of the red polo shirt that he had on.

A giggle bubbled up in your throat at the fact that they had an actual uniform and everything: red polo, black pants, black belt, and a cap with 'DD' in black lettering across the bill.

"Hey cutie, I'm Renji. You called for me?"

Renji had a cocky confident smirk set across his lips.

Then he started unbuckling his belt.

Your eyes blew wide. "W-wait, you mean we do it right now?!"

Renji shrugged, "I mean...I can wait. Just keep in mind that I get paid per 15-minute interval."

"Oh! Well, that's fine then."

For the first thirty minutes, the two of you just talked. Renji was pretty down-to-earth and funny, in all actuality.

You had tears in your eyes from the stupid jokes that he was telling you.

Now those same tears stung your eyes as you kneeled on the carpeted floor of your living room, your knees getting rug burns as Renji fucked your mouth.

"Just like that, baby. Remember to breathe through your nose. Atta girl.." His thighs clenched when you laved your tongue over his balls, right up through the seam separating them.

Heavy, rough hands pressed down further on your shoulders as Renji groaned loudly with his head thrown back.

His cap rested on the arm of your couch and the hair tie that had been holding his hair up had broken earlier due to his rough thrusting. A few maroon-red hair strands lay slicked against his forehead while the rest cascaded down his back.

The feeling of Renji's cock nestled deep in your esophagus had your pussy running rivers onto the soft beige material beneath you, and even more so when he reached down to rub a calloused thumb against your sensitive button.

Your knees shivered and your stomach buckled in, orgasm washing over you in undulating waves.

"Damn babe, you cum just from sucking cock?" His chuckle was strained and throaty as he moved to stroke his fingers over your dripping cunt before pushing two inside.

"Ohh!"

Renji began fingering your pussy at an insane pace that had your toes curling and tears trickling down your face like a fountain.

You placed your hands on his thighs to try and push back from him but he moved his free hand to take a fierce hold of your hair.

"Nuh uh. Take it. Take it and keep my dick in your mouth while you do."

You did as you were told, but it was a struggle. His heavy balls slapped against your neck while pre-cum and saliva dribbled down the sides of your mouth, coating them.

"Fuck! Gunna cum, gunna cum, gunna cum - oh shitttt." A steady stream of ejaculate shot into your mouth - warm and salty - and you gulped it all up like a greedy whore.

Renji held you by the back of the neck and slowly pulled you off of his dick with a soft 'plop'.

"Fuck, that's a talented mouth you have there, babe. Now, how do you want it?"

You weren’t so hesitant with your requests now.

"Rough. From the back."

"Nasty," Renji smirked, "bend over."

Your aching knees screamed at you as you then planted them into the rough fabric of the couch.

"Arch f' me, baby."

His hands smoothed over the globes of your ass before he smacked each one, enjoying the way the flesh jiggled beneath his large hands.

Hiking one foot up on the couch and taking his heavy dick in one hand, Renji teased you by sliding the head against your puffy clit.

"Please Ren...put it in.."

"Giving me a nickname already, sweetheart? I must be doing something right."

You were about to ask again when he thrust upwards, then dragged the head through your slippery folds until he was slipping inside your hole.

"Oh God.."

Your head dropped to your hands that were gripping the back of the couch in earnest.

Renji was long and thick; the veins trailing up and down his cock massaged your walls with delicious friction.

"Feeling good, baby girl?" He pressed you into a deeper arch and your mouth fell open.

“Y-y-y-” You struggled, stuck on the first letter of the word. Renji chuckled and smacked your ass, jiggling the flesh in his palm.

His brown eyes were transfixed on how his dick was moving in and out of your pussy, your juices covering his length leaving a silky, translucent sheen up to his base and smearing into his red pubes.

“Damn, pretty. Good pussy like this shouldn’t have to order dick. If you were my girl, I’d fuck you good every night.”

Renji’s large hand cupped your ass cheek, spreading you open wider to take more of his thick length, which left you howling. He wasn’t even going that fast, but he was so thick that he could reach all your spots with a few deep strokes.

