sukubusss

[sukubusss]

we were just one breath too late. . .

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. what’s the worst thing someone could say to you before you die? “i don’t want to see you again. . .” is that worse enough? will they feel guilty? sorry? or relief? maybe your boyfriend can answer that. . . maybe not.

wn. non-sorcerer au, angst no comfort, themes of death, fatal accidents, emotional and verbal arguments, intense grief, survivor’s guilt, and heavy angst. it includes depictions of emotional trauma, blood, physical injury, and reunion in the afterlife. there are also mentions of alcohol use, self-blame, and spiritual imagery. reader discretion is advised.

GOJO SATORU

it started like every other argument.

small.

stupid.

avoidable.

but tonight, something inside both of you snapped.

you stood under a streetlight, the flickering bulb overhead casting harsh shadows on gojo’s sharp features. the city buzzed around you — car horns, footsteps, laughter in the distance — but between you two, it was silent. thick. suffocating.

“you forgot again,” you said quietly, arms folded across your chest. “my presentation. i told you about it three times. you promised you'd come.” gojo tilted his head back with a heavy sigh. he looked tired. not just physically — but in the bones, in the heart. “i got caught up at work,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “it was one meeting after another—”

“you always get caught up!” your voice cracked. “it’s always ‘meetings’ or ‘clients’ or some emergency that somehow always matters more than me.”

he flinched. “that’s not fair.”

“no, what’s not fair is being in love with someone who’s never here!” you shouted, tears brimming at your lashes. “i come home to an empty apartment. i fall asleep alone. i eat dinner alone. i show up to events alone. i’m starting to forget what it feels like to be in a relationship, satoru.”

he looked at you like you had physically struck him. his mouth opened, then closed. then he laughed — not out of amusement, but disbelief. “you think i don’t feel like shit about it?” he said bitterly. “you think i like missing everything? i’m doing this for us, dammit! so we have a future—”

“a future doesn’t matter if there’s nothing left of us to share it with!” you screamed.

silence.

your chest heaved as your words hung in the air between you like shattered glass. “god,” gojo muttered, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t even know who i’m talking to anymore.”

you took a step back. “what the hell does that mean?”

he looked at you with eyes that had stopped shining. “you’re not the same. you’re not the girl i fell in love with.”

you went still.

your mouth parted, breath catching in your throat. “and you’re not the man i thought you were.”

he exhaled, long and low, like he’d been holding it for years. then he turned — really turned — like he was walking out of your life. “maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “maybe it’s better if we just stop pretending.”

then —

“i don’t want to see you again.”

you stood frozen, heart cracking open like a dam, pain gushing out too fast to stop. “don’t say that,” you begged. “satoru, don’t walk away. please—”

but he did.

without looking back.

and you, like an idiot, chased him. just one more step. one more call. one more plea to make him stop.

you never made it past the street.

the screech of tires.

a horn.

then nothing.

just blood. just broken bones. just cold

when gojo got the call, he laughed. he thought it was a sick joke. he even yelled at the nurse for wasting his time. then they said your name again, and it broke something in him. he drove faster than he ever had, broke every law just to get to the hospital. burst through the ER doors. his eyes scanned for you, desperate, deranged, refusing to believe—

“sir,” the nurse said gently, “she didn’t make it.”

his heart stopped.

he stumbled into the room where they kept your body, untouched, still, and when he pulled back the sheet—

he collapsed.

“no,” he whispered, gripping your cold hand. “no, no, no, no, no. this isn’t— this isn’t how it ends. wake up. baby, please—” he shook. sobbed. screamed into your chest like it would bring you back.

but you never breathed again.

six months later

he didn’t touch his apartment. not even your toothbrush. your shoes still sat by the door. your coffee mug still rested on the windowsill. your scent — faint but present — still haunted the sheets. he refused to let anyone clean anything.

he quit his job.

what was the point?

he started walking at night. hours and hours, mind blank, waiting for exhaustion to swallow him whole. he talked to you. out loud. sometimes on street corners. sometimes at the cemetery, where your grave sat covered in your favorite flowers. sometimes on the balcony, where you used to watch sunsets.

he stopped laughing.

stopped smiling.

stopped seeing color.

