|18+ !!| Hello there! call me Ais (☆▽☆)| this a blog for reblogging but i would be happy if u want to say hello!! (BUT BEWARE OF BAD GRAMMAR UEUE) | header from phainon stardew valley mod by Akumuno on nexus!
39. Passion
A/N: 1k words. Uh tw for being suggestive (?) Its 1am excuse any mistakes lol.
“Khaslana, get off me.”
“...”
“Khaslana—”
“You know, it was very nice to watch the performance earlier, even if we were almost discovered.”
“I know, Khas, but please get off. You're heavy.”
You both had just gotten home to your place after watching the show you were supposed to participate in if it wasn't for Caenis. Khaslana had forced asked Lygus to find you seats where you wouldn't be swarmed by fans who could be attending.
The performances you saw were as impressive as expected, but the tinge of disappointment that you wouldn't get to partake still lingered.
That ache melted away immediately when you got home and now found yourself crushed under Khaslana's very strong body. He was heavy, for sure, as warm as always. Like a furnace.
“I love you [Name], ” Khaslana declared out of nowhere. You snorted, looking up at him. His head was tilted down to gauge your reaction.
“That doesn't change the fact that you are heavy.” You whined, pushing your palm to his chest. He remained unmoving, smile widening in amusement. “At least let me get comfy clothes.”
Khaslana didn't like the idea of being separated from you, and he certainly didn't wanna stop teasing you just yet.
“No, let me enjoy this a bit more.”
“You're the worst—”
“I like having you under me.”
You stared at him, bemused, raising an eyebrow and about to comment but he spoke before you could. The glint in his eyes screamed of mischief whilst his voice hushed down to a whisper, shifting to press his face into the crook of your neck.
“I mean it in every way possible.”
This man…
You gave up the struggle and lied limp under him. For now. You had to tell him that you weren't here for no reason, though. If he would listen. (He won’t)
“Khaslanaaa, we have a limited amount of time, the others will come over in like three hours, and I still have to clean up.” You reminded him, yet he didn't budge.
“I'll clean up for you later, my love, just let me enjoy this.”
You could feel the brush of his breath against your skin, making the hairs on your neck stand up. But you didn't let the sound of his sexy voice distract you from the fact that you had visitors in a few hours. You promised Cifera, after all.
Your hands moved to push at his shoulders, and just when you thought he had decided to give in, he only lifted himself up to cage you against the couch with his hands flat on either side of your head, hovering rather menacingly.
“I'll take care of it later.” He repeated, smiling, although it wasn't quite like those gentle smiles he would give you. This one reminded you of a sly fox. “Let me adore you whilst we are still alone.”
“Sounds like you're up to something.” You dryly pointed out and Khaslana only let out an innocent laugh, claiming ignorance to any schemes. He spoke no words, only leaning down and pressing his lips to yours briefly. When he pulled away, you spoke again: “You tease.”
He only smirked triumphantly and repeated the act, kissing your lips again and again whilst his hand traveled down to hook your leg over his hip so he could settle between your thighs. His slender fingers were firmly gripping your thigh, splayed over the fabric covering them as he dragged his lips to your neck.
He assaulted your neck with endless kisses before biting down, dragging a shaky gasp from your already parted lips. You knew what he meant now, the way his breath sounded a little bit louder, reaching your ears in shaky need, the way his hips pressed between your legs a little firmer now, and the way his grip on your thigh didn't relax and only tightened.
You didn't stop him, because you wanted it as well.
Khaslana pushed your leg up to press up against your chest, his hand moving to hold your ankle instead. He exhaled, biting your collarbone, eyes flickering to the side to gaze at the way he folded your leg with ease.
“I've always known you were flexible.” He whispered almost silently. His voice sounded almost strained, like he was holding back. “During training especially, god, the way you're able to effortlessly spin and do jumps without complaint.”
You swallowed, each time his teeth bruised against your skin, a shaky breath would leave you, your body quivering under the touch of your lover.
“You know, [Name],”
Even in your breathless, and dazed state, you could tell that he was serious for a second.
“Remember your dream?” You nodded, wondering where he was going with this. He paused, moving the hand that was braced on one side of your head to gently caress your cheek with his knuckles. His voice was softer, quiet yet filled with a sense of longing. “Last night… I had something similar…”
“Really?” You asked, and he hummed in response, pressing a kiss below your collarbone. “What did you see?”
Khaslana was silent for a few seconds, eyes diverting elsewhere before looking back at you.
“I don't remember a lot, it seems like I'm not as blessed as you.” He snickered and you smiled in return at the lighthearted comment that followed his admission. He pressed himself more against you, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut at the same time as his. “I just remember how you were just as beautiful then as you are now. I remember how much I wanted you, how much I want you right now.”
You let your hands move to hold his face and this time, you pressed your lips against his. Slowly, gently.
“Alright.” You told him in a hushed voice. “I'm all yours.”
prev. 𖤓 masterlist. 𖤓 next
Synopsis: Every January since you were little, you would dream about a field of snow, waking up cold. That was happening until you went back home one January – when that same dream would end differently, in which the snow melted and you would hear a voice. That same voice was the one you would hear from a fellow figure skater that you met in your home town; his name was Khaslana. Now you can't seem to avoid this man, whether you're online or outside and fans can't get enough of you two together.
A/N: I'll be so honest there was nothing written in the plans for this chapter and im sleep deprived. Here have me struggling with my lack-of-sleep-limited vocabulary trying not to make this into a filthy smut chapter (not a single wholesome thing in my head rn. but i told myself i wouldnt post anything depraved on this account yet lol)
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sukuna doesn’t know what it is like to receive a touch that is gentle.
sukuna has spent his life being a man who lived up to every bit of his reputation—terrifying, horrific, menacing, everything befitting a king. a lord. a curse.
everything he’s been on the receiving end of has been tainted with violence, hatred and malice. he is deserving of every bit of it, he’s sure.
but you, his queen, the lady he’s sure he’s conceived from his feverish nightmares, you touch him as if he was a prize.
you eye him like one would eye diamonds, something precious, not a curse. and that has his heart beating a rhythm dangerously akin to a person in love. but a curse’s heart cannot beat for cause other than violence, now can it?
he has you by his side because it’s convenient. because it’s an advantage—or so he tells himself, as he paces around his chambers in the dead of night, staring at your sleeping form, hoping to get close enough to touch you, but he never does.
but once you get to touch him? your hands are gentle, softer than his own calloused palms, as you glide them across his beastly body, slowly making way to his face.
sukuna feels his eyes well up with a sensation he’s never felt before, while you stood before him, studying him, your arms prodding, prying, your nails grazing his skin before they came up to cup his face.
tracing his jaw while your eyes met his, one of your hands finding their way into his hair, slowly brushing past the knots with the gentleness one would use only with something, someone that was adored.
the way your eyes softened as they met his face, your touch indicating nothing but reverence had his eyes pool with the unfamiliar sensation of tears. they pricked at his eyes shamefully—he was a king. he didn’t, nay, never cried, he never had that privilege bestowed upon him.
but before he could swallow the tears, they slid down his cheeks, meeting your palms that cupped his face oh so tenderly—you didn’t question it. it wasn’t your place. you swiped them away with your thumb, his tears pouring out his four eyes while a pair of his arms held on to your waist.
burying his head in your chest while you slowly pet his head—he should’ve had you killed for that. treating him like a common dog. but with his breath unsteady as he fought off tears that’d never left his eyes before, his heart swelled with an emotion he thought he had never possessed—he was grateful.
as the tears that were shed left behind salt tracks to make their presence known, you lifted his head only to plant the softest kisses against them—the saltiness coating your lips while he looked up at your form like you were a goddess that descended before him.
you held him in your arms like you would a baby—and sukuna held himself close to your heart, listening to the sound of your blood rushing through your veins just to make sure that you were here. that you were really before him, holding his cursed heart in the palm of your hands while you softly sighed against his head.
he would stay here, frozen in time if he could. ryomen sukuna didn’t know what it meant to shed tears, he didn’t know what it meant to have your heart swell merely in the presence of someone. he didn’t know what it meant to be held close to a heart without having to rip it out with his bare hands. but maybe, he’d finally be deserving to have this. to have you.
maybe, he was finally deserving of being held by a pair of arms that didn’t wish to tear him apart.
repost from liliklei :p. i loved this fic. @yoonsucks @yorikae @satorusdreamer @kireampie ok bai.
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
Synopsis: Every January since you were little, you would dream about a field of snow, waking up cold. That was happening until you went back home one January – when that same dream would end differently, in which the snow melted and you would hear a voice. That same voice was the one you would hear from a fellow figure skater that you met in your home town; his name was Khaslana. Now you can't seem to avoid this man, whether you're online or outside and fans can't get enough of you two together.
A/N: naturally, the way ive characterised khaslana is very gentle, so i chose to not make him a little shit about [Name]'s tweets lol. I chose a sweeter approach, because he's been equally down bad <3 A bit shorter because I wanna save some stuff for the final chapters!
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apocalypse - one
undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]
warnings [mdni] - angst | implied trauma | mean sukuna
wc - 7.3k
series masterlist
∞
ryomen sukuna knew three things about his soulmate.
she drank too much caffeine, she slept curled on her side whenever anxiety crawled beneath her skin and whenever she read for hours on end or colored, the noise in his head quieted enough to let him breathe.
it was fucking irritating.
the first time she got under his skin, it was in the middle of his first match.
he’d nearly put his fist through the guy, rage sitting ugly beneath his ribs as blood pooled in his mouth and sweat dripped down his spine.
then suddenly, he was overcome with serenity he’d never experienced before.
a calmness that wasn’t his own, never his own.
something soft slipped beneath his skin then, warm and quiet in a way he wasn’t used to. like somebody had pressed cold hands against the back of his neck after years of burning where he stood.
he’d won that match.