“You stopped talking to me, sweetheart. Why don’t you tell Ren how good it feels, yeah?”

He sped up his pace, thrusting harder and directly into your G-spot, making you scream out his name in pure bliss.

“Renji!”

Said redhead hummed, moving the fingers of his free hand down to your clit, rubbing it vigorously side to side as his thrusting never slowed. Using his upper body, he pressed you further into the couch cushions. 

The entire couch banged against the wall from the sheer force of his thrusts. Your neighbors might have something to say about that..

“Renji, please..! I’m going to c-cum!”

You had never felt anything like this in your young adult life. Seems that the guys on your campus really didn’t know how to fuck.

“Go ahead, pretty. Make my day and cum all over this dick.”

Strands of his lustrous, dark red hair stuck against your back as your orgasm hit you like a crashing wave, but Renji didn’t stop thrusting; in fact, his thrusts got even faster.

“W-wait!”

There was no waiting when Renji was focused, and right now his focus was getting a second release out of you on top of his own.

“What are we waiting for, pretty? This is what you ordered, right? Come on, you didn’t think I was done that quick, did you?” 

The smirk in his voice was evident as the sly redheaded male quite literally fucked you into the couch. With one tattooed arm wrapped around your middle while the fingers of the other toyed with your sensitive clit, you could feel that same feeling bubbling up in your stomach once again, but more intense.

“Go ahead, and let go for me, babe - oh, holy shit - !”

Renji’s rough, calloused fingers stroking your clit like guitar strings paired with his rough, rhythmic thrusting caused a stream of liquid to gush from your pussy and soak the cushions of the couch. Good thing you lived alone…

Your squirting triggered his orgasm and the redhead pulled out just in time to spray his cum across your plump ass cheeks, some of the white strands hitting your upper back and even landing in your hair.

“Good girl…” He cooed, patting you on the butt affectionately as he climbed off of you and headed to the bathroom to get a cloth to clean you up with.

Meanwhile, you lay flat on your belly in the wet spot, attempting to catch your breath.

Renji had righted himself, looking exactly how he did when he first entered your apartment, smirk included.

After paying, you gave an awkward smile and walked him out so he could return to his shift. The thought of him seeing other girls made you just the teensiest bit jealous, but what could you do?

Turning to walk back inside, you heard a soft crinkle of paper in the back pocket of your jeans. Upon reaching into the pocket, you’d pull out a crumpled note:

‘Think I might call in sick for the rest of the day. Only thing that’ll make me feel better is a 2nd round ;)’

Everything that was said in that note stood true to this day– you think of him more than he’d ever know, and you still intend on meeting him again one day. You know you will. It may have been an arrogant way to think, but it was inevitable. The world is simply too small when you have a clock that never stops. 

But most of all, you truly did hope you could fall in love with him all over again when that day came. To meet him for the very first time again. Experience that same lovestruck awe you felt when you first laid your eyes on him. Watching everything around him dim as the world came to a halt. Foolish and unreasonable, yet so incredibly tender. 

You craved nothing more in a time when you had begun to grow a resentment he didn’t deserve. At least not from you. It didn’t matter how cruel he was to others— he saved the very little kindness he had left for you, so you left, refusing the last bit of good in him to go to waste. 

The memories of those you knew before Sukuna steadily blurred until the only thing you knew was him. It was bittersweet at first— your younger self wasn't such a fool after all for loving him and giving your life to him. But that changed over time. A statement that once brought you comfort slowly started to keep you up at night. Being haunted by uncertainty while he peacefully slept next to you felt like betrayal. 

You knew in your heart that all of the what-ifs that clouded over you would’ve eventually festered into regret, and it would’ve struck you over and over again until you struck back. 

He was meant for you to love, not to hate, so you left. 

It hurt at first. The only thing that made you feel better was knowing you left before you had the chance to harbor even just the slightest of resentment towards him, or towards the time you spent together. It was for the best. You’re able to remember it was you who chose this— hell, you fought for it. It’s left you with nothing but gratitude. 

