Anime and Books

“good,” he murmurs. you hear fabric rustle on his end, like he’s sitting up. more awake now. “you sound nervous.”

you swallow. “i am.”

he laughs softly, not mean. almost fond. “that’s okay. i like that about you.”

legs are drawn in close, knees pressed together like that might somehow keep the feeling between your thighs contained. it doesn’t work. nothing does. not when he’s talking to you like this, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“tell me what you’re doing right now,” he says.

you hesitate. “i’m… laying down.”

“on your back?”

“…yeah.”

“legs together?”

you nod automatically, then remember he can’t see you. “mhm.”

“relax them,” he says, gentle but sure. “spread your thighs a little for me.”

your heart starts racing. it feels silly, obeying a voice through a screen, but your body listens anyway. your knees drift apart beneath the blanket, just enough that the cool air sneaks in. you shiver.

“that’s it,” he murmurs. “see? not so bad.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. “i feel stupid.”

“nah,” he says. “you feel shy. big difference.” a pause. then, softer, “and i wouldn’t be doing this if i didn’t want you to.”

that does something to you. settles and unsettles you all at once.

“slide your hand down,” he continues. “slow. don’t rush it.”

your fingers tremble as they move under the blanket, tracing over your stomach, the hem of his shirt. you hesitate again when you reach your panties, breath hitching like you’re about to cross a line you can’t uncross.

“it’s okay,” he says quietly, like he knows exactly where you’re stuck. “just touch yourself over them first. feel how warm you are.”

you do. just your palm, barely pressing, and you gasp at how sensitive it already feels. your hips twitch without permission.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you feel that?”

“mhm,” you whisper. “i feel it.”

“good,” he says. “now don’t think about making yourself finish. just… notice it. how it feels when you move your hand.”

you rock your hips, barely. the friction is light but it’s enough to make your toes curl.

“you’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “so fucking good for me.”

your throat tightens. no one’s ever talked to you like this before. patient. focused. like this is something important, not embarrassing.

“okay,” he says after a moment. “now use your fingers. two of them. slide them under your panties.”

you freeze.

“hey,” he says gently. “still with me?”

“i am,” you say, breath shaky. “i’m just… scared.”

he exhales slowly, voice lower when he speaks again. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i know.”

your stomach flips.

“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says, but the words don’t feel like an out. they feel like a promise. “i just want you to feel good, baby. and i know you wanna. i can hear it in your voice.”

you swallow hard, fingers still hovering, skin buzzing where you almost touched yourself.

“you’re already wet, aren’t you?” he adds quietly.

you don’t answer.

he chuckles. “didn’t think you’d lie to me.”

heat crawls up your neck. you nod, even though he can’t see you. “a little.”

“mm,” he hums, pleased. “that’s my fault.”

your fingers move again, slower this time, slipping back under your panties. the contact makes you gasp, sharper now, like your body’s been waiting for permission it didn’t realize it needed.

“there you go,” he says, voice thick. “touch yourself. not fast. just enough to feel how slick you are.”

you do, brushing over yourself once, twice. your hips jerk before you can stop them.

“fuck,” he breathes. “that bad already?”

“sukuna—” your voice breaks.

“shh,” he cuts in softly. “i’ve got you. just listen.” a pause. “use two fingers. spread yourself a little. i wanna know you feel it.”

your face burns, but you obey. your fingers part you, exposing yourself to the cool air, and the sensation makes your breath stutter.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “that’s it. god, i wish i could see you right now. all spread open for me, acting shy like you didn’t call me to teach you how to get yourself off.”

you whimper, fingers trembling as they glide over you again.

“touch your clit,” he says, slower now. deliberate. “right at the top. you feel that little sensitive spot? that’s what’s been throbbing every time you think about me.”

you find it, barely brushing it, and the jolt of pleasure makes your thighs tense.

“ah—”

“easy,” he murmurs, amused. “see? you’re sensitive. that’s cute.” then, darker, “means you’re gonna cum hard when you do it right.”

your breathing goes uneven. your hand starts moving without you thinking about it, small circles just like he told you earlier.

“good girl,” he praises. “keep it slow. don’t rush it. i wanna hear you fall apart.”

your back arches slightly, a quiet, needy sound slipping out of your mouth.

“that’s my baby,” he says. “all alone in your bed, touching herself just ‘cause i told her to. you feel how good that is? how wet you are?”

“mhm,” you whisper, barely there.

“say it,” he presses. “tell me.”

“i’m… wet.”

“for who?”

your fingers falter.

“for me,” he repeats calmly. “go on.”

“f-for you,” you admit, voice shaking.

he groans on the other end. “fuck. yeah. keep rubbing. don’t stop. you’re close, i can hear it.”

there’s a faint shift of sound through the phone. fabric. a sharp inhale that tells you everything without him having to say it. the idea hits you all at once—that he’s not just listening, not just talking. that he’s touching himself too, somewhere far away, thinking about you the same way you’re thinking about him.

“you hear that?” he mutters, voice strained now. “that’s ‘cause i’m doing the same thing. hand wrapped around my cock, slow. just like you.”

your breath stutters. the image is too much. him laid back somewhere unfamiliar, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded, touching himself because of you. because you called him and sounded shy and desperate enough that he couldn’t ignore it.

“keep your fingers right there,” he says. “don’t change it. don’t get lazy on me now.”

your hand moves faster without you meaning to, hips lifting instinctively like you’re trying to meet something that isn’t there.

“fuck—” he groans. “that’s it. just like that. god, you’re so easy when you’re like this. all you needed was someone to tell you what to do.”

you whimper, the sound small but needy, and he sucks in a breath like it hit him straight in the chest.

“yeah,” he says. “make those noises. i’m imagining you right now. spread open in my bed. fingers soaked. looking all shy but doing exactly what i tell you.”

your stomach tightens hard. the pleasure is building fast now, messy and overwhelming.

“i can feel it,” he murmurs. “the way you’re gonna clench when you cum. fuck, baby, i’m close too.”

you hear it then—the faint, rhythmic sound of his hand moving, his breathing uneven. it makes your thighs shake.

“don’t you dare stop,” he warns quietly. “i want you to cum with me. together.”

your fingers slip, slick and frantic now, circles tight and desperate. your back arches, mouth falling open.

“sukuna—”

“look at you,” he groans. “so pretty when you’re falling apart. you’re gonna cum for me, yeah? gonna make yourself feel good ‘cause i told you to.”

your whole body tenses, pleasure coiling so tight it almost hurts.

“now,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “cum for me.”

you do. it hits you all at once, sharp and dizzying, your thighs clenching as you gasp into the blanket, fingers trembling as you ride it out.

on the other end, he lets out a strained groan, breath hitching like he’s losing control too. “fuck—” he mutters, voice wrecked. “that’s it… shit.”

there’s a few seconds of nothing but breathing. yours shaky. his heavy. then he exhales, slower now, a crooked smile in his voice. “guess we both needed that.”

All you really wanted was to go home and curl up in your bed, but the bakery was still open for half an hour, and even after that you’d have to stay a little longer to clean up. You didn’t want to leave a mess for your dad when he opened the store tomorrow. Especially not with how little energy he had since falling ill. 

You shouldn’t complain. Your dad was going through a lot right now, and helping out at the bakery so that he could rest more was the least you could do. It's not like a little bit of missed sleep for a few months would kill you. 

Deciding that you needed to move around a bit more if you were going to stay awake, you got started on wiping down all the surfaces - if you began to clean up now there’d be less to do once the shop officially closed, and you doubted that anyone would be coming in this late anyway. 

Cleaning the cafe was one of your preferred chores. Dealing with customers often made you anxious, and it was something that you’d always let your father do the bulk of when you were working here more regularly as a teen. He always had such a charisma with people that you felt you were lacking - you’d much rather do the isolated tasks that required less human interaction. 

You were humming a soft tune as you got thoroughly stuck into the task at hand. You wished you could play some of your own music, but your dad’s aesthetic for the shop was all based around this being a place of calm and relaxation, and you blasting pop music out of the speakers was not in line with the vibe he had so carefully curated. 

Wiping down the top of the glass display case, you stared down at the remaining sweet treats for today. More than half of what your father had baked that morning was still sitting there in pristine condition, all set to go to waste unless there was a sudden rush before closing time. 

It was depressing. 

This was the state that the bakery had been in for a while, struggling to compete with so many new places popping up in this part of Tokyo, the majority of them utilising social media to draw in large crowds - something that your dad seemed vehemently against doing. He always said that the cakes should speak for themselves, that people should visit because of his skill, not because of fancy marketing tricks. 

You’d tried explaining to him multiple times that marketing wasn’t cheating, that it was essential to bring in more footfall, to get people to try his baked goods in the first place. But he wouldn’t budge. 

Why did the elderly have to be so stubborn with trying new things? 

If no miracle came through soon you weren’t sure how long the shop would be able to stay open. And if it closed you had no idea how your father was going to continue paying the medical bills for his treatments. The situation was dire. You needed to find some way to help. 

The sound of the bakery’s bell jingling brought you out of your thoughts, and you called out a greeting on instinct, eyes still fixed on the glass cabinet. The customer approached the counter and you found yourself doing a double take as you glanced up at the man who was practically towering over you right now. 

He was massive, easily over 6’5, with dark tattoos running down his face and disappearing under his black hoodie. Multiple silver piercings lined his ears, with a couple more on his face - one on his lip and another on his nose. His eyes were a deep shade of crimson, and felt like they were piercing through you as he stared you down. 

In stark contrast to the rest of his appearance, he had a head of soft, fluffy pink hair - windswept and cute, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t dyed it to line up better with his terrifying appearance. 

“Um.” You started nervously, trying not to stutter. “Can I help you?”

He was looking at you like you were stupid and it had the hairs raising on your arms. 

Was this guy here to kill you? Surely he wasn’t the type of person who frequented sweet little bakeries like this one. Maybe your father’s debts were finally catching up with him and this scary man had been sent to break your legs or something if your dad didn’t pay up. 

“Where’s the old man?” His voice was deep and gravelly, and it sent a shiver ricocheting down your spine. 

Yeah, this guy was going to kill you.

“He’s not here right now.” You lied, your tone defensive. Your dad was currently upstairs in his apartment, but you weren’t going to tell this guy that. As scary as he was, you’d die before you’d just give up your sick father like that. 

“Mmm.” He eyed you for a moment, as if he could tell that you were lying, and you gulped nervously as you held eye contact with him. 

You didn’t want him to ask any follow up questions, needed him to leave so that your fake confidence wouldn’t shatter under his unyielding gaze. How did a person who looked like this even exist? It's like some unknown force had crafted the world’s most threatening being just to make your day more difficult. 

“Can I get a strawberry shortcake?” 

You stared at him dumbly, unable to quite comprehend his words, as if he were speaking another language. 

“What?” You asked, confident that you’d misheard him. 

The man pointed at the top row of the glass display case, his finger angled towards the cake with white icing and a couple of strawberries on top. “Strawberry shortcake.” He repeated slowly, as if trying to teach you what the item was, like you were some kind of fool who’d never encountered strawberry shortcake before, despite your family owning a bakery. 

“Uh, yeah?” Your response came out as more of a question than anything, and a hint of a smirk flitted over his lips as he watched you remain motionless, the request evidently still not sinking in. 

“It's 500 Yen, right?” He asked, rummaging around in his hoodie pocket for change, and you blinked a couple of times in confusion before nodding, shaking off your surprise and grabbing a slice of strawberry shortcake from the cabinet while the customer dropped his coins onto the counter. 

“To go, or..?” You didn’t want to finish the sentence, the thought of him staying in the cafe any longer with his stifling presence was not ideal. Especially when you weren’t far off closing time anyway. 

“Stay in.” He cut you off, shooting you a sharp grin. 

Great.

You nodded meekly and plated up his cake, handing it over to him. His fingers brushed gently against yours as he took the plate from you, and you were surprised at how tingly the touch made your skin feel. 

God, you were touch-starved. You needed to go on a date with someone and soon if this guy was making you feel things.

“Enjoy.” You mumbled as he took his plate over to the table by the window. 

He took no time at all making himself at home, his large frame settling in against the chair that looked comically small beneath him. He rummaged in his black backpack for a moment before pulling out a book, flipping to a dog-eared page and beginning to read, taking bites from his cake every now and then. 

In your sleepy state, you found yourself staring at him for longer than you should have. There was no denying that he was attractive, even if it was in a vaguely terrifying kind of way. Not to mention, you were surprised that he seemed to be reading The Ship of Theseus, one of the many books that you’d written about recently in your literature classes. 

Considering the romance plotline that ran throughout the novel, it was not what you were expecting him to read. 

Not wanting him to call you out for staring, and ultimately concluding that he wasn’t here to kill you or break your legs, you decided to get back to the task at hand, continuing with your cleaning tirade behind the counter. 

About ten minutes later you were pretty much there with your responsibilities - the only things left being those that you could only do once the shop had actually closed, and for now you still had your tattooed customer sprawled out in the window seat. 

You were considering going over there and politely reminding him that the shop would be closing soon, and that he should really get a move on. But before you could do so your father made an appearance, swinging open the door that connected the bakery to his apartment. 

“All okay, sweetheart?” Your dad asked as he stepped into the cafe. 

He looked tired, wearing several layers of clothing despite the weather being relatively mild. It was to make up for all the fat that he’d lost over the last couple of months between his illness and undergoing treatment. He was cold all the time now. 

“All good!” You chirped quickly. “I told you I can handle it, you just go back upstairs and relax.” 

Having him move about too much made you anxious. He’d shrunk so much that you were afraid even a light breeze might knock him over. Between you and your extended family, it was best that you took care of things, and he got all the rest that he needed. 

“Nonsense.” He said, “it makes me feel a little better to get these stiff joints moving, I can’t stay cooped up there all day - besides, your aunt’s got one of her dreadful dramas on and if I watch much more I’m going to lose my mind.” 

You giggled in understanding, letting your father walk into the bakery and take a look around, evidently inspecting how well you’d taken care of it this afternoon. As his gaze swept the room, his tired eyes lit up at the sight of the customer in the corner. 

“Oh, Sukuna!” He called out. 

The customer, Sukuna, you supposed, looked up at him with a grin. “Hey old man. How’s it going?”

Your brow furrowed at the exchange, they knew each other? This man was not the sort of person that you envisaged your nice, kind, gentle father hanging around with. 

“Same as ever!” Your father replied, his tone chipper, as though he hadn’t had several doses of drugs pumped into his arm just last week. “I hope my daughter hasn’t been giving you a hard time?” 

Sukuna’s eyes moved to you, and you felt your heart rate increase beneath his gaze. “Nah, she’s been an angel.” He said with a smirk. 

You felt shy all of a sudden. If Sukuna was a regular then you really should’ve been less defensive with him, especially if you were going to be working here all the time now. Not to mention you shouldn’t have stared at him for so long when he sat down. 

This was no doubt all coming back to haunt you at some point.

“Sweetheart, this is Sukuna. Do you remember Itadori Wasuke from my kendo classes? This is his son.” 

You had a vague memory of the man that your father was talking about. Years ago, back when your dad was still healthy, he’d been a regular attendee at a kendo dojo not far from the shop. He’d made lots of friends there, but Wasuke was one that you’d seen often. You knew that he had two sons, but you’d never met either of them before.

You were not expecting that very respectable man to have a son covered in face tattoos. 

“Oh, uh- nice to meet you.” 

“You too. Your old man talks about you a lot.” Sukuna said, the smile on his face growing wider as your soul practically left your body at the thought of all the embarrassing stories that your father had probably shared with Sukuna. 

“All good, I hope?” You asked cautiously. 

“Of course!” Your dad cut in. “I told him all about what you’re studying, how you’ve always got your nose buried in a book making sure you get the best grades in your class, I’m so proud of you.”

Oh, so he definitely thinks that you're a nerd. Great.

Sukuna was eyeing you with something akin to interest, his gaze sending shivers running down your spine, and you felt your heart flutter with the attention. Your experience with men your age was limited - you’d been so focussed on your studies and making sure that your family was proud of you that you hadn’t had much time for a social life. 

You’d had a boyfriend for a little bit back in your first year of university, but it didn’t work out - you’d never really felt the spark that you were supposed to. Since then your love life had been embarrassingly dry.

So the sultry gaze that Sukuna had set on you right now was unfamiliar territory, and all you could do was hope that your face hadn’t turned bright red. 

“Thanks dad.” You managed to stutter out, not wanting his compliment to go without a response. But you quickly went back to busying yourself behind the counter - mostly pretending to work to avoid any further conversation. 

You’d had enough embarrassment for one day. 

Your dad chatted with Sukuna for a little longer before the pink-haired man started to pack up his things - telling your father that it was getting late and complimenting him on how good the strawberry shortcake was, just like always. 

As he headed for the door, you caught him glancing over at you with a smirk. “Catch you later, angel.” 

Now you were sure that your face was red, and you cursed yourself that the only words you could find in the moment were: “Uh- sure.” 

You studied literature, spent half of your time reading books, and that was the most eloquent line that you could muster? 

You wanted to die. 

Sukuna’s expression was filled with amusement, but he made no further comment on your poor response, raising his hand in a lazy wave as he headed out the door, the bell jingling as he left. 

You let out a deep sigh once he was gone, the intense pressure that he’d brought to the room dissipating with his absence. 

“He’s a nice boy.” You dad said as he approached the counter. 

“Yeah? You wouldn’t think so.” You responded. 

Your father chuckled. “Wasuke said that he used to be a bit of a handful before he went off to university - came back home one day with all those tattoos at age eighteen. I think he’s calmed down a bit now though, he’s never been anything but polite when he comes here.” 

“Does he come here often?” You asked, anxious about just how regularly you were going to be seeing this man. You were no doubt going to embarrass yourself in front of him again if he was a frequent customer.

“Three or four times a week maybe? He has a serious sweet tooth.” 

Great. That was more regular than most of the bakery’s returning customers.

“He goes to your university too.” Your father continued. “I’m not sure what he studies, something in science, I thought the two of you might’ve run into each other before - he always seemed familiar with you when I brought you up.”

As far as you were aware the two of you hadn’t met before today, but it wasn’t like you were really putting yourself out there much at university. You had your small, tight-knit group of friends and outside of that you didn’t talk much to anybody. 

Although, you didn’t think you were so unobservant that you wouldn’t have noticed someone as unique as Sukuna walking around. But perhaps you were more caught up in your own world than you thought. 

The idea that he was familiar with you though had your pulse quickening, you wouldn’t expect someone who looked like him to take any notice of your existence. There was nothing special about you. 

“No…I’ll keep an eye out for him on campus.” You said. 

“You should! Wasuke is always saying that he needs to find a nice girl to keep him in line.” You looked at your dad incredulously, certain that you were not the type of girl Sukuna would be looking for. 

Also, considering that the last time your father had tried to play matchmaker it hadn’t really worked out, you weren’t really keen for him to set you up a second time. 

“I think I’ll pass on that.” Your father shrugged, a sly smile on his wrinkled face

“Suit yourself! But he always seems very interested when I talk about you. Called you pretty when I was showing him some pictures too.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying your best not to linger on those words. Sukuna was just being pleasant, or your dad was reading into things. It didn’t mean anything, you didn’t even know each other after all, and you doubted Sukuna wanted to get to know you. 

You clearly moved in very different circles. 

“Can I take these?” You asked, quickly changing the subject and gesturing to some of the leftover pastries. Your dad nodded, and although he hid it quickly, you caught the look of sorrow that crossed his face at the realisation of how little had sold today.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? It's getting late.” He offered, watching as you packed up your bag. 

It was tempting, you’d get to avoid taking a half an hour train back to your rented apartment in Ueno. But with your aunt staying with your dad full time now, there wasn’t really all that much space for you in the two-bed apartment above the store. You were so tired that you needed a good night’s sleep in an actual bed, the couch just wasn’t going to cut it. 

“No, I need to get back. It's closer to campus and I don’t want to miss my lecture tomorrow morning.” 

“Okay, sweetheart.” He said, although he sounded a little put out. He was leaning heavily on the counter, as if just standing up was a great amount of effort for him. “You’re coming in tomorrow afternoon again, right?” 

“Yeah, of course.” You said with a forced smile.

You didn’t want to let on just how badly you actually needed that time to focus on your coursework, and you tried not to think too much about the assignment that you needed to get done before the end of the week - you hadn’t even started the book that you had to write the essay on yet. 

You’d just have to stay up late once you were done with your shift tomorrow night, get a little bit of speed reading done and bash out your essay in a couple of hours. 

It would all be fine. Making sure your father wasn’t overwhelmed was more important anyway. 

Ensuring that the shop was all clean and ready for tomorrow morning, you gave your dad a soft smile. “Need me to help you up the stairs?” You asked, and he waved you off flippantly. 

“I’ll be fine.” He was a prideful man, and ever since his illness he’d despised the way that people would take pity on him, jump at any opportunity to help him. It was painful to watch him stagger around unaided all because he didn’t want to be helped. 

But you weren’t going to fight him on it. It was late and you were exhausted. 

“Alright. Goodnight, dad.” 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He said, raising his hand in farewell as you headed out into the street. 

The area was quiet at this time of evening. Your family’s shop was located in Shinjuku, where night life was generally thriving, but the bakery itself was tucked away down a side street, a little removed from the hustle and bustle of the city. You were mostly grateful for that, because it meant that the chances of being bothered by drunk salarymen while on your way home was relatively low.

Unfortunately, luck didn’t seem to be on your side today, because as you shuffled through the sidestreets in the direction of the station, you found your path cut off by three men, talking loudly with each other and chuckling, their faces red with intoxication.

Hoping that they were too drunk to even notice you, you kept your head bowed and tried to shuffle past them, mumbling out a quiet ‘excuse me’ as you did so. But things could never be that easy, because as you approached their focus quickly turned to you. 

“Hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doing out this late?” You took a step back as the man in the middle of the trio leaned over you, slurring his words as he spoke. 

‘This late’? It wasn’t even 9pm yet.

“Going to meet my boyfriend...” You said, trying your best not to let your voice shake. Usually the mention of a boyfriend was enough to placate men like this, they’d always respect a man after all. Besides, if you stood your ground they might just let you go by. All you wanted was to go to sleep, you really didn’t have time for this. 

“What’s the rush though?” Another of the men asked. They were really crowding you now, taking up so much of the narrow side street that you couldn’t easily get past without making an active move to dart around them. 

“Yeah, come drink a bit with us baby, we’ll show you a good time - I’m sure your boyfriend won’t mind.” Revulsion climbed up your spine at how pushy they were being. Any boyfriend certainly should mind three creepy men trying to proposition a girl who clearly wasn’t interested. 

“No, thank you.” You said firmly, and you took a step back, pivoting to try and walk around the men. 

