#nanaatwork

there it is - that strange attitude he has around you, like he doesn't want to be there. it's a lie, you both know it is. if sukuna didn't want to be around you, he wouldn't be. you've seen him just up and leave during lectures, had even heard a rumour that he'd given the finger to one of the professors once, so somehow, this - having him take the time and effort to come to you after a long, hard day - was a lot more flattering than how it seemed to the naked eye.

you barely have time to step aside before he's pushing past you, all six foot four of him, with muscles that you know are rippling beneath his black hoodie. unusually enough, you've managed to detach yourself from the little voice in the back of your head that froths at the mouth whenever he's near.

you're smart enough to know not to fuck around with guys like him - guys who fuck for one night and leave you for the next warm body that breathes, guys who hide the fact that they're scared of the emotional intimacy.

and sukuna, he likes that about you, in his own gruff, stupid way. he likes the fact that you want nothing to do with him, that your eyes don't linger on his form the way his vermilion ones can't seem to separate themselves from yours. so he sits on your bed that looks too small for him, the springs creaking under his weight, and he musters up the strength not to snap at you when your question thickens the air.

"yeah, i won." he mutters, and you close the door, shutting it with a tiny click! that almost has him flinching, because he's not used to the domesticity of it all, watching you move about your dorm like nothing is eating him up.

you don't notice the suffocating burden of his stare, unblinking, eerie, like he knows he shouldn't be wishing for the thing he'd buried in his chest for so long. "knocked his fuckin' teeth out."

"right." you grab the first aid kit stuffed in the back of one of your drawers (and stifle a proud smirk when you think back to utahime firmly insisting that you wouldn't need it), tugging it out from under piles of trinkets and junk, placing it on the bare space of your study desk beside him. "are you gonna tell me why you thought it was smart to get into a fight, or am i gonna have to find out through satoru?"

your chair squeaks as you sit in it, the sound of the wheels rolling over fill sukuna with an unfamiliar sense of nervousness.

he pushes it down, tries to mentally wrap his thick, tattooed hands around those weak thoughts of mushy love and unbridled want and strangle them into nonexistence.

it doesn't work.

he hears the faint clicks of the first aid kit being opened and his skin prickles with the fantastic idea of your skin on his.

looking after him. touching him.

you rip open one of the antiseptic wipe packages, the clean smell of alcohol abusing your senses while you reach for his chin and shuffle closer. sukuna tenses but doesn't fight you, he just leans closer instead, so you can clean the blood on his chin a little better, removing crimson from tanned skin to reveal the small black lines of ink that lined below his lower lip.

"you don't wanna be talkin' to gojo." he scoffs, narrowing his eyes. did you have to hold him so tenderly? like he was glass?

last week he fucked some chick who'd left red marks running up his back, still there, still stinging, but proof that he could handle intimacy when it was ugly and mean. maybe he should have you tend to those wounds, too.

"yeah?" you murmur, brows furrowed as you fold the wipe so that you can cleanse his lip a little better, huffing when he hisses in pain and wrenches his jaw free from your hold, only to relent once more when your fingers find his chin again. sukuna forces himself not to move, wincing at every flicker of pain from where you dab at the corner of his mouth. "why's that?"

would you be hurt if he told you what those scratches on his back meant? would you be jealous?

he wants you to be. (fuck- how he wants you to be-)

or would you have that same, focused look in your eyes like you did right now, so unbothered by how he came to the state that he was in?

you don't know about how hard it is to hold back, to stop staring at your lips like he wants to consume you from the inside out, to stop thinking about you in the middle of the night when his bed is too cold, and he can't help but reminisce about that time you fell asleep on him in the backseat of satoru's car, with your head on his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap like you were fine with touching him so casually-

"'cause it was him that i fucked up." the words are rough on his tongue, and you pause for the slightest moment before resuming your fussing, ripping open another small, square package of an antiseptic wipe and working on that cut by his temple, cooing as he flinches, cupping the side of his face.

his hands curl into fists as they remain still on his lap. your palm is warm. sukuna flinches a little more, away from your cleaning, for the sake of being able to press into it without suspicion. it's too perfect, he thinks, how your hand is made to mould against the angles of his face.

it wasn't much of a secret across campus that satoru and sukuna were a more twisted version of frenemies. more enemy than friend, they rarely got along. respect was strong between them, but sukuna couldn't handle more than three hours of the white-haired freak before he wanted to drive his face into the nearest brick wall. you had always said that the dislike was because they were so similar.

("like two sides of the same coin." you wrinkled your nose, briefly glancing up at him from where you quickly whisked the eggs into the cake mix, swatting at his hand and earning a derisive scoff from sukuna.

"must be some coin," he muttered, bare shoulder brushing yours through your knitted jumper, and then, quieter "his side would be uglier."

you smile. something tugs at his heart.)