You’re just hoping he understands that, or at the very least, believes you. Sukuna has proven himself to be quite unpredictable though. 

Sure, he’s had his moments where he’s proven himself to be wise, as someone as old as him should be. But unfortunately, his ability to hold a grudge is so honed that it can no longer be considered a personality flaw. It is a strength, and from the way he straight up cackles from just thinking about his hatred for certain people, it is also clearly a source of entertainment for him.

So, as much as you’d love to run into his arms and have him spin you around like they do in romance movies, it just wasn't realistic. You'd go as far as to say that expecting any type of normal reaction from him, knowing how absurdly evil he could be, was just putting him in a box. Sukuna wasn't going to let love stop him from chasing after you with a dagger in hand, one that he probably didn't have to think twice about having specially made for the next time he saw you. It'd have some personal touch to it, like your name engraved on the blade, and it would come as a surprise to absolutely no one. He's so fucking psychotic that you just expect that sort of thing from him.

Is that why you’ve pushed off going back to him for so long? Maybe.

You really do miss him. Deeply. So much so that it sometimes hurts. Your reluctance to see him again doesn’t change that or take away from it— it doesn't mean you love him any less, either. With that being said, missing a man who redefines what it means to be petty makes the pain from yearning so much more bearable. Especially when you’re convinced that the random chills you get down your spine are from him thinking about you in bad faith.

Which is why you’ve preferred to live in small, quiet towns. It’s harder for an outsider to go unnoticed in one. Easier to watch your back. Easier to run. You were so reluctant to move to the city because of it. Everyone’s a stranger. It’s harder to get a read on everyone's intentions, too. 

It’s gotten easier over time— the initial paranoia has subsided, but that feeling of finally being settled into your apartment never came. Five months in and everything was still too loud, too fast, too bright. You either did too much or too little. You’ve never complained about a place this much, yet this one consistently gives you new things to complain about. 

Not to mention that after 63 years of painting, you’re just now starting to hate it on your 64th. Just as that threatens to send you into another downward spiral, your phone on the counter rings. 

Misa. She doesn’t even give you a chance to say hello before getting on you about next week’s exhibit. 

“Hi, Hun.” She’s quick, but harmless. “Are you ready for next week?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, looking back at the canvas in your living room. “The last piece is almost done. I should be there in a couple of days to drop it off.” 

“No— you,” she clicks her tongue. “You’re still attending, right? You said you would this time.” 

Her questions met with a long pause, both aware of the excuse you’re having difficulty trying to find. This wasn’t your first time flaking out on an exhibit, you were bound to run out of excuses at one point. 

“I just don’t see the point,” you complain. “I’ll see everyone else’s work when I drop my last piece off anyway.” 

“The point is getting out and meeting potential buyers,” she reminds you, clearly fed up with the same excuse. “It’s your pieces that get asked about the most. Don’t you think it’s a little sad that you’re never there for that?” 

“…no,” you respond stubbornly before letting out a little laugh. “It’s not me that they’re buying.” 

“Obviously,” she laughs. “It’s still nice getting to know the artist. You can’t just come by and sip some wine for an hour?” 

The questions met with another pause, making her hold back on a frustrated groan. To her surprise, it doesn’t last as long as it usually does, giving her more hope than usual. 

“One hour?” You reluctantly ask. 

“One hour,” she confirms. “And if you don’t have fun, you can leave, and I’ll never ask again.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

It took another minute or so to get off the phone with her. Given your track record of broken promises, she made you do your own round of promises. Fair enough. The regret hits right as you hang up. Shopping for a dress, getting ready, attending— all of it. 

One hour. It was only going to be one hour.

—

A couple of hundred years is nothing in comparison to how long he’s been around. Living in opulence was all he knew. Wide, open spaces. Nothing but pure gold and ancient artifacts that would never step foot in some museum. Servants scurrying through the halls. It was the standard for as long as he could remember. 

However, there was a time when he lived simply. It started with you wanting to leave the estate, not even a year after being turned. Of course, he said yes, he always said yes. Before he knew it, you grabbed him by the hand and dragged him all over the world— that’s what it felt like at least. 