“again?” toji muttered from across the gym, cigarette balanced lazily between scarred fingers.
sukuna rolled his jaw once before slamming another punch into the heavy bag hard enough for the chains overhead to rattle violently.
“fuck off.”
toji smirked, tongue peaking out to lick at the scar against his lip.
the gym smelled like rust, sweat and the metallic ting of blood that both men were used to. it was a shitty set up buried beneath the city in the lower levels of an abandoned parking structure. it barely looked legal from the outside and the inside wasn't much better.
the concrete floors, flickering lights and men all too violent to exist comfortably above ground.
and it was the place ryomen sukuna felt alive.
sukuna had been fighting since he was fifteen and filled with a rage even he couldn’t understand.
toji found him bloody outside a convenience store after some older guys tried jumping him for gambling money.
it was clear they didn’t get the money but sukuna took that fire in his gaze out on them.
sukuna still recalled the way toji looked down at him, droplets cascading down his sharp features and dark hair, damp cigarette hanging from his mouth while blood dripped steadily from sukuna’s split brow.
“you fight like an animal,” toji began, taking a drag of his fading cig before tilting his head at the salmon haired boy, “what if i told you that you could beat the shit out of guys every day and get paid for it?”
a fucking dream is what that was. he gets to utilize his anger and he could finally get out of his father’s house.
how could sukuna even say no?
somehow, it turned into this.
years later, ryomen sukuna had become the name whispered through underground rings across the city. not because he was the biggest or the strongest, but because he was cruel.
there was something deeply unsettling about the way sukuna fought.
controlled, almost lazy sometimes. like violence came so naturally to him that he didn’t even need to think about it.
people feared men who fought emotionally.
they feared ryomen sukuna more because he never did.
most nights, he fought beneath screaming neon lights while crowds chanted his name loud enough to shake the walls.
they bet on him like he was a sure thing and fuck, did he get a shitload of money from it.
he’d leave each night, beaten and bruised with a duffel of cash hanging off his shoulder.
he was living the dream.
that was until he arrived home, in his apartment downtown, and sat in silence while somebody else’s emotions bled quietly into his chest.
a girl he’d never met yet somehow knew like the back of his hand, all too intimately.
he knew she liked coffee because of the bursts of energy he’d feel during mornings where he usually slept in because his fights usually carried into the night.
he knew she did yoga often because his muscles weren’t as sore as they would get when he was younger and god knows it wasn’t his doing. he didn’t stretch nearly as much as toji nagged at him to.
he also knew that she despised him.
that one was obvious.
their bond always sharpened after his fights. her irritation sat bright and hot beneath his ribs every time he came home bruised and bloody.
sometimes he couldn’t differentiate between his own rage and hers.
maybe they were more alike than he thought.
truthfully, sukuna didn’t know how to do things any differently and frankly, he didn’t care enough to.
he hated this whole soulmates shit. why would the universe ever pair two people together with the utmost certainty that they were perfect for each other?
and what fucking masacre did this girl commit to be bonded with him of all people?
violence was the only thing sukuna had ever been good at and he wouldn’t change that for anyone, especially some girl who was almost a mere figment of his imagination.
he did that sometimes. pretended that he was a non-existent and that he was merely hallucinating her.
non-existents made up a very small part of the population and they were essentially humans who didn’t have soulmates. like toji was.
lucky bastard.
sometimes sukuna believed toji was lying because he’d get this distant look on his face some days, kind of like himself when he felt his own soulmate torment him.
so maybe he was a late bloomer?
either way, he was in a better situation than sukuna was.
“your girl’s pissed again?” toji commented dryly from where he leaned against the boxing ring ropes, head tilted with a knowingness sukuna hated.
toji was the one sukuna had to confide in because who else did he have?
when he was overwhelmed as a young teenager about his soulmate, toji would be the one he would reluctantly go to. the older man had taken him under his wing, so yes, he did trust him more than anyone.
he also knew that toji cared about him in his own fucked up way.
sukuna’s knuckles ached tonight, phantom annoyance curling beneath his skin that didn’t belong to him. it was her.
probably studying somewhere in the city while silently wishing death upon him.
the thought almost made him grin.
throughout the years, pissing her off became a hobby of some sort, though he knew she didn’t find it nearly as amusing as he did.
“at least you know she’s got personality.” toji stated once more as sukuna finally stopped punching and turned to shoot the man a glare.
“shut the fuck up.”
toji huffed out a laugh, “god help you both when you finally meet.”
the thought made sukuna freeze momentarily.
it was almost sad.
usually, at least from what sukuna knew, people usually couldn’t wait to meet their soulmates.
then there was sukuna, filled with dread at the mere idea.
sukuna hated even talking about the bond.
he hated how aware he was of her.
because despite everything, the distance and never seeing her to begin with, she felt woven into him already, like a haunting.
some nights, when his insomnia clawed violently at his nerves after fights, he’d feel her wrap her arms around herself beneath warm blankets god knows where.
and sleep came easier those nights.
he couldn’t explain it and truthfully, he didn’t like to think about it.
he hated talking about her because the truth was ugly.
that he didn’t particularly hate her. which is exactly why he knew meeting her would ruin everything.
naturally, his solution was to sabotage everything which is why he started to sleep around with non-existents whenever he got the chance.
and he knew what it did to her.
good. he hoped it made her despise him enough to never want anything to do with him, whether they meet now or twenty years down the line.
sukuna didn’t want anything to do with her.
∞
you hated downtown on friday nights.
it was always too loud and all too crowded.
neon signs bled into rain-slick streets while bass-heavy music spilled from every open doorway along the block.
girls stumbled across sidewalks in tiny dresses and tall heels, drunken laughter cutting through the humid summer night air while taxis lined the streets endlessly.
the city looked beautiful after dark, but you still wanted to be everywhere but here.
“stop looking at people with that judgy look of yours.” shoko muttered beside you, nudging your shoulder lightly as the three of you crossed the street.
“i’m not judging, i’m just looking around…” you defended with a huff as you hugged yourself protectively, little kitten heels clicking against the pavement.
“you are judging,” utahime confirmed, “it’s your classic disgusted and glare-ey look.”
“well excuse me, you’re the ones who brought me to crackhead-ville.” you glared at the two girls as shoko rolled her eeys before hooking her arm through yours anyway.
she pulled you towards the entrance of yet another overcrowded building downtown.
apparently, tonight’s party was being held somewhere above an abandoned old bar. or beneath it.
either way, something you found entirely too ominous but you were too distracted when shoko was explaining to actually disagree.
your soulmate had spent the entire evening restless beneath your skin. not angry but worse.
aware.
you felt him constantly tonight.
a steady pulse of adrenaline humming through your bloodstream that didn’t belong to you.
your chest had felt tight since leaving the penthouse, some strange tension settling low in your stomach like your body was anticipating something before your mind could catch up.
it was unsettling.
you blamed the lack of sleep, or rather, you blamed him. you blamed him for it all.
“ew, ew…” you muttered as shoko pulled you through the door into what you could only describe as chaos.
warmth and noise hit you instantly.
bodies crowded wall to wall beneath flashing lights while music shook violently through the floorboards.
cigarette smoke lingered in the air despite the open windows somewhere deeper inside the space.
you physically recoiled.
“oh my god,” utahime muttered beside you, laughing softly at the expression painting your features, “you look horrified.”
“i am horrified!”
shoko snorted, “rich kids.”
you threw her a glare before the three of you squeezed through the crowd until you reached a quieter section tucked near the back of the room.
a curved leather couch sat half-empty beneath dim red lights, thankfully far enough from the speakers that your skull stopped vibrating the second you sat down.
you exhaled deeply, chest deflating as you blinked up at your friends who were looking at you with amusement.
“drinks?” utahime questioned as shoko nodded eagerly while you merely hummed, shoulders tense as you gazed around the sea of bodies.
utahime disappeared toward the bar while shoko took a seat beside you, the leather beneath you sticky in a way that had you shuddering, sitting at the very edge of the couch.
fuck, you hated this and you couldn’t explain why.
yes, you hated parties in general but you just felt wrong.
“you’re being weird tonight.” shoko observed, eyes narrowed on your tense figure.
you frowned faintly, “i know…i feel weird.”
your skin felt like it was buzzing, chest vibrating in a way it usually wasn’t.
it wasn’t necessarily bad, but simply off.
you felt your soulmate more than ever tonight, you were almost hyperaware.
he felt electric.
every emotion coming from him felt sharper somehow, close enough that you could almost mistake them for your own.
your pulse kept jumping for no reason.
fuck, you hated this.
“is it devils dick?” shoko casually asked as your eyes closed momentarily.
how would you explain that it was both yes and no.
yes, the bond felt different tonight.
but no, it wasn’t muscle aches or phantom pain you were feeling on his end, though you didn't want to speak too soon.
it was a friday after all. friday nights usually meant bruised ribs by saturday morning.