"right." you say again, although this time, you sound more unimpressed. the look on your face says the same thing - it's not like you can really help it, after all, you've never had to reign in your expressions around sukuna, not when he was a hundred times worse with keeping a straight face during the most serious of situations (you really have got to get him to stop rolling his eyes when somebody says anything that prompts sympathy - it's starting to look bad on you). "…are you sure you won?"

he damn near chokes on his words as they all scramble to get out of him at once, and he downright glares at you, his mouth falling open at your absolute audacity. "am i sure i- are you fuckin' serious, woman? of course, i won." he snorts, folding his arms over his chest.

you try not to glance down at his arms when he does so. the effort almost kills you but you manage it. "he didn't stand a chance against me."

you nod, shrugging your shoulders, "alright. alright." there's a smile on your lips as you finish cleaning that cut on his temple - it's shallow, but deep enough to have bled down the side of his face. thanks to your good nature and wonderful medical skills, though, he'll be fine. maybe a little grumpy, but fine. "just wanted to make sure. you're telling me that if i go up to nanami and ask him who won, he'd say you?"

sukuna snorts, "shouldn't be askin' that little emo twerp anythin'. he's a friend of gojo's, remember?" a wrinkle appears between his eyebrows, and something flickers behind his eyes, dark, deep-rooted. "everybody's a friend of fuckin' gojo."

you frown. that doesn't sound like the sukuna you're usually met with. today he sounds more…defeated, a little more bitter, and he's not so irked by the thought of satoru to the point where disgust mingles with each syllable associated with him, not like how it does now.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him on the mattress, and his gaze doesn't budge from where he bores a hole into the carpet between his feet with his eyes. the muscle mass of sukuna has the mattress dipping, and your form slides down a little, side faintly pressing against his. he stiffens. you ignore it and place your chin on his shoulder.

god, his profile was fucking gorgeous.

that low set of his brow, the curved line of his nose, and the almost petulant slant of his lips, the strong jut of his chin, all outlined by his facial tattoos. you note the muscle in his jaw twitching, once, twice, before he stops clenching his teeth and forces himself to relax.

"what's this about, ryomen?" you whisper, wrinkling that delicate brow in the same way he notices you always do before tackling a particularly hard question. he can't deny you. not even when his pride sings otherwise, he won't deny you.

it's hard to not admire him then. you pretend you're a sponge, just soaking up all of the cursed energy he's giving out, taking the parts of himself that he just can't accept. he seems to sense it, that vibe you're giving off. muscles ease beneath your chin, and a little breath of air shoots out of his beautiful nose, like he has to physically expel his indignation at his entire life.

your chin lifts, and he misses your body heat once more. he's aching for something, for someone, for you. it's shameful, he hates himself for it. this yearning that won't dislodge its claws from his skin. he feels it scream whenever he fucks a girl he doesn't care about, feels a little piece of him die when he shows up outside of your dorm and does nothing but mope about and snarl, like it's your fault he feels like this for you.

maybe it is, partially. sukuna ryomen doesn't do affection. he doesn't do stupid shit like love or promises, and you aren't stupid enough to want that from anyone either.

the difference between you both is that you're better at handling it than he is. you don't crumble around this same foreign feeling that festers in his gut like a rot that spreads and threatens to steal every breath he takes.

"'s nothin'."

that's all he can force out of himself. it sits on his tongue, though, that confession that's just waiting to rip out of his throat. biding it's time. that's what scares him so much around you. the fact that he can't even hold himself back.

you raise an eyebrow, shaking your head but not pushing further. he was like a cat, really. you couldn't be too picky, too excited with something, otherwise he'd never repeat that behaviour again. you just had to remain a constant. stable. and sukuna never appreciated it when people were too overzealous. he liked to be in control, liked to prompt people for a reaction or emotion he'd planned for beforehand.

he liked people predictable, basically. only you weren't that. you - unbearable, tender, gentle you - didn't care about what he liked, not really. you didn't change your behaviour for him. in a world full of bastards who kissed his ass (and rightfully so), you remained the immovable object.

which is why he isn't surprised when you accept his answer, donning it like a second skin and patting his thigh thrice in solidarity.

there's the sound of rustling sheets as you move to sit just behind him, leaning back against the headboard and shifting to pull your phone out from your back pocket, your back sliding down until you've reached prime bed-rotting position against your various array of pillows.

sukuna doesn't even lift a finger. just stares at the floor between his feet and marinates in everything that had happened prior to showing up to your room. waking up that morning to that girl he'd taken home the night before, denying her fruitless attempts at trying to reach inside a chest with a heart that beats only for you-

-and then that fight with gojo. too many words thrown at each other, both reacting with sentences equally as obscene, equally as rude ("like two sides of the same coin." you'd said). sukuna closes his eyes, unclenching his fists and smoothing out his palms over his jeans, letting out a long, shuddering sigh.

…

you're halfway through scrolling through whatever social media happens to take your fancy, when sukuna stirs from where he sits, leaning down to undo the laces of his boots, setting them to one side. you don't think anything of it, he's just making himself comfortable in the same way he'd done a thousand times before.

but then he grunts, taking the hem of his hoodie in his hands and lifting the fabric up over his head, letting it fall to the floor by his shoes, pulling up the sheets as he slides underneath them, joining you under the covers.

you catch a good look of his rippling muscle in your peripheral vision, allowing yourself one glance to soak up how tattooed black lines move with his tanned skin, and red irises meet yours, stubbornly looking away as he curls closer. "shut up."

you do nothing, just bite your tongue and hope that whatever sudden movements you make don't happen to scare him away.

because it isn't like you don't want this. it isn't like you don't know that sukuna mentions your name in every conversation he's ever had since he's met you, that you don't know about how he speaks so fondly about you behind your back. it's just that he's a coward.