You chose the cities, where you were going to stay, when it was time to leave. Mansions to shacks, deserts to forests, snowcountry to beaches. There wasn’t a standard, no requirements. 

You would’ve dragged him with you to the moon if you could, and he would’ve let you. Wherever you were was where he wanted to be. 

So much time, yet for someone like him, it could be as if he had snapped his fingers, and 100 years would pass. That's how it was supposed to be anyway. He was supposed to go back to his life like nothing had ever happened. Nothing ever does, anyway. Yet, the marble floors were too sleek, the echoes from his footsteps were too loud, and if he focused enough, he could feel the walls of his spacious penthouse begin to close in on him— all serving as a reminder that he never actually came back. 

He stayed right where you left him, and for that, he hates you. He couldn’t even tell you all that you’ve ruined for him because you’ve made being found by him impossible. Even with you physically gone, he still can't get rid of you— your memory has become nothing but a ghost that taunts him. Yes, taunts.

And before he’s able to shove a dagger through your ghost’s heart, like he does on the days it won’t leave him the fuck alone, he hears his assistant coming down the hallway. The only reason why he knows it’s Uraume is that they shuffle instead of picking up their fucking feet when they walk. You’d think he’d be relieved to not hear his home echo once more, but it somehow pisses him off even more.

“What?” He grumbles, not even giving the assistant a chance to knock. 

He’s clearly in a mood, so they step into his office and try to make it quick, placing some fancy invitation on his desk in front of him. 

“You’ve received an invitation from The Hidden Inventory,” they say, as stoic as ever. “They’re having an art exhibit next Saturday.” 

Sukuna never picks up the invitation, he just continues to stare at it with a mixture of disgust and irritation. “How the fuck did they get my address?” 

“Mr. Geto is one of their investors,” they remind him, avoiding any further explanation because he doesn't exactly know either. 

That somewhat catches his interest, knowing that Suguru was a part of the same… community. 

“So they’re selling more than just paintings?” Sukuna finally picks up the invitation and looks through it. He’s become quite the glutton ever since the-thing-that-no-one ’s-allowed-to-talk-about happened. 

“I’m not certain,” they respond, reaching for their phone. “I can ask, if you’d like.”

Sukuna waves a hand. “No need, I’ll give him a call later.”

“Sounds good,” they nod and grab the other envelope in their hand. Sukuna notices them fighting back a smile, and for once, he is at a loss as to why. “These photos were taken by one of the newer associates. They were reluctant to share at first, but after taking a look myself, I thought you might like to see this.” 

As expected, Sukuna figured out who they were alluding to the moment he heard the word ‘photos’ and snatched the envelope out of his assistant's hand. It was more frantic than it was rude. 

He takes his time, carefully looking through each photo, until he reaches the last one that’s also the clearest shot.

And he freezes. He didn't tense or lock in place; he just stopped. Every fiber of his being was completely still. 

Times changed. The hair was different. The style was different. So was the makeup. 

But it was you. 

He wasn’t angry. He didn’t feel the hatred that he swore he felt for you just minutes ago. Not even sadness. Something in him just ached knowing that he knew absolutely nothing about you. 

“Where?” He finally speaks up, never looking up from the photo. “Is she here?” 

“Yes, sir,” Uraume responds, trying to recall all the details the new associate had given them. “The photos were taken downtown.”

“And the person who took these didn’t think to follow her?” He asks dryly. 

“It was mentioned that she was overly aware of her surroundings, Sir,” they say apologetically. “It wouldn’t have been long before she noticed. He figured it was best to take the photos and go from there.” 

Fair enough. Although he could take a guess at why you were like that in the first place. 

“Alright,” he hums, looking back at the photo. “Find everything— where she works, where she lives, where she hangs out, everything. I don’t care if it’s something small like her having a pet cat, I want their fucking name too.” 

“Will do, Sir,” they bow one last time before making their leave. “I will keep you updated throughout the day.” 

“Great.” 