“oh my god, guys!” hime stood before you, handing shoko her drink before placing a water bottle in your hand, “everyone’s saying gojo and his crew are gonna be here!”
your eyes rolled gently, very much aware of utahime’s obsession with those random illegitimate fighters.
underground fights happened constantly throughout the city.
illegal betting rings buried beneath clubs and abandoned buildings, violent enough that respectable people pretended they didn’t exist despite everyone secretly knowing otherwise.
your father even told you how known politicians and well known figures even placed bets they hid from the public.
and lately, there was one name that everyone kept talking about-
“do you think sukuna would show up?” shoko questioned, eyes wide with excitement, taking a sip of her cherry vodka as you looked between the two girls.
ryomen sukuna.
you’d heard it constantly from utahime the past few months.
uathime, shoko, sora and percy often went on double dates to these underground fights you had zero interest in.
you were very much used to fifth wheeling alongside your friends, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was rooted in the prospect of spending the night in a filthy underground boxing ring riddled with people and violence alike. yuck.
still, amongst all the fighters utahime gushed about, ryomen sukuna seemed to be the most known.
the undefeated underground fighter with pink hair and a snake tattoo across his shoulders and collarbones.
people were terrified of him just as equally as they were obsessed with him.
“percy says sukuna knocked his opponent unconscious in under thirty seconds last week!” shoko stated, taking another sip as utahime nodded frantically.
“he’s insane!” utahime gushed, “like, gojo is obviously a show off and just cares about the clout he gets but sukuna? he’s terrifying…”
utahime continued, you were sure. you could see her mouth moving but you didn’t-couldn’t register the words she'd uttered.
the world around you turned hazy, just enough to feel like everything slowed in a way that definitely wasn’t normal.
your heartbeat stopped, not metaphorically, but physically.
a sharp wave of adrenaline crashed violently into your chest hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs.
you went still, every muscle in your body tightening instinctively.
you could see both of the girls leaning towards you, brows furrowed in concern, mouths moving and uttering words you knew were dipped in concern. you couldn’t hear any of it.
you swallowed hard, eyes darting up and around you, as if a siren was luring you towards the crowd, come to me, come, come.
fuck, were you drugged or something?
your heartbeat stuttered painfully beneath your ribs, once, twice then again.
you felt like you’d been dropped underwater while everyone else remained above the surface.
the bond felt raw and entirely too overwhelming.
it felt like standing at the edge of something life-altering, like your soul had recognized something before your mind could catch up to it.
for the first time since you’d first felt your soulmate, he didn’t feel far away.
you had grown used to the idea of him, something intangible and not truly real.
merely a ghost haunting the edges of your nervous system, phantom bruises in the middle of lectures and an adrenaline rush at three in the morning.
he was the deep-seated exhaustion that riddled your body but didn’t belong to you.
but this felt real. close enough to touch.
the sensation crawled slowly beneath your skin, winding around your ribs like invisible string being pulled tighter and tighter and tighter until you thought you might choke on it.
the realization hit your bloodstream like a drug.
he was here, you knew it. you could feel it in your bones.
your eyes darted towards the door that had swung open, summer air rushing inside alongside four figures dressed almost entirely in black.
the first thing you noticed was height.
they all carried themselves with the same dangerous sort of confidence, the kind that came from men who had never truly feared consequences before.
one of them had snowy white locks, the tallest of the bunch, bright enough to catch beneath the flashing lights, sunglasses balanced lazily across his nose despite the fact that it was nearly midnight.
another stood beside him, quieter with shoulder length black locks with stretched gauges in his ears and sharp eyes that swept across the room once before settling into bored indifference.
the third one was shorter than the rest but still tall, black locks in two spiked buns with a joint resting between plump pink lips, eyes hooded in a way that exposed that joint not being his first of the night.
they were all attractive in a way that felt almost unfair and dangerous.
people moved out of their path without being asked.
your eyes turned to the one trailing just a step behind them and your breath caught so violently, it hurt.
the salmon colored locks gave him away.
ryomen sukuna.
tattoos curled dark against tan skin disappearing beneath the collar of a black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders.
even from where you stood, you could see the dried blood and bruises across his knuckles.
he looked nothing like what you’d imagined from shoko’s descriptions.
and simultaneously, exactly like it too.
something deep inside you snapped taut, your stomach dropping.
you could tell he was dazed too, jaw locked and eyes blinking at a slow pace, eyes looking around the sea of bodies.
the soulmate bond surged so hard beneath your ribs, you physically recoiled, fingers gripping the edge of the leather couch.
oh god. no, no, no.
oh my god…
“oh my god,” utahime whispered beside you, though unlike you, she sounded impressed rather than horrified.
shoko looked moments away from passing out entirely.
“that’s him!” she breathed out quietly.
you couldn’t answer, breath stilling and hands trembling.
because sukuna had stopped walking.
fuck, the realization came slowly enough to feel cruel.
maroon eyes met your own and the room around you dissolved entirely. the music became muffled noise, lights blurring and the crowd disappeared.
all you could see was him. him. him. him.
he was all you could see, feel and you knew all he could see was you.
sukuna felt it the second he stepped through the doorway.
you.
the bond snapped violently alive beneath his skin hard enough that his entire body locked for half a second mid-step.
he almost thought someone had drugged him until he remembered he hadn’t even drank anything yet.
then what was this feeling?
his eyes locked on yours and he felt the most alive he’d felt in his life.
something even the ring and the violence couldn't offer.
there you were, all too pretty and wide eyed.
he barely heard gojo speak beside him anymore, the lanky man rambling on about some idiot from last week’s fight who apparently called him out on twitter after.
sukuna ignored him completely because across the room sat a girl staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.
and in some ways, he was your ghost.
he haunted you and lived under your skin in ways he was sure you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
his soulmate.
years of phantom feelings crashed together all at once so violently, it almost made him sick.
because the realization hit him harder than he’d anticipated and yes, he had anticipated this.
the moment he’d meet his soulmate.
well, he dreaded more than anticipated it.
it hit him hard because he realized that he knew this girl.
sukuna had never met you, yet, he bet he knew you more than the two girls hovering over you. more than fucking anyone.
you were the girl whose stress bled into his bones during finals week, the girl who wrapped her arms around herself at night and somehow lulled him to sleep from miles away.
you were real.
and you looked soft.
that was the first thing he took note of.
soft skin, soft wide eyes, soft pink shimmery gloss coating your plush lips he recognized only through phantom warmth he’d felt against his own skin before.
his soulmate was a pretty little thing, so pretty it almost made his chest ache. in your tiny skirt and halter top.
far too fucking pretty to belong anywhere near him.
“sukuna?”
choso’s voice cut through the haze faintly and sukuna snapped out of it, gaze finally leaving hers to glance at his friend who tilted his head towards the other side of the room.
sukuna resisted the urge to glance at you as he made his way across the room.
fuck, fuck, fuck!
this couldn’t be happening, this was a fucking nightmare.
just as he made it across the room, he felt it.
warm fingertips brushing his own skin despite his hands at his sides.
his pulse stuttered once.
his gaze snapped to yours once more and your eyes widened instantly when you noticed his hand drift to his neck where your own hand was resting.
slowly and carefully, sukuna lifted his own hand.
his fingers brushed lightly against the side of his jaw, a barely there touch.
yet, across the room, your breath hitched sharply as warmth bloomed against your own jawline seconds later.
not imagined or coincidence. it was all real, so so real.
your stomach twisted violently.
oh no. no no no no.
shoko was gazing at you, “what’s wrong?!”
you couldn’t answer, eyes stuck on a pair of crimson that held you hostage.
her eyes narrowed as both her and utahime followed your gaze before catching sukuna’s eyes on you.
then they both looked between you both a total of five times before realization hit.
“wait,” shoko whispered harshly, hand shooting out to grip your arm, “WAIT.”
utahime’s jaw physically fell open, “holy shit…”
your heartbeat pounded so violently, you thought you might faint right then and there beneath the flashing red lights.
what you despised most is that it made sense.
of course it was him. a violent and dangerous underground fighter, fuck, that explained everything so perfectly.
if fate was a person, you’d have her by the neck right now.
because sukuna was still staring at you, as if he knew you already and perhaps, he did.
then horrifyingly, he smirked.
and suddenly, you understood exactly why the entire city feared ryomen sukuna.
sukuna moved before he could really think about it, jaw clenched but determined.
one second he stood on the other side of the room and the next, his body was already weaving through the crowd toward you like the bond itself had wrapped invisible fingers around his spine and dragged him to you. you. his soulmate.
people moved instantly to let him pass.
you took note of that immediately.
you noticed the way conversations died around him, the way bodies shifted out of his path and nobody dared touch him, even accidentally.
it was fear, you realized. people feared him.
the recognition made your stomach twist.
“oh my god,” shoko whispered harshly beside you, nails digging into your arm, “he’s coming over here!”
“i can see that.” you hissed back faintly, though your voice barely sounded like your own.
fuck, you should leave. you should absolutely leave.
except, you couldn’t move, body drilled to where you sat, frozen in place while ryomen fucking sukuna rossed the room toward you like some predator chasing prey.
closer and closer and closer.
until suddenly, all his 6’4 glory was towering above you.
your breath caught embarrassingly hard.
up close, he was worse.
taller than you’d imagined and broader too.
there were faint bruises scattered along his jawline beneath the dim lights, on the very spot that you woke up feeling sore. fresh cuts healed across his knuckles.
and his eyes, god, they looked at you with the same recognition burning through your own chest.
sukuna looked down at you for a moment too long.
fuck, you were even more ethereal up close.
that thought hit him first and annoyingly hardest.
his pretty little soulmate sitting curled into the edge of a leather couch looking at him with wide doe eyes, almost expectantly with a mix of fear and restraint.
“hey.”
his voice slid down your spine like smoke.
low, dangerous and rough in a way even your mind couldn’t conjure up.
fuck, was this really happening?
your throat tightened instantly, “hi.”
the word left you horrifyingly softer than you’d intended and sukuna’s lips twitched at the sound.
your voice was his favorite sound, instantly.