But before you could quite get past, one of them grabbed your wrist firmly and your eyes went wide with shock, heart racing with fear and adrenaline. With a surprising amount of force, the man pushed you up against the wall, and you let out a yelp of pain at the feeling of your back meeting the brick. 

“Don’t be so difficult, yeah?” The man hissed, leaning close to you. “Me and my buddies here are just trying to have a nice night, why’re you ruining it?” 

“Get away from me.” You said firmly, body shaking a little as you considered the situation you were in. You needed to get away from here now.

“Aw, don't be like that.” One of the men said as he leant in close to you. And you struggled desperately, just about managing to pull one of your hands free, and on instinct you slapped the man hard across the face.

There was silence for a moment, and even you were shocked by the force that you’d put into the hit, not doubting that the impact would leave a mark on the man’s face. 

“You little bitch.” He hissed, and in an instant he was drawing his fist back, sending it flying towards you. Your eyes went wide, completely frozen in the moment and unable to do anything but wait to get hit, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you waited for the contact. 

But the pain never came. 

Instead you felt a warm hand wrap around your shoulder, an arm tugging you firmly against a chest as you heard a thud. 

Your eyes flew open in surprise, and all you could see was the black fabric of someone’s hoodie. You pulled back a little and your heart picked up at the sight of who had come to your rescue. Holding you protectively was Sukuna, looking even more intimidating than before as his red eyes glared down at your harassers. 

Standing much taller than you, the punch from your attacker had bounced harmlessly off his back, but he still looked like he was very pissed off. 

“Sukuna…” You said quietly. He wasn’t paying attention to you right now, too fixated on the man that had tried to hit you. You stayed huddled against him, not wanting to move from the protective bubble you were in at his side. 

At the sight of Sukuna, the two other men had instantly fled down the street - their bravery no match for his fearsome appearance. But the ringleader stood firm, too full of pride to flee along with the others. 

“That bitch hit me, you know.” He explained to Sukuna, as if he could appeal to a man’s sensibilities and turn him against you. 

Sukuna’s hand was still grasping your shoulder tightly, and you felt his grip intensify at the man’s words. Looking up at him, it was clear that he was seething, an unsettling grin sitting on his face. 

“Yeah?” He asked, slowly releasing you but making sure to keep you behind him, not giving the man an opportunity to lunge at you. 

He took a few steps forward, towering over the man and leaning over as he spoke, highlighting the difference in height between them. “So that makes it okay, huh? A girl defends herself from some creep in an alleyway, and that gives you the right to punch her?” 

The threatening tone in Sukuna’s voice had your heart racing. If he’d been talking to you like that, looking at you with that terrifying gaze, you probably would’ve dropped to the floor and started crying by now. 

“Come on man, women like that need to be put in their place.” The man spat. 

Sukuna grinned, chuckling for a moment as he stood up to his full height, the man’s shoulders relaxing a little at his reaction, clearly thinking that he’d found a way to clear up this misunderstanding. 

Less than a second later Sukuna’s fist was cracking hard into the man’s nose, the sheer force of the punch sending him sprawling, and you gasped as you covered your mouth in surprise. 

This was the first time you’d ever seen such a thing in real life.

Sukuna stood over the man, watching him with amusement as he tried to stumble to his feet. It took him about thirty seconds, his hands desperately attempting to stop the blood flowing from his nose. It was clear that he was no match for your tattooed savior, and you assumed that Sukuna would encourage him to walk away - try to convince him that a fight wasn’t worth it.

But that wasn’t the type of man Sukuna was. On the contrary, instead of de-escalating the situation, he egged the man on.

“Aw come on - you had so much bravado when you thought you were going to hit a girl! Let's see some of that fire.” Sukuna mocked, and your heart leapt with fear as the man was goaded into taking a swing at Sukuna, landing a punch squarely on his cheek. 

You let out a cry of concern at the unpleasant sound of the impact, only for Sukuna to laugh loudly at the man’s attempt as he shook it off like nothing had happened, asking if that was really the best he could do. 

It was just starting to occur to you that Sukuna must be insane, when he was hitting the man once more, sending him to the floor again. And this time the drunkard didn’t want to stick around to try his luck with Sukuna any further, desperately scrambling to his feet and sprinting down the street in search of his cowardly friends. 

It was a pathetic sight, your attacker whimpering and crying as he fled, the confidence that he’d displayed before Sukuna’s appearance nowhere to be found. 

A deep sigh left Sukuna’s body, and he turned around to look at you. Your eyes were wide with fear and worry, not really capable of comprehending what had just happened. 

“You okay?” He asked, and you nodded quickly. You were fine, but you certainly wouldn’t be taking this route to the train station at night anymore. 

“Your face!” You said softly with a gasp. The man had gotten a solid punch in on Sukuna, and there was blood dripping from his cheek as a result of the contact. Even if Sukuna had asked the man if that was the best he could do, it was clear that he had in fact been hit hard.

You were over to him in a second, pulling a handkerchief from your pocket, standing up on your tiptoes and dabbing at the blood without a second thought. Sukuna leant down slightly to make it easier for you, seemingly enjoying being doted upon. 

It was only when you’d gotten most of the blood off his face that you felt suddenly shy, aware of how close you were to him.

“Oh, uh-” you took a step back, handing him the handkerchief. “Sorry, I should let you do it…” 

Sukuna smirked at you charmingly. “All good, angel - you were doing such a good job.” 

His praise did something to you, and you had to fake a cough to conceal the squeak of surprise that almost made it out of your mouth. 

“Thank you.” You whispered once you’d composed yourself a little. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all that for me.” Sukuna was still dabbing at his cheek, and he shrugged his shoulders apathetically. 

He was acting like it wasn’t a big deal but it was, he could potentially get in trouble for what he’d done, even if he was just doing it to protect you. 

“Don’t worry about it. Your old man would want me looking out for you. Besides, this is far from the first fight I’ve been in.” You nodded, feeling at least a little reassured by how laid back he was about the whole thing, as if he’d done this hundreds of times. 

As you looked up at him, his hair tousled and his crimson eyes wild with adrenaline, you couldn’t help but think about how handsome he was, especially with how he was looking at you right now - his expression so uncharacteristically soft compared to how he’d glared at your attacker. 

But you shouldn’t think that way. 

He was just being nice, doing a favor for your dad. He wasn’t the sort of person who’d be interested in someone like you, so you should really stop thinking about how hot he was, how nice he smelled, and how pleasant it felt when he’d wrapped his arm around you. 

“Want me to walk you to the station?” He asked. “You live in Ueno right? I think that’s what your dad said.” You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at the thought that he remembered things your father would tell him about you. 

“Oh, yeah - please.” You certainly didn’t want to be alone if you encountered those guys again on your way there. And if you were being honest, you didn’t hate the idea of a little bit more time with Sukuna. 

The two of you headed towards the station, with him falling comfortably in step beside you as you wandered down the street. Your heart was still racing, adrenaline pumping through you, and you were glad for Sukuna’s presence keeping you grounded. 

There was no doubt that your mind would be running wild with what-ifs if you were left alone to think about what had just happened. You were sure that was going to hit you with full force later once you were safely back at your apartment. 

But for now, Sukuna seemed to be actively working to keep you distracted with small talk. “I live in Ueno too.” He said. “You’re lucky I had to stop at Family Mart on the way back or I would’ve already been on the train by now.” 

That was lucky, you’d been wondering how he’d caught you just at the right time considering he’d left around ten minutes before you did. 

“If you live in Ueno why do you go to my family’s bakery?” You asked, genuinely curious. It was quite out of the way from the university campus, and you only went there because you had to. 

“It has the best cakes.” He said with a shrug. “Besides, my old man is always talking about how the bakery is struggling to get customers - I’ve been going there for a while.” 

“Mmm.” You nodded, satisfied with that explanation, and a little bit flattered by the fact that Sukuna would go out of his way like that. It was kind of him. He really didn’t need to do all that. 

“I haven’t ever seen you working there before though.” He commented.

“Oh, I’ve only just started again - when I moved out and started at university a few years back my dad made me quit, said he wanted me to focus on my studies and not worry about him but…” You glanced at Sukuna, assuming that he probably wasn’t aware of your father’s condition. “They, uh, needed a bit more help than usual lately, so I’m there part time now.” 

“That’s nice of you.” He said, clicking his tongue. “I see you around campus a lot, you know.” 

That brought some heat to your cheeks, the confirmation that he was aware of your existence before today was a little bit nerve-wracking, and had you feeling like you were on the backfoot, since you’d only learnt of his existence today. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your dad is always showing me pictures and stuff, so you were easy to recognise. Always thought about saying hello but I didn’t wanna scare you like I did today.” 

Oh. That made you feel a little guilty. You’d made a complete snap judgement based on how he looked when he’d actually been nothing but pleasant to you. Your reaction to his appearance in the shop had been really rude.

“You, uh, didn’t scare me.” You tried lying, but it was extremely transparent and Sukuna let out a laugh. 

“Hate to break it to you angel, but you looked like you were gonna pass out.” You pouted a little, frustrated by your tendency to wear your emotions on your face. 

“Yeah, okay you’re right. I thought you were a debt collector or something.” He was laughing harder now, and you found that you really liked the sound, it was making your heart jump in your chest. 

“What? You thought I was there to intimidate you or something? Break your legs for late payment?” 

“Yeah.” You mumbled, and he grinned, endeared by your response.

“What do you study?” You asked, switching topics - not wanting to linger too long on how pathetic you’d been earlier. 

“Engineering.” He responded. “Its pretty interesting.” 

“Oh! I do Literature.” You said, deciding to offer a little information about yourself. 

“Yeah, I know.” He said, and you looked at him in surprise, almost a bit unnerved by how much he already seemed to know about you. “Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of stalker, your dad loves to talk and I’m usually the only one there.” 

You giggled softly - that sounded like it was the truth. Your father would take any opportunity to prop you up in front of others, it was just in his nature. “Sorry about him, there’s nothing he loves more than talking.” 

“It's all good with me. I like hearing him talk.” Sukuna said. “Although, it's nice to finally get to talk to you. Had this whole image of you built up in my head for a while now.” 

That was incredibly unnerving. There was no way that you’d be able to live up to all the nice things your father was probably saying about you. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” You said, self-depreciatingly. 

“Oh you haven’t. I’d assumed that you were meek based on what your old man tells me, but then I watched you slap that guy, so I guess you’re full of surprises.” He commented as the two of you approached the train station, hopping on the Yamanote line heading towards Ueno. 

The train wasn’t too busy at this time of day, but there were still a limited amount of seats. You found two together, and you couldn’t help but notice the way that your leg was pressed up against Sukuna’s - his frame far too bulky for the size of the seats. 

“Is your face going to be okay?” You asked, looking at the wound with concern. 

“Yeah, I’ve had way worse.” He said with a grin, and you decided that it was probably better not to ask, if the glee from him beating the man in the alleyway was anything to go off, you were certain that he’d had many more colourful encounters. 

“I bet.” You mumbled. 

The two of you sat in silence for a little while, letting the events of the evening sink in. Your mind was just starting to spiral into worry again about how far behind you were on work and how going outside at night felt scary now, when Sukuna cut through all your thoughts. 

“Are you busy tomorrow?” He asked, and you looked at him with surprise.

“Huh?” 

He sighed. “Do you have plans tomorrow, or are you free to do something?” 

You were a little caught off guard by his question. Why would he want to know? He was just bringing you home out of obligation right? Out of respect for your dad. Why would he want to spend more time with you? 

Maybe your father had told him all about how anti-social you’d grown lately, how much you’d shut yourself off from the world. Perhaps this was some sort of pity project that your father had set Sukuna on. 

That made you feel like shit. 

“I’ve got lectures all morning, and then I have to work at the shop.” You said. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to spend more time with him, but you were busy, and you didn’t want his attention just out of pity.

“Hmm.” He pondered for a moment, before shooting you a grin. “How about I come to the bakery in the evening again?”

“Oh you don’t have to - I’m fine really, if you’re just being nice…” You said, politely turning him down. It was better to stop things now before you got attached to him, it would hurt way more to find out that he didn’t really like you if you started spending time with him. 

“I’m not nice.” Sukuna said simply, sharp eyes fixed on you. “I want to know you better.” 

Now your stomach was doing flips, unsure what to make of this - not used to anyone being so straightforward with you, and still unclear on what it was he was seeing in you.

Sensing your hesitation, Sukuna cut in again. “Just let me buy you a cake, okay? It's the least you can do for me after I so valiantly saved you from those guys.” Sukuna reasoned.

The look in his crimson eyes was so earnest, and your traitorous heart couldn’t stop pounding from the way he was gazing at you right now. 

You supposed one little meet up couldn’t hurt. 

“Fine.” 

a/n: thanks for reading! I'm not sure how quickly this fic will get updated as my main focus is to distant lands but I'll try and have a chapter out once every two weeks

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! replies and reblogs are appreciated as always!! <3

Even though he’d fucked you mere hours ago, he was already painfully hard once more, considering pressing your sleeping form down into the mattress and slipping inside you while you were unconscious, desperate to feel your hot, tight warmth around him again. 

But he decided against it, not keen to disturb you after the night that you’d had. You were no doubt aching from the way he’d fucked you, your skin probably irritated from the tattoo. He loved you enough to understand that you needed rest, and now that you’d come around to his way of thinking he had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted with you. 

What he hadn’t been expecting though, was the pleasant situation that he found himself in the next morning. 

Because as his eyes fluttered open, greeted as usual by the white ceiling of his room, mind still hazy with sleep, he was met with the lovely sensation of something hot and wet wrapped around his cock. 

He propped himself up on his forearms, heart fluttering at the sight of you between his thighs, your small hand wrapped around the shaft of his cock while your mouth sucked at his tip, clearly making your best effort to take as much of him as you could. You looked beautiful with your cheeks hollowed, your eyes squeezed shut as you concentrated on the task at hand. 

It took all of his willpower not to immediately cum at the image of you serving him. 

But he wanted to savor this moment, the first time that you’d done anything for him willingly, rather than to overcome your own selfish desires. He’d known that he’d broken you, the way that you’d so obediently let him tattoo you last night had made that obvious, but he hadn’t realised the extent to which your shift in behaviour extended to. 

Reaching out, he threaded his hands through your hair, guiding you down his cock carefully, desperate to feel more of your mouth on him. You glanced up at him in surprise, eyes a little teary from the effort of taking him, and his cock twitched hard. 

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” He groaned, pressing you down a little further, enjoying the way that you seemed to choke around his length, struggling to regain your composure but desperate not to displease him. 

This was what he’d been seeking since he first brought you back here. To have you all submissive, serving his every whim just the way he wanted it. 

“You can take it deeper, can’t you?” He hummed, smirking as you struggled to fit his whole length into your mouth, his grip on your hair unyielding, pulling you forward until your nose was pressed against his pelvis, tears flowing down your cheeks now as saliva dripped from your lips. 

It was satisfying to have you like this. After months of defiance and disobedience, a frustrating period where he’d had to constantly be on his guard because you always seemed to be plotting, he finally had you right where he wanted you. Sure, he’d touched you plenty while you’d still been spitting and biting at him at every turn, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of having you be a willing participant. 

“Look at me, baby.” He ordered, heart leaping as your big eyes gazed up at him, the image of you with red cheeks and his cock in your mouth was going to be permanently burned into his retinas. 

He’d be perfectly happy if he never saw anything again. 

“You like sucking my cock, huh?” He asked, feeling satisfied at the way that you nodded up at him, but desperate for more. “Let me hear you say it.” 

You tried to pull back, to remove yourself from his cock so that you could give him an answer, but he gave your hair a firm tug, holding you in place and making it abundantly clear what it was that he was expecting from you. 

The ‘yes’ came out garbled, more saliva dripping onto the sheets below and he chuckled, petting your head affectionately, cooing out words of praise because you were just so cute and he was so proud of you. 

“Make me cum then, baby.” 

And unlike the you that he’d grown so accustomed to, you listened to his demand without a second thought, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, your tongue running along the underside of his cock until he was cumming into your mouth, a grin crossing his face as you swallowed without even being asked. 

What an obedient little thing you’d become. Perhaps he should’ve moved to harsher measures much earlier. 

He couldn’t help but feel elated as you pulled back, wiping his cum from your chin as you crawled up onto his lap, sinking yourself down on his still hard cock. A groan left his lips, eyes closing a little at how good it felt to be inside you, your pussy squeezing him just as tightly as it was last night. 

All he had to do was lie there and watch as you bounced on his cock, soft little whines and whimpers spilling from you as you clenched around him, your fingers digging into his chest as you chased your release, calling out his name softly as you came but keeping up your pace until he was spilling into you. 

His brain wasn’t quite caught up with what was happening, wondering for a moment if he was just having a lovely dream. But the warmth of your body against his was far too real for this to be something his imagination has conjured up. 

This was actually happening, and you were his. 

You let him clean you up later that morning, after you’d fallen back asleep in his arms for a few hours. He’d carried you to the shower where he’d fucked you again on uncertain legs, chuckling at the way that you’d wapped yourself around him for stability. You’d been getting weaker lately from your lack of exercise, but he didn’t mind - it just meant that he had more opportunity to look after you. 

But as the morning seeped into afternoon, and you were huddled up at his side on the couch, clinging to him like a lifeline, he figured that he needed to have a better understanding of what was going on with you right now. 

As much as he enjoyed the situation that he’d woken up to, he wasn’t sure when the bubble was going to burst. There was a possibility that you’d been broken so thoroughly that the two of you could spend the rest of your lives in this state, but there was also the potential that your disposition was only temporary, and that you’d regain your terror and disgust for him over time. 

He needed to understand just what was going on in that pretty little head of yours to ensure that you stayed the way that you were right now. 

So he brought you some food - chinese takeout from the place down the road, which he’d learned was one of your favourites, and put an innocuous quiz show on the tv in the background before addressing the elephant in the room. 

“Baby.” He whispered softly, pulling you closer against his side, fingers moving to gently play with your hair, which had grown significantly longer since he’d first brought you here.

“Yeah?” Your voice was small, like you weren’t quite used to using it anymore.

“Do you remember how we met?” 

You frowned, brow creasing as you seemed to struggle with that question. 

As he’d thought, things weren’t all lined up in some neat order in your head, which meant on one hand that he needed to be careful, but on the other he’d been given an excellent opportunity. He just had to make sure that your thoughts fell into place in the way that he wanted them to. 

“It was- I was in danger-” 

You were tensing up against him, distress growing as you struggled to recall your memories. Sukuna stayed quiet for now, not wanting to push too hard just yet. 

“Something bad was happening and y-you made it better. Right?” 

Soft eyes staring up at him for confirmation, worry creasing your face like you’d failed somehow by not having a clear mind, but Sukuna couldn’t be more proud of your current state. 

“That’s right.” He confirmed, hands still raking through your hair. “Someone cruel was hurting you, and I protected you, remember?” 

“Someone…” You trailed off, lost in thought. 

“Do you remember who?” 

“I- I don’t-” 

“Does the name Gojo Satoru mean anything to you?” 

Your reaction was instant, eyes widening, body starting to shake, as if some deep memory was being unearthed. You didn’t move away from Sukuna, but you brought your legs up to your chest, breaths coming out short and shallow as that name seemed to sit with you. 

If you’d known the truth you’d be fleeing across the couch by now. 

But you weren’t. 

Which meant that the negative emotions around what Sukuna had done to Gojo were still buried within you but you had no idea where the emotion was coming from. It was his to weaponise. If he could convince you that the person who had hurt you was Gojo, he had no doubt that you’d be easy to keep on side. It would be so simple to paint himself as your saviour, as someone who had killed your abuser and stepped in as your protector. 

Besides, was that really so far from the truth? He was protecting you from your miserable little life, from creepy fans and horrible idols like Gojo. 

“He hurt you.” Sukuna whispered against your ear, pulling you firmly onto his lap, making his best effort to sound and look sympathetic. “He caused you pain and suffering and I stopped him. I got rid of him for you baby, so you’ll never have to suffer again.” 

You blinked up at him, all sweet and innocent as you shuffled a little on his lap, your hands coming up to his chest as you steadied yourself. 

“The eyes.” You mumbled, a cute little frown on your face as a hint of nervousness seeped into your tone. He hadn’t thought that you’d be able to remember that at all, considering how subdued and quiet you were acting with him, but he did his best to hide his surprise. 

“Mmm, I took them from him so he couldn’t look for you anymore.” He soothed, fingers dancing gently over your skin. It wasn’t clear what you were thinking, whether you’d react with disgust or not. Right now you seemed more curious than anything, and that was the state he was aiming to keep you in if he could. 

“Oh.” 

“I took his life too.” Sukuna said plainly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I couldn’t have him still out in the world, trying to get his hands on you.” 

You were shivering harder now, and he could see tears springing up that he hoped weren’t for him. His heart picked up as you threw your arms around him, clinging to his body desperately as the tears fell, wetting the shoulder of his t-shirt. A soft sigh of pleasure fell from his lips as he wrapped both arms firmly around you, holding you as tight as he could. 

Wasn’t this ideal? 

Memories gone, twisted into something that worked for him. Although, it wasn’t like he was even really hiding the truth anyway. Your old life had been bad for you, Gojo had been bad for you, it was just that you hadn’t managed to understand that yet. Sukuna genuinely did see himself as your saviour, and believed deeply that killing Gojo was the right thing to do. 

Everything he did, he did for your sake. It wasn’t out of selfishness - as much as he personally wanted you, he wasn’t doing this to fulfil his desires. He was doing this to give you the life that you really deserved. 

So he enjoyed every moment as he rubbed your back, cooing and offering you soothing words as you clung to him, waiting until your sobs subsided before continuing the conversation, eager to get a few final things ironed out to ensure that your mind was exactly where he needed it to be right now. 

“Do you remember what happened last night?” He asked, noting the sudden mix of fear and guilt that marred your expression as you pulled back a little. You looked like a dog who had just been caught ripping up the furniture. 

“I tried to escape.” You mumbled, wiping your eyes with the heels of your hands. 

“Mmm. Why would you do that, baby?” 

Confusion was once again written all over your features, as if you were trying to dredge up a memory deep inside you. Sukuna remained relaxed despite it all, gazing at you patiently, waiting to see what conclusion you’d come to on your own. 

It was simple really. If you drew the wrong conclusion, he’d simply repeat his actions from last night over and over again until his reality stuck in your head. 

“B-because I was being ungrateful.” You whispered, your voice coming out laden with guilt, and he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face at the way that those words seemed to have lodged themselves into your brain. 

You were being ungrateful. 

He’s glad that you can see that now. 

“Are you gonna do it again?” He asked softly, fingers moving up to your neck now, clasping it softly, a small amount of pressure behind his touch. A quiet threat. 

“No.” You breathed out, and he grinned, kissing your forehead before pulling you harder against him, lips smashing into yours, tongue wasting no time pushing into your mouth, desperate to dominate you. 