you're lucky. he's millimetres away from you, cheek against one of your pillows as he lays on his side, facing you, glancing at your phone every once in a while as you scroll through the silly little videos shoko sends you, liking and replying with the same languid ease anyone else would have when tucked into bed and comfortable (excluding the absolute tank of a man to your left).

there's that same wrinkle between his eyebrows, like he can't help but feel a little ignored.

it's almost painful, pretending like he wasn't as close as he was, pretending like having him merely a breath away from cuddling up to you didn't over-step every rule you'd set between each other to keep your friendship simple. because that's how you both liked it, no loose ends, nothing to tie the other down.

no sex. no kisses. no hugs. just proximity and waiting.

more minutes pass by. the silence that was once calm and soothing was now charged and tense.

a long breath draws out of you, eyes still trained on your phone screen, when your lips part, trying to form words to either beckon him closer or ask him what he's doing, only he beats you to it with a quiet snarl, followed by an irritated, "fuck this shit." and suddenly sukuna is closing the distance.

his arm wraps around your waist from underneath you, the other throwing itself over your stomach, finding purchase in the fabric of your shirt, pulling you down so that he can tuck his head beneath your arm and place it against your collarbone, throwing a very heavy leg over both of yours.

his usual cologne fills your nose, rubbing off on your skin like some sort of subliminal claim, and he notices the way your breath hitches, wills you not to say a single word out loud, something you manage to pick up on with the way that he's still so tense.

because he can't help it. he can't muffle all these doubts running through his head, wondering if this is okay, (as if he's ever felt the need to clarify boundaries with anyone - sukuna ryomen didn't do reassurance, he didn't do hesitation), trying to see if you were already planning to shove him off and tell him he's ruined the friendship he'd tried so hard to keep with you by being too fucking clingy and pathetic and-

...

your fingers sift through soft, pink spikes, nails scratching his scalp at the base of his head lightly, and it's like a switch has been flipped. crimson eyes fly open, noting the way you don't show a shred of acknowledgement for what you're doing to him, like this is a normal practice between you both, your eyes trained on your phone, thumbing through your emails while every muscle in his body screams to just run fucking run because this is getting too real-

-but eventually he's putty in your hands, indulging in your warmth, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your body fits every hard edge of his front like you'd been made for him.

or maybe it's the other way around. maybe he was made for you. that was more likely, sukuna thinks. it'll explain the hole in his chest when he tries to fill it with someone else.

his entire weight settles half on top of you, and politely, you shut up about how he's practically breaking your ribs, because his breathing has grown heavier, and his eyes aren't closed and playing at faux domesticity. they're half-lidded, slipping shut and being forced open manually, like the sound and feeling of your breaths hitting the crown of his head is the sweetest lullaby he's ever known.

his breathing evens, his breaths escaping his mouth in little puffs. there's something innocent about the way his usual frown melts into a peaceful expression. all for you. a devious idea forms in your head, and a quiet chuckle manages to find it's way past your lips. you click to your camera. one snapshot is all it takes.

sukuna was never one for gift-giving.

but he's given you about fifty years of blackmail in one picture.

you pray he never finds out.

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚a/n: i hope you enjoyed the fic!! once again, i'm thinking of doing a part 2, so let me know if you'd be interested in that hehe! any requests or tips are also more than welcome (sorry if he's a little bit ooc gulp)! have a good time wherever you are <3

there's that familiar, sickly-sweet scent of cheap perfume that fills his nose when he turns his head and presses his face into the curve of her neck: too flowery, too feminine, like someone's taken all the sugar in the world and blended it with the tortured soul of a rose garden.

"ah!..right there right there! oh fuck, suku-"

"didn't i just tell you to shut the fuck up?" he hisses it out, head snapping up from her shoulder, hand coming up to grip at her jaw, bucking his hips up and grunting when his mushroom tip buries itself back into gummy walls, splitting her open, watching as her surprised expression smooths into one of unadulterated ecstasy.

sukuna lets go of her face like her skin physically burns him, and he focuses on anything else, the way her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, stinging just enough to keep his mind on the task at hand, how she's straddling him in the backseat of his car, riding him like he's some sort of war horse.

his head is back down on her shoulder, watching her tits bounce as he jackhammers up into her, cunt drooling into his lap, getting into the fabric of his seat, filling him with yet another sensation of disgust - one he tamps down.

but he can't help the fact that he wants to throw her off of him, wants to get her the fuck out of his car so she can stop running her hands up and down his tattoos like that does anything for him, wants this chick to stop stroking his fucking hair-

he takes a long, deep breath to calm himself down (which is hard to do, considering the circumstances), one breath in - one breath out - one breathe in-

and there it is. that underlying scent that he can't quite seem to place. or rather, one that he tries to convince himself he doesn't recognise all too well.

vanilla. the tiniest note of it underneath that bile-inducing concoction people call a perfume. something flashes across his eyes, a room - your room - and sukuna, curled up against you, tucked into your side and breathing against your neck.

his breathing hitches, and suddenly his cock is a lot harder than it used to be, all the blood going from his head straight to his achingly long shaft, and sukuna's eyes slip shut as his thrusts shallow, drawing this out - because suddenly it's not just some girl he's having sex with, it's you.