“um,” shoko hummed, eyes wide as she shared a glance with utahime, “we’ll give you two a second.”
you almost wanted to yell in protest, but the two girls were already shuffling away, shooting you encouraging looks.
as you glanced up at the dangerous man once more, you felt your heart still in a way you hadn’t ever felt before.
not in fear or apprehension but calm.
he made you feel calm, your body stilling and quieting in a way you hadn’t expected.
regretfully, fuck, you despised it, but when that gentleness overcame you and you looked up at him…
his disheveled pink locks, his handsome rugged features and his dark eyes, all of it was him.
and you felt stupid for trying to deny that this man was your soulmate.
who else would it be?
“i’m sukuna,” he stated lowly, moving to take a seat beside you, leaving an appreciative distance between you, “ryomen sukuna.”
your name left you softly with a nod.
as you gazed at each other, the same realization overcame you both.
even with barely an introduction, you knew each other.
while sukuna had only fond memories of what you’d done for him, your mind was riddled with poisonous ones.
this was the man who often trained in the middle of the night, filling you with soreness and a rush of adrenaline that left you sleepless most nights.
he was the one who fucked other girls knowing what that put you through.
your heart clenched.
beyond all those things, he was the one who hugged himself to sleep after that one night of utter hell.
he was the one who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps left you nauseated and pained in bed.
as much as you wanted to forget those things, to snap yourself out of the sad patheticness that riddled you, how could you?
how could you when those were the only memories that kept your hope that he wasn’t a total monster alive?
your eyes travelled along his bloodied knuckles, “you get those a lot.”
sukuna’s fists instinctively clenched at the attention.
“and you burn yourself with whatever you do your hair with at least twice a week.”
your eyes widened instantly.
“and you get punched like every other day!”
sukuna’s mouth twitched and you hated how your eyes drifted towards the movement and your heart stuttered.
“barely.” sukuna stated cooly, a small smirk painting his features.
your eyes drifted toward him again before you could stop yourself.
and then you remembered.
every phantom feeling, every sleepless night and every ache.
all attached to him.
the violence, the pain, the girls.
your jaw tightened, "you’re not exactly the best person to be connected to, you know.”
sukuna’s expression didn’t shift much, still cool, but you felt it.
the hollow drop in your stomach that wasn’t yours. guilt.
real and immediate, it almost made you laugh in disbelief.
of course he felt guilty, he had to know he was a fucking nightmare.
sukuna leaned back slightly, jaw working once as his gaze flickered away from yours for half a second, “yeah, i bet.”
your brows lifted, “that’s it?”
his eyes returned to yours, low and indifferent.
you scoffed, anger bubbling up so quickly, it nearly startled you, “that’s all you have to say?”
sukuna let out a breath through his nose, “what do you want me to say?”
“oh, i don’t know,” you let out a sharp little laugh that held not an ounce of humor, “maybe sorry would be a good place to start?!”
sukuna’s head tilted, “sorry.”
you stared at him in utter disbelief before a laugh left you once more, this time softer and dripped in something worse than anger, “wow…”
sukuna’s eyes borrowed, “what?”
“you’re unbelievable is what!”
“you asked for sorry.”
“not like that!” you nsapped, voice rising just enough to have your cheeks flushing, “not like you’re apologizing for stepping on my shoe!”
his expression hardened slightly and you felt it immediately, the irritation beginning to curl beneath his skin.
ugh, you hated how the closeness made both your emotions so heightened.
“you have no idea what you put me through,” you continued, voice trembling despite you rbest efforts, “none.”
sukuna’s gaze darkened, “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like i wasn’t there too.”
you blinked at him, something hot and ugly twisting in your chest.
was he for real?
“you were there?” you repeated quietly, “you were there?”
his jaw clenched, “don’t-”
“no, please,” you leaned forward slightly, anger sharpening every word, “explain it to me. because to my knowledge, you were the one making my life miserable while i was the one trying to keep us both sane!”
sukuna looked at you for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching.
the lights washed over his face in flashes of red, making him look even more unreal than he already did.
“you think i wanted this?” he stated more than asked and your heart clenched.
hurt shot through you, your eyes growing glassy against your will because you knew he wasn’t referring to the pain he’d put you through.
he meant the soulmate thing in general, fate as a whole.
he didn’t want you.
you bit the inside of your cheek, willing your tears to stay in your eyes before breathing out, “no. but neither did i.”
silence settled between you then, not peaceful but loaded.
sukuna could physically feel your hurt and his eyes dropped briefly to your hands where they trembled in your lap.
your fingers curled instantly, too proud as you hid the movement.
it was too late. he’d seen it.
even worse, he’d felt it.
“i didn’t know.” he stated lowly and you froze.
your eyes flickered up, “what?”
his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, expression unreadable.
“at first,” he clarified, “i didn’t know what it did to you.”
your chest tightening, knowing what he was referring to and his words didn’t soothe you in the slightest.
“and after?”
in fact, it made it all worse.
especially as he said nothing.
your face fell slightly, all the anger in you cooling into something quieter and melancholic.
“after, you knew.”
his gaze remained on you as his fingers flexed once against his thigh, “yeah, i knew.”
your eyes burned and you hated yourself for it.
you hated that it still hurt despite knowing already, you hated that hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way the bond never had.
“why?” you asked, the one word absolutely humiliating as much as it was devastating.
sukuna looked away first and somehow, that hurt too, “because it was easier.”
your lips parted faintly, “easier?”
he lout out a grunt, “if you hated me, you wouldn’t look for me.”
the words settled between you like something deadly.
for a second, you genuinely couldn’t speak.
then you did, “that is the stupidest, shittiest thing i’ve ever heard.”
hsi eyes snapped back to yours, scowling, “careful.”
“oh, fuck you!” you hissed lowly, “you don’t get to do that! you don’t get to hurt me on purpose and then act like it was some noble sacrifice.”
his jaw tightened, “it wasn’t noble.”
“yeah, no shit.”
“it was necessary.”
you laughed once, incredulous, “necessary? well, congrats, you got what you wanted, i absolutely fucking despise you.”
sukuna’s jaw clenched, eyes glaring at you, “good. because you don’t know shit about me, this saves us both the hassle.”
“i don’t know you?” you shot back, “i know you more than anyone, probably. i know your body hurts more often than they don’t. i know you clench your jaw when you’re mad. i know you can’t sleep because of your nightmares and unless somebody practcially forces your nervous system to shut down, you could go days without it. i know you’re so angry at the fucking world, it makes you so hateful.”
sukuna went still, too still.
you swallowed hard, eyes burning once more, “and i know that for years, i was the one cleaning up the damage you left behind.”
his eyes darkened, “cleaning up?”
“yes,” your voice cracked despite yourself, “me. i was the one hugging myself to sleep because you wouldn’t. i was the one stretching every morning because your body always felt like fucking concrete. i was the one coloring like a goddamn toddler at three in the morning because it was the only thing that made your anger stop choking me!”
sukuna said nothing and you hated that even more.
you wanted him to argue back, to answer, to fucking care.
“do you know how pathetic that feels?” you whispered, “taking care of someone who kept hurting me?”
his expression shifted, barely, but you felt it again.
the guilt, even deeper this time.
sukuna looked at you like he wanted to say something cruel and couldn’t quite manage it, settling with, “you didn’t have to do all that.”
your laugh came out watery, tears now trickling down your heated cheeks.
fuck, you felt nauseous, you felt so fucking sick.
“yeah, i know that now.”
something passed across his face then, a flicker of pain so quick, you almost missed it.
but the bond didn’t allow you to miss anything. you felt it bloom in your own chest, sharp and unwanted. his.
for one terrible second, you almost let it soften you.
almost.
because there it was again.
that tiny, stupid sliver of hope you’d spend years nurturing because it was the only thing that kept you mildly sane.
the one that whispered that maybe he wasn't all cruelty. maybe there was something beneath all that violence and pain.
maybe the boy who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps got bad had to exist somewhere inside the man sitting in front of you.
you looked at him then, through your blurry vision, really and truly looked.
the hard line of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes and the casual arrogance sitting across his shoulders like armor.
and that hope crumbled quietly inside your chest.
not dramatically or all at once, but piece by piece, like something old finally accepting it had been dead for a long time.
utter disappointment filled you then. you should have known better.
this shouldn't be surprising.
sukuna had spent years telling you exactly who he was, painting you the worst image of himself and you had hoped it was just that.
the worst of himself.
except the worst was all of him.
sukuna was cruel. not because he didn’t know better but because he did.
because he’d known what hurt you and decided hurting you was easier than wanting you.
you swallowed around the ache in your throat, suddenly exhausted in a way a thousand years of sleep couldn’t fix.
all you wanted was to be home now, cuddled up with ani in your room alone.
“right,” you whispered, nodding once to yourself.
sukuna’s brows pulled together slightly, “right what?”
you pushed yourself to your feet, smoothing trembling hands over the front of your skirt because you needed something to do. anything that didn’t involve looking at him.
“this was enlightening.”
his eyes narrowed, “sit down.”
the command sparked something sharp beneath your ribs, the thorn twisting in your heart.
you let out a hollow laugh, “fuck you.”
his jaw flexed, “don’t make a scene.”
your name left him then and you hated the way your stomach fluttered at the melody of it in his voice.
fuck, your heart hurt.
because he was your soulmate. yours.
because some sick, twisted part of you had expected the universe to redeem itself when you finally found him.
you expected the first moment to feel like every story you’d grown up hearing, witnessed amongst your friends.
warmth, recognition and relief.
instead, you were standing in front of the man who had turned your body into a battlefield and your heart into collateral damage.