Once the door fully shuts, he goes back to looking at the photos, as if it would help you feel more real. Memories that came flooding back, even the little details he didn’t think were important enough to remember. And yet, even though you two spent more time together than without each other, the girl in the picture still felt like a stranger. 

He thinks about all the time you spent together, all the times he held you, and maybe it wasn’t the right time to think about it, but he thinks of all the times he used to fuck you. How he’d fuck you. 

He wasn’t good with words, so he spent his time showing it. Were the memories enough to carry on into your next life? 

Given how it was probably your fourth or fifth life by now, he stops himself right there. The answer to his question was pretty clear, and it fills him with the same resentment he’s spent years living with. So he takes the photos and shoves them in his drawer, once again wishing you had just written a simple “I’m leaving” in your note, instead of all the bullshit you wrote about loving him and making your heart grow fonder. 

It would’ve saved both of you unnecessary trouble. 

—-

Watching you look at a map was all he needed to know that it was time to get ready to leave. 

“It’s only been 3 months,” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you on the bed, while you lay on your stomach trying to study the damn thing. “You don’t like it here?” 

You shake your head. “It’s too hot. I wanna go somewhere cold,” you say, pointing towards one of the countries on the map. “What about here?” 

“It’s colder than here,” he shrugs, pointing at a different place instead. “All of the snow and the rain is gonna be around here, though.” 

“Okay,” you hummed, looking back at the area he pointed to and reading all the different names— completely oblivious to the way he's looking at you. 

Hungry. Not one holy thought is going through his head. 

“You sure it’s too hot?” He asks, placing a hand on the back of your thigh and giving it a light squeeze. “Barely got any clothes on, is this not good enough?”

“Nothing's good enough,” you scoff. The complaint elicits a laugh from the man. You move to lie on your side, propping your head up on your hand. “I’m serious. I’m all sweaty, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Sweaty, huh?” He murmurs, running his hand all the way up your leg and squeezing your hip. “Can’t have that.” 

“No,” you suppress a laugh, trying not to pay too much mind to the way he starts playing with the waistband of your shorts. “That’s why we’re leaving.” 

“And we’re never coming back— look at what this fucking place is doing to you.” He’s just pretending to be outraged with you at this point, all while giving your shorts a tug. He hums, “These damn shorts aren’t helping either.”

“It’s not the shorts, it’s the weather,” you argue back. 

“I know— you look like you’re about to cry. Barely have anything on and it’s still too much,” he laughs, hooking his fingers around your waistband again, but this time waits. 

“You’re so annoying,” you respond, having to hold back a smile from how fucking determined he was. But he noticed and started pulling them down with a satisfied hum, and threw them to the side somewhere.

“And look at how wet that makes you.” He presses two fingers against you, spreading your slick up and down your folds, earning himself a soft gasp. “Feels good, huh?” 

And you try to answer, but your words get caught in your throat when he presses harder and rubs faster. 

“So fuckin’ messy,” he murmurs, landing a light slap on your clit before rubbing over it again. “Mmmm— what do you want, princess? Want me to keep going, or do you want something else?” You don’t answer right away, too focused on the big fingers that were running through your folds, which he only made worse by going faster. “There’s also my tongue… my cock…” 

“Mmh, please,” you respond, way too fast.

“Yeah?” He taunts you, clearly pleased by how eager you sounded. “Want me to fuck you?” 

“Yes,” you respond, way too giddy. 

Everything happened so fast after that, one moment you’re saying yes.

Then the next, you're getting fucked stupid.

He held you against his chest, and all you could hear were the brutal snaps of his hips as he hit all of the spots that drove you crazy over and over again. He’s in your ear the entire time— saying how good you were taking him. Telling you how fucking hard he was going to make you cum, and talking you through it when he did.

And just when you thought he couldn’t hit any deeper, he hooked your leg over his arm and bullied his cock into you until you came so hard that you nearly sobbed. 

At one point, he took a break from whispering things into your ear. You thought it was to kiss you, but all he did was drag his tongue up one of your tears. 

And as you sniffled, all he murmured in your ear was, “m’sorry.”