you above him, rolling your hips and trying to muffle your moans into his hair, your fingers sinking their nails into his skin, dragging down his chest, your cunt he's pushing his cock into, kissing your cervix with every sloppy push.

the atmosphere changes. the girl on his lap notices it, too. she starts to think she's doing something right, getting to him, finally. so she swallows her moans, puts it down to the fact that he's a quiet guy, so he must like quiet sex, too.

her hips meet every snap of his, undeniably willing to adhere to everything his body demands of her, and sukuna's biting back his groans, cursing under his breath, eyes screwed shut and thinking about you, you, you-

"holy fuckin' shit-" he chokes, slamming her down and forcing sobbed mewls past her lips, uncaring of the fact that he's being too rough, your name forming on his tongue, muttered into the curve of her neck like a confession meant only for him and his heart, too reckless, and he's so close to just cumming inside of you-

"nngh! 'kuna! 'kuna 'm gonna-" a shrill voice snaps him out of his fantasy, and sukuna's eyes flash open, every muscle in her tensing above him as the girl gushes all over his cock, a full body shudder rippling through her from head to toe as she fucks herself dry on his dick, chasing after her orgasm like she'd die without it.

he heaves, breathing heavily as vermilion eyes narrow at the sight. there's no pleasure in his gaze, no actual lust that takes a hold of him. he's still hard, still buzzing with the need to finish, but all motivation had seeped out of him, hips stilling with no desire to chase after the same pleasure because it just wasn't with you.

and it disgusts him, it really does. but he can't tell what disgusts him more - the fact that he's too proud to just tell you, or the fact that this girl is still on his lap, looking down at him all doe-eyed and vulnerable.

she cups both sides of his face, breath fanning over his skin as she offers him a warm smile, like it's some sort of olive branch between them.

her thumb brushes the bruised corner of his lip, cut still healing from his fight with satoru a week ago, and his hand flies up, gripping her wrist in a steely, iron fist, brows furrowing.

she takes no notice of it (and doesn't think about how five seconds ago, he'd just whispered another name into her skin, chooses to push it down and pray she doesn't burst into tears).

"that was…" she blushes, and sukuna feels ill, "that was really good."

silence fills the cramped space of the car, stretching out for so long that he can't even think of anything to say, doesn't even try to muster up the effort to properly respond to her.

it unsettles her. he doesn't care.

"do you want me to finish you off?" she whispers, leaning forward as if to tease. her smile doesn't reach her eyes, fingers curling around nothing as he lets go of her wrist, and the hand on his face trembles just slightly. her eyes turn a little watery. both of them know what comes next.

"get the fuck outta my car."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"come outside."

you're half-asleep still, hair messed up, limbs tangled within messy bedsheets, your phone pressed drowsily against your ear as you try to decipher the rough drawl of sukuna's voice on the other end, squinting as you sit up and peer through the closed blinds of your window.

as expected, his car is outside of your building, sleek and obnoxious, but a familiar sight.

"you're kidding." you mutter into the phone, taking a deep breath to avoid hanging up and going back to sleep. the jarring sound of your ringtone had jolted you out of a very refreshing nap, and you were more than a little inclined to just give up and bury your face back into your pillow.

"you can't come up? you know how much i hate having to leave my bed, ryomen, do you honestly think i can be bothered to go outsi-"

your name is grunted into the phone, sounding out over your speaker like a hushed prayer, and you stop speaking, brows furrowing. he sounds…upset.

"just…come outside." you can imagine how he's sat in the driver's seat from the tone of his voice - stiff and gripping the steering wheel in one hand, his phone in the other, pressed firmly against his ear, lips down-turned, that same wrinkle between his eyebrows, "i, uh," he clears his throat, rough, awkward, "i need ya."

something inside of your cold, guarded heart softens, and you remove your phone from your ear so that he doesn't hear the harrowing sigh you let out, shutting your eyes and muttering a few colourful words under your breath as you throw off your covers.

"fine. fine." you hum into the phone, already standing, opening the doors to your closet and rifling through, "are we just sitting around or are you dragging me somewhere?"

"ain't goin' nowhere, babe. 's just us."

you make a noise of acknowledgement, deciding lazily that you couldn't be bothered to change out of your current clothes (he's seen you in worse states - like that time choso handed you a blunt for the first time ever, and you smoked all of it before anyone could find and stop you - sticking to cigarettes seemed a lot more appealing after that), shouldering on a thick coat to keep out the bitter wind.

you hear him shift impatiently on the other end of the line, grumbling a restless, "hurry the hell up." into your ear.

"patience is a virtue, ryomen. i'll be down, yeah? sit tight, princess, i'll see you soon."

you hear him snort out a chuckle, warmth blossoming inside of your chest, smiling to yourself, and you're just about to hang up when he calls your name again, timid, almost.

"yeah?" you answer, voice equally as tender.

"bring that bottle of perfume." he hears you pause, hears the silence thicken even through the phone. "don't…don't say anythin' about this shit, 'kay? i don't wanna hear it, just bring it down with ya. you know the one."

he hangs up before you can answer, and for the next minute you're gaping at the blank phone screen, confused as to why he would ever need your perfume, stuffing your phone into the front pocket of your sweats.

you survey the surface of your desk to find that sleek bottle of your signature scent, shoving it down the pocket of your coat before you can forget.

then, it's all smooth sailing - you've made yourself look a little bit more presentable, hands running through your hair to tame it, grabbing your keys and stepping outside. the casual noise of your door being locked shut fills you with a sense of security, and while you still miss your bed, it's nice to get out.