“i hope i never see you again.”
something flickered across his face then and you didn’t stay long enough to decipher it.
you turned around, the crowd swallowing you almost immediately as you walked away.
music slammed back into your skull, bodies pressing close as you pushed through them with shaking hands and blurred vision.
your chest felt too tight, lungs too small for the oxygen your body ached for.
behind you, you felt sukuna rise before you saw it. the immediate pull.
his presence growing closer and your heart stuttered stupidly.
some miserable, pathetic part of you sparked alive at the thought before you could kill it.
maybe he did care.
maybe he was going to take back all the words he regretted, that he would stop you and apologize properly this time.
he would say what you’ve been waiting years to feel.
the thought was so humiliating, it almost made you sick.
“fuck are you lookin’ at?!”
you heard his voice aimed at the crowd of people that were watching you both, probably since your conversation on the couch.
you shoved through the door and stepped into the narrow hallway outside the main room, the music muffling instantly behind you.
the air was cooler here, damp with rain and cigarette smoke, blue neon bleeding through the cracked windows at the end of the corridor.
you took in a breath like you hadn’t breathed in days, eyes shutting as your heart hammered against your chest, trying to simply process everything that had taken place.
“hey.” his voice followed you out and you froze, heart stilling.
stupid, traitorous thing.
you turned slowly, eyes fluttering open.
sukuna stood a few feet away, tall and shadowed beneath the hallway light.
away from the party, he seemed even more dangerous. less like a person and more like a warning your body had spent seven years failing to understand.
he was an enigma.
for one breath, neither of you spoke.
your hope stood there too, fragile and shaking, fucking pitiful.
waiting.
sukuna’s gaze dragged over your face once, catching on the wetness beneath your eyes and his expression tightened faintly.
say it, you thought bitterly.
say sorry! say you didn’t mean it!
say something!
his jaw worked once, “no one can know.”
your brows furrowed, the hope dying cleanly.
“excuse me?”
sukuna stepped closer, voice lower now.
his mouth opened to clarify when his gaze met your own once more.
your wide glassy eyes. your pretty face that was streaked with tears, your plump bitten lips.
the little sniffles that left you, making his ribs ache.
and suddenly, he froze, the words stuck in his throat.
fuck, he had to get it together.
“about this.”
your lips parted faintly, “about us?”
the word us felt absolutely pathetic in your mouth.
all too soft and hopeful. undeserved, even.
something in his eyes shifted at the sound of it but it was gone before you could hold onto it.
“there is no us.”
oh. you actually felt that one.
not through the bond, nor as some phantom ache borrowed from him.
the pain was yours, all yours.
you laughed once, quiet and disbelieving as you took a small step back, “wow…”
sukuna followed you, taking one step forward as his jaw clenched, “listen to me-”
“no,” you shook your head slowly, voice trembling, “no, i think i understand perfectly.”
sukuna’s eyes darkened, “you really don’t.”
“oh my god,” you shook your head, “i can’t believe i thought-”
you stopped, humiliation burning up your throat.
sukuna stared, taking a step closer, his chest now brushing your chin, “thought what?”
his voice was almost desperate and you swallowed, blinking hard, “nothing.”
his face tightened and he felt it anyway, of course he did.
the hope and hurt.
the fact that some tiny, unbearable part of you had wanted him to come after you because he simply couldn’t let you leave.
sukuna looked away first as you took a step back. fucking coward.
“it’s dangerous.” he stated as you stared at the side of his face.
“dangerous?”
“yes.”
“for who?”
his gaze cut back to yours, “for you.”
you almost laugh but he continued before you could.
“people know me and if they know about you, they’ll use you. you make me weak.”
the words landed colder than you'd expected.
sukuna watched you closely, as if waiting for the fear to register and maybe it did.
somewhere deep, deep down, but anger got there first.
“so that’s what this is?” you whispered, tears leaving you without you noticing, “damage control?”
his silence was answer enough and you nodded faintly, tears burning hot once more.
“right.”
“you need to keep your mouth shut about it.”
you flinched before you could stop yourself and sukuna paused, regret flashing through instantly.
“don’t talk to me like that.” you stated lowly and his jaw clenched.
“i’m trying to keep you safe.”
“oh, how big of you.”
the hallway seemed to shrink around you both.
outside, rain tapped gently against the glass.
inside, bass thudded like a second heartbeat through the walls.
you looked at him then, this man that fate had tied to you with an invisible string and cruelty dressed up as destiny. and for the first time since you’d felt him at sixteen, you stopped wondering what it would be like to find him.
because now you knew and god, you wish you didn’t.
it felt like losing something you’d never even had.
“is that all?” you questioned lowly, clearing your throat once.
sukuna stared at you, nose flaring and throat bobbing once, “yeah.”
another piece of you gave out as you nodded, “okay.”
the word was so calm, it made his eyes sharpen.
you turned away, walking past him but his hand caught your wirst before you could take full step.
skin met skin and the bond went silent, completely and utterly silent.
no buzzing or aching or distance.
just him, all warm and real. terribly real.
your breath hitched at his touch. it was the first time he’d ever touched you.
sukuna froze too, fingers wrapped around your wrist like he’d touched fire and couldn’t make himself pull away.
for one second, just one, all the cruelty fell quiet.
and you felt him beneath it, scared and lonely, wanting and waiting.
you felt it and you hated him for letting you feel it now.
slowly, you looked down at his hand then back up at him, “let go.”
his grip tightened by a fraction, “this is the best thing for the both of us.”
your face crumpled before you could stop it.
you pulled your wrist free and this time, he let you.
“oh, trust me, not having to be stuck with you? i couldn’t agree more.” venom laced your words as sukuna’s expression changed, tightened and you felt the hurt then.
sharp and immediate and you were glad for it.
you turned and walked away then, tears streaming down your cheeks and a sob left you as soon as you were out of his vicinity.
for the first time, the bond didn't feel like a thread pulling you closer…
it felt like noose.
∞
an | was so late with this but had the worst past few days so SORRY! anyways PLSSS lmk what u think cuz i'm iffy abt the direction of this BUT this is lowk my fav thing i've written omg! this is kinda like a prologue pt2, next chapters will deffo be longer! i cannot wait to write more of these two and sukuna's a dick but bear w him ! also each chapter in the masterlist will be titled a song and i recommend listening to it while reading for the vibes 🫡
also lowk need toji BAD i wanna give him some lore so lmk if u want a one-shot of him in this au!
The way we fall for fictional characters is so interesting. There could be multiple characters who you should, in theory, like and love. But no, it's that one random character who you never expected to grow so strongly onto you that you fell head over heels for. No matter the form, love refuses to be easily defined lol
content ꩜ 3.7k words ， fluff ， heian era ， true form sukuna ， sukuna being sukuna or whatever ， established feelings ， casual violence and canon-typical violence ， it's sukuna
taglist ꩜ @nightmarenyxx ， @spectranix 𖥻 taglist form
notes ꩜ im sick. please coddle me. i made this on a whim to fulfill a friend's request
Ryōmen Sukuna is a man of strength and two faces.
Children are quieted by his name. Warriors pray they shall never glimpse his shadow. Courtiers lower their eyes when tales of him reach the capital. Sorcerers clasp at their prayer beads so as to not have him take what is theirs to keep, some day.
He does not bow. He does not plead. He does not seek permission from the gods nor men. He does not let those who call themselves higher beings dictate his presence, nor his frame. Ryōmen Sukuna creates law. He is law. This is known.
Therefore, Ryōmen Sukuna abides by five pillars.
Firstly, Ryōmen Sukuna does not coddle.
Sukuna does not mince his words and Sukuna does not mince his actions. There is a reason why he has earned his reputation. The disgraced one does not succumb to those who reveal themselves to be weak. Men cry and women pray. They are all the same.
A servant once shattered a lacquered bowl in his presence. Sukuna tore off the servant’s arm. Another stumbled while carrying a bowl of boiling water. It had burned their skin. Sukuna did not look up. There once came a woman, shivering from the rain whom Kuraokami poured, kneeling at his doorstep. He had not spared her a glance.
Sukuna does not do silken touches. He does not offer consolidation. He does not hold compassion in the face of feebleness. Sukuna does not soften. Sukuna does not spare any for those who are weak. He did not change even after his disgrace. Even before he had become Ryōmen Sukuna, when he was living as a man with a name he does not remember anymore, Sukuna did not falter for kindness in the presence of the frail.
He had not been once accused of gentleness.
Your hand had wounded under a thorn. It leaks a dark red, some color that only exists in the presence of royalty with its velvety robes. The sting does not hurt much, but the drip does not control itself. It twitches under your clothes. As quickly as you can, you try to hide it under your sleeve.
Sukuna notices immediately.
Your arms retreats behind your back but his hands find them quicker than the countless fires that spread from his doing. He retrieves the prickled by a plum hand.
You try to release from his grasp, but he grips you steadily.
“Hold still.”
His fingers close around your wrist. The motion is effortless, irritatingly so.
“It is only a scratch.”
“Hold still.”
You expect a reprimand. Instead, Sukuna reaches for a roll of linen resting beside a stack of scrolls. His hand still wraps around your wrist. He does not grip on it tightly, you do not recognize the iron grasps those who fear him like to utter.
For a moment, neither of you speak. He cleans the wound with water that he had barked to be prepared for before. The cloth is wrapped twice. Then a third time. Then on the fourth, you notice something wrong.