“i didn’t mean it,” he’d whisper to the wind, voice breaking. “i didn’t mean any of it. you were everything. i was just scared.”

he stopped answering friends.

he deleted your number, but memorized it anyway.

he called it sometimes, just to hear your voicemail.

“hey, it’s me,” he’d say to the beep, voice trembling. “i saw that commercial you liked. you would’ve laughed so hard. i— i miss you. i’m sorry. i’ll always be sorry.”

he kept a picture of you in his wallet.

folded, creased, worn from fingers that touched it every night. some days he’d imagine what life would’ve been if he just turned around that night. if he hadn’t said those words. if he had listened. if he had held you. if he had said sorry.

you haunted him.

not the ghost kind.

the kind that lingered in quiet moments.

in the smell of your shampoo.

in the old voice memos.

in the way his heart still reached for you, even now.

he never dated again. never loved again. never even tried. because you were the only person he ever wanted to see. and he’d told you he didn’t want to. and fate, cruel and exact, listened.

GETO SUGURU

the air was heavy with the smell of early rain and city smoke, the kind of evening that felt unfinished — like something was waiting to be said. you stood under the gray sky with your arms crossed tight to your chest, and suguru stood across from you with that tired, worn expression, like he was already bracing for the worst.

“you forgot again,” you murmured, barely louder than the hush of cars passing behind you. he blinked, slow and distant, like he hadn’t quite heard. “forgot what?” you looked away, jaw tight. “my art show. it was today. i waited for you.”

there was a pause — long enough to bruise.

“shit,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, “i thought that was next week.”

you laughed. hollow. sharp. “you always think it’s next week.”

he looked at you then, really looked — and for a moment, he looked ashamed. but the wall went back up too quickly. it always did with him. he was too good at protecting what hurt. “i’ve been swamped with work,” he said, like it explained everything. “you know that.”

you turned to face him fully, eyes glinting beneath the streetlight, damp lashes trembling. “you’re always working, suguru. always somewhere else. i feel like i’m dating your shadow.”

he exhaled hard, ran a hand through his dark hair, gaze falling to the pavement. “i’m doing my best. this job— it’s not easy.”

“neither is loving someone who’s never really here.”

those words hit something. you saw it flicker in his expression — that small crack in the foundation. he looked up slowly, his voice a little sharper now. “so what, you’re blaming me for trying to build something stable? for trying to give us a future?”

“what future?” you asked. “one where i’m always waiting and you’re never coming home?”

“don’t twist it.”

“i’m not twisting anything. i’m lonely, suguru. i miss you even when you’re in the room.”

he went still.

then he laughed — bitter, tired, wrong.

“maybe we’ve outgrown each other,” he said softly. you stared at him, stunned silent. his next words were a whisper, like he hated them as they left his mouth. “maybe we’re better apart.”

you took a step forward, your voice trembling like wind-blown glass. “you don’t mean that.” he met your eyes. and this time, there was no anger. only something worse — resignation.

“i think i do.”

you swallowed hard, breath catching. “say it, then. if you want this to end, say it.”

and so he did.

“i don’t want to see you again.”

your heart cracked like the world had tilted.

and just like that —

he turned his back to you.

and walked away.

and you, still so foolish in love, stepped forward. just one step. just one more call of his name— you never made it across. the screech of tires split the quiet. a scream. a sharp thud. and then only silence.

he didn’t cry right away. not at the hospital. not at the funeral. not even when he kissed your forehead for the last time and felt the coldness seep into his bones. but he cried three days later, standing in the kitchen with two mugs in his hands — one yours. instinct, maybe. or hope. but your lips would never touch that cup again, and he crumbled right there, on the floor, hands shaking.

the grief did not come all at once. it came in waves.

in the quiet.

in the morning light that poured through your empty side of the bed. in the sound of your laugh from a video he couldn’t bring himself to delete.

he lived like a ghost of himself.

quiet. strange. slower.

he started talking to you like you were still around. “morning,” he’d whisper to the air, brushing his fingers over your pillow. “i saw someone today who looked like you.”