And just as he’d been expecting, you let him. Sinking against him submissively, making no effort to struggle. 

You really were his now after all.

—

The next few months passed by relatively uneventfully. 

Most days were the same. You’d wake up with your limbs tangled with Sukuna’s - more often than not, with his cock already buried inside of you. Although some days, where he wasn’t in a rush to go out to work, he’d take his time waking you up by eating you out, waiting until you were fully conscious before slipping himself into you. 

Either way, you’d always start your day beneath him, being pressed down into the mattress and filled up as he mumbled sweet praise against your ear. 

You were allowed much more freedom now than when you first came here. Sukuna would never tie you up against the bed in the guest room anymore, only ever binding your hands now for the purpose of having rough sex when he was in a bad mood. You had totally free rein of the apartment, able to walk the full length of it without him watching you like a hawk. 

It had taken a little bit of time to earn that trust and you could understand why. You’d been difficult when you first came here, had been totally out of your mind with fear, unable to see that Sukuna had saved you from a torturous life. The people out there: Gojo, your friends and family, your agency, your fans - they’d all been ripping you to pieces and you hadn’t been clever enough to see that you were slowly being eaten alive. 

Only Sukuna was smart enough to see it. 

You’d just taken a bit longer to come around to his way of thinking. It wasn’t until he’d put you in your place after the escape attempt that you really got it. 

He was your saviour. 

So after weeks of your compliance, of you doing everything you could to prove that you’d accepted your new place in his life, he started giving you more and more freedom. You could watch whatever you wanted on TV, cook and eat whatever meals you wanted, partake in whatever hobbies you wanted so long as you told him what supplies you needed so he could go out and get them for you.

The only freedoms that you weren’t afforded were owning a phone, and stepping out of the door of his apartment. 

But you weren’t even sure that bothered you anymore. Who were you going to text? One of the evil abusers from your past? There was no one to talk to outside of Sukuna - he was the only person on your side. 

Not being able to go outside was a bit more of a blow, but you could understand it at the very least. You were famous out there - the moment you stepped outside someone would recognise you and it just wasn’t worth the risk. That’s why Sukuna was so angry when you’d tried to escape - he was making all these sacrifices to look after you and you’d thrown it in his face. 

It was like he always said: you shouldn’t be so ungrateful. 

So you accepted what you were given. Enjoying the relative freedom that his apartment offered. The majority of your time was spent watching TV, catching up on movies or binging the latest TV show that had been released on Netflix. On days where you were feeling particularly brave, you’d ask Sukuna  if you could watch old clips of yourself on idol shows, fascinated with the ‘you’ that appeared on the screen. 

You didn’t feel like you were her. 

There was hardly any recollection in your mind of being her, despite Sukuna’s assurance that was the person that you used to be before Gojo Satoru had ruined your life. She had your face, and somewhere buried deep in the back of your mind you could remember performing, could remember being out in the world and living your life as an idol. 

But it was all so distant and dreamlike, a reality that felt more like a fiction book you’d read than your own memories. 

It was strange. Watching the old clips made you feel uncomfortable for some reason, eliciting fear in your chest whenever you saw yourself moving so freely across the screen. Sukuna had said it was a defence mechanism, your body shutting down at the memory of how people had treated you back then. 

But you weren’t so sure. Because sometimes the feeling felt like something akin to yearning for something that you no longer had. 

Not that you’d ever mention that to Sukuna. After all he’d given you it was wrong to ask so many questions about your old life, when he was doing his best to protect you from what you’d experienced back then, trying to help your mind heal and forget. Lingering on negative emotions was pointless. 

Yet for some reason, despite enjoying all of the time that you spent at Sukuna’s side, you couldn’t put to bed the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something was wrong.

Everytime Sukuna touched you, fingers skimming over your skin so tenderly, there was something about it that set you on edge at least a little. You were probably traumatised from whatever this Gojo guy had done to you before Sukuna had saved you. 

That’s what you told yourself. 

But it never quite felt right. 

You hadn’t told Sukuna about the day that he’d been at work where you’d watched the news. It was an update on you, mentioning that the police still hadn’t found you following your abduction, and that there were still no leads on who was responsible for Gojo’s murder.

And even though you knew the reality, knew that Gojo had abducted you and subsequently been killed by Sukuna when your tattooed boyfriend had heroically come to your rescue, the facts on the news never quite seemed to add up, with the newsreader claiming that you and Gojo had been a relationship that some crazed fan had likely ripped apart. 

Sukuna was a fan, sure, but the news was wrong. He’d come to your rescue, that was what you knew to be true. Aside from the time that he’d kept you tied up for a while and punished you for trying to leave, he’d been nothing but kind to you. 

Besides, you’d deserved the punishment. You were out of your mind when he’d first rescued you, trying to escape and return to the man who had caused you so much suffering, unable to see Sukuna as your saviour. 

He’d had to treat you that way to set your mind straight. And weren’t you so much happier now? 

It made you sick to think about it too much, so you’d turned off the channel and thought about something else. Your life with Sukuna was good, why would you start accusing him of things when he’d been so open with you? 

It was probably the news who had it wrong. 

Plus, he’d gotten so upset last time when you tried to escape, and you didn’t want to incur his wrath again. Not after he’d been so kind to you for all this time, giving up his normal life to take care of you and keep you safe. 

You shouldn’t be ungrateful. 

But when the truth came knocking a few months after you and Sukuna had first slept together, you found that even you could no longer deny the uncertain feeling that had been tugging at your gut from the start. 

It had been one of those days where Sukuna had left early for work, leaving you to entertain yourself in the apartment. It wasn’t unusual - as one of the most well-known tattoo artists in the city he tended to be fully booked, often leaving you in the apartment alone. He trusted you now, after all. 

You’d been struggling to find something to occupy your time. Bored with watching TV and not feeling creative enough to paint or draw, you figured maybe you’d try your hand at scrapbooking and make something nice for Sukuna. He’d taken a few photos of the two of you together lately, so you could definitely use those. 

In search of the physical copies that he kept in the bedroom, you found yourself stopping in your tracks at the sight of the drawer of his bedside table hanging slightly open. It was always locked - you’d watched him pull out the key many times to access important documents like his passport, and he’d always make sure to lock it up again, so seeing it ajar was odd. 

You knew that it wasn’t your business, that you should’ve gone on with the task at hand and walked away. But there was a sense of curiosity that tugged you towards the open drawer, interested at the very least in what was so important that it needed to be kept under lock and key. 

And what you found in there, sitting on top of a stack of boring looking documentation, was a phone. 

A phone that you were certain didn’t belong to Sukuna, if the sparkly pink case was anything to go by. In fact, you were sure that this was yours, a forgotten fragment of your old life, something that Sukuna had taken from you to keep you safe. 

You knew that at some point between plugging in the phone to charge and typing in the password that came to you like muscle memory, you should’ve stopped. But you didn’t. Something in the back of your mind was urging you to keep going, eager to see remnants of the life that you’d left behind. 

Even if Sukuna had said that it would be too scary, too overwhelming to be faced with the events of your past, your curiosity still needed to be sated. 

What you found on that phone shattered everything. 

Before you were hundreds of texts from people that Sukuna had called evil, messages asking where you were, hoping you were safe, demonstrating just how deeply they cared about you. And that was before your shaky hands opened the photo gallery, finding thousands of images of you smiling, videos of you giggling, taken in all corners of the world - places that you’d never go again now you were confined to this apartment. 

What was most startling was how many of the photos were with Gojo. 

No, not Gojo, but Satoru. That was what you had called him. 

And in every single image you were happy, huddled up close to him, eyes shining like it was the best thing in the world to be in his presence. Right now you were staring at a person that you no longer knew, a girl who had been erased from the world and even from your own mind. 

Almost from your own mind. 

The phone fell from your hands, skittering against the floor as you doubled over, a sudden feeling of panic seizing your chest at the wall of memories hitting you. You’d been happy as an idol, it had been your dream. You’d had a good life, good friends, a lovely boyfriend before it had all been taken from you, seized by the hands of the very man who you let tenderly hold you each night. 

Bile rising in your throat you ran to the bathroom, emptying your guts into the basin as your breathing came out shallow, disgust rolling through you in waves. You’d given Sukuna everything - had been relying on him, clinging to him like he was your lover, you saviour. You’d let him hold you, kiss you, and even fuck you, as if it was what you wanted, as if the two of your belonged together. 

Hell, you would’ve even gone as far as to say you were in love with him, comfortable in this life that you’d built together. You were here in this fucking apartment, playing housewife for the same man who had ripped away all your freedoms in the first place. 

You needed to get out.

Unfortunately, you knew that Sukuna always made sure to lock up well when he went out to work, which meant that you’d have to wait until he returned home to attempt to make your escape. You just couldn’t stay here any longer. Pretending for any amount of time that you were still in the dark was an impossibility.

Not when you’d shudder at his touch now. 

Would you? 

Or would your body still react to him with desire despite it all? You weren’t sure, but that was another reason to escape as soon as possible, lest you fall immediately back into the pattern he’d created for you. 

You’d done your best to act normal once he returned home that night. Hovering around him while he cooked, laying your head on his lap while he watched TV, answering questions about how your day had been and trying not to let your mind wander to the phone that you’d hidden back in its rightful place, anxious that he might somehow be able to hear your thoughts. 

And when he’d tried to sink into you that night, you’d gently pushed him away, mumbling something about feeling sick before curling up in a ball and turning away from him. Perhaps that was unwise. Maybe you should’ve let him fuck you once more to keep his guard down, but how could you allow that after what he’d done to you? 

“Something wrong, baby?” He asked, arms circling around you protectively. You’d just shook your head, tensing up at his touch, despising the way that it still made you feel safe and warm. 

You were a fool through and through. 

It was around two in the morning that you finally gathered up the courage to move, slipping silently from his grip and retrieving the door keys from the pockets of his jeans discarded on the floor. He’d become more lax with keeping them hidden lately, more secure in his assumption that you were happy and compliant. 

This time you undid the locks without an issue, experiencing your first taste of freedom in months as you stumbled out into the hallway of your apartment building. You were wearing nothing but your nightgown - Sukuna never really gave you any other outfits, only ever suggesting that you wore his hoodies and shirts if you got cold. 

The thought crossed your mind to throw on one of his jackets, but it would smell too much like him, and right now you wanted to get as far from any reminder of his existence as you possibly could. 

You didn’t even have a pair of shoes, only a thin pair of slippers that Sukuna had provided you when you’d complained about your feet getting cold, but it was better than going barefoot. 

Heart thrumming in your ears, you hurried down the hallway, weakened legs not used to moving a distance any greater than the length of his apartment, but you persisted all the same, bursting out onto quiet Shibuya streets as you fled the building that you’d never seen the outside of. 

In hindsight, it would be nice to think that you made it any significant distance once you’d made your escape. In reality, you barely managed to reach the end of the street before heavy footsteps started to approach on the pavement behind you, the rhythm making it clear that whoever was approaching you was sprinting. 

Sucking in a breath, you lurched forward on instinct, pushing your legs as hard as they could reasonably manage to try and escape whoever was approaching. But months of inactivity were catching up with you quickly, and you found that your body was too heavy and sluggish to act with any level of haste. 

Your scream was immediately muffled as a hand clamped over your face, a strong arm coming to rest around your waist as you were dragged back into an alleyway. Panic bubbled up inside of you at the contact, unsure which would be worse: if it were a stranger grabbing you or if it were Sukuna. 

As your vision focussed you could see the dark band tattooed on your assailant’s wrists, the sound of him taking a deep, measured breath letting you know that you were well and truly fucked. 

“That was close huh, baby?” He murmured against your ear, his body trembling with what you could only imagine was unbridled rage. “Almost got away from me that time.” 

“Sorr-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed, pressing his hand harder against your mouth, essentially silencing any sound that you could make. “We’re gonna go home, and then we’re gonna talk this out, and then I’m going to make sure that this is the last time you ever try this shit. Okay baby?” 

You can barely remember how he got you home. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d walked back to his apartment on your own two legs, his hand curled around your waist. To the odd bypasser out and about in the middle of the night, you’d just look like any other couple stumbling home after a night out. 

But the way that Sukuna’s nails were digging into the skin of your side painted a different picture. 

Maybe if you’d been braver you would’ve kicked and screamed, would’ve grabbed the nearest person and told them who you were. But it was too quiet and secluded out here at night. You knew that Sukuna had killed - your guards and Satoru were both dead without a second thought because of him. 

There was no doubt in your mind that if you tried to escape him right now he’d kill the person that you went to for assistance, and that wasn’t fair on them - for their life to be cut short just because they’d had the misfortune of being the person you asked for help. 

Besides, it would just make whatever punishment he had brewing even worse. 

He was silent as he pushed you through the door to his apartment, taking his time doing all of the locks carefully before turning to you, red eyes burning with rage. A shiver ran through you, a mix of fear and a humiliating sense of anticipation, because even if your memories had returned, they didn’t quite manage to override the foolish desire for Sukuna that had developed over your last few happy months. 

“Go get on our bed.” He hissed, expression twisted with fury. When you didn’t immediately follow his command he slapped you hard across the face, the force of it making you feel like your brain had been rattled against the side of your skull. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

Sticky fear rose in your throat as you blinked up at him. He hadn’t been rough with you like this in a long time. You supposed he had no reason to since things had been going so well. Maybe you should’ve kept living in that illusion.

It hadn’t been so bad, once you’d accepted things. 

Unwilling to draw more of his ire, you made your way into your shared room, taking a seat on the bed, legs trembling as you waited for Sukuna to follow. 

It took a while before he entered. You could hear him fumbling about in the kitchen something before he entered, your eyes instantly drawn to the object in his hand. 

“Face down.” He ordered disapprovingly before you could ask what the knife was for. The metal of the object glinting as he set it down on the bedside table, before forcing you down beneath him in the position he wanted - tying your hands together behind your back. 

It wasn’t dissimilar to the last time you’d made an escape, but you could tell that he was far angrier on this occasion. It was a much greater betrayal, after spending months believing that you were his loving little girlfriend. 

“Sorry.” You whispered, once again trying to apologise, flinching as he let out a cruel laugh. 

“Instead of sorry, how about you explain yourself.” You hissed against your ear, body pressing yours down into the bed, one hand snaking around your neck while the other found its way to your soft thighs. 

“I-” You desperately searched your mind for anything that would placate him, anything that could frame this as being a mistake. “I just wanted to go o-outside for a while.” You whimpered, seizing up and burying your face in the sheets beneath you as Sukuna’s fingers moved further up your thighs. 

“Hmmm, that’s all, huh? You were going to come straight back?” 

“Of cours-” You started with a nod, only for your words to be cut short as his fingers tightened hard around your throat. 

“You really think I’m fucking stupid, don’t you?” He raised his voice, hot breath brushing against your ear as his hand pressed down on your windpipe. “I know you found your old phone, I left that drawer open to test you. I thought you’d ignore it, that your loyalty to me would win out - you’d been so good after all. I thought you’d understood that you’re in love with me and that your old life is meaningless.” 

Eyes wide, you were struggling beneath him now, unable to move with your hands bound and the weight of his body keeping you face down beneath him. 

“But I suppose I overestimated your ability to think for yourself. You’re too stupid for that, huh? You need me to spoonfeed you everything.” 

“-Kuna.” You choked out desperately, black spots starting to manifest in your vision as your body started to feel light from the pressure. And at his nickname, his hands did loosen a little, a certain softness seeping into his tone as he spoke. 

“And that’s okay. I’ll teach you over and over again until you get it.” The hand on your thigh finally reached its intended destination, his fingers moving tenderly over your bare pussy, humiliation settling in your chest as he laughed at what he found. “Oh, you're dripping! Maybe you don’t understand, but your body sure does.”

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he was wrong. But shamefully you knew that to some extent you did still want Sukuna. Months of being in a relationship with him, even built on a false pretext, had a small portion of your brain hanging on to affection towards him. And your body was well aware of that - yearning for his touch as if the two of you were just roleplaying. 

The whine that left your lips as he pushed two fingers into you was humiliating. They were always so thick, the pads of his fingers always finding that spot inside you so quickly, scraping against it as you arched your back against him. 

“Mmm, you still like it, huh?” 

“N-No.” You lied, voice trembling pathetically as Sukuna’s other hand moved to your hair, stroking it for a moment before gathering it in a fist and tugging tightly. Pain shot through your scalp and neck as you whimpered, your pussy instinctively clenching around his fingers as the feeling mixed in with the pleasure. 

Sukuna was a sadist. You’d known that even when you’d been lost in your delusions. He loved to be in control, loved to make you hurt, and the worst thing was that you’d come to love it too. Over time you’d started to enjoy the pain, to wait for him to slap you or whip you or tie you up knowing that it was all going to fade into pleasure eventually. 

And now your body couldn’t help but enjoy it, clinging to his fingers all because he was pulling your hair. 

“Sure.” He chuckled cruelly, pumping his fingers a little faster. “You don’t know what to think of me now, huh? You want to run but it feels so good.” 

“I hate you.” You choked out, the words coming out in a higher pitch than usual as that familiar pressure started to build in your gut. He ignored your words as he released your hair, dropping your head unceremoniously back down onto the mattress as he slipped his other hand underneath you, fingers moving down to your clit as he rolled the bud languidly between his fingers. 

He knew your body inside and out at this point, and at his careful touch you were coming undone around his fingers, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your teeth as you tried desperately not to cry out his name, unwilling to give him anything. 

“Sure seems like you hate me.” He mused with a laugh as he pulled his finger out of your trembling body, before bringing his hand to your mouth. “Suck ‘em clean, baby.” 

You obeyed, letting him push his wet fingers past your lips, and doing your best job of licking them clean in just the way he wanted you to. You could fight him, could bite him, but what was the point, really? You’d tried escaping twice to no avail. 

Perhaps it was time to accept your position in life. 

Maybe you were on to something before, blocking out your memories seemed a kinder fate than living like this. Realising that you were never going to escape whilst being aware of every cruel thing he’d ever done. It was kinder than realising that you still harboured love for someone who had treated you so heinously.

There was no time for you to prepare before he was sliding into you. It wasn’t slow or gentle like you knew he was capable of, he didn’t want to waste any more time making you feel good, not when he’d already given you the grace of letting you cum on his fingers. 

After how you’d acted this evening he probably already saw that as being too kind. 

A pathetic little wail fell from your lips as he sheathed himself fully inside of you, the prone bone position that he’d put you in making him feel even bigger than he really was, his tip reaching impossibly deep inside you. 

“A-Ah p-please! Too much!” You whined, your pussy claiming around him desperately, unsure if it was in an attempt to force him out or keep him in. 

“I love fucking you when you’re scared.” he said with a laugh. “You get even tighter than usual, squeezing me like you’re afraid that if I pull out I’m gonna kill you or something.” 

That gave you pause, heart dropping at his words, wondering if that was his plan with the knife. Perhaps he’d fuck you until he was satisfied and then slit your throat for disobeying him for a second time. 

“Are you?” You asked quietly, trying to keep your voice steady even with the way he was stretching you out. 

“Huh?” He asked, stilling a moment as he licked a long stripe up your neck.

“G-gonna kill me?” 

He snorted. “No, baby. I love you. You’re gonna be at my side forever.” He nuzzled his face affectionately against your neck as he started to snap his hips against your ass, chucking at the way that you squirmed under his hold.

You weren’t sure if you believed him, your eyes moving to the knife that he’d so purposefully left in your view. But worry soon disappeared from your mind with each long deep thrust from the man pinning you down, whines falling from you endlessly as one of his hands played with your clit, the other pressing hard on your upper back to keep you subdued beneath him. 

Sukuna was far too skilled at making you feel good, forcing you to forget everything else in your foolish little head, completely lost in him. And today was no different. Through all of your hatred and anger you loved the way that he made you feel, adored the way that he focussed on you like you were the only thing that mattered. 

There was something wrong with you, there was no doubt about that as you cried out his name, your pussy fluttering around his cock buried deep inside of you, milking him for all that he was worth as you buried your face shamefully into the pillow beneath you. 

It wasn’t like you had an excuse this time, no convenient memory loss to blame for your enjoyment of your captor fucking you like this. This was all on you, and you were going to have to live with that for as long as you were in his grasp. 

Forever, you supposed.

Your mind was so hazy with pleasure that you barely reacted as he pulled out, rolling you over so you were looking up at him. He was smiling, gently brushing the hair out of your face for a moment before reaching out for the knife positioned on the bedside cabinet. 

You squirmed a little, fully aware that it was futile. He was much bigger and heavier than you, and with a sense of disgust you realised that all your resistance was doing was turning him on, his bare cock twitching against your abdomen as you writhed. 

“This is for your own good.” He cooed, dragging the tip of the knife loosely along the divot between your two breasts, smiling at the goosebumps that appeared on your skin. “If you stay still it’ll be easier.” 

“Please don’t- I’m sorry! I won’t try and escape again, I promis-”

“I’ll make this as painless as possible, baby.” He cooed. “Although, if it does hurt you should remember that this is your own fault.” 

—

He shouldn’t have been surprised when the police came knocking. 

Of course someone had seen you that night - you’d probably made plenty of noise running through the building and out onto the street. For the most part he’d been getting by on the hope that the police were lazy, that they had bigger fish to fry than what would just look like a domestic dispute to any bystander. 

It wasn’t like you looked like yourself anymore. Your hair was too long after months of not having it cut, and your muscles had deteriorated significantly from how you’d looked as an idol. Not to mention your general aura had disappeared ever since he’d broken you. You no longer carried yourself with the confidence of a celebrity. 

Now you were the kind of person that people wouldn’t glance twice at, which was exactly what Sukuna had wanted all along. 

But clearly his assumptions had been wrong, because three days after your little escape attempt, Officers Okkotsu and Inumaki were at his door, asking if they could come in for a quick chat. 

He’d let them in, of course. That was what you had to do in these situations. If he turned them away it would be suspicious, and he couldn’t have that. This wasn’t his first encounter with the police, he’d been arrested several times in his youth and was very familiar with how the system worked. 

As long as he was nice, and civil, and said everything that he needed to say, it would be fine. There was nothing to worry about, you were tied to his bed anyway, and he’d taken a lot of time soundproofing the room. He just couldn’t trust you not to act up right now, so the two of you were essentially back to square one. 

If you wanted your freedoms back you’d have to earn them. 

Stupid girl.

“So, we’re here because of a report that we received from one of your neighbours. You were recently seen with a girl who looked visibly distressed, and were reported to have been forcibly dragging her back to your apartment. Could you explain the situation to us?” 

One of his neighbours? It was probably that nosey old bitch from a few doors down, always looking out of her peephole and coming out to chastise Sukuna for watching TV too loud at night, even though he knew she couldn’t hear it, she just hated him because he had tattoos. 