"My lord," you utter. "You are wrapping my hand."
His eyes sharpen at you. "You possess eyes."
The bandage is tied far more carefully than necessary. It does not tug at your circulation. It also does not scratch at your wound. When he releases your hand, the knot is neat. Your hand is covered. It does not sting when you move it, and the red of spider lilies does not seep into the cloth.
You stare at it. Sukuna pretends not to notice.
Only four days later, you have become ill. You are bedridden and tied to the straw mats; they are sat atop each other. Layer by layer. However, it does not help the seeping cold through your body.
You are a mere herbalist and the kin of an apothecary. You have been mistaken, perhaps accused of being a court physician many times. However, your status does not deceive its bedding. The straw mats are uncomfortable. You do not have the standing to request more adequate items, let alone luxuries.
There is hollowness between your cheeks. When you awake, a bowl has appeared beside your bedding. Steam curls from its surface and it expels a pleasant smell. You do not know how exactly it smells. Your nose has been suppressed of its usual sharpness. You open your eyes and find Sukuna in the small room.
“My lord,” you suspect that Sukuna believes the rasp in your voice is the result of some trivial, passing ailment.
“What?”
“Did a servant bring this?” you ask, gesturing weakly toward the steaming bowl.
“No.”
“Oh,” you wait. The silence stretches and you watch the dim light of your room playing across the tattoos that snake over his skin. Sukuna does not shift, but the air seems to grow tighter, as if he is waiting for you to dismiss him so he can return to his throne of bones.
“So you did?” you venture.
“I was present.”
“You made soup.”
He stiffens, his two lower arms twitching in a brief, almost irritated motion. “I boiled water.”
“You made soup,” you repeat insistently. A faint, lopsided smile touches your lips.
He turns his head and his secondary face is shadowed. His primary one fixes on you with annoyance. He wants to say something it seems, but does not. Instead, he makes to stand. His four arms shift as he prepares to withdraw. You reach out, your fingers tugging against the fabric of his robes. You are a mere herbalist, but momentarily you always forget the fear you are meant to feel with the king.
Your gaze lingers on the extra set of arms that frame his silhouette. Then back to his sets of eyes. You shake your head at him. You tug him once more and he freezes until the room goes still. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders breaks. He settles back down. His extra arms unfold as he keeps his eyes locked on yours.
It is imperative to note that the next day, you are still sick and helpless, as even with your herbalistic knowledge, you are far too weak to heal yourself. Your straw mats were doubled that following day.
Secondly, Ryōmen Sukuna does not share.
It is only natural that Ryōmen Sukuna does not share. A being made not from the earth does not share.
Possession is simple. If Sukuna desires something, it becomes his. If it is his, it remains so. The distinction is clear enough that even children understand it. A provincial lord once presented him with a sword forged over seven years. Sukuna took the blade, admired its craftsmanship, and kept both sword and smith.
A shrine offered tribute during a season of famine. The priests begged him to leave a portion behind. Sukuna accepted every grain of rice and left the shrine standing solely because he was in a generous mood. There are stories of warriors dividing spoils after battle. Sukuna had never participated in such discussions. What he claims is his. What remains belongs to whoever is brave enough to take it from the corpses.
Even before his disgrace, when he still walked among men beneath a forgotten name, Sukuna did not understand the instinct to split bread in half.
During the seventh year of Emperor Daigo’s reign, another provincial lord arrived bearing tribute. He had carried many things. Gold, much of it and silk. Swords forged by masters whose names have since been forgotten. Sukuna took everything. When the lord’s retainers protested, Sukuna did not falter. He had killed them. When the lord protested, Sukuna killed him as well.
The gifts remained in his possession until they rotted. He had no use for them. They were simply his.
It is the heart of a bitter winter. The gardens are stripped of all color save for the white shroud of snow that smothers the earth.
There is a peach.
It is an anomaly. It should not exist. You know this because you spent the morning listening to merchants complain about frost and harvests. A singular fruit, salvaged from the final, fleeting gasps of the autumn. It sits on a low table between you. Its skin is a pale, fading blush. It is the last of the season.
Sukuna is reading as he sits upon his dais. There is a sprawl of ancient scrolls and his fingers trace calligraphy that predates the current Emperor. His two lower arms—the ones that have been restless—shift. A hand, one that is large enough to crush a man’s skull, picks up the fruit. He does not eat it. He moves it across the space between you, placing it squarely on the hem of your sleeve.
“Eat.”
You blink, tearing yourself from his form to the fruit. Sukuna consumes what he desires and destroys what he finds beneath him. To share is a concept that does not exist.
"What?”
Sukuna had been tapping his talons against his knees. It stops. The silence that follows eats the breath from your lungs. His primary face turns towards you. “Must I repeat myself?”
His secondary face tilts slightly, watching you intensely. You stare back and blink. He is waiting. Not for gratitude, for he would loathe that. He is waiting to see if you have the courage to take what he has offered. And so you reach to pick up the fruit. Your fingers brush the fuzzy skin of the peach.
The winter is unrelenting. The cold manages to seep through the floorboards and you are huddled near the hearth. You are shivering and your body is frail; you have not been blessed with the intensity of everbearing health. You are wrapped in the voluminous and heavy silk of one of Ryōmen Sukuna’s discarded robes. It smells of him and is too big on your frame.
You did not ask for it. You did not offer a bow of apology or a trembling “Sukuna-dono, I extend my apologies,” for the audacity of taking what belongs to him. You had also begun referring to him by that. Sukuna-dono. He sees, eventually.
He is aware. He feels the shifting of the silk against your skin as you pull the stiff sleeves over your trembling hands. You retreat into the cowl of the collar. By every law he has penned for his own existence, this is theft. It is an unearned comfort. In the eyes of any other inhabitant of the Heian capital, this would mark death.
He does not reach for a blade, nor blink. It should be a trivial affront to be met with a casual dismemberment.
The two arms that had been idling, the ones that had been resting against his knees, move with the sound of grinding stone. He rises from his position and reaches towards you. You stiffen and wait for the reprimand once more. Instead, he looms over you and he does not reach for the fabric to reclaim it. He reaches for you.
His hands ignore your attempts to shrink away. One of them catches your shoulder and another adjusts the heavy silk, pulling the neckline up until it shields the sensitive nape of your neck. He tucks the edges in, sealing the warmth against your body.
He does not wait for a reaction. Sukuna simply leaves. Sukuna does not share as this robe belongs to him. Therefore, he is free to do whatever he pleases with it. He does not take it back. Ryōmen Sukuna’s things started to disappear ever since that day. They are found in your room some weeks later. He does not take them back either.
Third, Ryōmen Sukuna does not wait.
Sukuna does not wait. The world moves slowly. It hesitates and negotiates; it bores him. Sukuna has never possessed the patience for such things. When a governor delayed delivering tribute, Sukuna crossed three provinces and arrived at the man’s residence before the messenger carrying the excuse.
There was once a sorcerer who challenged him. The fool requested three days to prepare and Sukuna granted him nothing. Before sunset, the sorcerer’s head decorated the palace gates. Sukuna had said, if he required three days, he was not worth meeting.
There are tales of armies gathering for months before marching. Sukuna finds this incomprehensible. If he desires battle, he walks towards it. If he desires destruction, he begins. The seasons may linger and men may deliberate, gods will always scheme. Sukuna has never seen the purpose, even before he became the calamity sung about in frightened whispers.
The stone corridors of the fortress are vast. They swallow the unworthy. You should have been here at dusk but you had been distracted. Herbs. You had been gathering herbs. Instead of arriving during the promise of the coming night, you arrive when the moon has already climbed to its zenith.
You find him in the main hall. It smells of incense. He is sitting on the elevated dais and Sukuna holds his position still. His true form is fully manifest. You are but a mere herbalist, and they do not frighten you somehow. All four arms are visible and the upper pair are crossed over his chest. The lower pair rests upon his thighs. His second face is twisted into a scowl while watching the entrance.
As you step into the light of the flickering wall-torches, he does not move. Sukuna does not greet you. Your pulse skips once, yet you walk forward until you are standing at the base of his dais.
“You are angry,” you state.
“I am not,” he responds trimly.
“You are.”
“I am not,” his eyes—all four of them—narrow. The secondary face on his neck sneers, its lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp, inhuman teeth.
You take a step closer. You are unbothered by the lethality. You brace yourself for a reprimand however, you know the texture of his temper now. It is not a wildfire. To you. “I forgot,” you offer a clumsy and honest confession. It is insufficient.
His upper set of arms unfolds, fingers splayed out against the floorboards. “You did.”
The bluntness of his agreement takes you back. It is far more discomforting than a rebuke. You look at him and the shadows clinging to his extra limbs he has now selectively hidden in your presence. You realize the magnitude of the time he has just spent staring at the wall.
“How long?” you ask.
“What?”
“How long have you waited?”
The precarious question hones within another silence. You are asking him to quantify his wait. He stands suddenly, so swiftly that the air in the room displaces. He towers over you. His upper set of arms come back to cross in front of his chest.
“You concern yourself with foolish matters,” he growls. Sukuna turns with his heavy robes swaying with the motion. He is angry at you, and you do not like that.
“My lord,” your voice has turned soft. You refuse to let the moment dissipate so you call out. You have learned that he does not care for pleas, but you are not pleading.
Sukuna freezes. The secondary face on his neck tracks you. It is well known that Sukuna and his two faces scour those he finds unworthy like predators. His primary face remains imperious. He does not look back immediately, however, his fingers twitch. It betrays his uncooperative frame. You are sure he would rather carve out of his own flesh than admit it out loud.