“i keep thinking i’ll see you walking home with that lopsided tote bag.”

he kept your lipstick on the windowsill.

your earrings in a dish by the sink.

your jacket still hanging by the door.

people told him he needed to let go. he never listened. he went to work. did his job. smiled when needed. but something in him had been buried with you. he stopped writing music.

stopped painting.

stopped dreaming.

and every year on the day he lost you, he would sit on the sidewalk where it happened. a small bouquet. your name whispered like a prayer. eyes searching the sky, as if you might still be in the clouds, watching.

“i didn’t mean it,” he says to the wind, year after year. “those words. that moment. if i could trade places with you, i would.” his heart, once full of poems and possibility, now only echoes with what-ifs and empty promises.

and true to his word—

he never saw you again.

not in dreams.

not in visions.

not even in passing strangers.

because sometimes, the cruelest part of love is that we don’t get to choose our last words. we only live with the ones we never got to take back.

NANAMI KENTO

you stood outside the station, the rain coming down like broken glass, your bag slung over your shoulder, and your heart barely stitched together. nanami stood in front of you, tall and tired, the collar of his coat soaked at the edges, eyes dim with something he refused to let show.

“you didn’t call,” you said quietly, voice catching in your throat. “you promised you would.”

he looked at you, unblinking. “i was working.”

“you’re always working, kento.”

“i have to.”

“no, you choose to.” you hugged yourself tighter, knuckles pale. “you choose your job. your schedule. your clients. you don’t choose me.” his jaw twitched, and he looked away for a moment. “you know it’s not that simple.”

you took a step closer, rain seeping into your shoes. “then explain it to me. help me understand why loving me always comes second.” he sighed, deep and worn. “i’m not young like you. i don’t get to drop everything for romance. i have responsibilities. deadlines. expectations.”

“and what am i, nanami?” you asked, voice breaking. “a weekend hobby? a luxury you squeeze into your planner when there’s nothing left to do?”

his silence hurt more than any answer.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands trembling. “i waited for you at that little italian place. sat there like an idiot with a candle burning out.” he closed his eyes, rain dripping from his lashes. “i didn’t forget. i couldn’t leave the meeting. it was important.”

“more important than me?”

he didn’t answer.

and god, that was the answer.

“say it, kento. if you’re done, say it. if i’ve become another chore, say it and let me go.” he opened his mouth, hesitated—then, with a voice that cracked the world in two, “i don’t want to see you again.”

you flinched like he’d struck you.

he looked away. “you deserve someone with more time,” he added, quieter now. “someone who doesn’t disappoint you.” you shook your head slowly, eyes stinging. “but i don’t want someone else. i want you. even on your worst days. even when you’re tired. even when you forget.”

he turned his back.

and he walked away.

just like that. no final touch. no glance over the shoulder. and that’s when it happened.

you stepped off the curb too fast, still staring at the place where he used to be.

a shout.

a horn.

a metallic crash.

and the world blinked to white. they say it was instant. no pain. no time to speak. just silence and rain.

nanami got the call the next morning. his hands trembled, the receiver pressed too tightly to his ear. his coffee had gone cold on the table. he didn’t finish getting dressed that day.

at your funeral, he stood like stone. still. quiet. his eyes rimmed red, though no tears fell. he wasn’t the kind of man who cried where people could see. but he broke in the quiet. after that, everything dulled.

he went to work.

he ate his meals.

he paid his bills.

but he never bought another book. never returned to the coffee shop where you used to sit across from him, reading aloud the funny lines. never smiled without guilt biting at the edges. your number stayed in his phone. your toothbrush remained untouched. your side of the bed—cold. he would talk to you sometimes. in the mornings. in the silence. softly, like you might answer.

“you’d scold me for how much takeout i’m eating.”

“you always hated this tie.”