“Oh, she must’ve seen me and my girlfriend.” He said, without missing a beat. “My partner has mental health issues and often becomes a danger to herself when she’s having an episode. As you’d see if you pulled the building’s CCTV, she was in nothing but a nightgown and was panicking when I found her. I was bringing her back here for her own safety.” 

Not really a lie. 

“Mmm.” Officer Okkotsu nodded, before glancing around the room, eyes lingering on the many posters and figures of you that still littered his house. “Were you a fan?” He asked, gesturing to the merchandise. 

“I was.” Sukuna said solemnly. “Not sure why you guys are wasting time with me when whoever snatched her up is still out there.” 

“There’s still a task force on the case.” Okkotsu replied, eyes narrowing as he stared at Sukuna. “Is your girlfriend here? It would be helpful if she could corroborate your story.” 

“Sadly not.” Sukuna said evenly. “She’s at work right now, she won’t be over until later.” 

“That’s a shame. We’ll just have to come by again this evening.” Okkotsu said with a sigh as he got to his feet, his associate doing the same. 

Sukuna’s guard remained up even as the men moved towards the door, and he was glad it did as Okkotsu stilled just before the exit, as if taking in the many locks lining the door. The man turned back to him, expression neutral. 

“Paranoid about security?” He asked. 

“Sure. Can never be too careful these days with spying neighbours and whatnot.” Sukuna responded casually, but his hand slowly started to slide into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the swiss army knife that he kept on him for moments like this. 

“Mmm. You know, I was wondering what your girlfriend thought about all these decorations.” Yuta said, gesturing to the posters of you lining the room. 

He shrugged. “Not much, really.” 

Fuck. This guy was clearly sharp. So far Sukuna had avoided any sort of suspicion from the police surrounding your case, but it was clear that Officer Okkotsu wasn’t so keen to let him off the hook. Being seen dragging a girl, a girl who his neighbor no doubt described, paired with his obsession with the idol that everyone knew you as made things tricky. 

All he needed right now was for these policemen to leave. They didn’t have anything on him yet except circumstantial suspicion. If they went back to their station and reported their findings that would give him enough time to skip town unscathed. That was fine. 

“I don’t think my wife would be so accepting!” Okkotsu said with a laugh, doing his best to ease the tension with a smile. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?”

The last thing Sukuna wanted was this guy moving about his apartment without supervision. There was no doubt in his mind that this was simply the officer’s attempt at trying to snoop around a little more, to understand if Sukuna had been lying to him. But if he were to tell the man no that would simply raise more suspicion - they’d perhaps even ask him to come down to the station for questioning. 

Looks like he was going to have to let things play out in the unpleasant way. 

He sighed, before glancing up at the officer with a wry smile, his mind already made up. 

“Sure. Its door directly ahead at the end of the hall.” 

—

Your eyes widened with surprise as your door opened to reveal someone other than Sukuna. A young man - a police officer by the looks of it, his wide eyes growing ever wider at the sight of you, haggard and naked and chained to the bed.

Although covered with a second skin, the brand that Sukuna had carved into you was clearly on display between the curve of your breasts, the red scar of your captor’s trident insignia shining out as an even more effective stake of ownership than something as simple as a collar. 

If this were any other situation you would’ve been humiliated that a man that you didn’t know was seeing you in this compromising situation - completely naked and vulnerable. But right now it felt like a blessing because this was a police officer, someone who could actually save you from this hell had made it into Sukuna’s apartment. 

Was Sukuna dead? Had he been arrested? Was this nightmare over? 

For some reason the feeling made you uncomfortable, the thought of your pattern being disturbed, of not having Sukuna there every day to dictate your actions caused your stomach to churn with anxiety. 

Fuck, what was wrong with you?

The man was quick to close the door, hurrying over to you and busying himself with the ropes holding you against the bedframe. “Hold on, let me get you out of here, I knew there was something off about that freak.” 

His voice was low and that set you on edge - he was in here without Sukuna knowing. 

You shook your head quickly, the vision of Gojo’s eyes flashing through your mind. You couldn’t have a trail of corpses strewn out behind you, this man could have a family, a child waiting for him to return home only to be informed that he was missing or had been discovered dead in whatever sorry place Sukuna decided to dump his body. 

And that would be on your head. If you didn’t exist none of this would be happening. Gojo would still be living his life - as would your driver, your security guard, and anyone else who had the misfortune of crossing Sukuna’s path in his pursuit of you. 

You should be the only one taking on the burden of Sukuna’s wrath. You’d stay here in his grasp forever to save the lives of those he’d annihilate to have you remain as his. That’s what you’d decided, as long as he was living you were his. 

It wouldn’t be so bad. 

“No- no no no, you need to get out of here.” You whispered urgently. 

The man looked up at you in surprise at the sound of your voice, doing a double take as he examined your face, as though he hadn’t gotten much of a good look when he first entered the room. 

“Oh my god, you’re her.” He breathed. 

“No, I’m not anyone.” You hissed desperately. “Please just go!” 

The police officer shook his head, continuing to fumble with the knots. “No way.” 

Perhaps in that moment you should’ve been hopeful, over the moon with joy that someone had finally found you and was so deadset on helping you. But all you could feel was dread as the door slowly opened once more, the hulking figure of the man who you shared your bed with skulking into the room. Your eyes went to him instantly, body seizing up at the knowledge of what you were about to witness. 

You’d hoped that your reaction would be enough to tip off the officer in front of you, but he just seemed too starstruck, overly captivated by the fact that he’d just found the idol that everyone was looking for. 

By the time he followed your wide-eyed gaze it was too late. 

A knife was lodged straight through his throat and swiftly removed, blood spurting from the wound as the officer reached up to try and stem the flow of blood, only to collapse on the floor beside the bed. 

You couldn’t scream, couldn’t find it in you to really react outside of taking several panicked breaths at the nonchalance with which Sukuna had killed. Blood was already smeared on his face, likely from some other poor police officer in the other room.

“Sorry baby.” He whispered, running a bloody thumb tenderly over your cheeks, smearing the substance over your face. 

Part of you wanted to flinch away, but the more twisted part of you had become desensitised to his behaviour, and in a sickening manner you wondered if you might even find this romantic. The way that he was gazing at you was so gentle and concerned, his red eyes wide and glowing.

And as he leant in to capture your lips with his, that tangy metallic taste of blood flooding your mouth, you couldn’t help but think that you weren’t as repulsed by this situation as you should’ve been, almost enjoying the lengths that he would go to to keep you his. 

Because it was romantic right? A man who would burn the whole world to ensure that you remained at his side. 

At the end of the day he didn’t want to hurt you, he just wanted to keep you, and he’d stop at nothing to achieve his goal. It was better for you and everyone around you if you simply went along with it. Besides, you didn’t want him to cut you up again. 

Things were so much better when you were compliant. 

—

Three years later

There was a knock on the door of your cabin - a surprising occurrence in this remote part of Hokkaido. Ever since Sukuna had moved you out of Tokyo a couple of years back you’d become unaccustomed to ever seeing other people, looking out of your window and only generally encountering snow and nature. 

So with Sukuna down in town getting some work done for the day, you felt on edge as you cautiously opened the door, struggling to do so with your pink-haired toddler writhing about in your arms. He was getting harder to hold now he was two, he had developed into a large toddler, no doubt inheriting his size from his father, making picking him up a real workout. The fact that you were heavily pregnant with a second child certainly didn’t make things easier. 

Managing to get the door open, you froze up at the sight of two police officers standing on your porch, a shiver of fear running through you. Sukuna would usually handle these sorts of encounters, you weren’t used to dealing with them yourself. 

“Sorry to bother you, miss.” The officer said with a smile. “We’ve been on the search for the long missing lead singer of ROUGE, and someone in town mentioned that you bear a striking resemblance to her. I’m sure it's just a coincidence but we’re always pushed to follow any leads when it comes to her!” 

You tilted your head at them curiously, readjusting your hold on the toddler in your arms, his chubby hands grasping your hair softly. 

“Oh, sorry - what exactly are you asking?” You asked quietly.

“Well.” The two officers exchanged glances, the one speaking taking a moment to scratch his head in embarrassment. “I guess, are you her? Sorry, I know that’s a weird question.” 

You giggled, quietly at first, before bursting out in full-blown laughter, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you doubled over. Your toddler was giggling too, always keen to be in on the joke. 

At your reaction, the police officers chuckled quietly, understanding what a ridiculous question that was to ask of a woman who was so clearly free to do as she pleased. 

It took a while for you to compose yourself, standing up straight and wiping your eyes, meeting the gaze of the officers before you, who clearly wished they hadn’t wasted their time making the trek up to your isolated home. 

“Am I her?” You asked, your voice coming out breathless. “Of course not.” 

masterlist

a/n: love making evil sukuna a winner!!!

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! reblogs and replies are appreciated!

I have a permanant taglist for my sukuna fics! if you're interested in being added to get notified about any new fics I bring out, let me know on this post or send me an ask!

taglist (open): @indiewritesxoxo @lafleurperdue @nyxly1412 @favvkiki @ieirieiri @puttyly @madamechrissy @paintedonmyteeth @lunababezsstuff @tojiswifeforlife @elme333 @emmenic726 @mortallyshadysoul @beabamboo @nonamevenus @poppyyki @goofiebags5678 @pinkyvomit @bistrocatxx @missthatgirl @wisnaw @belovedria @a-dizzle777 @pillowprincess4him @sporkslol @pxgeturner @bonnisposts @fairygardenprincesss @heartyhe4rt @thiccwhorrorbunny-blog @illnweol @ohohostinkyyyyy @stupidlexi211 @ketchupkuna @riveredmoon @chocalycake @ssaintpasta @r0vena @junkuna @mad-katsuki @1nlov3 @jjk-on-crack @katthekat1234 @girl-ln-green @saltypuffin1040 @kenmasabg @killerkuna @strawberrychita @eepydeepysleepy

His mouth was warm against yours, rough and unrelenting like always. The kind of kiss that stole the air straight out of your lungs and left you clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you standing.

It should’ve been enough.

But then his phone buzzed, sharp and insistent, vibrating against the nightstand. Once. Twice. A third time.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to press closer, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. “Katsuki…” you whispered against his lips, desperate for him to stay here, just this once.

But he broke the kiss with a groan, dragging in a breath like he was drowning and the phone was his lifeline. His body heat pulled away from yours as his hand shot out, thumb swiping across the glowing screen.

The sigh he let out was all the answer you needed.

Your stomach sank. “You have to go again.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking anywhere but yours. “Yeah. I’ll fix it, I swear.”

You laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it—just exhaustion. “You always say that.”

His head whipped toward you, eyes sharp, mouth curling like you’d insulted him. “Hah? The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re never here!” The words ripped out of you before you could stop them. “Every night it’s the same—you’re either gone or half-assing being with me. You think I don’t notice how quick you are to pick up that damn phone? How quick you are to leave?”

His palms cracked with sparks, frustration bleeding out through his skin. “Don’t start with me, y/n. You know why I’m doin’ this! I ain’t just fuckin’ around—it’s my career, my whole damn life on the line! Don’t act like I’m stupid.”

Your throat tightened. “Only yours?”

“Yeah.” he snapped, without hesitation, without thought.

The word hit harder than one of his explosions.

You stared at him, heart clawing its way up your throat. “After everything we’ve done? Everything we’ve been through?”

He exhaled harshly through his nose, jaw set like iron. “Let’s face it—we’re only fuckin’ around. We both know it ain’t serious.”

The sound that left you was half a laugh, half a sob. “Fuck you, Katsuki.”

For a moment, he almost looked sorry. Almost. But then his pride squared his shoulders again, and the silence between you widened into something you didn’t know how to cross.

Your heart ached, but you pushed through the crack in your chest. “I love you.”

It was the first time you’d said it, the words trembling but certain, heavier than anything else in the room.

He froze. His mouth opened—then closed again. His throat bobbed, but nothing came out.

The phone buzzed again, lighting up the room with cold white. You saw the message flash across the screen.

kirishima: brooo u comin or what?? they’re waitin on us…

Bakugou swore under his breath, grabbing the phone and shoving it back into his pocket. He didn’t— couldn’t look at you.

“Listen… I don’t think this can work anymore. I can’t—”

Your heart stopped. “What…?”

“Fuck, y/n.” His voice cracked like thunder, rough and impatient. He grabbed his jacket off the chair. “I’m done with this. Us.”

“So you’re leaving?”

He didn’t answer, just started pacing, movements sharp and jerky as he shoved his arms into his sleeves.

It didn’t feel real. None of it did. Usually your fights ended in bruised lips, in desperate apologies whispered against each other’s skin, in the kind of reckless making-up that left you clinging until morning. But this… this was different.

“Katsuki…” Your voice broke, barely a whisper now. “Are you serious?”

He slammed a boot down, tugging the laces tight, refusing to look at you.

And then he opened the door.

Your chest caved in. You felt it—something in you fracturing. And before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out, raw and desperate.

“If you leave—don’t ever fucking call me again.”

For a second, his hand tightened on the doorframe, like maybe he’d turn back. Like maybe there was something left to save.

But then the door slammed, and the echo rattled through your bones.

You stood alone in the silence, the ghost of his mouth still burning on yours.

That night seemed to stretch into forever. You sat there on the edge of the bed until your legs went numb, staring at the door like if you waited long enough, he’d come back. He always came back. That was your pattern—fight, burn, make up.

But the silence only deepened, and the phone never lit with his name.

By morning, your throat was raw from crying. By the end of the week, you’d stopped looking at every shadow on the street like it might be him. By the end of the month, you learned what it was to live with a wound that never quite stopped bleeding.

Time, cruel as it was, carried you forward. The years had made you sharper. Not colder, exactly, but steadier. Where you’d once lived in the chaos of chasing after someone who burned too brightly to ever hold, now you had structure, stability, a life that was yours alone.

Your mornings turned early. Coffee black, notes scribbled in the margins of client reports, a pressed blouse and sensible shoes before you even had time to blink at your reflection. You worked hard—harder than most, maybe harder than you needed to—but it felt good, grounding.

You were proud of that. You had to be.

And yet, the past lingered in ways you hated to admit.

Because no matter how steady your schedule was, you still couldn’t completely scrub Katsuki Bakugou out of your life.

You saw him, whether you wanted to or not. He was everywhere now—on the evening news, on billboards flashing Dynamight’s name in bold red, on magazine covers stacked in the corner of your office lobby. The boy who once slammed a door in your face had grown into one of Japan’s top heroes, and the world celebrated him for it.

Most days, you changed the channel. Flipped the page. Pretended you didn’t care. But sometimes… sometimes you lingered. Sometimes you found yourself watching the shaky footage of him blasting through a collapsing building, or replaying an interview just to hear the rasp of his voice.

Just to see if he’d changed.

He never called you again. You never did, either. The night he left, you’d deleted his number before you could second-guess yourself. You never even looked for it. You stopped hanging out with his friends—Kirishima’s kind texts went unanswered, Mina’s invites politely declined, Denki’s jokes ignored. You cut the cord clean. You had to.

Years had passed, and you needed to remember that. You told yourself you’d moved on, that the ache at the mention of his name was just a ghost. That if you ran into him on the street, you’d barely feel a thing.

And maybe that was almost true.

“Y/n, you busy?”

You blinked up from your monitor, pen still poised mid-scribble. Your boss leaned against your office doorframe, holding a cream-colored envelope. The kind with glossy gold lettering, the kind you already knew was expensive.

“Just finishing a report,” you said, setting your pen down. “What’s up?”

He held the envelope out. “Got something for you. Big deal event. We’ve been invited, and you’re on the guest list.”

You took it, frowning. The paper was thick, the weight of it promising things you didn’t quite want.

“Like a gala?”

“Mmhm. City sponsorship, hero associations, corporate partnerships—the works. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.” He grinned, already turning away. “Bring your A-game, okay?”

You laughed softly, polite, and set the invitation aside. It barely registered. Just another obligation, just another night of small talk and champagne. It’s not like you could decline either way.

“Please tell me you’re going,” your coworker-slash-friend chirped in as she walked past, curious of your decision seeing as the boss had just walked out. She was leaning across the divider with her chin propped on her hands. “I already bought a dress, don’t you dare leave me to drink alone.”

You glanced at the envelope again, shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll go, I guess.”

She beamed, satisfied, and stepped back to continue her own work.

You didn’t think twice to ask who else might be there. What the gala was actually celebrating. You didn’t even read the fine print on the card.

The dress had arrived the morning of the gala.

Wine-red sequins scattered like constellations across layers of soft tulle, catching the light in ways that made you pause when you slipped it on. It hugged close in the right places, dipped where you dipped, curved where you curved. Years ago, you would’ve tugged at the fabric, desperate to hide. But now? You turned once in the mirror, head tilting. You weren’t perfect. You weren’t trying to be.

But you looked grown. You looked proud. You looked like you belonged to yourself.

By evening, you let a stylist tame your hair into something polished, painted your lips in a bold shade to match the dress. You told yourself it was for the photos, for the memories, for the chance to do something fun after so long of doing nothing at all.

Not because of the quiet, unwelcome thought whispering in the back of your head—what he would think, if he saw you like this.

You shoved that down, hard.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you stepped outside, matching the deep red of your gown, the sound sharp and confident even if your stomach was anything but. Your friend’s car rolled up, headlights sweeping over you before it stopped. She leaned out the window, eyes going wide.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, hand flying to her chest in exaggerated shock. “Who is this goddess? It’s criminal you don’t have a husband right now. If I were a man, I’d have wifed you up already.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you opened the door, trying not to laugh. “Please. Stop over-exaggerating. It’s just a gala.”

“Mm, no.” She shook her head, mock-serious as you slid in beside her, your skirts pooling around you. “It’s the gala. All the somebodies will be there. Pretty people, free booze, music, dancing—it’s perfect. Nothing else.”

“Nothing else,” you echoed, chuckling, though your stomach gave a restless twist.

You leaned back into the seat, city lights streaking past as the car sped toward the heart of downtown. The glass towers glittered against the night, their reflections multiplying until it felt like you were being carried toward another world entirely.

A world you had sworn you’d left behind.

And maybe you had. Maybe this was just a night out, a dress, a drink, a laugh with a friend. Nothing more.

But somewhere in the corners of your chest, buried under years of silence and pride, a thought clawed its way up.

Because deep down, you already knew the truth.

You already knew he would be there. He had to be.

But you weren’t sure how ready you were to see him.

The city glittered louder than usual tonight.

You felt it the moment the car slowed to a stop at the base of the steps—music already spilling out through the grand glass doors, lights flashing like fireworks, camera shutters clicking in rapid fire. The red carpet stretched long and blinding under the strobes of paparazzi, dotted with pro heroes posing effortlessly, practiced smiles wide as they waved to the press.

Your friend whistled low under her breath. “Well, shit. They weren’t kidding when they called this a gala.”

Before you could answer, the valet opened your door. The night air hit cool against your warmed skin as you stepped out, heels clicking against the stone, sequins from your gown catching the strobes in bursts of scarlet and gold. Heads turned. Cameras shifted.

They didn’t know your name. You weren’t someone who’d be plastered across tomorrow’s front page. But it didn’t matter—not when you and your friend looked like you belonged here, walking side by side under the flash of bulbs.

“Miss, this way please,” an usher directed with a polite bow, gesturing toward the steps.

Your stomach turned, but your friend grinned like she’d been waiting for this moment all her life, looping her arm with yours as you walked together. “Smile. You’re glowing.”

You forced a small one, just enough to look convincing, and kept your eyes forward.

Inside was worse.

The ballroom was an explosion of wealth and sound—gilded chandeliers, polished marble, silk gowns swirling across the floor to the beat of a live band. Waiters threaded through the crowd with trays of champagne, laughter rising above the music, conversations thick with names you recognized from headlines. Heroes. Agencies. Executives.

And right in the middle of it all, your boss.

He was already mid-conversation with a familiar face you couldn’t quite place, cheeks flushed with the kind of networking enthusiasm that always made you nervous. He spotted you instantly, waving big and theatrical, pulling you and your friend forward.

“There you are! Don’t you both look incredible?” He kissed cheeks like he’d known you since birth, then immediately turned to the man beside him. “Have you met—oh, you must, you must—this is one of our rising stars. Talented, dedicated, gorgeous—”

You kept your smile polite as introductions blurred, shaking hands, nodding along to compliments you weren’t sure you deserved. It was dizzying, the heat, the perfume, the constant buzz of sound. You felt yourself retreating behind your practiced expressions, nodding at the right beats, laughing when expected.

It wasn’t until your friend tugged at your sleeve and mouthed drinks that you managed to slip away.

The bar was tucked against one side of the ballroom, backlit in a warm amber glow. A bartender in a crisp uniform leaned forward as you approached.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“Strongest thing you’ve got,” your friend grinned, leaning onto the counter like she belonged here.

You rolled your eyes. “And… a mocktail for me, please. Something fruity.”

The bartender nodded, already moving.

Your friend smirked. “Still avoiding alcohol, huh?”

You shrugged, adjusting the strap of your gown. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“Suit yourself. More for me.” She winked as the bartender slid a sparkling glass her way.

Your drink arrived next—a pale pink concoction garnished with a twist of citrus, sweet on your tongue and cold against the heat rising in your cheeks. You let yourself breathe, shoulders loosening as you glanced around the room.

For a moment, it was… fun. The music was loud, the laughter infectious. You weren’t working. You weren’t thinking. Just here. Present.

Until the screaming started.

Not the panicked kind. The famous people just walked in kind.

The cameras outside went feral, bursts of light spilling in through the open entrance. Cheers, claps, chants of names carried through the crowd as bodies shifted, everyone craning to see.

You didn’t have to ask who it was. You already knew.

Top Pro Heroes. The big names. The big five.

And there, framed in the doorway like the universe had a sick sense of humor, was Katsuki Bakugou.

Number five. King Explosion Murder. The same boy you once loved until it broke you. The same man you’d sworn never to see again.

Your breath caught in your throat, glass trembling slightly in your hand as you tried not to look. Tried not to let your eyes betray you. But the cameras kept flashing, the cheers kept rising, and against your will, you saw him.

The sharp cut of his suit, tailored perfectly to broad shoulders and lean muscle. The usual scowl carved into his face, somehow sharper, more grown, more… controlled. He moved with the same restless power you remembered—untamed, alive, like his body could barely contain the sparks under his skin.

It was him. Every inch of him.

And suddenly all the years of work—of moving on, of growing, of burying—collapsed. Just the sight of him had your chest hollowing, your throat tight, your carefully rebuilt walls crumbling like sand.

You turned back to the bar too quickly, swallowing hard. “I might need that drink after all,” you muttered.

Your friend raised a brow, sipping her cocktail. “That bad?”

You didn’t answer.