“Three hours.”
He pauses.
“...Perhaps four.”
Fourthly, Ryōmen Sukuna does not yield.
Ryōmen Sukuna has never lost a battle. He has seen countless bloodshed, and he has caused countless bloodshed with his own body. Ryōmen Sukuna, for all parts, enjoys winning, he does not yield.
The mountains bend beneath storms, rivers alter their course, dynasties collapse. Sukuna remains. An Emperor once demanded his submission. The messenger returned without his house. A clan of sorcerers assembled to force him from sacred territory and the territory changed ownership instead. When temples cursed his name, Sukuna took shelter beneath their roofs during the rain simply because the insult amused him.
Defeat is a language spoken by ordinary men. Compromise is spoken by clever ones. Sukuna has never been interested in either dialect. Stubbornness clung to him more faithfully than any companion. The world may push. Sukuna definitely pushes back.
Snow drifts beyond the open engawa. The winter air carries a scent. It is cedar and smoke. There is residual warmth against your cheeks. It is the cycle’s next winter, the one after you had stolen his robes and his brushes. He still had not bothered to look for them, and he still had not taken them back.
You are carrying a bundle of herbs in your hands. They stain your fingertips and your palms but you will wash them later. Sukuna is here. He does not look up from the scroll spread across his lap despite your shadow casting over him.
“You promised.”
The lie arrives instantly. “I did no such thing.”
“You said you would return before winter,” you utter. You do not use the tone of a priest viewing a miracle. You use the tone of yourself. Interrogative, curious. You had told Sukuna that he must come back before winter comes. It would not be terrific if he had been caught in a storm, and it would not be pleasant if he had come back immobilized from the cold.
“And?”
You stare. The audacity of the response settles over the room like dust.
“You returned before winter.”
His brush pauses. “I did.”
The answer arrives without hesitation. Matter-of-fact. There is not a hint of bother and it makes you lower the bundle of herbs in your hands. Sukuna finally glances up. There is no shame in his expression. No realization. No understanding whatsoever of the trap he had already walked into.
You step closer to him. “You came back before winter because you said you would.”
His hand twitches as he utters the syllables. A muscle jumps in his jaw. For the first time since the conversation began, he looks vaguely irritated. “Foolish.”
You tilt your head. You do not speak anymore for just a few moments. Sukuna narrows his eyes, but you have become accustomed to his mannerisms within the winters you’ve shared with him. You can practically see the moment he had realized what you said and what he responded with. It offends him deeply.
“Sukuna-dono,” you mutter.
“What?”
There is a silence again and his fingers tighten around the scroll. Sukuna believes you are a fool. An irritating fool. A persistent fool. There is a smile that threatens to paint on your lips, perhaps using the brush Sukuna is holding. For several moments, neither of you speak. Then, Sukuna returns his attention to the scroll. The discussion is over until one heartbeat, two, three.
“I am pleased you returned before winter.”
The brush snaps cleanly in half.
Finally, Ryōmen Sukuna does not love.
Love is a weakness that poets celebrate because they possess no strength worthy to be spoken of. It inspires promises that cannot be kept and grief that cannot be escaped. It turns warriors into fools and rulers into beggars.
A noblewoman once offered Sukuna her hand in marriage and he laughed until she cried. A monk claimed love was humanity’s greatest virtue and Sukuna asked him whether virtue would stop a blade. The songs sung in court speak of devotion enduring across lifetimes. Sukuna has heard them all. He has never cared for any of them.
Love is for poets, courtiers, for fools who mistake devotion for strength. Ryōmen Sukuna has never required such things.Court poets have attempted to assign Ryōmen Sukuna lovers. They have all died. Some imagined beautiful noblewomen. Others imagined celestial maidens. Love is for creatures who fear solitude and Ryōmen Sukuna has never feared anything.
Love requires surrender. Love requires trust. Love requires placing something in another person’s hands and believing they will not crush it. Sukuna has never surrendered. Sukuna trusts no one. Ryōmen Sukuna does not love. This is known. It is known by children. It is known by emperors. It is known by sorcerers. It is known by gods. It is known by Ryōmen Sukuna himself.
Unfortunately, it is not known by you. And because you do not know it, Sukuna finds himself breaking the fifth pillar with alarming regularity.
You are standing by the engawa in spring. Sukuna’s gaze is fixed on the garden. It is rare for you to catch him like this. His arms, the lower ones, are restless as always. And the other is resting idly. The plum blossoms have long since surrendered their petals to the wind. The cherry trees are beginning to follow. The gardens below the engawa are awash with pale pink.
The King of Curses is not a contemplative creature. He destroys. He conquers. He takes. Reflection is an indulgence usually reserved for weaker men. Yet, he remains still.
You approach and make no effort to hide your footsteps. There is no hesitation in them. You have long since stopped treating him the way everyone else does. No one else would dare and no one else survives long enough to try.
“My lord.”
He turns and you smile. Nothing more, nothing less. He does not respond to you any further.
“Sukuna-dono.”
You say his name gently for the second time, hoping it would change. One of his hands curls into a fist. This feeling is familiar now; one that he dislikes. A petal catches the back of your hair, then with a jolty shift of your head, it falls down. His gaze follows it, not because he is avoiding looking at you. Certainly not.
“Sukuna.”
He finally responds. “What is it?”
Your lips form a smile before you can stop it. "Nothing."
Love requires placing something precious into another person’s hands and believing they will not destroy it. Sukuna has placed nothing in your hands. Nothing at all. Not his attention. Not his patience. Certainly not his heart. Ryōmen Sukuna does not love. This is known.
Therefore, the fact that he has spent the last six years ensuring that you never walk alone after sunset is irrelevant.
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so, i'm in a bit of a financial bind at the moment and, unfortunately, i have some bills that i need to try and pay off among keeping myself somewhat float. it's been quite a hard month and i try my hardest to kind of...keep it together and find joy in the little things—like this blog filled with you wonderful people.
if you happen to like what i do on here, i do have a ko-fi and would appreciate any support! no matter how small, even a reblog helps a bunch!
but also please don't feel like you're obligated to help! i know we're all going through our own issues.
⟢ tags: fluff, olruggio's beard is scratchy so he shaves for you
"Your beard is kind of scratchy."
Olruggio doesn't hear you properly, the first time you say it. To be fair, you mumble it against his mouth between kisses and teeth, and he's too busy trying to kiss you back without panting desperately into your mouth like some lovesick dog—which leaves him very little attention to focus on anything aside from the slow creep of your fingers beneath his shirt, the weight of your body pressing his into the sunbed. Your knee is between his legs, and Olruggio doesn't know whether to give thanks or pray for mercy. Gods.
"Mgh—wuh—what?" he manages when you pull back from him, just far enough for him to catch sight of the thin, glistening string of spit between your lips before it breaks. He nearly misses your second reply all over again. "My—"
"Beard. Goatee, if you want to be specific?" You draw back properly and Olruggio immediately mourns the space between you, the loss of your warmth. He's quickly placated though; your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking maddeningly slow over the dark, uneven stubble along his jaw. "It sometimes leaves a bit of a rash on my face, after we kiss for too long."
It takes Olruggio a moment to comprehend your words—how can there possibly be such a thing as "kissing for too long"?—but gradually the fog in his head clears just enough for him to focus. So kissing him has been uncomfortable. Perhaps you never said anything because you didn't want to hurt his feelings, but that only makes Olruggio feel guiltier now. He gets so buried in his work that it's simply easier to maintain a beard than to stay clean-shaven. It never once occurred to him how it might feel against your skin.
The next morning, Olruggio wakes before you do. He clambers out of the hammock, painstakingly careful not to rouse you from your sleep, and pads barefoot over to the washbasin. He's about to reach for his facecloth when he catches sight of his own reflection in the small mirror hanging over it. Olruggio stares at it for a long while—the dark smudge of stubble shadowing his jaw, the slightly uneven patch at his chin. The careless scruff of a man who's stopped looking at himself too closely a long time ago.
Hm.
He glances back over his shoulder. You're still sleeping soundly in the hammock, blankets tangled around your bare legs, one arm dangling limply over the side. Fondness blooms quietly in Olruggio's chest, steaming erbe tea steeped in hot water, warmer than the morning sunlight pouring in through the upper window.
Then he turns back to the basin and crouches down to dig beneath the sink, rummaging through old tins and cracked cups until his fingers close around a straight razor.
It's late morning by the time you awake. The instant your consciousness stirs, you become aware of the reason—the space in the hammock beside you is grievously empty, the blankets absent of any trace of another's body heat. The loft and workshop, too, are disappointingly Olruggio absent. So you stretch, expelling your sleepiness from your body with a long yawn, before reaching for your outer robe and climbing down the stairs. Olruggio's probably in the main wing of the atelier, preparing breakfast—though it might be closer to lunch, with the late hour you've awoken.
You shuffle across the catwalk, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Sure enough, when you push open the kitchen door, there he is: standing with his back to you, quietly humming as he whisks a bowl of eggs at the counter. Qifrey had mentioned heading to the Great Hall for some errand yesterday, and you can hear the apprentices' distant voices drifting down from upstairs—something about a mess and who's responsible for it. Perfect.
You creep up behind him, on your tiptoes, quiet as a mouse, before you slip your arms around his waist, pulling him back against you. Olruggio makes a startled sound, nearly dropping the whisk in his hand, and you lean in to kiss the side of his jaw before he can turn around. Your lips seek the familiar scratch of his jaw… but instead of stubble, your mouth meets smooth, bare skin.