…

sukuna can't help but glare out of the front window of his car, both hands planted on the steering wheel, white-knuckled as he stares ahead. it's so quiet that he can hear the faint click! of each hand in his watch, counting the minutes, the seconds, before he can see you again.

leather creaks beneath his palms, tattooed black lines rippling across the backs of his knuckles as he flexes his hands.

you're taking too long. what if you'd changed your mind? what if your sorry ass went straight back to bed after calling him? you probably thought he was a freak, asking for the bottle of perfume.

he wrinkled his nose. he really hopes you've brought it down with you, nonetheless. there's still that god-awful smell haunting him, saccharine and horrendous. he'd spent almost an hour trying to get it out, he'd even left his car out in the open with the windows down to try and thin it's potency.

it did work, admittedly, but not as well as he'd wanted it to. it refused to leave his skin, following him into his room, into his shower, fused into the skin of his hands like a brand, a vicious reminder that he'd touched skin that should have been yours.

(he'd used those same hands to rub one out to the thought of you in the driver's seat of his car, too desperate to even make it into his dorm, minutes after forcing that girl out, just to have some pathetic excuse to think about you, to see you again behind his eyelids.

he'll lie to himself and say that this attraction is skin-deep, that there's only one way to be inside of someone, and that's with his cock and not his heart. he'll pretend that he doesn't get off to the memory of your fingers rubbing his scalp, cushioning his cheek as he sleeps against you.

would you still let him in if he told you what he'd done?

if he turned around and walked far, far away from you right now, would it stop him from grunting your name into the necks of other girls? sukuna knows he can't shake you, and he knows he doesn't want to. you'd follow after him, anyway. there's no escaping you.)

guilt swallows him whole. you don't deserve this - some guy as rough as he is, pining after you. he hasn't met anyone so complex and deep in his entire life, but these days it's all that he looks for in others.

he's not a good guy, and he's not got a history of trying to be. sukuna's real fucked up on the inside, and what's worse is that you know, you see it when everyone else skips past the evidence, you notice it when his hands curl into fists the minute somebody gets too familiar with him, how his eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen under disapproving gazes.

you've never deserved this - all that waiting until he messes up again and starts another fight, preparing for the sound of knocks on your door with a first-aid kit in hand. no one deserves that. sukuna stands for a wreckage even he can't control, and now he suddenly has the gall to ask something from you? a fucking keepsake? for what?

the answer is right there. in the palm of his hands where that smell won't leave him alone.

it's to cleanse him. you are his redemption, his idol. he'll use the scent of you to lull his troubled mind into placid slumber, spritzing it on the silk of his pillow - there's not a puff of air that he breathes where it's not in your name. he'll cover up the damage of his sins with your hands on his face, keeping him together.

he'll use that perfume to baptise himself innocent.

"fuck." he snarls, voice cracking, forcing his hands off of the wheel and leaning back, head against the seat as he stares at the roof of his car, eyes closing, stewing in that nectareous smell, his mouth dry. every epiphany comes to him like a punch to the gut when it's about you.

silence ensues, save for the faint rustling of his jacket as he sticks his hand into the inside pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. he shakes one out, placing it in the corner of his mouth and hissing as it grazes the bruised cut gojo had given him a week prior.

sukuna swallows thickly, hands stilling as he remembers that fight - the one where he'd dropped everything afterwards just to see you.

he continues with his cigarette, rolling down his window after lighting up the end of the stick, taking a deep breath in. smoke fills his mouth, sliding into his lungs, coaxing him into a more relaxed state. he remembers your hands, touching him, fingers brushing against his lower lip, soft as flower petals.

slowly, he takes the stick from his mouth, blowing out smoke and watching grey tendrils idly curl out of his car window, some of the noise quietening inside of his head. slowly, his hand slips into his inside pocket yet again, feeling the weight of his lighter and the cigarettes, but searching for something more important:

a joint.

after taking a shower and trying his best not to combust on the spot, it was either get high and try to forget what he'd done that morning, or go and beat the crap out of gojo again (or have gojo beat the crap out of him). obviously, he'd chosen the milder option. the one you would have wanted him to pick.

sukuna takes another drag of his cigarette, brows furrowing.

("you aren't smoking this with her, are you?" choso raises an eyebrow, eyeing sukuna's towering form while he rolls the joint for him, along with a couple of others, cross-legged on the floor like this is just another saturday.

sukuna scowls at him, "what's it to you?"

a shrug is all he gets from choso, followed by a sympathetic look that's five seconds away from being slapped off his face by sukuna himself, "just…you remember how she was last time, right? i've seen worse but, man, she wasn't in a good place."

there's the smallest of pauses, before choso hands him the blunts in a small bag, and he gives sukuna a smirk, "i know you enjoyed it, though, bein' her knight in shinin' armour and everything."

"watch your fuckin' mouth, kamo." sukuna snarls, snatching the tiny plastic bag from the man's outstretched hand, brow wrinkling in disdain as choso holds his hands up in feigned surrender, chuckling softly.