Time blurred. There were speeches—of course there were speeches. Your boss pulled you into polite circles, hands warm on your arm as he introduced you to names you’d forget by morning. You clapped at the right moments, laughed when prompted, let yourself drift through the crowd like smoke.

But your mind wasn’t here. Not really. It was back at the bar. Back at the doorway. Back on the way your heart had stuttered when you saw him again.

Hours felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours. Eventually you found yourself back where you started, perched on a stool at the bar, mocktail long gone, the weight of the night pressing heavy in your chest.

Your friend was chatting animatedly beside you, already two drinks in, her words blurring together. You nodded absently, fingers tracing the rim of your empty glass, trying to ignore the restless ache that hadn’t left since the moment you saw him.

And then you heard it.

That voice.

“Oi. Water. And a whiskey for Dunce Face.”

Your spine locked.

You didn’t turn. You couldn’t. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the music, the laughter, the clink of glasses. He was right there. Close enough to touch.

Your heart dropped straight through the floor.

And yet—he didn’t seem to notice.

The bartender slid the drinks across the counter, and you caught his reflection faintly in the polished glass. He looked the same. He looked different. His hair a little shorter, sharper. His jaw more defined. Still him. Always him.

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring hard at your hands. You told yourself you wouldn’t turn. That you’d survive this night without acknowledging him.

And maybe you could have.

If your boss hadn’t appeared right then, cheerful and booming, clapping a hand onto your shoulder like you were old friends.

“There you are, y/n! Been looking everywhere for you.”

You flinched, head snapping up instinctively—straight into Bakugou’s line of sight.

Your boss rattled on, but you couldn’t hear him. Not over the sudden silence in your own head. Not over the weight of his gaze pinning you where you sat.

For the first time in years, your eyes met his.

And everything you’d been pretending not to feel came crashing back, raw and merciless.

you couldn’t believe the situation you were in right now as you tore your gaze back to your boss, forcing your voice steady. “Of course, sir. I’ll follow up on that.”

Your boss beamed, oblivious, and excused himself to greet someone else, leaving you sat with your friend at your side, drink in her hand, her eyes flicking between you and the man still standing right next to you.

She leaned close, voice pitched low. “You good?”

You nodded too quickly. “Fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone said she didn’t believe you for a second, but she let it go, sipping her cocktail before getting up and turning her attention back to the crowd.

You stayed frozen, mocktail glass sweating in your palm, trying to anchor yourself. You weren’t nineteen anymore. You weren’t that girl crying into her hands while the door slammed shut. You had a life now. A career. A future that didn’t involve him.

So why did it feel like your ribcage was collapsing just standing this close?

Bakugou broke the moment by muttering a low thanks—gruff, uninterested, like always—but you had silently prayed that he had gone.

“Kaminari, where the fuck are you? I ain’t carrying these all night.”

A familiar laugh answered from behind you. “Chill, bro, I’m right here. Man, you’re wound tighter than usual.”

Denki Kaminari slid into view, hair still ridiculous, grin wide as he clapped Bakugou on the shoulder. His eyes swept the bar, catching onto you, lighting up with recognition.

“Oh shit—no way. Y/n?”

Your heart stumbled as you forced yourself to face them, fully this time.

Kaminari’s grin split wider. “It is you! Damn, it’s been forever.” He leaned onto the counter like you were still friends, like you hadn’t cut every single one of them out of your life the moment Bakugou walked out. “How the hell are you?”

You forced a polite smile, praying your voice wouldn’t crack. “I’m… fine. Thanks.”

Before he could press further, Bakugou cut in. “Dunce Face. Shut the fuck up.”

Kaminari blinked, confused. “What? I was just—”

“Shut. Up.” Bakugou’s voice was flat, dangerous, his eyes locked hard on the counter in front of him.

Kaminari raised his hands in surrender, shooting you an apologetic grin before backing off, mumbling something about finding Kirishima as he took the drink from Bakugou.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

And then another voice broke through, bright and familiar in a way that cracked something deep inside you.

“Katsuki. What the hell’s your problem?”

Kirishima. Of course.

He clapped Bakugou on the back, nearly spilling the water he was holding. “You’re acting like a total weirdo. Oh—wait.” His eyes flicked toward you, recognition hitting all at once. “Holy shit. Y/n?”

What the fuck, could this get any worse? You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Kirishima’s grin softened quickly, though, eyes flicking between you and Bakugou. He wasn’t stupid. He knew. And the way his smile slipped into something quieter told you he knew exactly what he was seeing.

“Wow. Uh… hey. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah.” Your voice was barely audible.

Kirishima glanced at Bakugou, then back at you, then at Bakugou again. “Right. Uh—” He scratched the back of his neck, leaning close to mutter something only Bakugou could hear.

Bakugou’s jaw flexed.

“No,” he growled.

“Yes,” Kirishima shot back, still smiling like he wasn’t absolutely meddling. “You can’t just sit here glowering all night. Do it.”

“I said no.”

“Then I’ll do it for you.”

Bakugou’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

But Kirishima was already opening his mouth, like he was about to strike up another conversation.

And that’s when Bakugou snapped.

“Fine. Fuck.” He slammed his glass down hard enough to rattle the counter, grabbing your wrist before you could even react.

“Katsuki—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, harsh, meant for you alone.

The room spun as he pulled you off the stool, dragging you past curious eyes and raised brows, ignoring every look, every whisper, every camera that might’ve caught the sight of Dynamight storming through the gala with a woman in tow.

You stumbled after him, heart in your throat, his grip scorching against your skin.

Through the side hall. Past the velvet ropes. Past the bathrooms and into some quiet corridor that smelled faintly of polish and stone. He didn’t stop until you were completely out of sight, until the music was muffled, until it was just the two of you and the echoes of your breath.

Finally, he turned, releasing your wrist only to press his palms against the wall behind you, caging you in without touching you. His head hung low for a second, breath ragged, before he looked up.

Red eyes. Older. Sharper. But still the same.

“Y/n.”

Your name on his lips for the first time in years.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stared at him, at the set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there all those years ago. Time had carved him into something harder. But his presence—the suffocating intensity that filled every inch of space—was the same.

“Bakugou.” The name left your lips like a curse.

His gaze flicked up, locking on yours. For a split second, you swore you saw it—his throat tighten, his grip on the wall flex as you called him his last name. Then he scoffed, dragging his eyes away, moving back like it meant nothing.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff, low.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“This ain’t your kinda scene.” He shoved a hand through his hair, sharp movements betraying the tension in him. “Didn’t think I’d ever fuckin’ see you again.”

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. “Trust me, I didn’t plan on it either.”

His eyes snapped back to you, flaring, like your words stung more than he’d let on. For a second, you thought he’d yell. But instead, he straightened, shoulders squared, pride stiffening every line of him.

“I’m livin’ the life I wanted.” The words came out clipped, rehearsed almost. “Got to the top. Did it all on my fuckin’ terms. Nothin’—no one—got in my way.”

Your stomach twisted, bile rising at the edge of your throat. He said it like it was a trophy. Like cutting you out of his life had been a win.

“Number five,” you said flatly.

His head jerked, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“All that ignoring me. Shutting me out. Pretending I never existed. And you’re not even number one.” The words sliced, sharp and cold, before you could stop yourself. “Was it worth it, Bakugou? For that?”

His nostrils flared, sparks crackling faintly around his palms. “Don’t fuckin’ talk like you know shit about what it took! You think it’s easy? You think I don’t bleed for this every goddamn day?”

“I bled for you too!” Your voice cracked, raw. “Every time you walked out that door. Every night I stayed awake waiting for you to come back. Every time I told myself you cared, even when you didn’t.”

“Don’t—”

“No.” Your eyes burned, but you held his stare, refusing to back down. “You had me, Bakugou. You had everything. And you still threw it away.”

For once, he didn’t snap back. His mouth opened, then closed, teeth grinding. He looked away, shoulders rising with a shaky breath.

“I never stopped thinkin’ about you.” The admission was rough, almost broken. “Every fuckin’ day. Every time I thought about callin’, or checkin’ in—”

Your laugh was sharp, bitter. “But you didn’t.”

He flinched.

“You didn’t,” you repeated, softer this time, the ache spilling through your words. “You slammed my door and left me to rot. And don’t you dare stand here now and act like it meant something. Like i meant something to you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, blazing. “Don’t fuckin’ say that. Don’t—” His hand slammed the wall beside your head, close enough that the plaster cracked. “You never meant nothin’ to me? Is that what you think? That I just used you and left?”

“Isn’t that exactly what you said?” you shot back, voice trembling. “‘We’re only fucking around.’ Remember that?”

His face twisted, a flash of regret, shame—something you’d never seen on him before. “I didn’t fuckin’ mean it.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot!” His voice broke like an explosion, raw and desperate. “Because I didn’t know how else to push you away when I knew I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I had to focus on me—I had to, y/n.”

You swallowed hard, chest caving. “And I wasn’t worth it.”

His whole body stilled. The sparks around his palms fizzled out. His eyes—still sharp, still burning—looked almost glassy.

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The corridor felt too small, air too thin. His breath was ragged, your chest tight. Neither of you moved, both trapped in the weight of everything unsaid, everything broken.

Finally, he exhaled, a harsh, trembling sound. “Come on, y/n. It’s been fuckin’ years. You’re still holdin’ a grudge?”

Your lips parted, stunned by the sheer audacity. “A grudge?” The laugh that tore from your throat was sharp, ugly. “You destroyed me. You walked out and left me with nothing. And you think this is just some petty grudge?”

His jaw clenched, but his hands trembled at his sides. “I’m not apologizin’ for chasin’ what I wanted.”

“Then don’t.” Your voice was ice. “Congratulations, Bakugou. You got everything you wanted.”

You pushed off the wall, brushing past him before he could stop you. Your heels clicked sharp against the polished floor, each step heavier than the last.

He didn’t move. You felt his eyes on your back, burning holes into your spine. But he didn’t follow.

Not yet.

And you hated yourself for the way your chest still ached, the way your hands still shook, the way your body still remembered what it was like to be loved by him.

If it had ever really been love at all.

The city glittered outside your window, but you barely noticed it.

Your keys clattered onto the counter as you shoved the door shut behind you, your chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. Heels slipped off in jerky motions, your dress feeling too tight, too heavy, like it was choking you with every reminder of tonight.

You yanked at the zipper, peeling the sequins from your body until the gown pooled at your feet in a shimmer of wine-red. What had felt powerful, confident hours ago now felt like a cruel joke. You stood there in nothing but your slip, chest rising and falling, and realized your hands were trembling.

“Fuck.” The word cracked out of you, jagged.

You pressed both palms to your vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror. Mascara smudged at the corners of your eyes, lips faded where the gloss had worn away. Not ruined, not broken—but rattled. Shaken in a way you hadn’t been for years.

You thought you’d buried this. You thought the past had stayed locked behind that slammed door, sealed and suffocating. But seeing him—hearing his voice, feeling the weight of his presence again—had torn it all open.

Your heart pounded, each beat echoing in your ribs. Anger simmered hot, crawling up your throat. He had the audacity to stand there and act like you were the one holding on too long? Like you were weak for not letting go?

You pressed your forehead against the mirror, squeezing your eyes shut. And underneath the anger, the betrayal, the salt of old wounds, came something worse. Something you hated yourself for.

Longing.

“Goddammit,” you whispered, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You swiped them away, furious. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

But your body betrayed you. Your chest ached. Your stomach twisted. And all the careful walls you’d built around yourself felt like glass, cracking with every memory.

You moved through the motions, desperate for distraction. Dress hung back in its bag. Jewelry clattered onto the nightstand. You scrubbed the makeup from your face until your skin stung. Slipped into an oversized t-shirt and shorts, bare feet padding across the hardwood.

Still, the silence of your apartment pressed in too tight. The echoes of his voice rang in your ears.

“I never stopped thinkin’ about you.”

You swallowed hard, curling onto the couch with a blanket, trying to smother the words, trying to shove them back into the vault of things you’d sworn never to open.

But your chest still hurt. Your heart still pounded. And you hated—hated—that you were sitting here, still bleeding for him after all these years.

You nearly screamed when the knock came.

Sharp. Insistent.

Your body went rigid. No one came by this late. Your friends always texted first. Your neighbors didn’t bother.

Another knock. Harder.

You crept toward the door, every muscle tight, half-ready to grab something heavy from the counter. But then—

“Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped again, it felt like that happened too many times today.

His voice. Rough. Low. Just on the other side of the door.

“Bakugou?,” you breathed, stunned, almost disbelieving.

“Open the door.”

You froze, palm hovering over the handle. Every instinct screamed at you to ignore him. To let him stand there all night, knocking until he gave up. To protect yourself the way you’d sworn you would.

But your heart—traitorous, aching—slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt.

“Please, goddammit.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t the voice of the arrogant pro hero you’d seen earlier.

Your fingers curled around the lock. Slowly.

The click echoed like a gunshot.

And then the door cracked open.

He stood there—broad shoulders filling your doorway, hair even messier than before, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion or something else. His suit jacket was gone, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled. His fists clenched and unclenched like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

For a long, unbearable moment, neither of you spoke.

Then his throat bobbed, voice scraping out.

“I needed to see you.”

You didn’t know why you moved. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the sheer stupidity of your heart. Maybe because part of you had been waiting for this—for him—for years.

But you stepped back, fingers tightening on the edge of your shirt, and let the door swing wider.

“Get in,” you muttered, stepping aside.

He brushed past you, the heat of him filling the space like static electricity, like his quirk was sparking right beneath his skin. The familiar smell hit you—smoke and cedar and something sharp that hadn’t changed, not once.

You closed the door before your knees gave out.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice tight. You tugged at the hem of your oversized t-shirt, suddenly hyperaware of bare thighs, bare skin, the intimacy of letting him see you like this again. It felt unfair—that he could still strip you down without even touching you.

Bakugou turned, jaw tight, shoulders coiled like a spring. And then he broke.

“I do regret it.”

Your breath hitched.

He took a step closer, hands flexing at his sides. “Every fuckin’ day, I regret it. I shouldn’t’ve—fuck—I shouldn’t’ve treated you like that. I thought… I thought I had to pick. Like I couldn’t have you and still have the life I wanted. And I was a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Katsuki—”

“I’m sorry.” The words spilled rough, unpolished, like they’d been burning his throat for years. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. I should’ve—I should’ve told you then, ‘cause I fuckin’ loved you. I did. I still do.”

The room tilted, your chest splitting open.

“You don’t get to just show up years later and—”

But you never finished, because his mouth was already crashing against yours.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was teeth and tongue and years of swallowed-down longing, his hands cupping your jaw like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he’d die if he let go.

And you hated yourself for it, but you kissed him back.

Every bit of anger, every ounce of grief, every lonely night came spilling out into the press of your lips, the scrape of his teeth, the way he groaned into you like he was starving.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he muttered against your mouth.“I missed you so fuckin’ much.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan, you realized there was no stopping this and before you even thought of stepping back before it escalated, Bakugou’s mouth was back on yours.

Your back slammed against the door, his palm braced beside your head, the other hand already locking the door with a decisive snap of the bolt.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole, tongue sliding deep, dragging a desperate sound out of your chest. His body pressed flush against yours, hard planes and muscle caging you in, his hips grinding forward until you felt the unmistakable throb of his cock through the barrier of his pants.

Heat coiled low in your stomach.

His breath came ragged against your lips, short pants laced with something perilously close to a whimper. The kind of sound he’d never admit to making if you weren’t there to hear it. His hand left the wall to grip your waist, rough fingers digging in like he didn’t trust you not to vanish if he let go.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, the word spilling out hot and helpless, before kissing you again, deeper, harder.

You clutched at his shirt, dragging him closer, your lips parting beneath the push of his tongue. Every press of him was demanding, greedy—his hips rolling against yours, the pressure enough to make you gasp and arch into him. Your thighs trembled as the friction sent sparks dancing through your veins. Literally sparks—little pops of heat prickling against your skin where his quirk slipped through, uncontrolled.

“Katsuki—” His name left your lips in a soft pant, half warning, half plea.

His answer was another bruising kiss, his grip tightening at your hip. “Stop talking,” he breathed, the words broken with want, his forehead bumping yours as he caught your lower lip between his teeth.

Every second stretched taut. Every brush of his tongue, every grind of his cock against you turned the ache inside into something clawing, unbearable. You felt yourself drowning in it, in him, the heat of his body pressed so mercilessly against yours.

And then he surprised you.

With a low growl tearing from his throat, he bent, hooking his arm behind your thighs. You yelped as your feet left the ground, the sudden lift making your stomach swoop—before you found yourself slung over his shoulder in one smooth, unrelenting motion.

“Katsuki!” Your protest came out breathless, muffled against his back as your hair tumbled around your face. “Put me down!”

“No,” he snapped, voice low and feral, one broad hand splayed over the back of your thigh to keep you steady as he strode deeper into the apartment. His steps were purposeful, unhesitating, like he hadn’t forgotten for a single second where everything was.

You squirmed against him, your fists pounding weakly against his back, but the motion only made his grip tighten, the rough pads of his fingers digging into your skin. You could feel the tremor in his hand—the restraint it took not to drag you even closer, not to set the entire room alight with the raw heat rolling off him.

The hallway blurred past. He shouldered the familiar door open without slowing, and then you were airborne for a single, heart-stopping second before he tossed you down onto your bed.

The mattress gave under your weight, sheets cool against your heated skin, and then he was over you in a blink—knees bracketing your hips, his palms slamming into the bed on either side of your head.

Your breath caught as his eyes met yours.

Scarlet. Unyielding. Lit with everything he wasn’t saying.

And then his mouth crashed down on yours again, dragging you under.

His kiss devoured you.

There was nothing tentative in it, no hesitation, only teeth and tongue and the molten heat of a man starved beyond reason. His weight bore down on you, pressing you into the mattress like he wanted you branded there, wanted every inch of you mapped to his skin.

Your hands fumbled for him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer, closer, until there was no air left between you. His hips rolled once, deliberate, and the thickness of his cock ground hard against your core. You broke the kiss with a gasp, the sound torn straight from your chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, voice ragged and uneven. His hand slid from the bed to your waist, thumb brushing over the hem of your oversized shirt. “You—” His jaw flexed. “—you still fuckin’ sound the same.”

Before you could question, his mouth was at your jaw, teeth scraping, lips hot against the soft curve where your pulse fluttered. He bit down hard enough to make you hiss, then soothed the sting with a slow, open-mouthed kiss that left your skin throbbing.

The shirt didn’t stand a chance. He pushed it higher, higher, until it bunched under your arms. His eyes burned as he looked at you—devouring, reverent, angry at how much he wanted you.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, low and harsh, like he hated himself for admitting it.

Heat rose in your cheeks, and you turned your face away, but his hand was on your chin instantly, forcing your gaze back to his. “Don’t you dare hide from me.” His voice cracked on the edge of something raw. “Not when we are this far.”

You barely had time to process before he was sliding down, dragging the shirt off completely, tossing it aside. The air was cool against your heated skin, but then his mouth was there—at your collarbone, at the swell of your chest, kissing, biting, marking, leaving fire in his wake.

Your thighs parted instinctively when his hands skimmed lower, rough palms gliding down to your hips, then the soft inside of your legs. He spread you wide, his breath hot where it ghosted against your inner thigh.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice heavy with want. “Already fucking wet.”

Your breath hitched. His thumb traced your clothed folds, slow, teasing, pressing just enough to make your hips jolt. And then—heat. Not just the heat of him, but his quirk, a low warmth blooming against your cunt as he rubbed in slow circles. Just hot enough to make you gasp, to make your body arch up against his hand.

“Too much?” he asked, though his smirk said he already knew the answer.

“God, no.”

“Good girl.” His voice dipped darker. “’Cause I’m not stopping.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, teeth catching the thin fabric. You stared down, dazed, as he tugged them down with nothing but his mouth, the scrape of his teeth and the wet drag of his tongue against your hip making your stomach twist with want.

He spread your thighs wider, his palms holding you open like he was claiming territory, and then—

“Oh, fuck—”

His tongue slid through your folds, hot and relentless, licking like he’d been waiting years for this. He groaned into you, the vibration sparking straight through your core, and the sound was so filthy, so needy, you nearly came undone right there.

Your back arched. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging, trying to pull him closer, deeper. “Katsuki—”

He growled in response, the sound muffled against your cunt, and his grip tightened on your thighs, holding you down as his tongue circled your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of him eating you out filled the room, every flick of his tongue making your hips jerk, every groan of his making the pressure coil tighter in your belly.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he panted against you, his lips slick. “Could drown in this—shit.”

Your thighs trembled, your body straining for more, chasing every stroke of his tongue. He licked and sucked like he needed it, like he could come undone just from your taste alone.

When your climax hit, it was sharp, shattering. You cried out, gasping his name, your body seizing against his hold. He didn’t stop. He pressed his mouth harder to your clit, tongue flicking through every aftershock, groaning like the mess you were making was all for him.

When he finally pulled back, his face was drenched, lips shiny, chin wet. He kissed his way back up your stomach, your chest, your throat, until his mouth was on yours.

You tasted yourself on his tongue, and it should’ve been filthy, humiliating—but it wasn’t. It was intoxicating. It was him.

You moaned into the kiss, you were still shaking when he kissed you again, his mouth hot and slick with the taste of your orgasm. His tongue tangled with yours, unrelenting, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was trying to swallow every sound you made.

And maybe you would’ve let him keep taking, keep giving, if not for the heavy, aching press of his cock against your bare cunt. Even through cloth, the thickness of him was impossible to ignore. Every grind of his hips against you had your body sparking again, restless and hungry, a new kind of ache clawing through your belly.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, chest heaving. “Katsuki.”

His red eyes burned into you, wild and soft all at once, like he’d never stopped wanting you, like this was the only place he’d ever needed to be.

“What?” His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, his voice already ruined.

“I—” Your hands fumbled at his belt, tugging, needy. “I want—let me.”

His brow furrowed, lips curling into a snarl that didn’t quite mask the way his hips bucked helplessly against you. “No. This isn’t about me.”

Your stomach twisted at the ferocity of it, the grit in his voice.

But you weren’t having it.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Then make it about me wanting you.”

For a moment, his eyes searched yours—torn between control and ruin. You took advantage of his hesitation, pushing at his shoulders until he fell back onto the bed. His eyes widened just slightly, surprise cutting through his anger as you straddled his hips.

He looked up at you like he was seeing a ghost, hands snapping to your waist, gripping tight. Grounding you. Claiming you.

Your hips rolled down against the bulge of his cock, and he let out a low, broken groan, eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck, don’t—” His voice cracked, his fingers digging into your skin. “Don’t do that. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

Your lips curled, half-smirk, half-challenge. “Then let go.”