Huh?
You scramble back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, heart hammering in your chest. Is there an intruder in the atelier? Did Qifrey dye his hair black all of a sudden? Did you just accidentally kiss the wrong man? What—
"You scared the heck outta me!" Olruggio yelps, whirling around so quicklly a few flecks of yolk splatter onto the counter, whisk clutched protectively to his chest. His cheeks are stained pink, ripe as rose apples—and without the beard, there's nowhere for the colour to hide. "You—"
"What happened to you?" you cry, lifting a shaking finger to point it at him. "Who—who are you?"
Olruggio freezes for a second. His expression collapses into immediate offense in the next. "What do you mean, who am I?"
"You look like a completely different man!"
"I shaved!"
"You removed half your face!"
"I didn't remove—" He hisses, the nectarine-pink flush on his face deepening to a lurid crimson. Still, his hand flies to his cheek on instinct, as if checking to make sure the missing beard hasn't somehow taken a substantial portion of him with it. "It's the same face!"
You stare at him for a long moment, before you take a step closer. Olruggio immediately glances away, chin ducking in an attempt to shy away from your attention, but still he lets you take his jaw in your hand. You tug his newly bared cheeks this way and that, tilting his face toward the light as if to confirm he isn't some imposter wearing Olruggio's skin.
The same nose, same blue eyes. The same soft, flustered mouth.
"You shaved," you say, disbelief seeping into your voice. "I've never seen you shaved before. What brought this on?"
Olruggio's face only gets redder, somehow.
"You mention you sometimes get a rash when you're kissing me," he mumbles under his breath, refusing to meet your eyes. His gaze stays doggedly fixed on some point past your shoulder—the windowsill, the kettle on the table, anywhere but your face. "I didn't want ya to have to put up with that anymore, so…"
The sentence trails off, swallowed by his embarrassment.
It's hard to do anything but stare at Olruggio. At the flush burning high on his cheeks, the clean shaven jaw he's so clearly self-conscious about. His hand twitches at where it's fallen at his side, as though he wants to reach up and touch it, and your chest fills suddenly with so much warmth it overflows, a bubbling spring that spills forth with no end.
Oh, he's impossible. You tug him in by the waist, ignoring the way Olruggio lets out something suspiciously close to a squawk. Impossible, and so, so lovely. Before he can squirm away you pull him firmly against you and bury your face in his soft chest. This close, you can feel everything—the rapid, rabbit-quick beat of his heart, his stuttering breath.
"Oh, Olly." His name alone feels like an endearment in your mouth. "When I said that, it didn't mean I disliked it. Actually, I'm rather fond of it—it's like a little mark I carry of you, after we've been together."
"Yeah." You smile—soft, fond, perhaps just a little mischievious—before your fingers tug aside the collar of his shirt to rub at the fading crescent of teeth marks sitting low at his collarbone. "Besides, haven't I give you a few marks of my own, too?"
Whatever flush had dissipated from Olruggio's face races back up at once. "That's—that's different—"
You wind your arms around his neck this time, the faint edge of laughter still on your lips as you pull him down towards you again. Olruggio squeezes his eyes frantically shut. Just before your mouths can meet, however…
"I can't." You break away from him, laughing so hard you have to brace a hand against his chest just to stay upright. "I don't think I can stop laughing long enough to kiss you until you get your beard back, Olly."
His eyes go wide in alarm. "But that's going to take weeks—hey. Hey!"
fill (me) up chapter ten starring grumpy f1!driver (patreon)
baby daddy drama chapter one starring frat!Gojo
your favorite fool starring lovesick!jester (patreon)
only ones who know chapter nine starring hero!Geto + villain!Gojo
his prettiest peach starring bowser!Sukuna
fire and water starring merman!Zuko
wifed up starring yandere!prisoner (patreon)
faking it chapter seventeen starring broke!Geto + tattoo artist!Sukuna
riding raw chapter six starring yandere!cowboy (patreon)
the unnamed extra chapter twenty starring jjk!men
top secret chapter eighteen and a half starring spy!reader (patreon)
the girl who cried wolf starring werewolf!Sukuna
c u never starring yandere!superhero (patreon)
on your knees starring cult leader!Gojo + sorcerer!Geto
just a prank starring frat!Gojo + frat!Geto
reverse isekai'd in an office romance? chapter one two + three starring awkward!coworker + asshole!neighbor (patreon)
no. one party anthem track twenty-four starring rockstar!jjk men
a/n: reblogs + comments always appreciated angels <3 next month i'll be focused on getting a bunch of stuff for this event out as well as a few oneshots i'm looking forward to :3
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ㅤ♡ ─ hot nights with bf! sukuna + slight suggestive content .ᐟ
your boyfriend’s huge form always radiated a large amount of heat— which you loved, if only that wasn’t the case during the summer. the time when even the smallest things tended to piss you off even more than the sticky sweat coating your skin.
everything felt too much; sukuna’s heavy hand resting on your thigh, the buzzing of that damn mosquito that just refuses to die even though you could’ve sworn that you killed it before getting ready for bed. and the most frustrating of all, your clothes.
those flimsy little shorts that make you feel like you’re wearing a freaking dress made out of wool.
the first thing that sukuna notices is the feeling of you stirring and turning repeatedly before he hears the rattling of your poor old fan (he told you that he was going to buy you a new one but you refused because “i’ve had that thing way before i met you. you know i get attached to things easily, ‘kuna.”). he can only send you a sleepy sleepy grin as he looks at you. wait.
“what the actual fuck are you doing?”
you move your head to look at him with those big eyes and an innocent smile on your face, “i’m soooo hot, ‘kuna,” you pout before you start spreading your legs even more with a content sigh.
he clicks his tongue while he uses his elbows to prop himself up on the mattress next to your bare naked body, “doesn’t mean you should have your pussy on full display, woman.”
he’s only met with a judgmental side-eye and you continue to lay there unbothered as the fan blows cool wind, well— everywhere.
a surprising but delicious pain waves through your body as two thick fingers pinched your nipple before soothing the sore spot immediately after. “don’t give me attitude, ‘ya hear?” to which you can only nod all the while trying to suppress your smile.
sukuna sighs and sooner than later, he finds himself also laying bare next to you; balls out and soft. the cool wind starting to lull him back to sleep.
“can i hold it?
for fuck’s sake. “close your damn eyes and go to sleep, please,” your boyfriend’s voice cracked at the last part— silently hoping that you don’t notice the flush starting to bloom on his neck.
you stay quiet and rest your head on his bicep while the quietness consumes you both.
he knows how mean he can be sometimes, which he honestly tries to do less. so, who is he to deny his sweet precious girlfriend of what she currently wants in the moment.
his dick was starting to twitch anyway. might as well indulge in your…unique way of doing certain things?
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ ✿ GOOD @ GOODBYES ! ㅅ `͈ 𓏼 )ა
first kiss 𝑤. ͏͏ sukuna ac. su2kuna ಎ
⎯⎯ ✉️ awky ⨍ reader 2.2k
the only shocking thing about ryomen sukuna was that he was a surprisingly good boyfriend. like, embarrassingly good to you.
he was still the occasional dickhead, obviously. but at least he nice about it. he always went at your pace, never pushed when you got shy or overwhelmed, never made you feel stupid for needing reassurance. hell, he even showed up with a bouquet of lilies for your first “official” date with him.
and the date itself wasn’t anything extravagant either. no fancy rooftop reservation, no over the top attempt to sweep you off your feet. just a quiet little restaurant tucked between buildings, warm lighting spilling across wooden tables while soft music played somewhere overhead.
simple. intimate. perfect for you.
a secluded booth in the corner, sukuna sitting across from you with an unfairly soft look in his eyes whenever you got shy and toyed with your food.
and you were doing fairly well. right up until the date ended that is.
because now here you were, heart hammering violently against your ribs, butterflies wrecking your stomach as you hurried, nearly ran, toward your apartment door, leaving behind one very confused sukuna standing a few steps away.
which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the smoothest way to end a date with your boyfriend.
“oi.”
you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.
yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.
“. . . what?”
he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”
your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.
lip gloss.
receipt.
wires.
a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?
everything but your keys.
normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—
“you regret comin’ out with me?”
oh . . .
for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.
“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.
sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.
“you heard me.”
your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.
his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.
“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”
“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”
“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”
well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.
“well, no! i just—” what an insufferable man. “i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”
“just nervous.”
“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”
your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.
sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.
“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”
you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”
sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.
“your call.”
and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.
“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.
“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”
“platonically,” you added after a moment.
. . .
his brows lifted slowly.
“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”
“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”
“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”
“that too.”
silence.
then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.
“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”
your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”
he kept walking.
not far. just enough to be annoying.
“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”
a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”
your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”
his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”
“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.
his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.
before you could overthink, your lips meet his.
it’s quick. chaste. shy even.
his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.
he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.
you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.
your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—
“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”
you pant, “what does that even mean?”
his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.
the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.
a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”
you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.
except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.
his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.
you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.
it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.
the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.
then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.
“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.
he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”
“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.
your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.
“here.”
you pause.
and there they were.
your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.
“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”
he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”
you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”
his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”
you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.
“…thanks,” you mutter.
“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”
and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.
you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .
“you alright?”
“yes.”
“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”
“i know!” you shoot back immediately.
the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.
“ okay . . . ” you hummed.
“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.
but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.
a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.
despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.
you liked it.
you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.
“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.
except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.
“fuck—”
you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”
and then, you’re gone.
the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.
outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.