“i should’ve told you to wait. should’ve told you i didn’t mean it.”

his apartment became a museum of you. photos. receipts. your scarf on the coat hook. he couldn’t let go, because letting go meant accepting the truth. that his last words to you were a mistake. that he’d chosen work over love, and the cost was never seeing you smile again. he read the letter you left on the fridge a hundred times. “don’t forget about dinner tonight, love you.”

and he whispered to the quiet, every night before sleep—

“i’ll never forgive myself.”

because he didn’t just lose you. he buried the part of himself that believed love was enough. and true to his words, he never saw you again. not in dreams. not in crowds. not even in memory the way he wanted to.

only in the echo of your name, spoken too late, to the dark.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the city never really slept, not this side of it anyway.

it was almost midnight when you finally caught up to him — the sharp sound of your boots echoing through the back alley behind the bar, neon lights flickering against the wet pavement. his motorcycle stood parked just beyond the fence, engine still warm, helmet hooked on the handlebar like he hadn’t decided whether to leave or not.

he turned when he heard you, cigarette hanging from his lips, jaw clenched like he’d been waiting for this — or maybe dreading it.

“you said you’d stop disappearing like this,” you said, voice steady despite the storm in your chest. toji exhaled slow, smoke curling upward. “figured you’d be asleep by now.”

“you said you’d be back by dinner.”

“yeah, well. i didn’t wanna argue.”

“so you just don’t come home at all?”

you stepped closer, arms wrapped around yourself like armor. the scent of gasoline and cold air clung to him. his eyes, always sharp, softened for half a second before hardening again.

“you know how i am, baby.”

“no,” you said quietly. “i don’t. because you never let me in. you disappear, you fight, you come back like nothing happened, and i’m supposed to just… smile? play house?” he shifted his weight, grinding the cigarette under his heel. “you knew what you were getting into with me.”

“i thought i did,” you whispered. “but i didn’t know it’d hurt this much.”

toji looked away, jaw ticking. “you deserve better.”

“don’t say that.”

“it’s true.”

“then be better, toji!”

the words echoed into the night, your voice trembling with all the weight you couldn’t carry anymore. “i can’t,” he said, and it was the quietest you’d ever heard him. “i don’t got that in me.”

“you do. you just won’t let yourself have anything good. you think you ruin everything, so you leave before it happens.”

“maybe,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t crack your chest in half. “but if i stay, you’ll hate me anyway.”

“i’ll hate you if you leave,” you said.

“because you keep choosing the easy way out. and i’m always the one left bleeding.” he moved toward the bike then, reaching for the helmet, eyes not meeting yours. “i don’t want to see you again,” he said.

you froze.

“…what?”

“i said i don’t want to see you again,” he repeated, harsher now, like it was the only way he knew how to kill something softly. “it’s better for both of us.” you stood still, eyes stinging. “you don’t mean that.”

“yeah,” he said, slinging a leg over the seat, engine purring to life. “i do.”

he didn’t look back when he pulled away.

he didn’t see you run after him. he didn’t hear your voice break behind him. he just turned the corner, disappearing like smoke.

and that’s when it happened.

your breath hitched as the headlights blinded you — a car, fast, too fast —

tires screeched. a sickening thud. then silence. like the whole city held its breath. your body lay still on the pavement, your phone still clutched in your palm.

he found out an hour later.

sirens. flashing lights. a phone call from a stranger who found your emergency contact. he dropped the helmet. sprinted through red lights. blood on the concrete. your name already fading into past tense. he wasn’t allowed to see you at the hospital. not until you were already gone.

his hands shook. he hadn’t cried in years, but that night, he did — loud and ugly in the hallway, fist through drywall, the taste of iron in his mouth. he’d told you he didn’t want to see you again. and now he never would.

toji never went back to that alley again.

he avoided the bar. he stopped sleeping in the bed you once shared. your picture stayed folded in his wallet, worn at the edges from the way his thumb kept brushing it. he still kept your old hoodie — the one with the faded print on the front and your perfume in the sleeves. on some nights, he wore it to sleep.

he started carrying a helmet for two. never used it. just kept it. sometimes he talked to the empty seat behind him on long rides.

“you’d laugh at me if you saw me now.”

“i should’ve stayed.”

“i didn’t mean it. fuck, i didn’t mean it.”

toji fushiguro, who never begged, now whispered your name like a prayer. but prayers don’t bring people back. not even the ones we love most. and just like his words, he never saw you again. and it ruined him forever.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you stand just off the gravel path, arms crossed tight around yourself, breath visible in the cold air. the red and gold leaves have long since fallen. the trees are bare now. and so is the truth.

sukuna leans against his black car, cigarette half-lit in his fingers, eyes on the fading sky. the sunset paints him in fire — but none of it reaches his chest. “you lied,” you say softly. no venom. just a hollow ache. a hurt that’s been carved into your ribs like a name on stone.