His eyes flew open, wild and red and furious. He sat up in a surge of strength, chest pressed to yours, nose brushing yours. “You don’t get it. I can’t—”

“You can,” you cut in, your voice soft but firm. Your hand slid down his chest, lower, until you palmed the hard line of him through his pants. He shuddered, head dropping against your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin.

And then, in the quietest whisper you’d ever heard from him: “Ride me.”

The words slammed into you, hot and dangerous, but your chest ached with a different kind of need. You shook your head, lips brushing his ear. “Not yet.”

You slipped off him, sinking to your knees at the edge of the bed. His hands shot out immediately, fisting the sheets like if he touched you he’d lose the last of his control. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts.

“Fuck—Y/n—”

You worked at his belt, tugging the leather free, undoing the button, dragging the zipper down slow enough to make him twitch. The sound of it was obscene in the quiet room.

He lifted his hips when you tugged his pants down, dragging his boxers with them. And then he was there, heavy and thick in your hand, flushed red at the tip, veins standing out against the pale shaft.

“Woah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself, your mouth already watering.

“Don’t—fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he snarled, though his hips twitched up, betraying him.

You licked your lips, teasing the head with the softest brush of your tongue. He choked out a sound—half-groan, half-whimper—that made heat flood your chest.

“Y/n—” His head tilted back, jaw clenched tight, throat working around a swallow.

You wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently, teasing, dragging your tongue slow over the tip. His entire body jerked.

“Goddammit,” he gasped, hips bucking, almost uncontrollably. Sparks snapped across his skin, tiny bursts of his quirk firing off without his permission. “You’re fuckin,—shit—don’t tease me.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him groan low in his chest. Your hand slid down his shaft as you took more of him in, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re gonna kill me—” His voice broke, raw and strangled, his hand flying to your hair. He didn’t push, not yet, just held you there, his hips twitching as if he was fighting every instinct in his body.

You glanced up through your lashes, meeting his eyes. The sight of him—flushed, sweating, lips parted in a silent moan—sent a thrill through you.

You slid deeper, until the head nudged the back of your throat. He cursed, loud and ragged, hips jerking forward despite himself.

And then it was chaos. His control snapped. His hips thrust shallowly, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, slick and messy, his groans spilling out in broken stutters. His hand tightened in your hair, still not pulling, still keeping you there, his head thrown back, throat straining.

“Too—too good—fuck, too good—” His voice cracked on a whimper that sounded almost pained. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

He pulled you off suddenly, chest heaving, cock twitching wet and angry in his fist. His eyes burned into yours, desperate and ruined. “Not like this. Not—fuck—want to come inside you.”

Your lips glistened, your jaw ached, and still you groaned at the loss, glaring at him. “Why—”

But he was already dragging you up, hauling you onto his lap with a strength that made your breath catch. His mouth crashed into yours again, filthy and desperate, his tongue tasting of you and himself all at once.

The kiss turned into a grind, your bare cunt slick against his cock through the mess of precum smearing across your skin. His shirt was still on, but you tore at it, dragging it over his head, baring the hard lines of his chest, his scars, the sharp rise and fall of his ribcage as he panted against your lips.

Your breath hitched as his cock slid along your folds, wet and aching, leaving you trembling in his lap. He was hot everywhere, every inch of his skin searing against yours, his chest heaving, lips swollen from too many kisses.

His hand curved over the back of your thigh, spreading you wider across him. He was staring at you like a man about to snap, pupils blown, jaw set like he was forcing the words out through clenched teeth.

“Need—fuck—need a condom.” His voice cracked.

The rational part of you screamed yes, yes, you should—but the words that came out were nothing like that.

“Forget it.”

His whole body froze. “What?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, dragging down his scars, grounding yourself in the heat of him. “I said forget it. I don’t care. I just want you.”

The sound that tore out of him was something between a groan and a growl. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his teeth scraping your skin, and for a second he didn’t move—just held you, trembling like he might combust.

“Y/n…” His voice was raw. Broken. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Then die in me,” you whispered.

That shattered the last of his restraint.

His hands clamped under your thighs, lifting you with a strength that stole your breath, and then he was lining himself up. The blunt head pressed against your entrance, slick with your arousal, and even the smallest nudge had your whole body spasming.

“Are you sure?” His voice shook, desperate, even as his cock nudged insistently at you. “Tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you gasped, nails clawing his back.

That was all it took.

He slammed you down in one sharp thrust, burying himself inside you to the hilt. The stretch was devastating, burning, so much all at once, and yet your body remembered—it opened for him like it had been waiting, like it had never forgotten.

“Fuuuck—” He choked, his head dropping back, a broken moan spilling from his lips. “You’re so—shit—so tight, so wet—fuck, I missed this—missed you—”

Your cry tore out of you, high and cracked, your arms locking around his neck as he held you in place, grinding his hips up into you. The slick, obscene sound of him moving inside you filled the room, every thrust shoving the air out of your lungs.

He started slow—deep, rolling thrusts that had your walls fluttering around him uncontrollably. His hands were everywhere, cupping your ass, dragging down your spine, palming your breasts until his mouth latched on, sucking hard at your breast, teeth grazing until you arched back with a gasp.

“Don’t stop—”

“Won’t stop,” he groaned into your skin, his voice guttural, wrecked. “Fuckin’—you feel too good—”

His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit with calloused fingers that rubbed in rough, urgent circles. The added sensation ripped another cry from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, biting down on the swell of your breast hard enough to leave marks. “Always been mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, barely able to form words as his cock hit deeper, harder. “I’m yours—”

The sound he made at that—low, guttural, almost pained—set fire to your veins. He sped up, thrusting harder, rougher, until you were clinging to him, nails digging bloody crescents into his shoulders.

And then, as if even this wasn’t enough, he shifted. One sharp movement, and you were on your back, the mattress slamming against your spine. He loomed above you, hair wild, sweat dripping down his temple, chest heaving like he was fighting for breath.

His hands framed your face for a heartbeat—so gentle, thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks—before he drove into you again, burying himself deep.

“Fuck—look at me.” His voice cracked as he thrust hard, headboard banging against the wall. “Don’t look away. Look at what you do to me, damn it.”

You did, tears spilling hot and helpless down your temples. His expression nearly undid you—feral and soft all at once, fury tangled with something terrifyingly tender.

“I love you,” he whispered like he couldn’t stop himself, kissing your tears away even as his hips snapped against yours with bruising force. “I love you. You’re all I ever needed.”

“What—”

“Say it back.” His pace faltered, hips stuttering as if he needed the words more than he needed release. “Tell me. Say it—”

“I love you.” The words tore out of you, raw and unguarded, your body arching up into him. “I love you, Katsuki—”

His face crumpled, a broken groan spilling from his chest. He pounded into you harder, faster, his hand clutching your thigh, your hip, holding you open for him.

“Again,” he demanded, desperate. “Please. Say it again—”

“I love you, I love you—”

Your voice broke into sobs as pleasure ripped through you, your orgasm slamming down like lightning, blinding and sharp. Your body convulsed, clamping down on him, pulling him deeper.

His own cry followed, guttural and strangled, as he buried himself inside you to the hilt, cock twitching, spilling hot and deep. His thrusts stuttered, slower but no less intense, grinding into you as if he could carve himself into your body.

“Fuck—fuck—I love you—” His words were muffled against your neck, his mouth everywhere, kissing, biting, breathing you in as if you were the only thing keeping him alive.

You clung to him, gasping, trembling, both of you riding out the aftershocks as the bed creaked beneath you.

The world narrowed to the slick slide of his cock still inside you, the hot press of his body, the broken sound of his voice repeating your name like a prayer.

The room was quiet except for the slow tick of your breathing, both of you sprawled across the tangled sheets, sweat cooling on your skin. Your body still trembled from the force of it all, your legs shaky, your chest rising and falling like you’d just run a marathon.

Bakugou lay half on top of you, one arm caging your waist, the other stretched above your head. His weight was heavy but grounding, his skin hot against yours. He pressed his mouth to your temple, lips dragging over your damp hairline, lingering there as if he couldn’t pull away.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice low, rough with exhaustion. The words seemed torn from somewhere deep, desperate and unguarded. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back before. I was a fuckin’ idiot.”

Your chest ached at the crack in his tone.

“I wanted to fix myself,” he went on, thumb brushing across your cheek, catching the tear tracks that hadn’t dried yet. His eyes burned when they found yours. “Thought I had to be… better. Stronger. For you. Didn’t realise I was just pushing you away. Didn’t realise I was breakin’ you. I’m not that guy anymore. And I’m sorry—fuck—I’m sorry I hurt you. It was the worst thing I ever did. Eats me alive every day.”

You listened in silence, heart twisting, your hand resting over his chest where his heart pounded steady and heavy. You wanted to believe him. Hell, a part of you already did. But belief was dangerous—it meant giving him the power to hurt you again.

Your throat tightened as you whispered, “I don’t just want to be someone you fuck, Katsu.”

He froze at the nickname, his lips twitching before he groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Tch—that’s a fuckin’ god-awful name.”

Your laugh was shaky, nervous, but real. “It’s not that bad.”

He lifted his head, eyes narrowing, but the softness in them betrayed him. “It’s not. But only because it’s from you. Anyone else says it, I’ll kill ‘em.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart skipped. “Not exactly a romantic answer.”

He sighed, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then your temple again, so gently it nearly undid you. “You aren’t just someone I fuck, dumbass. Never were. Never will be.”

You stared at him, waiting. Hoping. But he didn’t say it.

“Sooo you’re really not gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?” you muttered, frowning.

His lips twitched, then a low laugh rumbled out of him. “You’re fuckin’ adorable when you’re frustrated.”

“Are you messing with me right now?”

He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose before you could pull away. “Never, I swear.”

“Then what the hell?”

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand, the other still caressing your cheek with surprising gentleness. “I’m gonna ask you when the time is perfect.”

You gave him a look, unimpressed. “So this isn’t perfect?”

His grin widened, teeth flashing. “You little fucker—I didn’t say that. Just… right now seems forced. I want to catch you off guard. Wanna see your dumb face when you realise I mean it.”

You swatted his chest, but your lips curved despite yourself. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you love it.” He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted like promises he hadn’t made yet—but would.

You let yourself melt into it, his thumb stroking your cheek, his body pressed warm and steady against yours.

For the first time in years, you didn’t feel broken by him. You felt seen. Wanted. Loved.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.

END

reblogs and likes will be much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed <3

Please don’t repost my work.

all images are not mine, this isn’t how the characters act/or are intended to act. This is just my personal idea on how they would act.

You were going to be more work than he’d expected. 

But that didn’t bother him - he was committed to being with you, wanted more than anything to have you at his side forever. If that meant that he had to spend some time making sure that you understood your new place in life, so be it. He was sure that you’d be receptive soon enough. 

What did bother him was what he found on your phone. 

He’d taken it from you when he’d first kidnapped you, swiping it from your pocket and having no trouble guessing your password. He’d spent enough time observing you to know that you were the type of person who was highly sentimental, and would most likely use a code special to you. 

And sure enough he had it in three guesses: 1204 - the date of your original debut as an idol. 

With your unlocked phone in his possession, he hadn’t really expected to find out any new information about you. He’d spent every waking moment dedicated to knowing you, all of his time taken up by watching out for new photos online, alerts set up on various social media for posts tagged with your name. 

He could probably recite your entire wikipedia page from heart - he knew everything about you, from your early life to now, and would easily get 100% on a quiz about your likes and dislikes. 

There was nothing that he didn’t know about you. 

So the devastation hit him hard when he unlocked your phone only to be greeted by dozens of messages from some guy, suggesting that there was a part of your life that he wasn’t privy to. 

And upon closer inspection it wasn’t just any guy, but Gojo Satoru from Hollow Purple, an idol who encapsulated everything that Sukuna hated about idols. He couldn’t care less about the man himself, but Gojo’s fans were the worst. They were by far the most obsessive group out there, and Sukuna had spent plenty of time protecting you from Gojo’s rabid fangirls online whenever speculation would spring up about the two of you being an item. 

He’d never believed those stupid rumors. 

You were far too good for that guy, there was no way in hell that he was your type. Sukuna was your type, he knew that. That was the answer you’d given on one of those stupid idol shows when asked what kind of guy you were into - you’d said ‘someone big and strong who can take care of me’. 

That was Sukuna, not Gojo. 

And yet, the messages lighting up your phone screen suggested otherwise. 

He wasted no time opening up the chat, ignoring the most recent messages questioning your whereabouts, and scrolling up. His heart hammering uncomfortably at the sight of the seemingly never ending conversation between the two of you. It was filled with sweet messages: good morning texts, stupid jokes and memes, silly selfies. To say that he felt sick was an understatement - how could you act like this with a man that wasn’t him? 

Didn’t you know that you were destined to be together? 

Opening up your camera roll did little to ease his concerns as he was met with dozens of pictures of you and Gojo together, several images of the two of you kissing, one of you cuddled up in a bed that definitely wasn’t yours. 

Heart in his throat, he checked your private photos folder, once again guessing your passcode - which happened to be your birthday this time. You were really bad with security, and thank god for that because Sukuna was in no mood to put in any kind of effort right now.

He desperately needed to see what you’d been hiding from him. 

The folder only had a few pictures in it, and one singular video. Most of the images were of you alone, either naked or wearing lingerie, posing provocatively for the camera. He lingered on those pictures for a while, cock hardening at the sight of you like this. Sure, he’d undressed you and put you in that skimpy little nightgown when he’d first brought you here, but that wasn’t the same as seeing you like this. 

These images felt like he actually had your attention, which was much more of a turn on than you being unconscious. He couldn’t wait until you were making those faces just for him. 

Much to his displeasure there were also a few pictures of Gojo in that folder - a couple of him shirtless, and one of him fully naked. He scrolled past those quickly, not wanting to think too much about the fact that you’d kept those. 

At the very bottom of the folder was a video. 

It was only about thirty seconds long, but it had his cock straining hard against his sweats as he watched the clip with wide eyes. 

You were sitting on your bed, the one that he knew was yours because he’d broken into your apartment when you were on holiday a couple of months back. Your legs were spread apart, and you were wearing nothing but a cute little dress with no panties. Your pussy was on display for the camera as you slid your fingers into yourself, letting out cute little wines and moans as you got yourself off. 

There was a sweet blush covering your face, as if you were embarrassed to be doing something so lewd, but somehow enjoying it at the same time. 

For a moment he was able to trick himself into believing that you’d made the video for him, and that made him want to storm into your room and take your right there and then. But that little voice in his head was quick to remind him that you made this for Gojo, and he needed to do something about that first. 

There was a part of him that was frustrated over how he could’ve missed this. He spent every waking hour on you and he had to find out from your phone that you had a boyfriend? How the fuck did that happen?

You guys must’ve gotten together after he sent you that damn tongue. It had been harder to openly stalk you after that. Security around your new place whenever you were actually home was crazy and he always tended to stay away, only ever venturing into your house when he knew you were out. 

If you were only ever meeting Gojo in secret at your house, that must’ve been how it slipped his attention. 

Well, that and the fact that he simply didn’t want to see the truth. The thought of someone else having your attention making his skin prickle. It pissed him off - he’d defended you so hard online against Gojo’s fans only for you to betray him by the rumors being true?

You were going to pay for that. 

Although, he did manage to remind himself that your relationship with the idol didn’t really matter now anyway. He had you in his grasp, and now that he knew about Gojo it was a simple matter of tying up loose ends.

He was going to make sure that those pretty blue eyes never got to see you again. 

—

You were hot. Unbearably hot.

Your body dripping with sweat and soaking the sheets when you finally came to that evening. Or at least, you assumed it was evening. The light in the room had dimmed considerably since your encounter with Sukuna that morning. 

As you tried to stretch, your body aching from spending so much time in bed, you found that now both of your hands were bound - one tied to each bedpost. Your legs had been left free, but that wasn’t much of a source of relief to you, it wouldn’t do much to help you escape this situation. 

The numbness in your hands was unpleasant, the surface of your skin tingling as you tried to twist your wrists into a more comfortable position, only to find that you were secured far too tightly for that. Sukuna had taken great care to ensure that you weren’t going anywhere.

But that prickly feeling in your hands quickly fell from the forefront of your mind as you realised just how sick you felt. Your body was unbelievably clammy, your stomach bubbling with some strange sensation that had you feeling like you could vomit at any moment. And yet, the feeling was also strangely pleasurable, akin to being caught right on the edge of an orgasm. 

In fact, you were certain that was what the sensation was, pussy dripping slick onto the silk nightgown that Sukuna had dressed you in, desire throbbing in your abdomen to be touched. And that was terrifying, because desire was the last thing that you should be feeling right now.

The need was so intense that it was painful. 

It was similar to how you’d felt the handful of times that Satoru had teased you with edging - keeping you right on the brink of orgasm but never quite giving you what you needed. Back then that had been fun, because Satoru knew your limits and would always reward you eventually, allowing the release that you so desperately needed. 

But right now your hands were restrained to prevent you from dealing with the problem yourself, and there was only one person here who’d be able to help. 

And there was no way in hell that you were letting him anywhere near you. 

Not when he was no doubt the one who had caused this issue - that syringe of his likely filled with some kind of powerful aphrodisiac. It made sense now that he believed you’d be more pliable once he returned, but you certainly weren’t planning on giving him the satisfaction he was seeking. 

You’d rather die than seek out his help. 

A fact that you made abundantly clear when he entered the room a couple of hours later, glaring at him defiantly as you ordered him to stay back. But regret flooded you almost instantly at the sheer look of fury on his face. 

He had an entirely different aura to him than this morning, red eyes cold and unforgiving, a sneer prominent on his lips as he approached. Once again you tried shuffling back, but found yourself faltering as you took in the sight of blood splattered across his cheek. And at your hesitation he gave you a wide grin. 

“I guess you still want to do things the hard way, baby?” 

You couldn’t hear him, ears ringing as you wondered whose blood that was. Did it belong to someone you knew? Had your lack of immediate compliance driven him to take out his anger on someone you loved? 

“The blood.” You mumbled, voice wavering a little as he clambered onto the bed, his knees settling on either side of your body, pinning you beneath him. The way that his eyes seemed to light up with glee at your words was horrifying - he’d clearly been hoping you’d ask what he’d been up to. 

“Let's play a game.” He whispered, breath ghosting your face, a shudder running through you as stared up at him. It was clear that he was excited now, you could feel his cock straining through his trousers as he started to grind himself against you, your own needy body tensing in response. 

Your mind would never want him, but right now your body didn’t seem to understand. 

“I’ll ask you three questions. If you get all of them right I’ll reward you with whatever you want. Obviously, I’ll say no to anything unreasonable like leaving me, but outside of that you can pick whatever you want.” 

There wasn’t really anything you wanted outside of leaving him, but maybe you could use your request to try and subtly find a way to escape. Perhaps if you asked he’d give you back your phone for a little while. Even if he would be supervising you the whole time, maybe you could find a way of somehow getting a message out to someone. 

You just wouldn’t know unless you tried. 

“And if I get them wrong?” You asked shakily, not forgetting about that dimension of this game, knowing that a man like this wouldn’t offer you a deal without a catch. 

“No consequence.” Sukuna said, his voice deep and gravelly. “How cruel do you think I am, baby? I love you. I’ll only cause you pain if it’s for your own good.” 

You weren’t sure that you totally believed him, considering that you didn’t view being tied up and drugged as for your own good, but you held your tongue, desperate not to let this opportunity go to waste. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay!” He responded with a wide grin, leaning in close to you, his fingers toying with the thin straps of your nightgown, an involuntary shiver running through you at his touch. “Question one: who is the boyfriend of ROGUE’s lead singer?”

You froze up, your whole body on high alert as you met Sukuna’s wild gaze, his rage barely contained in those deep red eyes. His fingernails were digging into the flesh of your shoulder now, but you could barely register the pain, fear creeping into your mind. 

It was clear that he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from you. 

Your mouth was dry as you parted your lips to reply, struggling to make the words come out. Was Satoru okay? Had Sukuna taken him too? What if he was chained up just metres away in another room - maybe the two of you could escape together? 

“Gojo Satoru.” You mumbled, doing your best to keep your voice steady. 

“Correct! Good job.” He praised, but his smile was false, dangerous. “Question two: what happens to men who touch what belongs to me?” 

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him in horror. What was the correct answer to this question? Had he already done something to Satoru? Or would the answer that you provide here determine your boyfriend’s fate? 

“Tick tock.” Sukuna hissed, rolling his hips languidly against yours and forcing a gasp from your lips. You could see in his eyes that he was livid, desperate for you to answer so that he could finally make the point that he was clearly building up to. 

“N-nothing?” You answered, hoping that you were right but knowing that you weren’t even before Sukuna openly laughed at you. 

“Cute, but no.” His lips were centimetres from yours now, his presence overwhelming as he pressed himself more firmly against you. “I cut ‘em into pieces.” 

You couldn’t contain the little frightened sob that left your lips, and Sukuna rolled his eyes in frustration, as if he was expecting a different reaction. Considering how unhinged he was, you wouldn’t be surprised if the emotion he was seeking was gratitude. 

But you were anything but grateful right now, your mind running wild with anxiety. Had he cut Satoru to pieces? Or was it a promise of something he was going to do in the future? Could you stop him, convince him to let your boyfriend live? It wasn’t like Satoru had done anything wrong. 

“I guess you lost the game.” He mused. “But I think I’ll still ask you question three. Just for fun.” 

You stared up at him in silence, holding your breath as he asked you the final question, knowing that this was likely what he’d be ramping up to the whole time. You felt sick at the sight of that gleeful expression present on his face. 

“Question three: what’s in the fridge right now, baby?”

Your heart dropped and you stared at him blankly, unable to react or think in the face of his strange question, your brain short circuiting, shutting down to avoid reading into the implication. You didn’t want to know. 

“No answer? Let’s find out, shall we?” He chirped, sitting up and releasing you from your restraints before grabbing your arm firmly, ensuring that you were stuck in his grip as he dragged you to the kitchen. You didn’t put up a fight, your mind still struggling to process the information you’d been given. 

He stood behind you with his hands resting on your shoulders as he positioned you in front of the fridge. Fear gripped you as you stared up at the appliance looming over you, all of your instincts begging you to flee. 

“Open it.” He hissed, his breath warm against your ear as his fingers dug into your shoulders once more. 

There was a part of you that wanted to tell him to go to hell, but at the same time you needed to know. What would you see in there? Was Sukuna’s line of questioning about Satoru just a scare tactic? A form of psychological torture to try and break your spirit by making you assume the worst? Or was there something in there that would rend your heart in two?

You’d only know if you did what Sukuna had asked. 

Hands shaking, you gripped the handle of the fridge and pulled it open, unable to hold back your panic as you registered the sight before you. On the middle shelf sat a jar with two eyeballs floating in a clear liquid. Eyeballs with blue irises that were so familiar to you. 