"hey, can't blame you, man. 's just… it's good to see you be a little softer. even if it's only around her.")

softer. yeah right. sukuna ryomen didn't do soft. he doesn't do any of that sleazy shit, and he certainly doesn't do it for stubborn, smart-mouthed, fun-sized brats like you.

knock! knock!

he jumps out of his skin when you're suddenly outside of his passenger door, flinching like an abused dog when he's interrupted out of his little smoke break, and you watch as his eyes widen, one of them twitching in a dangerous tell of irritation, before recognition settles over his features instead.

you open the door and sidle in, wrinkling your nose almost immediately, an odour of sugar and smoke making itself known, "jeez," you mutter, stuffing your hand into your coat pocket and pulling out your perfume bottle, half filled with a liquid that sloshes about in a crystalline prison as you throw it into his lap, "why does it smell like a disney princess died in here?"

he coughs, heart racing, giving you a half-hearted shrug before picking up your perfume and stuffing it into his inside pocket, alongside the packet of cigarettes and lighter. the blunts feel heavy against his chest, "thanks."

"no problem." you murmur, watching it disappear. you want to ask him why he wants it so badly, but the atmosphere between you both tells you that now is not the time.

neither of you say anything, and being honest, neither of you want to. it's always the same thing between you, you've come to accept the reticence like a second home, and so has he.

leaning back into the passenger seat, you get comfortable, blinking sleepily out of your window while he smokes. this isn't the first time he's called you out to do absolutely nothing. you know it won't be the last. sukuna likes to keep you around.

("you clear the air." he'd scoffed when you'd confronted him once, your hands on your hips as you stood in the middle of his room, bored out of your mind.

"i clear the air." you repeat, shaking your head, not quite taking it for an answer, and he glowers at you, running his tongue over his front, top teeth to refrain from telling you to shut up and deal with it.

"yeah." he bites out, "you make shit quiet, gimme room to think inside of this big head o'mine." he taps his temple with his pointer finger, before pushing it between your furrowed eyebrows to smooth out the crease, "if you gotta problem with that, leave, but that don't mean 'm not followin' ya."

your hand comes up to slap his finger away with a roll of your eyes, "following me defeats the whole purpose of walking away from you, ryomen."

he smirks, pats the side of your face with a big, rough palm, his hand large enough to cup your cheek and jaw easily, and lowers his face so that it's closer to yours. it's one of the few times where he actually has the courage to flirt with you a little, and you know it's the mark of a good day when he teases instead of snaps.

you lean away from him, but his hand keeps you firm, you struggle not to glance at his lips. he smells like smoke and tom ford cologne, voice a low rasp that hints at something deeper. "i'd follow ya anywhere for a bit of peace, babe.")

mercifully, your presence does satiate his inner turmoil, just a little. the weight of your perfume bottle in his pocket is like an anchor, grounding him to safety, and you haven't asked a single proper question about it. that's good. he doesn't want to admit that he's in need of something so trivial.

however, having you here - sat so close beside him, your elbows brushing on the armrest between you both as you simultaneously lounge and enjoy the atmospheric buzz of cars driving by on the road - feels like a waste of your time, and he dreads the day that you realise that that's all he is, all he'll ever be: a waste of your time.

…

you're just about to ask him for a pull of his cigarette (having been eyeing it for the past five minutes after becoming bored of reminiscing - it is not a nicotine addiction, you only smoke socially) when sukuna grunts and throws it out of the window (unaware of how your body deflates like a balloon from sheer disappointment).

you wait for him to speak, eyes pausing on the thoughtful curve of his brow, staring at his temple. there's still that cut, angry in its healing, puckered skin raised along an inch of split flesh. it'll definitely scar. sukuna shifts, pursing his lips, pressing them into a thin line. one of his hands presses over something inside his jacket.

he's obviously made his mind up on something, because his tongue clicks, and he's meeting your stare.

"smoke a blunt with me." it's a command. soulfully firm, like he'd carved out this idea into the skin of fate itself.

you frown at him. "what-? no! fuck no. no." you hold up your hands, nervous laughter spilling past your lips and fuck he wants to kiss all of it out of you. he stares at your mouth for a little too long, sucking on the inside of his cheek to push down the unbearable urge to leap over and jump your bones.

"i can't do it. you know i can't, ryomen. i mean, shit, the last time i tried it i-"

"greened out." he finishes for you, scoffing. "i know, babe. 's hard to forget, considerin' i was there."

"yeah, well." you shrug, lower lip jutting out slightly as you curl in on yourself, packing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. "it was embarrassing. i don't wanna put you through that again."

"nothin' to be embarrassed about, babe." there's the smallest movement of his arm reaching inside his pocket, and suddenly a neatly rolled joint is held between his forefinger and thumb, a bridge between the both of you.

you inspect it with a wary expression. he absolutely adores that downward tilt of your lips. "it'll be good this time." he whispers, "'cause it's jus' me and you, yeah? there ain't no-one else on this earth but us."

us. when was the last time he'd ever said that word and meant it? sukuna can't remember the first time he'd ever been selfless enough to even consider an 'us', let alone be the first one to say it out loud, to offer it.

you're biting on your lower lip, every feature lined with trepidation, but sukuna knows you'll say yes. he knows just how to get to you. and so it comes:

"fine."