“i didn’t,” he says flatly.

you blink. once. twice. “you said you’d stay. that we were… building something. something real.” he exhales smoke and looks away. “things change.”

“no,” you shake your head, taking a step forward. “you changed. you started pulling away. you stopped coming home before midnight. you stopped talking to me unless i begged. is that what you wanted? for me to chase you like some pathetic girl hoping for scraps?”

“stop,” he mutters.

“i’m not going to stop,” you snap, voice finally cracking under the pressure of holding it all in. “you say you’re tired of me? well, i’m tired of feeling like a ghost in my own relationship!”

his jaw clenches, the fire in his eyes flickering like the fuse on a bomb.

“i never asked you to stay,” he says.

“you didn’t have to,” you breathe. “i wanted to. i chose to. and you— you took every piece of me and turned it into something disposable.”

silence. just the wind brushing against the trees. and the slow, cold collapse of everything you thought you could survive.

“look,” sukuna finally mutters, pushing off the car, voice low and lethal, “i don’t want to keep doing this. if this is what we’ve become, if this is what you’ve become — someone who wants to scream and cry and throw shit every time something gets hard — then maybe we shouldn’t keep pretending this is love.”

your throat tightens. “so you’re giving up.”

he doesn’t answer.

“say it,” you whisper. “don’t walk away this time, don’t leave without saying it.” he looks at you, then. really looks. and for a second — just a second — you see it. the ruin in his chest. the heartbreak he’ll never name. because if he does, he’ll fall apart.

“…i don’t want to see you again,” he says.

it’s almost gentle.

you step back, your world crumbling under your feet. “if you leave now,” you warn, voice trembling, “this is it. i won’t chase after you. i won’t call.” he lights another cigarette with a flick of his thumb, eyes hollow.

“good.”

then he turns. gets in the car. engine starts.

he doesn’t look back.

not even once.

you stand there long after the sound of tires fades. you wipe your tears before they freeze to your skin. you step forward, legs shaking, heart pounding like it’s screaming not to go—

you never see the other car. bright headlights. no time. a shattering crunch of metal. then quiet.

then nothing.

he finds out in the morning.

he hadn’t slept. he never does when he fights with you. not really. but he hadn’t turned around. not until someone called. not until the world stood still. they told him you died instantly. that there was a ring box in your coat pocket. he hadn’t seen it before.

now he wishes he had.

after you, sukuna doesn’t date. doesn’t smile. doesn’t laugh the way he used to. his apartment is cold. silent. like a museum for a life that never got to finish.

he buys your favorite tea. never drinks it. he leaves your contacts in his phone. never deletes them. on your birthday, he drives to the road where you died. sits on the edge of the cliff with a cigarette and stares down at the curve of the road below. he keeps asking the wind, “why the fuck didn’t i stay?”

he dreams of your voice. he dreams of the way you laughed with your whole body. he dreams of how you’d lean into his chest at night like he was safe. like he was someone worth loving.

and every morning he wakes up, it hits him all over again. he said he didn’t want to see you again. and now he never will. and for someone who never believed in punishment, he lives every day like it’s hell.

SHIU KONG

he’s never one for public scenes. not shiu kong. always measured, always cold with his kindness — like a man who keeps even his warmth under lock and key. but tonight is different.

you’re standing outside a high-rise bar in roppongi. past midnight. your heels ache. your throat’s raw. the city’s pulsing behind you — full of strangers who’ll never know the ache of your name in his mouth.

the rain’s just started, soft and unhurried, like the sky can feel the ending too. “you don’t even look at me anymore,” you say, voice trembling as you hold your coat tighter. “it’s like i don’t even exist unless i’m behind your door or in your bed.”

shiu sighs. slow. practiced. his hands stay in his pockets like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if they don’t. “you know how i work,” he says, eyes flicking to the ground. “you knew from the beginning. this job, this life— it was never going to be simple.”

“i never wanted simple,” you spit, stepping closer. “i just wanted you.”

he doesn’t flinch. just exhales, tired.