Bile rose in your throat and you slammed the fridge shut instantly, moving to the sink and throwing up, panic and terror surging through you at what you’d just been shown. Sobs started to wrack your body, tears flowing freely. 

No, no, no-

“Do you know who those belonged to?” Sukuna asked cheerfully, unconcerned by you emptying the contents of your stomach mere feet from him. 

You said nothing, body shaking as you sobbed, hands sweating as your brain tried to comprehend what it had seen. It couldn’t be, right? It was just a trick, he was just trying to scare you. There was no way- 

“They’re Gojo’s.” Sukuna said easily. “He screamed a lot when I plucked those out, it was a little pathetic.” 

He moved over to you, placing a hand on your back as you leant over the sink, rubbing soothing circles into your skin with one hand while the other pulled back your hair gently. He cooed softly, telling you to let it all out, whispering promises about how much better he’d take care of you than Gojo ever did. 

That had you seeing red. 

Your body acted on instinct, swinging a fist directly at his face only for him to easily sidestep, grabbing your arm and pinning it behind your back as he brought you down to the wooden floor, chuckling a little at your bravado. 

“Woah, didn’t think you had it in you, baby.” He purred, before fiddling in his jacket pocket for something. “I figured you’d be a little frustrated, so I have something to take the edge off.” 

“Fuck you. I’m going to fucking kill you.” You hissed through tears, struggling against him as he pulled out a needle. But his hold was too firm, keeping you paralyzed beneath him as he quickly injected you in the arm. 

“There we go! Let's calm down, yeah?” 

You tried to spit something back in response, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. 

He’d injected you with something different to yesterday - some kind of fast acting sedative that made your whole body go numb and lifeless while allowing you to remain conscious. It meant that he was easily able to haul you back to your room, tying you to the bed without protest, leaving you trapped in your own despair. 

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, baby.” He whispered lovingly as he planted a kiss on your head, ignorant to the revulsion coursing through you at his touch. “You’ll see one day that this is what’s best for you. You just need a bit of time to come around.” 

He stood up and headed towards the door, admiring you for a moment with a gentle smile.

“You hate me now, but one day you’ll thank me for this.” 

—

Months passed after that, with your situation remaining ever stale. Your life shrank down from existing on global stages to solely knowing the inside of that creepy little room. In the blink of an eye the seasons changed from summer to autumn, with you spending 90% of your time alone and chained to that bed. 

The first few weeks were the worst, your mind replaying every moment that you’d ever spent with Satoru, spending all your time swinging between rage and despair, cursing Sukuna’s very existence. You’d scream at him and cry whenever he’d come into the room, trying to physically harm him when he’d release you to relieve yourself. 

Things never really worked out in your favor though, with Sukuna always managing to easily subdue you - be it with his own strength or via sedatives, you’d always end up back where you started: tied to that fucking bed. 

And eventually you just stopped trying. Stopped fighting. Whether you attacked him or not made no difference to your situation. You were stuck here all the same, and Satoru was gone. 

There was no point wasting what little energy you had on emotions that would go nowhere. Besides, behaving was the only way that you were ever really allowed out of that damn room, and you were starting to lose your mind in there. 

For the time being, what option did you have beyond compliance?

Your time in captivity was starting to have an impact on your body. It was bad for you to stay idle all the time and as long as you were good, a couple of times a day Sukuna would release you from your bonds and lead you on a walk around his apartment. 

It was something that you desperately needed based on how shaky you’d gotten on your legs, occasionally having to lean on Sukuna support which was extremely humiliating. But it beat being confined permanently to your room. 

Occasionally he’d even bring you out of your room to let you shower. Under his supervision of course, but even having him leer at your naked body was preferable to stewing in your own filth in that bed. 

It felt like you were betraying Satoru through your compliance, but there was nothing you could do to change your situation right now. You didn’t want to fight against Sukuna too much and end up losing your privileges to even walk around the apartment every now and then. 

Those were the only times where you’d allow yourself to feel a sliver of hope and defiance. 

You’d take the opportunity to scan his apartment, looking for any sort of escape route. As you’d expected, the front door had several locks on it, manufactured with the intention of keeping you contained - even if you manage to crack one lock, how were you meant to get through that many under Sukuna’s watchful gaze? 

But the windows were a no go, and the air vents were far too small for you to crawl through, so that locked door was your only option. Perhaps if you could get free rein of the house then you’d be able to give lockpicking a go while Sukuna was out. But the only way Sukuna was letting you out of your room freely was if you gave yourself to him fully and that wasn’t an option. 

Behaving so you could go an a walk was one thing, agreeing to fuck him was something else entirely. 

You had to think of some other way to get that door open and soon. Before Sukuna decided that he was tired of waiting for your consent. 

Sometimes after those walks that he’d take you on, if you’d been particularly docile, he’d reward you for good behaviour - tying your hands together and sitting you down on the sofa with him as he watched TV. At first you’d thought it was a rare display of kindness, but you discovered quickly that it was just a unique form of torture. 

Because what he’d watch would always relate to you. 

News broadcasts about how the police still had no knowledge of your whereabouts - how after all this time they had to assume that you were likely dead. Those broadcasts would always be accompanied by the newsreader reminding the public that Gojo Satoru had been murdered days later, and how these events must be related. 

If he wasn’t showing you news about yourself, he was putting on any content surrounding your group ROUGE, forcing you to watch your former groupmates go on idol shows and tour without you, your position now taken up by a former solo idol called Mei. He’d make comments while you watched about how much your group sucked now, but that was just the sacrifice he’d had to make to have you at his side. 

Usually after that he’d put on old recordings of you with ROUGE, your soul dying just a little at the sight of a woman that you hardly recognised now - a shining idol who had been so happy and full of life just months ago. A girl who had effectively died the moment that Sukuna placed Satoru’s eyes in front of you. 

He’d taken everything from you. 

And yet, each time that Sukuna brought you out of your room - be it to take you on those little walks or to force you to watch TV with him, he’d ask if you’d changed your mind about him yet. He’d remind you that if you just gave in, and became his like you were destined to be, he could give you the life that you’d always wanted. 

No more ropes, no more needles - you’d be free to roam as you pleased in his apartment and he’d dote on you like you were his Queen. 

You just had to give yourself up to him. 

And at first, it was easy to keep yourself going on rage alone. Telling him that he was the last person that you’d ever allow to have you. He was your captor, the person who had stolen your hopes and dreams. He’d killed your lover and presented his eyeballs to you like some kind of offering. You’d rather stay in this shitty room for the rest of your life than give yourself up to a man like him. 

But as the months rolled on you found that holding onto your resolve became harder and harder. 

Sometimes it was difficult to even remember your life before this, your routine of waking up and seeing Sukuna so familiar now that it was hard to recall that you’d ever done something else. It was hard to believe that you used to be able to wake up and do whatever you wanted, your wrists free from bruising constraints. 

The drugs didn’t help either. 

Sukuna kept you on whatever drug he had in those needles continuously. The drowsy effect that they’d given you the first few times had disappeared, but the aphrodisiac effects just grew worse. The drug always had you writing with need, body desperate for a release that you couldn’t provide, and lately you’d been wondering if it would be so bad to just ask Sukuna for help, just so you could have at least a day or two of respite from the desperate feeling in your gut. 

Was there really something so wrong about that? 

Despite how much you hated him, with your mind addled by the aphrodisiacs you couldn’t help but find him physically attractive. 

Besides, he’d promised you that if you fucked him he’d give you more freedom. It would be like killing two birds with one stone - you’d receive immediate relief from your body’s current woes, and then he’d give you free rein of his apartment which would give you a greater chance of escape. 

It was clear from the news broadcasts that no one was really looking for you anymore. If you wanted to be saved you needed to do it yourself, and you weren’t going to be able to do anything as long as you were stuck in this room. 

But you still had an ounce of dignity left, and you could still see another path before turning to such a desperate solution. There was still a chance for you to escape this unscathed, but it was risky, and you had no idea what he might do to you if you failed. 

The consequences weren’t worth thinking about. 

You were already trapped here, you couldn’t see any punishment being worse than sitting here for the rest of your life in this maniac’s house. If there was an opportunity you needed to take it. Your old life was still out there, and you needed to get back to it. 

So the next time he brought you to watch TV with him, you put your plan into action. 

Instead of sitting rigidly at the far end of the sofa like you usually would, you shuffled up close to him, laying your head in his lap as you stretched out across the couch. He looked down at you with surprise, a grin stretching across his face in elation. Much to your disgust, you could feel his cock harden beneath you, and you tried your best not to think too much about it. 

You needed to be good and stay here, needed him to let his guard down. 

One of Sukuna’s arms draped over your midsection, while his other hand came to rest on top of your head, stroking your hair gently as he watched you. He was treating you like you were some cat who’d come to settle on his lap for the first time, touching you with slight hesitation as if afraid that any sudden movement would have you fleeing. 

And you desperately wanted to flee. Every bone in your body telling you to sit up and huddle at the end of the sofa like usual, because each movement of his hand was raising fearful goosebumps on your neck, but at the same time desire was building in your stomach at the sensation of being touched.

It was a disgusting, confusing mess of emotions that you desperately needed to push aside for the moment to focus on the task at hand. 

Doing your best to ignore the growing wetness between your legs at Sukuna’s touch, you slowly readjusted your hands so that they were resting on his thigh, close to the pocket that you knew the door keys were in. You needed him to relax, perhaps even to doze off a little before you could take any action. 

And he seemed well on the way to that already, gaze on the TV now as he absentmindedly stroked you like you were his pet. Taking a deep breath you also pretended to watch the TV, acting like you were engrossed in the stupid idol anime that you’d done a voice acting cameo for, trying your best to keep the tremble of your body to the minimum lest you give the game away. 

It took at least an hour of that before the opportunity to act arrived. Sukuna’s eyes had fluttered shut, the hand stroking your hair stilling as he relaxed against the sofa, in clear bliss from your affection today. 

Disgusting.

Very slowly you moved your hands to his pocket, trying not to disturb him as your fingers hooked around his keys. You could hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears as you pulled them free of the fabric, the metal shining in your grip. Panicked, you glanced up at Sukuna, letting out a silent sigh of relief seeing that his eyes were still closed. 

Now for the hard part. 

You wriggled out from under his grip, moving as slowly as possible. It was excruciating. Your brain was telling you to hurry up, to jump to your feet and make a run for the door. But you’d never succeed that way - there were too many locks and you needed time to open them. 

The only way this would work was if Sukuna stayed asleep. 

Once you’d escaped his grasp with still no sign of life, you padded quietly and quickly over to the door, inspecting the set of keys and comparing them to the locks before you, trying to figure out which one fit where without trying each of them. It was likely that the locks made sound, so you really needed to get it right the first time. 

With your best guess secured in your mind, you inserted a key into the first lock, a little jolt of excitement running through you as it fit perfectly, a quiet click sounding as it unlocked - the sound hopefully not loud enough to rouse Sukuna. You didn’t look back to check, knowing that time was of the essence right now and you needed to focus. 

The second and third locks opened just as easily as the first, and with only one more to go you could feel the excitement burning in your chest. 

You could do this. 

Relief flooded you as the fourth key slid into the lock with no trouble. This could all be over, you could be free, you could get Sukuna arrested and you could go back to living a normal life again. It was all going to work out. 

You were on the ground before you could turn the key in the final lock. 

One moment you were standing in front of the door, the next you were sprawled out across the wooden floor, stomach in agony where Sukuna’s knee had met your delicate body without mercy. 

He was standing over you now, a sneer twisted across his face as he examined you. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but your little act didn’t fool me.” He crouched down over you, leaning in close. “I figured I’d give you a little hope, wanted to see how far you’d go. You were really gonna fucking leave, huh?” He pointed towards the locks, rage and hurt swirling in his red eyes. 

“I- I-” 

What could you even say in this situation? Of course you were going to leave, why the fuck would you ever choose to stay? 

“I thought maybe you’d think better of it, appreciate how well I’ve been looking after you. I cook you the best meals, I give you shelter, I keep you safe, I provide for you so that you never have to fucking work again, and this is how you repay me?” He was yelling now, and you were trembling, fighting back tears at just how close you’d been to salvation only to have it torn away. 

“S-sorry.” You whimpered. You weren’t sorry, but you prayed that it would do something to ease his anger. 

He laughed, hand darting out and wrapping firmly around your throat. “You’re not sorry. I know you’re not. You’ll try that shit again the second you get a chance. I guess I’ve been too nice to you, huh? Figured I’d be a good guy and let you come around on your own, but it seems like you need a firmer hand to guide you, baby.” 

You gasped at the sensation of him pressing down on your windpipe, hands scrabbling at his wrists, trying to force him to release you. He held on for a few moments longer as he grinned down at you, clearly enjoying your struggle. It was only once you were red in the face that he released you, grabbing his keys which were still hanging from the door, and stalking off to another part of the apartment. 

Coughs were wracking your body as you gasped for breath, just about managing to sit up as Sukuna reappeared, holding his box of needles that you’d become intimately familiar with at this point, and a bundle of rope. 

He was on you without hesitation, tearing off your nightgown and pressing you facedown on the floor, ignoring you as you kicked and screamed beneath him. Keeping you pinned beneath him, he forced both of your arms behind your back, tying them together before wrapping rope around each of your ankles and connecting them to the ropes on your wrists, putting you in a hogtie. 

Soft gasps were leaving your lips as you struggled to breathe, your throat still hurting from where he’d gripped you. You couldn’t even struggle in this new position as Sukuna lifted you up, depositing you down on the couch. He disappeared out of your view for a moment before returning with a syringe which was significantly larger than the one he’d usually use. 

“This amount should give you the motivation you need to see how much you need me.” 

“N-no, please- I’m sorry.” You tried to reason with him. The constant ache in your gut was already bad enough from the usual dosage, you couldn't imagine how your body would react to more. 

“Should’ve thought of that before you tried tricking me, baby.” 

Eyes wide, you watched him helplessly as he jabbed the needle into your arm. He was practiced at the action now, having performed it so many times, and you let out a soft little whimper of pain as he injected the drug into you. 

It didn’t take effect right away. It never did. It would generally take an hour or two before it would kick in with full force. Although, this situation was a little unique - usually Sukuna would inject you every morning, always leaving twenty-four hours between doses. But it was evening now, and you’d already had one injection earlier today - you had no idea how having a double dose on top of the aphrodisiac still in your system was going to affect you. 

But you soon had your answer. 

Sukuna didn’t remove his gaze from you for even a moment after leaving you hogtied on the sofa. He’d positioned himself in the armchair across the room, watching you with great interest as the drug slowly started to take effect. 

It started the same way it always did - a searing heat in your gut, a desperate desire for touch and release that you couldn’t give to yourself. You’d usually bring yourself relief by rubbing your thighs together, but that was no longer possible in the position that Sukuna had tied you in. 

He observed you with glee as you started to writhe and wriggle, trying to grind yourself against the leather sofa, peaked nipples rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric as the searing desire kept increasing. 

The feeling grew like nothing you’d ever experienced before, the knot in your stomach tightening like you were about to cum, but no such release finding you. Copious amounts of slick was dripping from your pussy and onto the couch, and you felt unbearably empty. 

You were so desperate that it was physically painful, a strange buzz of desperation igniting in your brain. It felt like your body was tearing apart, like you’d die if you didn’t find some level of pleasure and soon. Tears were dripping from your eyes as you squirmed more desperately, a pathetic little moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh? Something wrong?” 

You didn’t need to look up at Sukuna to know that he was grinning, that this was exactly what he’d been waiting for. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he desired. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to focus on anything but the burning in your gut.

Footsteps approached, and the sound of rustling suggested that Sukuna was crouched down beside you now. “You seem a little desperate.” He whispered playfully. 

There was a part of you that wanted to scream at him, to tell him to fuck off and untie you so that you could save yourself from this suffering. But any action that you might’ve taken was stalled as one of his hands reached beneath you and pinched hard at your nipple. 

It felt unbelievably good, your sensitivity higher than it had ever been. Desperately, your pussy clenched around nothing, more slick gushing onto the leather at just a single touch alone. You let out a needy whine and Sukuna laughed as he pulled his hand back from you. 

“Would you look at that?” He mumbled, taking a step back and admiring your writhing form, before letting out a faux yawn. “I’m tired. Guess I’ll just leave you here tonight, yeah? Since you’re so desperate to be independent.” 

Lip trembling, you stared up at him with wide eyes as he stared back at you expectantly, waiting to see if you’d break. You shouldn’t, couldn’t give in to him like this, not because of some forcibly inflicted lust. He’d kept you captive, he’d killed Satoru, he’d tortured you. There was no way in hell you were going to let him touch you. 

Right? 

And yet, as he began to walk off in the direction of his bedroom, leaving you in for a long and painful night, his name fell from your lips without your permission. 

He stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to look at you with a wide grin. “Yeah, baby?” 

“D-don’t leave me like this.” You whispered quietly, humiliation coursing through you at your request. 

“Like what? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” He purred as he approached, deep red eyes practically burning a hole in your skin as he appraised you. 

You hated him. You hated him so fucking much. This was everything that he wanted, you were giving him the exact thing he’d been waiting for and he still had the audacity to play with you, to make you ask for what you wanted from him in no uncertain terms. 

“Please m-make me feel good.” His grin widened as he took a seat behind you on the couch, completely in your blind spot. His hand made its way slowly up your thigh, before settling between your legs, his fingers brushing tenderly over your soaked folds.

You jolted desperately at the contact, almost cumming on the spot at his touch alone. His fingers were so thick and calloused, and your pussy couldn’t help but twitch with need at the thought of him pressing them into you, pumping two digits inside you until you were squeezing and cumming all over his hand. 

But a moment after his hand had made contact with your pussy he was pulling back, chuckling at the disappointed whimper that fell from your lips. 

“I don’t think you deserve a reward just yet. I don’t think you’re really sorry.”

Before you could protest, he was bringing his palm down hard against your ass, pulling a little yelp from you at the stinging impact against your skin. It was horrible, it hurt, and yet for some reason your pussy was clenching at the impact, that knot in your stomach twisting tighter at this rough treatment. 

It was like you had no dignity left at all. 

“Aww, you’re so pretty, baby.” He mused, soothing his hand over the reddened skin for a moment. “Count for me, okay?” 

There was no opportunity to comprehend what he meant by that before he was bringing his hand down again, harder this time. You let out a little shriek at the impact, hands tightening into fists behind you as you wished there was something for you to hold on to. 

“I said count, baby.” His tone low and dangerous. “I’ll have to keep hitting until you get it right.” 

As he brought his hand down the next time, you put all your focus into shakily calling out each number. The strength of his spanks only seemed to increase with each contact, and by the tenth and final strike you were sure that purple imprints of his hands would be left on your sensitive skin tomorrow. 

But right now you couldn’t find it in you to really care about the pain, pussy throbbing with need, your desperation only growing with each hit, knowing that if you endured his punishment, if you were good, he’d give you what you needed. 

You just needed to be compliant right now, just so you could get what you needed from him this one time. 

That was allowed, right? You weren’t pathetic for looking after yourself, right? 

“Good girl.” He cooed as he tenderly soothed your bruised ass. “Do you know why I needed to do that?” 

You wanted to stay silent, but you knew that would just drag out his torture longer. “B-because I tried to escape.” You mumbled. 

“Mmmm. Because you’re being ungrateful. Do you think I’ve punished you enough for that?” 

Yes. You didn’t deserve punishment for wanting your freedom, but you obviously couldn’t say that to him. Instead you tried to outsmart him by not providing a straight answer. 

“I’ve learn’t my lesson. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

Sukuna laughed, it came out as a full on cackle and you flinched a little at the sound. “I really don’t believe you baby, but that’s okay, you’re needy right now, huh? Let me give you what you want.” 

All of a sudden he was pushing your thighs as far apart as they’d go within their constraints, positioning his head between your legs, hands moving up to give your ass cheeks a squeeze as his tongue gave your pussy an experimental lap. 

It felt like your nerves were on fire at that one singular contact of his warm tongue, and your body was squirming against your will, desperately trying to seek out more friction from him as you attempted to grind himself down against his face. Not that he seemed to mind, diving in enthusiastically as his tongue navigated through your folds, flicking desperately against your pussy like he was a man starved. 

Cries fell from your lips at the sensation, your nipples rubbing against the leather beneath you, with each miniscule movement just adding to the pleasure that he was providing you. One of his hands slid beneath you, pinching and rubbing at your clit as his tongue mapped out your pussy. 

After being deprived of pleasure for so long, your body hardly knew what to do with itself, all synapses firing at once, completely overwhelming you with desire. You hated to admit it, but the way that Sukuna’s tongue was enthusiastically lapping at you felt better than anything you’d ever experienced with Satoru. 

It almost felt like you were transcending, seeing stars as his tongue pushed into your opening and you came hard against his face for the first time. You should’ve felt embarrassed that this horrible man had made you release so quickly, but you were far too caught up in how good it felt to care, bucking desperately against his face as you rode out your orgasm. 

Your release felt like it continued forever, the longest orgasm that you’d ever experienced - the result of being pent up for months finally coming to fruition.

“You taste so fucking sweet.” Sukuna’s voice was muffled against your pussy, continuing to lap up the seemingly never-ending flow of your juices. And he didn’t stop there, remaining between your legs long after your orgasm had stopped, a fact that you were grateful for because the aphrodisiac still had you pulsing with need. 

He drew three more orgasms out of you like that, devouring you completely, watching with glee as you came undone for him over and over again despite yourself. He only seemed to bring himself to a stop once his jaw was thoroughly aching, his cock too hard and heavy now to be neglected any longer. 

After all, he’d been waiting months for you, years even. 

By the time he undid the rope around your ankles, you were far too fucked out to be aware of anything going on around you, your aching legs dropping down onto the leather of the couch. Sukuna maneuvered you carefully onto all fours, and you let him do as he pleased, your mind in a complete haze. 

He discarded his sweats on the floor, and as you glanced at him positioning himself behind you, somewhere in the back of your mind your registered fear at just how thick and long his cock was, how badly it would probably hurt to have it inside of you. But all you could focus on was how desperate you were to be filled, lusting after the man who had put you in this horrible situation in the first place. 

A soft hiss fell from your lips as he pushed the tip into you, stomach clenching as he stretched you out, sinking fully into you in one fluid motion. You were caught off guard by the way that he let out a low groan at the sensation of being inside you for the first time, a string of curses spilling from his mouth as you instinctively clenched around his length. 

This was what you needed, what you’d been waiting for all this time. You’d just needed him to fill you up and make you feel good. You and your foolish pride, what had you even been holding back for?

The small voice in the back of your head was almost inaudible over the sound of skin slapping against skin as he started to thrust into you, hips slamming into your ass at a desperate pace. But somewhere in the sane part of your mind you were desperately trying to hold on to the fact that this man was not your saviour, but your captor. 