"atta girl." he smiles, and for once it's a genuine one - there's no smug pride in being the one to convince you, no mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulls out his lighter and fires up the end of the spliff like it's second nature.

the grassy aroma of weed fills the space between you both, and you're glad for his open window because the smell has never been your favourite, but it's better than the sickeningly honeyed mix of smoke and dying roses.

it's refreshing to see him so chilled out. your eyes linger on the way his cheeks hollow as he takes a long, beautiful pull, soaking up the bitter taste. he coughs once, twice, before clearing his throat with a pleased growl, grinning from ear to ear as he blows out a plume of smoke.

"fuck yeah, that's that good shit." he coughs into his fist, handing it over to you, fingers grazing against yours as you take it between your forefinger and thumb. you hesitate. he notices and nudges your arm with his elbow, "come on, pretty, get it down."

reluctantly, you put it into your mouth. he watches you wrap your lips around where his had just been, taking a deep breath in..

that same, acrid taste fills your tongue as you take a hit, rolling over your taste buds, but somehow you hold down the coughing fit that threatens to overcome you, eyes watering as you pluck the joint from your mouth and stare at it between your fingers, breathing out the smoke. you wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as you hand it back to him, smiling sheepishly, "still tastes like ass."

sukuna laughs, loud and clear and wonderful - you take the time to admire the dimples forming in his cheeks on either side of his mouth while he does so, following the curve of his lips to that bruise by the corner. your fingers twitch to touch it.

his eyes wrinkle at the corners when he takes the blunt from you, and it's a back and forth motion of passing and taking and passing again, repeated until he's forced to throw it out of the window, giving it the same treatment his cigarette had received twenty minutes ago.

both of you feel lighter, a little more airy, weighed down a little less by the world around you. in that moment, that small pocket of time, it's just you and him and nothing else outside of the comfort of his car.

you're all giggles whenever you're prompted to speak, and he either asks or answers you with the same, rough drawl he usually replies with, albeit it's a tad deeper and more slurred.

neither of you break eye contact - nothing else is worth looking at. his sentences come and go, not really having a point to them, sometimes he just talks for the sake of talking, until eventually, a quiet settles like fog between you.

you lean your cheek against the headrest, and he thinks you look divine beneath the streetlight filtering through his windows, illuminating every edge of your face with an intimate, orange glow.

it's then when you notice how dilated his pupils are, black swallowing crimson as he stares straight at you. a giggle bubbles out of you into the cool, cloudy air.

"what's this about, ryomen?" it's spoken quiet, barely above a whisper, and it's ironic because you've had this exact same conversation a million times before, in a thousand separate lifetimes, but he chuckles right along with you, powerless in his plight to muster up the strength to look away.

"'s nothin'." he mumbles back. "'s just…there ain't no one better than you, babe."

"mm." you nod silently. red tinges the corners of your eyes in the same way it tinges his, but it's exhilarating, just sitting here, talking with him like nobody else matters to him except you. "that why you asked for my perfume, ryomen?" you probe, smirking at him, "you a fan?"

"oh, big fan of you, babe." he chuckles, "big," his eyes fall to your lips, "big fan."

your breath hitches, and the smirk melts off of your face and into a delicate flush that decorates your cheeks, barely visible under the streetlight. an amused huff is let out of you, eyes dropping down to your lap.

he watches you look away, watches you tilt your head from facing his, and bites down the simmering disappointment rising like vomit in his throat. sukuna drums his fingers against the steering wheel, wetting his lips with his tongue as he tries to form a coherent sentence.

"you know i- uh- there's nothing i wouldn't- fuck." he hisses. he can't do this. won't do this. and he's already running a hand down his face, ready to either say something mean or crack one more joke, when he risks another glimpse at you.

and there you are. just…smiling. enough so that it reaches your eyes and makes them sparkle, gazing at him. it undoes the knot in his chest.

it loosens up his tongue, too, for some unknown reason. a thousand things are milliseconds away from spilling into the air, running loops around his head like some sort of comedic halo, but all that he can manage to say is-

(i love you. i'm sorry i keep whispering your name while having sex with other girls. i love you. i keep thinking about your hands in my hair. i love you. i'm using your perfume to make my pillow smell like you. i love you. i-)

-"i can't sleep without you." he rasps.

"i know." the words breathe out of you like you've been waiting to say them. maybe you have. maybe you've noticed his readiness to sleep over one too many times, or the way the circles under his eyes darken when you never offer a night spent at yours.

"'s why i asked for the perfume."

"mhm."

"i-" (i wish you loved me. i love you.)

he feels like he's about to explode. a lump forms in his throat, and he swears that invisible barbed wires are slowly wrapping around his neck, tightening. when he swallows, his mouth is drier than ever.

"i want you to need me." he whispers.

your breath catches, and the smile on your lips moves with the slightest tremble.

maybe it's the weed. maybe it's the air suddenly aching between you. but your voice is small - the smallest he's ever heard it - and it's weak when you push the words off of your tongue:

"who says i don't need you, ryo?"

holy. shit.

his tongue turns heavy, rendering him speechless, eyes wide and staring gormlessly at you as though you've just spouted a riddle and asked him to give you the right answer.

a mixture of emotions churn in his gut, relief and desire clouding his senses, letting his surroundings bleed away until it's only you sat beside him, breathing, watching him with those red-rimmed eyes and that teary gaze, like the notion of you ever not needing him pains you just as much as it does him.

then regret joins the party, blending with the rest of his feelings until it feels like he's swallowed a stone - he shouldn't have confessed anything to you, not like this, while you were both high and had an excuse - a way out.

sukuna knows he'll use it - that escape that the weed gives him. if you try to take it any further, he'll panic and blame it on the blunt. you know it, too. what stuns you the most, though, is when he squirms in his seat, the rustle of his clothes piercing through the air as he takes a deep breath in.