“you’re young,” he says quietly. “you still think love means burning the house down just to feel the heat.” your jaw clenches. “and you? you think love is pretending it doesn’t hurt to watch the person you care about beg for scraps?” his silence is louder than traffic.

you laugh bitterly, blinking against the rain. “i loved you, shiu. i loved you. and you— you loved your job. your image. your goddamn quiet.” he looks up finally. and for a moment, something falters in those sharp, tired eyes.

“don’t do this,” he says lowly. “not here.” you shake your head. “why? because people might see you crack? because the big, composed man might fall apart over some girl who loved him too hard?”

he swallows. hard. “you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“no,” you whisper, voice breaking. “you just don’t understand what you’re losing.” he says nothing. just stands there, like he’s frozen in place, like he knows that if he moves — even slightly — he’ll say something he can’t take back.

but he doesn’t move. he never does.

and maybe that’s the problem. you take a step back, shaking. the ache in your chest doesn’t feel like heartbreak anymore — it feels like finality. “say something,” you plead, voice barely there. “say anything.”

he hesitates.

“…i don’t want to see you again.”

he says it with no venom. no hate. just that quiet, cold steel he always wears. and he turns. just like that. into the streetlight, into the mist, into the part of your life that will never come back. you watch him walk away. you don’t follow. you cross the street blindly, barely seeing the headlights, barely hearing the tires screech—

a sudden flash.

a dull crack.

and then, stillness.

you don’t even feel it when your body hits the pavement.

shiu doesn’t sleep that night.

he pours himself a drink in his high-rise apartment, watching the lights of tokyo bleed into the windows. he thinks about calling. about saying sorry. but he’s not the kind of man who apologizes for being exactly what he warned you he was.

the call comes at 4:16 a.m.

the voice on the line is grim. he doesn’t speak for a long while after they hang up. he just stares at the window, at the half-empty glass in his hand, at the last message you sent hours before — still unread.

“just let me in.”

he keeps reading it.

again.

again.

until his eyes blur.

he doesn’t go to the funeral.

he sends flowers — white lilies, with no name on the card. but he keeps your photo on his desk. he keeps the voice message you once sent when you were drunk and laughing and calling him “your grumpy old man” like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

he never deletes it.

sometimes, when the nights are too quiet, he plays it just to hear you laugh. and every time he closes his eyes, he remembers your voice in the rain. you loved him like it was a promise. he left you like it was a habit. and now the rain never quite feels the same. because he said he didn’t want to see you again.

and he got his wish.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

the argument starts in his office. glass walls. cold lighting. your reflection shaking in every polished surface. you came to bring him lunch. again. like always. you always come. and he always forgets to eat. and that’s how this began — with your love, simple and ordinary, clashing against the weight of his silence.

“you’re not even listening to me,” you say, placing the paper bag down harder than you mean to.

hiromi barely looks up from his desk. “i am.”

“no,” you whisper, “you’re hearing. not listening.”he sighs, finally leaning back in his chair, dark circles under his eyes like bruises. “what do you want me to say?”

you shake your head, stepping away from the desk. “something. anything. do you know how hard it is to be in love with someone who’s always somewhere else? always buried in cases, in guilt, in the past?”

his jaw clenches. “this job isn’t something i can just leave at the door.”

“and i’m not someone you should treat like a ghost,” you snap, eyes glassy. “i’ve been here. showing up. loving you through your silence. and you… you just disappear into it.” he rises slowly, suit perfect, eyes unreadable. “i never asked you to stay.” and the room drops into coldness. so sudden. so final.

“what?” your voice cracks.

“i didn’t ask you to stay,” he repeats, slower this time, quieter. “you chose this. and now you want to make me feel guilty for not being the man you built in your head.”