And yet, with each thrust, each whispered bit of praise, you found yourself yearning for more, desperate for an eternity of this toe-curling pleasure he was providing you with. It was like he’d engineered every action to make you feel good, hands always roaming about your body, playing with your breasts or rubbing your clit. 

And somewhere between your sixth and seventh orgasm, your fragile mind, that had been fighting in this hellish existence of being a captive for so long, finally reached its limit and snapped. 

You were in heaven, weren’t you? 

That was how it felt with every orgasm that he granted you, that was how it felt as he spilled his own seed deep within you - something that you should’ve felt fearful of, but why should you be scared when he was doing you a favour? 

You’d been suffering and he’d offered you relief, that was all that was happening here, right? Why had you been so difficult with him in the first place? He was just looking out for you, wasn’t he? 

No wonder he was mad at you for playing with the locks. 

Why were you so fucking ungrateful? What the hell were you fighting him for?

And as he pulled out of you following his second orgasm and your eight or ninth, he was positively beaming at you, chuckling as he got to his feet, admiring the mess that the two of you had made over his couch. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He murmured, hand running through your hair, the praise going right to your pussy. Your mind felt hazy, completely confused.

Why had you been fighting him again? He was treating you so nicely.

“Let's get you washed up. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Leading you into the bathroom, you didn’t protest as he showered you, cleaning you of the reminders of the evening that you’d just had. You felt dizzy, disorientated, like something was wrong but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. What had you been doing before this? You’d been trying to escape, right? What for? Wasn’t this where you lived? Where had you been going? 

Sukuna grinned at you, taking note of the frown marring your pretty face. “Everything okay, baby?” 

“D-did I do something wrong?” You asked, your memories distant, unclear. 

“Yeah, baby. But it’s okay, we’re gonna make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

The next morning, you awoke in a room different to the one that you were usually in. It was much bigger - still decorated with your merch, but it felt less like the walls were pressing down on you. Sukuna was asleep beside you, his arm draped over your midsection, and you felt an odd sensation of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him. 

Even if that feeling quickly gave way to an odd discomfort that you couldn’t quite place. Why did you feel disgusted? He was your boyfriend, right? 

You frowned as you desperately tried to understand what you were feeling, jumbled memories disappearing each time you tried to reach out and grab one. You couldn’t remember how you’d gotten here, but you’d been unsafe for a long time, you’d been hurting for a long time. 

And Sukuna had saved you, right? You’d been in pain, and he’d made sure that you were better. 

You’d lived some strange life before, with weird people who were always obsessive over you, always clamoring for your attention. Those obsessive people had hurt you and Sukuna had saved you. 

Yeah, he was keeping you safe here. He was your protector. That was it. 

As you tried to sit up, you winced at an oddly painful sensation in your stomach. Pulling back the sheets a little, the memory of how last night had ended came flooding back to you. In lovely cursive text, positioned just above the top of your panties, was Sukuna’s name tattooed onto your skin. 

It was done nicely, covered in a second skin to keep it protected. He was a tattoo artist after all - even if your memories of everything were hazy, you knew that much. Of course you’d know what your boyfriend did for a job. 

You admired it for a moment, smiling at the sight of it. This was another one of those things that he’d done to keep you safe - he was clever like that. If anyone ever took you they’d know where to return you to. 

Thank god. You were soulmates, right? You had a distant memory of him telling you that. Why would you ever want to be separated from your soulmate? 

It was only right that he staked a claim on you. 

You belonged to him after all. 

masterlist | next chapter

a/n: can reader fix her destroyed mental or is she about to live the rest of her life in total delusion?? who knows!!

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! reblogs and replies are appreciated, lmk if you want to be on the taglist for the final chapter!

taglist (open): @indiewritesxoxo @lafleurperdue @nyxly1412 @favvkiki @ieirieiri @puttyly @madamechrissy @paintedonmyteeth @lunababezsstuff @tojiswifeforlife @elme333 @emmenic726 @mortallyshadysoul @beabamboo @nonamevenus @poppyyki @goofiebags5678 @pinkyvomit @bistrocatxx @missthatgirl @wisnaw @belovedria @a-dizzle777 @pillowprincess4him @sporkslol @pxgeturner @bonnisposts @fairygardenprincesss @heartyhe4rt @thiccwhorrorbunny-blog @illnweol @ohohostinkyyyyy @stupidlexi211 @ketchupkuna @riveredmoon @chocalycake @ssaintpasta @r0vena @junkuna @mad-katsuki @1nlov3 @jjk-on-crack @katthekat1234 @girl-ln-green @saltypuffin1040 @kenmasabg @killerkuna @strawberrychita @eepydeepysleepy

For whatever reason, tormenting you was his favorite extracurricular activity. He wasn’t the type to just shove you in the hallway or copy your homework—no, Sukuna liked to get personal. He’d lean over your desk, crowding you until you could smell the faint tang of smoke clinging to his uniform. He’d tug on the strap of your bra through your shirt when no one was looking, snap it hard enough to make you flinch, then snicker like you were just entertainment.

“Nice panties today, princess,” he’d mutter after “accidentally” brushing his hand against your skirt when squeezing past your desk. He never said it loud enough for others to hear, but just enough to watch you squirm. Half the time he didn’t even hide the way his eyes lingered—like he got off on catching glimpses, cataloging them, storing them away for later.

Everyone else thought he just hated you. That Sukuna Ryomen had found his personal chew toy and wasn’t going to let go until you broke. And yeah—he was cruel. He’d call you stupid, shove your books off the table, whisper in your ear in that gravelly voice just to see the goosebumps rise on your neck. But under all the insults, there was this sick, obsessive edge.

Because Sukuna wasn’t just a bully. He was a pervert.

He knew exactly how to make you nervous, exactly how close to stand, how to bend low so his lips nearly brushed your ear when he spoke. Sometimes he’d steal your pen just to chew on it, eyes flicking to your mouth like he was imagining something worse. Sometimes he’d force you to walk the long way home just because he liked trailing behind you, watching your skirt sway.

The worst part? Half the time he looked mad about it. Like he resented himself for wanting you, and that made him even meaner. He’d sneer after letting his eyes drag over your body, jaw tight, as if to remind himself—and you—that you were beneath him.

Still, he kept coming back. Every damn day.

And you? You let him. You let him torment you, because have you seen the man? He was six feet of pure asshole with muscles, scars that made you wonder how he got them, and a mouth that looked like it only knew how to say cruel shit… or press you against a wall and ruin you.

Sukuna didn’t just bully, he invented new ways to fuck with you.

He’d steal your water bottle in P.E., unscrew the cap, and tip it over his mouth slow, throat bobbing as he drank, staring at you the entire time—then toss it back empty. “Thanks, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I don’t have herpes.”

He’d drop his pencil on the floor just so he could bend down, slide his hand along your calf under the desk, and act innocent when you jerked away. “Relax, I was just grabbing my pencil. Unless you liked that?”

He’d grab your phone in the hallway and hold it above your head, scrolling through your notifications like he owned you. “Wow, no one’s texting you? That’s depressing as fuck.” Then whisper low so only you could hear: “Bet you’d blow me if I said I’d add you to my contacts.”

When teachers called on you to read, he’d mouth obscene shit across the classroom, tongue dragging over his lip, two fingers shaped like a V, just to watch you stumble over your words.

And the worst part? You never said anything. You could’ve told the teacher. You could’ve pushed him off. You could’ve screamed when he crowded you in the back stairwell, one hand braced above your head while the other tugged your skirt just an inch too high. But you didn’t. You froze, you fumbled, you blushed—and he noticed. Every single time.

That smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Because behind every shove, every whispered insult, every “accidental” brush of his knuckles against your thigh—there was a glint in his eye that said he wasn’t doing this to humiliate you. Not really. He was doing it because he couldn’t fucking stop himself.

And if you were being honest? You didn’t stop him because you didn’t want to.

That’s why it was no fucking surprise when you were found in the back of his car, sprawled across torn leather seats, being fucked into oblivion by the same asshole who used to snap your bra straps in homeroom.

The windows fogged up, the cheap pine-tree air freshener swinging violently from the rearview as Sukuna drove his hips into you like he was trying to wreck you on purpose. The car reeked of smoke, sweat, and him—and you were gasping for breath, nails clawing at the cracked upholstery while he laughed against your throat.

“Always knew you were a little slut for me,” he growled, voice low and cruel, one hand pinning your wrists above your head like you were some helpless toy. His other hand gripped your thigh, shoving your leg higher until the stretch burned—but fuck, you couldn’t even think straight anymore.

He didn’t kiss you, not really. He bit. Sharp teeth sinking into the soft skin of your neck, claiming you the same way he claimed every fucking thing—rough, selfish, like he deserved it.

And you let him. You fucking let him.

Because god, Sukuna was huge. His cock was stretching you out in ways you didn’t think were possible, every thrust knocking the breath out of your lungs and making your eyes roll back. He knew it too—the bastard grinned every time you choked on a moan, every time your hips arched off the seat despite how much you hated yourself for wanting it.

“Pathetic,” he hissed in your ear, rutting into you harder, each word punched out by the slam of his hips. “Acting like you don’t like me in class, but look at you now—fuck—taking it so well.”

The car creaked with the violence of it, every movement reckless, every thrust a reminder that he had you exactly where he wanted.

His rhythm turned brutal, the kind of pace that made your brain short-circuit. Every time he bottomed out, the leather squealed under you, and Sukuna laughed—actually laughed—at the mess you were making on his backseat.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered, dragging his cock out halfway just to slam back in with a wet slap. “And you try to act like you don’t want me? You’re disgusting.”

He spat right where your bodies met, a crude, wet sound that made your face burn, then shoved himself back inside like the saliva was enough lube to make it easier for him to ruin you. “Take it. Take it all.”

When you tried to turn your face away, whimpering, he gripped your jaw hard, squeezing until your lips parted whether you wanted them to or not. His mouth crushed yours, hot and aggressive, tongue forcing its way in. The kiss was messy, mean, all teeth and spit—but it left you gasping for more when he finally pulled away, lips slick with saliva.

“You have no idea what you fuckin’ do to me,” Sukuna rasped, dragging your leg higher over his shoulder until your body folded under him. His eyes flicked down, and his grin sharpened. He pressed one big hand to your stomach, right over the bulge his cock made inside you, forcing you to look at it. “See that? That’s me. That’s how deep I am.”

The sight had you moaning, and he mocked you instantly—throwing his head back, mimicking your breathless little sounds in a high, fake voice. “Oh Sukuna, you’re so big, ohhh.” Then he slammed his hips down harder, voice dropping into a growl. “Shut the fuck up. I’ll make you scream it for real.”

And he did. Every thrust was relentless, his body hunched over yours, sweat dripping down his temples as his chest crushed yours. He kissed you again, filthier this time, tongue forcing its way past your teeth while his cock bullied deeper into you, your entire body rocking with every snap of his hips.

At some point, Sukuna got sick of leaning over you. With a rough grunt, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you, dragging your body up until you were straddling him in the backseat. The shift was dizzying—one second he was caging you down, the next he was shoving you up,

dragging you onto his lap, his back slouched against the car seat like a king on his throne. One knee spread wide against the door, the other pressed to the opposite seat, he looked every bit the bastard he was—tattoos shifting over his arms, head tipped back with that cocky grin pulling at his mouth.

“C’mon,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, hands gripping your hips like handles. “Show me what you got. Ride me.”

You braced your hands on his shoulders, heart slamming in your chest as you sank down onto him. His cock stretched you wide, the intrusion brutal, and you could barely catch your breath as you tried to ease yourself slowly onto his lap. The leather squeaked under you, his thighs flexed, and Sukuna’s head lolled back against the seat with a ragged groan.

“Fuck—you’re so tight—” His voice broke, his hand shooting to your waist to steady you. Then you clenched, unintentionally, and his reaction was instant: his grip tightened, teeth bared. “Shit—don’t—fuck—don’t clench on me like that—” He bit off his own words, jaw twitching, eyes snapping open to glare at you like it was your fault he was losing control.

You whimpered, trying to rock your hips, but your pace was hesitant, too slow. Your thighs trembled from the stretch, your body struggling to keep up. You tried, bouncing weakly, but every movement felt clumsy compared to the way he fucked you before.

Sukuna chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Pathetic,” he drawled, though his voice cracked at the edges, rougher than he meant. His hands slid down to your ass, fingers digging in hard. “You really think that’s riding me? You’re useless.”

And then he thrust upward.

Your whole body jolted, a cry ripping out of you as his cock speared deeper, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. He did it again—harder, sharper—his thighs snapping against yours, his back never leaving the seat as he drove up into you.

“Yeah,” Sukuna grunted, his grin sharp and filthy, “that’s more like it. You sit there, pretty little thing, and I’ll do the real work. Lazy slut—look at you, bouncing like you were made for this cock.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red trails across his skin as his pace grew ruthless. He caught your chin in one rough hand, forcing your face to his, and crashed his mouth onto yours. The kiss was all tongue and spit, aggressive and wet, his teeth biting down on your lip as his hips never slowed.

He broke away with a laugh that sounded more like a growl, his forehead pressing to yours. “Every time you squeeze around me—fuck—I can feel it. You’re strangling my dick, you know that?” His thrusts grew sharper, seatbelt buckles clattering against the door from the force. “You’ll make me lose my shit, keep clenching like that.”

The car shook with every brutal snap of his hips, his cock splitting you open while your body melted against him. And all you could do was hold on, gasping into his mouth as he fucked up into you, mocking you with your own moans between every breath.

Your body was nothing but tremors and moans, sprawled across Sukuna’s chest, skin sticking to his from sweat. You could barely hold yourself up anymore—your face was buried against his neck, hair plastered to your cheek, every sound that left your throat muffled against his hot skin.

But Sukuna wasn’t slowing down. Not for a second.

Every thrust of his hips ricocheted through your bones, his cock driving into you so deep the damn seat shuddered beneath you. Your thighs trembled uselessly at his sides, spread wide over his lap, the stretch brutal.

“Listen to that,” he rasped, sweat dripping from his temple into your hair, his mouth hovering against your ear. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the car, obscene and endless. “So fucking messy. You’re soaking me like a goddamn whore.”

His hand cupped your breast, rough fingers pinching your nipple until you cried out, the sound breaking against his throat. He chuckled, leaning down to suck harshly at your chest, his teeth dragging sharp over your skin before sinking in. “Sensitive, huh? Knew it,” he muttered, voice vibrating against your flesh as he left his mark.

You whimpered, but he wasn’t having it. His hand caught your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he shoved two thick fingers past your lips. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled, watching your lips stretch around him. “C’mon, bite me. Do it.” He pushed deeper until you gagged, then yanked them out, spit stringing from your tongue. His smirk was vicious as he slapped your cheek lightly with the wet hand. “Good girl. I knew you liked being used.”

The other hand slid down your stomach, calloused knuckles pressing rough against your clit. The jolt had you gasping into his chest, thighs clenching, but Sukuna only laughed, rolling the sensitive bud with cruel precision.

“Feel that? You squeeze me tighter every time I touch you here.” His hips slammed upward to prove his point, cock punching the air from your lungs. “Jesus christ. You can’t even fucking hide it.”

Your moans spilled against his neck, broken and helpless, and Sukuna swallowed them greedily when he dragged your face up and crushed his mouth to yours. His tongue shoved past your lips, messy and possessive, while he pounded harder, faster, your whole body shaking against him.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice frayed and feral, his thrusts violent enough that your ass left the seat with each snap of his hips. Your back hit the roof once, hard, and he just laughed, grinding deeper until your stomach bulged around him. “Take every inch, fuck—stop strangling my cock or I’m gonna—” His words broke into a curse, teeth sinking into your shoulder as his hips hammered up again and again.

The windows ran with condensation, the car stinking of sweat, sex, and smoke. Sukuna’s mouth dragged down your throat, sucking and biting until your skin bloomed with bruises, while his fingers rubbed your clit ruthlessly.

“Don’t think lying here all fucked-out means you’re in control,” he gritted, every thrust jarring your limp body higher against him. “This is my pace. My cock. My fucking rules.”

And he was right—because at that point, your body wasn’t yours anymore. It was his playground, his outlet, his mess to ruin. And he laughed, low and mean against your ear, as he drove you even deeper into oblivion.

Sukuna manhandled you like a ragdoll, flipping you onto your stomach across the backseat so fast your head smacked the door. The leather squeaked under your skin as he shoved your face down, his palm heavy on the back of your skull, forcing your cheek against the sticky seat.

“Face down, ass up,” he growled, voice thick with sadistic glee. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

Your knees scrambled against the cramped floorboard, back arched awkwardly, ass in the air. He didn’t give you a second to adjust. A wet spit hit your cunt, hot and obscene, and then his cock was there, smearing it in, pushing the mess inside along with him in one sharp, ruthless thrust.

You screamed against the leather, the sound muffled, your whole body jerking forward from the force.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sukuna hissed, one hand locked onto your hip, the other braced on the fogged-up window. The car creaked with every slam of his hips, each thrust a violent clap of skin. “Messy little slut—your pussy’s eating me alive.”

He pounded into you mercilessly, backshots so deep you felt him in your stomach. Every rut had your ass smacking against his pelvis, the wet slap echoing in the confined space. The car actually rocked on its suspension, windows dripping with condensation, filling with the smell of sweat, sex, and leather.

“Too much,” you choked, voice raw, fingers clawing at the seat beneath you. “Sukuna, please—fuck—it’s too much!”

His laugh was mean and breathless, teeth flashing as he leaned down, chest pressed against your back. “Too much? You sound like you’re about to cum all over my cock. Don’t bullshit me.” He spat again, letting it dribble down your spine, and smeared it across your skin with his thumb like he owned you.

The angle had him hitting so deep your knees gave out, but he held you up by the hips, slamming harder, grinding into you until your ass stung. His cock dragged every inch of your walls raw, his pace relentless, every thrust nastier than the last.

“Fuck, this pussy,” he groaned, voice cracking, losing composure as his hips snapped faster, rougher.

You sobbed into the seat, body trembling, begging again—but Sukuna didn’t stop. He grabbed your hair, yanking your head back just so he could hear you whimper louder.

Then he broke. With a guttural curse, Sukuna slammed one final time, cock burying to the hilt as he came inside you, hot and deep, his hips grinding forward to spill every drop. He held you there, cock twitching inside your spasming cunt, making sure it all stayed in.

“Yeah,” he panted against your ear, voice low and smug. “That’s mine. Marked you from the inside out. Anyone who looks at you is gonna fucking know it.”

You lay there trembling, face pressed into the sticky leather, his weight pinning you down, his cum dripping out and soaking into the car seat. And Sukuna? He just smirked, chest heaving, cock still buried in you like he had no plans to pull out anytime soon.

Sukuna didn’t pull out right away. No—he stayed buried deep, grinding slow, filthy circles with his hips just to feel you twitch and leak around him. Every time you thought he was done, he shoved himself forward again, forcing his cum deeper until you whimpered into the leather seat.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, nails digging into your hips. His thrusts weren’t hard now, but insistent, pushing his mess back inside every time it tried to spill out. “Your cunt doesn’t even wanna let me go. Greedy little thing.”

You gasped, weak and broken, your thighs trembling as he rutted lazily. “S-Sukuna… please, I can’t anymore—”

“Can’t what?” he snapped, punctuating it with another sharp push that made your whole body jolt. “Can’t take my cock? Can’t take my cum? Too fucking bad. You asked for this, brat.”

You sobbed into the seat, clenching helplessly around him. That seemed to be enough for him. Finally, with a low groan, he eased out, hot spend spilling freely between your thighs. You thought he’d laugh at the mess—but instead, his palm smoothed down your back, steady, grounding.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, but not cruel this time. “C’mere.”

Before you could collapse, he scooped you up, pulling you into his lap like you were fragile. You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted as your chest rose and fell against his. Sukuna brushed damp strands of hair off your face, thumb grazing your temple like it was second nature.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, quiet enough that it almost didn’t sound like him. His forehead pressed briefly to yours, heavy breaths mingling.

Your throat worked around a dry swallow. “…y-yeah. Just… tired.”

“Tired, huh?” His mouth curved, somewhere between a smirk and something softer. His hand cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking gently against your scalp. “No shit. You’re lucky you can even walk after that.”

You let out a weak laugh, more a puff of breath, your face burying in his chest. “You’re such an asshole.”

He huffed, a sound that might’ve been a chuckle, his arm tightening around you. “Yeah, maybe. But I take care of what’s mine.”

And that was it—no more cruelty, no more taunts, just Sukuna holding you close in the sweltering car, his breath hot against the top of your head while his thumb kept tracing soft circles against your hip.

The windows were still fogged, the car reeking of sex and sweat, your body a trembling mess slumped across his chest. Sukuna sat back against the seat, big hand spread lazily across your lower back, the other stroking idly through your hair like it was instinct.

You shifted weakly, wincing at the soreness between your legs. “...You’re such a fucking dick,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

He snorted, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Tch. Big words for someone who just let me rearrange their guts in the backseat.” His palm slid down to squeeze your ass, sharp enough to make you jolt. “Don’t forget you were begging for it.”

“Was not,” you muttered, cheeks burning as you buried your face in his neck.

“Yeah? Then what was all that whining, huh? Crying for me to stop while your pussy was strangling my cock?” His laugh was cruel, but his fingers kept combing gently through your hair, untangling sweaty strands. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You groaned in embarrassment, trying to hide deeper in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said simply, almost soft. His hand smoothed down your spine again, slow and steady. “And you’re fucked. For putting up with me. For liking it.”

You peeked up at him, lips swollen, eyes hazy. “…You don’t hate me?”

His grin was sharp, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He thumbed at your cheek, almost tender. “Hate you? Baby, if I hated you, I wouldn’t be wasting my time fixing your hair after fucking you stupid.”

You blinked, taken aback by the honesty buried under the bite of his words.

Sukuna leaned in, his forehead bumping yours, his mouth brushing against your swollen lips. “I’ll say it once—so don’t make me repeat myself. You’re mine. My brat. My fuckin’ problem. And yeah, I’ll ruin you every chance I get, but…” His voice dipped, softer, dangerous in a different way. “…I’ll be the one holding you after, too. Got it?”

You nodded, small and shaky, and his smirk returned as he tugged you closer, pressing his mouth hard against yours—rough kiss, tongue and teeth, but the hand at the back of your neck never stopped stroking gently.

That was Sukuna, through and through. The bully who spit venom and fucked you raw, but still carried you out of the car afterward with your clothes half-fixed and your hair tucked behind your ear, muttering shit under his breath like, “Don’t fall asleep yet, dumbass. I’m not done with you.”

Hardest fucker. Softest touch. Always mean. Always yours.