"lemme walk you back up."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you wouldn't call it a particularly awkward walk back to your dorm, simply…noiseless.

sukuna seemed to flinch every time your shoulder happened to brush against his arm, always a step behind you, steeping in the silence like he was being paid to shut his mouth. strangely, he wasn't tense - his shoulders sagging under the silhouette of his jacket, watching the backs of your heels.

the jingling of keys snaps him out of the silence, eyes filled with something you can't recognise.

the cold air walking from the car to your apartment building seems to have sobered both of you up - there's a more solemn atmosphere between you, resigned in the most innocent way possible. your door creaks open, and he does nothing.

"you coming inside?" you step into your room, turning. you wait. that's all you ever seem to be doing these days. you just can't put your finger on why you're doing it for him.

for a moment, you think he's about to say yes, the wrinkle between his brows smoothing out as his gaze flickers into your room, pausing when it reaches your bed, tracing the messy shape of your sheets thrown haphazardly over the mattress, mouth twitching as he trails his line of vision up to your pillow, complete with the faintest outline of where your head had rested on hours earlier.

he wants to. you know he does. he knows he does.

so why is he shaking his head?

"nah, babe." he mutters, "think 'm gonna go for a walk. jus' to clear the air. get some quiet."

"right." you sound disappointed. he wants to tear his hair out for making you feel that way. "are you sure?"

he swallows. "yeah."

you nod. once. "alright."

he turns on his heel, almost eager to get out from under your gentle eyes, half suffocating under the guilt of it all. he's already thinking about the girl a few blocks down. the one with hair that looks like yours. she'd be easier to handle than the actual thing.

"ryomen."

he freezes, heart pounding, all six foot four of him immediately stopping in his tracks - you could almost pinpoint the exact moment all of his muscles stiffen under the hesitant lilt of your voice.

sukuna doesn't move. doesn't say anything. doesn't even do so much as breathe when he feels a much smaller hand wrap around his bicep, guiding him around just to face you - beautiful, wonderful, fantastic you - leaning in, lashes fluttering as you roll up onto the tips of your toes, nose brushing against his cheek just slightly and jesus christ he's must be dreaming-

he melts the minute your mouth, warm and so fucking soft, presses against his, your scent (that gorgeous note of vanilla) filling his nose, eyelids sliding shut, barely breathing, modestly tilting his head down against yours, savouring this. there's no denying it any more - sukuna ryomen's gone insane.

he'd been a goner months ago, developing a heart that beats and blossoms with the silliest and softest of feelings when your lips are against his, bleeding into every fibre of his soul. a canorous ringing stifles the buzz of weed and adrenaline running through his bloodstream, and it's almost like he can hear everything click into place.

because kissing you feels right. it feels like the most innocent thing he's ever done.

it's not nearly close to the heated, lustful, soul-sucking kisses that he's used to. with you, it's chaste, barely lasting for more than a few seconds before you're pulling away again, ignoring the disapproving grunt he can't help but let out, the skin between his brows wrinkling, following the movement of your face leaning back before accepting defeat.

red dusts along his cheeks, staining the tips of his ears as his lips part, and he finally allows himself the slightest inhale in an outright refusal to pass out (from a peck on the lips, no less). you smile, reaching up to lightly pinch the skin of his cheek between your fingers before stepping back.

"goodnight, ryomen." you send him a small wave as you reach your door, "i hope you find that quiet."

and you're gone. separated by a fucking wall.

he gapes, mind screeching to an emergency stop as he tries (and fails - miserably) to collect his dignity. you kissed him. he kissed you. he's crouching suddenly, the world spinning relentlessly around him as his hand claws over his heart before he can process anything else.

"fuck." he chokes, "fuck. fuck. fuck!"

taking a shuddering breath in, sukuna runs a hand down his face, this entire thing is eating him up alive. you're quite literally only six feet away from him and he can't rally enough bravery to knock on your door and kiss you senseless.

slowly, he stands again, blood roaring in his ears. he won't find that quiet. not really. he pushes it down with the rest of the truth and prays it doesn't bubble back up again, forcing one foot to move after the other, heading three blocks down, away from your apartment building.

there'll be no quiet with that girl he's heading towards. he's aware of that. there's nothing waiting for him except the sound of a bed creaking and smothered moans.

he won't know peace again unless it's with you.

sukuna keeps walking.

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚a/n: gulp ok so before you yell at me for the ending I'M SORRY - I WILL THINK ABOUT A PART THREE AS AN APOLOGY FOR THE (SORT-OF) CLIFFHANGER (let me know if it's actually needed tho)

personally i'm not such a big fan of this fic, but that might just be the fear that it won't do as well as the first part sob - i do realllyyy love soft!kuna, though, so i powered through for myself and everyone asking for a part two! hope you liked it!!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚another a/n: i've also started a tag list! feel free to ask to be put on (or taken off) hehehe