He wasn’t. He never once stopped fucking you throughout any of it. And when he finally did, you were hot and sticky and limp against him. He gave you a quick peck on the cheek, which was sweet, though you believe you deserved more for having your soul shot out of place. But, it’s as romantic as he gets.

It took you a while to understand which actions and words replaced “I love you”. But that night was probably one of the first times it actually clicked.

“Done being a crybaby?”

“Not if you start making fun of me again,” you murmur back.

He softly laughs, moving some hair out of your face, “I just wanted to see your face, I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

You turn over and let him. Neither of you said anything for a moment— he just continued to move some hair out of the way, while you watched him. You were surprised that he felt okay with you just staring at him like that, but his expression never hardened. Throughout that short-lived moment, he was still, allowing himself to be the admirer instead of the protector he had grown to become. 

His thumb grazed over your cheek as he tried to put the thought he was having into words. 

“You just showed up at my house one day,” he said, almost to himself. 

“I did.” You couldn’t help but smile. As simple as it was, it was true. “You thought I was a pest, too.”

“You used to undress me with your eyes,” he scoffed, still clearly appalled at all that he let you get away with. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” you swore, shaking your head. And then you smile, “You look better naked than I had ever imagined– ow,” your hand dramatically shot up to your head. “You said you’d never hit me!”

“It was a forehead flick,” he chuckles, grazing his thumb over your cheek once more. “I didn’t strike you.”

“Rich people always find loopholes.” You try to keep a straight face as you say it. He, of course, argued with you because that was just how stubborn people were, but the innocent bickering died down after a couple of minutes. By then, you were finally able to answer his question. “What do you mean by regret?”

“...You know,” he grumbles. “Showing up to my house one day.”

“Of course not.” The question almost made you laugh, thinking you had already made it clear by now. “I’m what? 130 years old now?”

“163 years old, actually.” He was way too quick to correct you, but you let it go.

“Thanks,” you chirp out. “Anyways, I’d be dead by now if I hadn't met you. I enjoy my life. So no, I don’t regret it. Is that something you worry about?”

He finally takes his eyes off of you then, which was all you really needed to know. You figured it’s the reason why he even asked you in the first place. 

“I don’t know if it’s a worry.” He reluctantly admitted. “But if it were true, I’d feel guilty.”

It made sense. All the ones before you were sworn into some weird secret society and were devoted to him. They all had a purpose, easy to dispose of. You, on the other hand, didn’t serve him— there weren’t any rules you could break for him to dagger you.

Ah. So that’s what it was. It was easy for him to dagger others. You, he’d feel the guilt he talked of.

“Well… I could see why you think about that sometimes, but I don’t think I’d ever regret choosing you, or this,” you say, gesturing to yourself.

“Wonderful,” he chuckles in relief, before casually saying, “because if I had to dagger you? I would make Satan's fall from grace look like a child’s birthday party.”

“How concerning,” you dryly say.

“Absolutely,” he hums. “I meant everything I said in that letter I gave you— keeper of my heart, all the good that’s left of me. You’re mine.”

The last thing you expect to dream of is an actual memory you once had with Sukuna. This was your first one in... ever. It may not have been technically real, but it felt real. It was you’re first time seeing him in over 100 years. Explains the tears that you woke up with in your eyes.

You’re mine. 

So utterly possessive— yet it never bothered you. Even when you were his, he never made you feel like a possession. 

And now you ache. 

What a fucking joke. The dream couldn’t have been on a day that you didn’t have to attend some stupid event? What luck. Not like you could expect it— you were a vampire, not a fucking fairy. 

One hour. 

Then you get to go home and be sad about the stupid dream. Maybe grab “dinner” on the way home, too. For old times' sake. 

notes: ok so quick recap! both reader and sukuna's pov's. reader is a painter, hence why sukuna hasn't been able to fine her bc when the fuck has she ever been interested in that?? the random chills she gets down her spine are from sukuna having homocidal thoughts about her 😭 and reader has a little intuition thing with sukuna, so she gets the chills down her spine whenever he gets mad all over again, and he was wondering if she ever thought about him (she does), but his thoughts kinda sent her that dream of the past. it being a sex dream is not a coincidence. and yaaaaa, reader woke up on the day of the art exhibit, so we will see if sukuna ever shows up 🙂‍↕️ could you imagine having a sex dream about your ex and then seeing him that same day??