“no,” you whisper, breathless. “i wanted you. all of you. not a fantasy. not a perfect man. just you. and you can’t even give me that.”

he doesn’t answer. you wait. nothing.

so you laugh, soft and broken, backing away toward the door. “i hope your court never stops needing you, hiromi,” you say bitterly, “because i’m done waiting for a verdict that’s never coming.” you leave before the tears fall. you leave before he can see the way your hands shake. and he lets you. he watches the door shut and tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

he always tells himself that.

the accident happens two hours later. just outside the train station. wrong place. wrong time. someone running a red light. a body thrown too far. a phone crushed in your hand with your last unsent message:

“can we talk?”

when hiromi gets the call, he’s reviewing a case file. he thinks it’s a mistake. thinks it’s a sick joke. he keeps reading the sentence on the paper in front of him five times before realizing he hasn’t understood a word.

he doesn’t cry.

not that day.

not the day after.

he doesn’t attend your funeral either — says it’s to avoid attention. but the truth is simpler: he can’t face what he did. he can’t look at the hole he left in your life and pretend it’s just grief. it’s guilt. and it eats him from the inside.

weeks pass.

he stops shaving. stops replying to his colleagues. stops arguing in court the way he used to.

they say he’s changed. that something cracked in him. he doesn’t correct them. every night, he comes home to silence. he pours two glasses of wine out of habit, but always drinks alone. your toothbrush is still in the bathroom. your jacket still on the hook.

he never moves them.

he reads your old texts like scripture. listens to a voicemail you left one rainy evening, laughing about some café you wanted to take him to. he never got to go. he never said yes.

and every time he sees the empty space beside him in bed, he thinks:

“i said i didn’t ask her to stay.”

but god, he wishes he had. he wishes he had told you — that he loved you. that he was scared. that you made the world bearable.

but he didn’t.

and now, the only verdict left is this; you never saw him again.

just like he said.

[sukubusss]

🍆🍆 + 🥛= patre0N

[sukubusss]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

series masterlist

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'c come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: this is going to be my 1k followers special but i've already got a solid outline and plenty written. i believe this will end up being a multi-chapter fic. can't wait to release this, so check below the threshold for a teaser ;D

archive ─ playlist

part one // ???

taglist (open):

art by outdmilk on twt

teaser 𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

After getting fully dressed, you shuffled your socks on before you let out a loud hiss–a sudden piercing pressure on your ankle.

Gently setting your sock down, you sat atop a nearby rock and crossed your legs to take a closer look. 

It seemed that the thorn that poked you earlier had done more than just that–the area swelling and red. The spot, previously a microscope hole, had grown and was practically glowing and exuding a heat.

You pressed a finger against it, immediately regretting it when it sent pain spiking through your veins, the skin bulbous.

“You’re not making it out of the forest any time soon in that condition.”

You yelped with a jump, full-body flinching and swinging your head behind you to see Sukuna towering over you, eyes narrowed to slits as he eyed your injury. “Jesus. Warn a woman next time?”

He ignored you, something you’ve noticed he has a habit of doing, as he folded in half, skimming a finger over your puncture wound. A tight whimper left your lips, his calloused finger ghosting over it before he straightened out. “Can you walk on it?”

You attempted to pull the sock back over before you winced, heart fluttering in nerves. “I-I can try,” you stammered out, trying to maneuver it carefully before he clicked his tongue.

“Fuck, alright,” he grunted, as if mulling something over before he stepped in front of you. He crouched down on one knee, jeans digging into the mud yet he didn’t seem to care. “Hop on.”

Your maw fell slack at the sight, suddenly feeling incredibly hot at the sight. This crude and ruffish man was offering to carry you all of the sudden.

“Uh, it’s alright. I-I can walk–”

“Quit your rambling and get on.”

You shut up at his interruption, muttering a ‘rude much?’ he didn’t acknowledge under your breath before standing to a wobble, doing your best not to bump your ankle into anything as the pain began to flare to what felt like your bones.

Oddly enough, he was practically your height on his knees, his massive form slightly intimidating you.

You brought your hands over his shoulders and clasped them in front of him, hoping he couldn’t smell the musk radiating from your sweat-soaked clothing.

As you tried to wrap your legs around his midsection, he suddenly rose, wrapping his massive hands along the underside of your thighs and straightening to his full height.

You did everything to ignore the flip of your stomach as he did so, the touch burning your skin.

Something sizzled in your mind, before you realized how leggy this man actually was. “Could make a joke about the weather up here, but it’s really quite nice,” you snickered, head ducking between his hat, cheek right beside his, as your eyes raked over his bird's eye view.

