#shiu

boxer sukuna has got that heavy presence, the type that makes crowds go silent the second he steps up. four scars carved across his face (everyone’s got theories on where they came from) and heaps of tattoos dancing across his skin.

rumors say boxer sukuna used to fight in the official circuit but got banned for being “too violent.” another says he killed a man mid-match. no one knows the truth — shiu keeps his record sealed tighter than a vault.

boxer sukuna reputation is just brutality in motion.

boxer sukuna boxing style is just calculated chaos.

boxer sukuna is not just a brawler — he studies his opponents like prey. the way they breathe, the twitch before a hook, the rhythm of their panic.

his circle is tight. too tight.

shiu is his manager — quiet, no-nonsense, handles the deals, fixes the matchups, keeps boxer sukuna from destroying people outside the ring. a cigarette always hanging from his mouth, half-burnt.

boxer gojo, the loudmouth showman — fights like it’s a spectacle. charming, cocky, annoys the hell out of boxer sukuna. but he’s the only one boxer sukuna grudgingly respects for his skill.

boxer geto, calm and collected — the tactician. his fights are like poetry, clean and elegant, and he’s the only one who doesn’t flinch when boxer sukuna stares too long... rather just smirks

boxer toji, the brute — a man built from raw power and violence. he and boxer sukuna have fought more than three times, each match ending in blood and cracked ribs, never a clear winner.

boxer choso, quiet but relentless. new to the underground but already earning respect. rumour has it that he's actually a plug but only does boxing as a side job. also boxer sukuna brother yet no one confirms it.

and then there’s you — the medic. you don’t fight, but you’ve seen more blood than any of them. patching up cuts, stitching open wounds, resetting broken fingers with steady hands and sharp eyes. you work in the dim backroom that smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and sweat — the unofficial infirmary of the underground.

the fighters respect you, even fear you a little — not because you’re harsh, but because you never flinch. you’ve seen boxer sukuna vomit blood while wiping his bloody knuckles, boxer gojo multiple broken bones,boxer toji cracked ribs, and boxer geto dislocated shoulder — all in one night — and didn’t even blink.

you’re the one they trust when things go south.

the first time boxer sukuna came to you, he didn’t say a word. shiu brought him in after a particularly brutal match. boxer sukuna jaw was split, blood running down his chin, knuckles shredded raw.

you told him to sit.

he didn’t.

so you grabbed his chin — firmly — and said,

“i’m not asking im telling you to sit.”

something flickered in his eyes. amusement, interest… maybe hunger.

boxer sukuna eventually sat down.

and as you cleaned the blood off his face, boxer sukuna gaze never left you.

you told him to stop staring.

and of course he didn’t.

it became a routine. after every fight — no matter how bad or how clean — boxer sukuna always came to you.

sometimes he’d have shiu call ahead, sometimes boxer sukuna would just show up unannounced, blood still drying on his chest.

boxer sukuna would sit on the cold metal bed, arms crossed, smirking when you scolded him for not disinfecting his cuts.

“you like seeing me like this, don’t you?”

“i like you when you're alive not dying on my bed.”

“hm. same thing.”

and maybe you hate that your heart always beats faster when he says things like that.

the others would start to notice.

boxer gojo teases mercilessly. “oh? sukuna’s bleeding again? must be desperate to see little miss nurse y/n, huh?”

boxer geto just shakes his head, half-smiling.

boxer toji would smirk and start lingering around you just to rile boxer sukuna up.

boxer choso just watches the two of you quietly, a bit concerned but not surprised.

shiu? he says nothing. but the slight smirk when he catches you cleaning sukuna’s gloves says he knows everything.

the tension simmers for weeks. you’re always in his space — hands on his skin, cleaning wounds, patching bruises — and boxer sukuna is always watching you like you’re something worth breaking and worshiping.

once, your hand brushed boxer sukuna throat while wiping off blood, and he leaned forward just slightly — close enough for your breath to mix — before you pulled away.

“careful,” you murmured. “of what?” “me.” “too late for that.”

the night it breaks after a brutal match with toji — both men half-dead, crowd screaming — boxer sukuna comes to you trying to cover the fact he's limping, blood dripping onto the concrete.

you’re furious. “you should be in the hospital taken care of.”

boxer sukuna laughs, hoarse. “you are my hospital and you already take care of me.”

you patch boxer sukuna up in silence, but your hands tremble. his breathing is shallow, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the room.

and when you tell boxer sukuna to stop fighting like he has a death wish, he looks at you like it’s the first time anyone’s cared.

“you don’t get it,” he says quietly. “fighting’s the only time i feel alive.” “then let me give you another reason to live properly.”

and it’s quiet for a second — before he leans in, and you feel his forehead rest against yours. no kiss, no words. just raw, unspoken heat.

boxer sukuna starts showing up even when he’s not hurt. pretending he “needs a check-up.” leaning on the counter just to make you roll your eyes.

you let him — because beneath all the scars, boxer sukuna is softer with you. not gentle, exactly, but real.

you’re the only one who sees boxer sukuna without the gloves, without the roar of the crowd. the only one who gets the version that sits quietly, breathing slow, watching you bandage his knuckles like you’re holding something holy.

and maybe, just maybe —

in this underground world of blood, violence, and smoke — you and boxer sukuna find something that feels a little like peace. not clean.

not pretty.