It took patience. Sukuna didn’t have a lot of it, but he used what little he had to project onto his plan. He wreaked havoc on everything he saw simply for the chance to see you, for you to show up and try to stop him. It worked a few times. More often than not he ended up leaving emptier than he entered.

You started to show up more frequently. He figured you were doing the same. Too caught up in the taboo to truly accept him as your king. But he knew you wanted him too. Could tell in the way you moved around him, like some twisted dance. You looked at him differently than that first time. Longingly.

He switched tactics completely and decided to make a deal with the old bastards of the Heian jujutsu society.

You, in exchange for temporary peace.

They took the deal like hungry rats.

You argued with him for the first few weeks. Constantly bickering back and forth, throwing shit at him, trying to pick fights. He ignored it for the most part. Sometimes when he had nothing else to do he would egg you on, intentionally pissing you off for his own entertainment. He liked the twitch in your brow, how quickly you would quip back.

Eventually you calmed.

He learned more about you, then. Watched you paint the landscapes that surrounded his manor, tend to the garden that was now flourishing under your care. His servants took to you quickly. Uraume even faster.

However, instead of anger, you now treated him with indifference. That, in Sukuna’s mind, simply wouldn’t do.

And he did everything.

After his hunt, he brought his finest kill out to the shed in the back. Knife in hand, he skinned it, curing and cutting the leather and tending to the fur. It would take days, but he felt pride when he saw you sleeping in the soft and plush furs that he made with his own four hands. He would deny it when Uraume would confront him about it.

It wasn’t enough.

He brought you clothing made of the finest silks and jewellry that sparkled under the sun. Glimmering junihitoes in all different colours, necklaces, earrings, and rings. All from villages he had previously ravaged, of course, but thoughtful nonetheless. You didn’t accept them, throwing them to the back of your closet and choosing to instead wear your village’s local attire.

He gave you every food you could possibly want. Dishes from all over Japan laid out at your table every night. Most nights you ate, which gave him a feeling he didn’t quite know how to place. If he tested his luck that day with your temper, he was left stranded alone in the massive dining hall.

Sukuna brought you to gorgeous sights around the country. Being from a small town, your experience was mostly limited to your village. He revelled in the marveled look in your eye when you laid eyes on mountains, forests, and cities beyond your wildest dreams.

He liked that in those moments, you spoke to him as well. Forgetting all about your supposed hatred for him and opting to share your every thought. Sure, he didn’t really reply. He was too proud. But it stroked something in him that he didn’t know was there, and still refused to admit.

Your paints had never run dry. Your garden was never left without tools. Your favourite spot to read was never exposed to the sun. The path that you walked every morning and drank tea upon was always tended to.

He wondered when these spots in his life became yours.

You began to talk at him. Telling him about your feelings, your childhood, your wants. He would sit quietly and listen. Usually it happened during his daily tasks, so he never said anything in return. You began to greet him every single time you saw him, forcing him to walk with you on your morning walks.

He had never thought the words “Goodnight, Sukuna” could make him feel the way they did. Your voice was like windchimes hit by a gentle breeze. Refreshing. Relaxing. He could feel his tense muscles loosen the second he saw your figure in the distance.

He invited (forced) you to train with him. It wasn’t really training. Sukuna didn’t need to train. He was already the strongest. Sometimes he just fucked around for fun, and this time he brought you along. You bickered and fought the whole way, and really fought once you hit his training grounds. It was an empty field, surrounding greenery scorched and cleared by his flames.

When he had finally managed to pin you down, time stopped. Your heavy panting, his chest heaving. The sweat trickling down your skin warm under his palms. Your airy pants slipping down your hip ever so slightly.

The expression on your face was burned into his mind for days.

You had stopped wearing anything other than red. Began to doodle him while you watched him do tasks around the estate. He knows only because he found the papers in your room while he definitely wasn’t snooping. Every single day you sat closer and closer to him during meals in the dining hall. He had become used to your presence beside him, much like Uraume’s.

Looking back, you were his long before he ever asked you to be.

The ground was covered in snow when he finally did. There was no wind, no disturbances as he watched the snow fall that day. It had been a shit day. An anniversary. He was perched on a rock under the canopy in your garden. He heard you before he saw you.

“Ryomen?” You had murmured, a hand on his shoulder.

Not too long ago, he would’ve slaughtered anyone who dared call him by that name. With you, he craved it. Unwillingly leaned into your touch against his better judgement. That was the first day he had opened up to you. About his childhood as a monster, his mother, his shithead father. It was the anniversary of her death.

You had listened patiently. Looked at him softly. He hated it. Loathed how you made him feel, what you turned him into. He was a beast. A monster. With you, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like a demon. He felt like a man. And it was frightening.

What was even more terrifying was how much he craved it. He looked at you then, really looked, and came to an awful realization. He didn’t want anyone else to see you in your most vulnerable. He wanted to be the only one to see you happy, to see you devastated, and everything in between.

Sukuna wanted you. Not your status by his side, or your power. Just you.

He had told himself he wouldn’t ask. He knew for a while that you had been inching closer and closer to him. Knew what you really wanted. The stubborn part of him wanted you to confess. Numerous nights, he laid in bed sleepless, committing to the fact that you would be begging for him. And he wouldn’t give you what you wanted unless you asked on your knees with a pretty face.

But this was almost more humiliating than he could have imagined. His enemies would point and laugh at his weakness if they could see him.

Sukuna took your hand, more gently than he’s ever held anything in his life. Fighting back the urge to cower, to run, he asked you to be his and only his.

And you had accepted.

You had asked to be married rather than just a couple. It didn’t matter to him regardless, so he agreed. Marriage was futile and inconsequential to him, but apparently he had to take your feelings into account as well now.

You had married under budding sakura trees. There was no documentation, no witnesses. Neither of you had families to preach your social status and unity. Just the two of you, as it always was and would be. While he approached the whole ordeal with a stubborn frown, Sukuna would never forget the smile on your face.

He would also never forget the day he laid you down for the first time in his chambers. The taste of your bare skin, how you clawed at his back. The sound of you begging for something, anything, while he rested his forehead atop your own. Candles had illuminated your sweat-soaked skin, you were glowing in his eyes.

He was by no means an easy husband.

Sukuna was crass, sometimes downright cruel. He intentionally tried to piss you off because he thought it was the funniest thing in the world. He liked to poke and prod, and wouldn’t stop unless you gave him a very unfriendly smack.

He still ran rampant against your best wishes, ravaging villages and toppling cities, killing innocent people. When people came to his estate to beg for mercy, you sat by his side as he laughed. He would never change, hadn’t in the past and wouldn’t now with the addition of you in his life. But you accepted that, accepted him.

Despite his flaws, Sukuna had also learned how to hold, how to cherish. He was a man of actions, not of words. You had never been left to want for anything. If you even thought of it, it was yours. No gentle whispers of his name needed, although it did help sway him a little when it was something hard to obtain. He sat beside you as you engaged in hobbies. Listened when you spoke (sometimes). Indulged in your impulsivity for travel and tasks.

Sukuna had bigger dreams. He wanted more, more life, to conquer more land, to kill more people. He knew, though, that of all of his desires, you were his greatest.

Until the very end of your short time with him, Sukuna had never said “I love you.”

He was angry. He had no one to blame. You had died of natural causes a mere few years after your marriage. Uraume was beside him the entire time, but he refused to take any type of support. It was just who he was.

As he sits in front of your grave, ready to start his mission of becoming a cursed object, he hopes that he sees you in every lifetime going forward. He doesn’t doubt that he would recognize your soul no matter the face it belonged to.

And that was Sukuna’s love.

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