“Shut it or I’m dropping you.”

[sukubusss]

rearrange my gut.... 🩻

Your hips were tight. Your lower back? Let’s not even get into that—you couldn’t even bend slightly. Your shoulders were so stiff and sore you felt like a rusty door hinge.

You hadn’t even hit 25, and yet here you were, holding your back every time you sat down or stood up.

Were you officially....old?

You completely lost your last nerve and ounce of patience one night, when you couldn’t even do the one thing you loved because of the pain—sleep. Your lower back was in so much agony, you just lay there staring at the ceiling, silently screaming.

It took you a full five minutes to even pick up your phone and search “chiropractor near me.” You needed someone to literally rearrange your entire skeleton.

You booked the earliest appointment for tomorrow, desperate to fix this hellish discomfort. You couldn’t believe you were in this kind of pain at this age.

The next morning, you were an hour late trying to get out of bed and into your car. Mornings were evil now. Everything was worse. The tightness, the soreness, the stabbing pain.

You hadn’t even properly looked at the place last night when you booked it, but now that you were here… it looked kind of shady.

It was just a tattoo parlor. The walls were painted black, and there were no windows. You slowly pushed open the door and were greeted with silence. Thank God it was morning.

There wasn’t even anyone at the front desk.

“Hello?” you called out, hunched over slightly and holding your back like someone’s grandparent.

And then—a man stepped out of one of the tattoo rooms.

Correction: a giant of a man. He was enormous. If he was your chiropractor, you were definitely going to leave with something broken.

He was covered in tattoos—arms, neck, face—and looked absolutely unhinged. Sure, you had your fair share of ink, even a neck tattoo, a face tat, and a proudly healed eyebrow piercing, but this man? He looked like an absolute degenerate.

He looked at you like you were the problem. Like you were the one who walked into his haunted house of ink and pain.

“You’re late,” he said, voice rough and low, like he smoked knives for breakfast.

You blinked. “Um… sorry. Traffic.” and by traffic, you meant your body literally refusing to move this morning.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared. His red eyes flicked down to the clipboard he pulled from nowhere—seriously, where did that come from?—and then back to you.

“You’re the back case?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already turning around and walking toward one of the doors.

“Come on, grandma.”

the fuck did he call you?

You stared at his broad back as he walked away, tattoos moving with his muscles like they were alive. Was this guy even a real chiropractor? You were half convinced he was going to punch your spine into place.

But pain was pain. And yours was screaming. So, you followed him.

The room he led you into didn’t look much different from the front—black walls, a weird skull in the corner, a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device than a treatment table.

He motioned to it. “Sit.”

You slowly lowered yourself onto the table, groaning like an old haunted mansion door.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m in pain,” you hissed, clutching your lower back like your spine was about to file for divorce.

He didn’t even flinch at your tone. “Tell me about this pain. When did it start? How?”

You really wanted to ask, Are you actually listening, or are you just waiting for my bones to scream louder? But you held back. You were already regretting this appointment, and you definitely couldn’t afford to piss him off.

So instead, you tried to relax your body and think.

“Mmm… I think it’s been like three weeks?” you said slowly. “But this week’s just been hell. It started with my lower back, then my whole back and shoulders joined the party. And now…” you winced as you shifted a bit on the chair, “...my hips and legs decided to join in too. I’m falling apart like expired IKEA furniture.”

He raised a brow. “So you ignored it for weeks and now you’re shocked your body’s protesting.”

“Are you here to judge me or fix me?” you snapped.

“Both,” he replied instantly, without even blinking.

He asked his last question before getting to work. “Do you work out often?”

He set the clipboard down near the table and walked over.

“Yes,” You said casually. “But obviously I’ve stopped, because I can’t even piss without it hurting everywhere.”

He raised a brow. “Not a question I asked, but good to know your bladder's involved too.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Alright. Lie flat. Face down,” he said, like it was nothing.

That was it. No encouragement. No help. No warning.

You tried—tried—to get up onto the table, but your body gave up halfway through. Your hair fell over your face as you hung there like a crumpled puppet.

“By the way…” you mumbled through the curtain of hair, “are you even licensed?”

There was a pause. A long one.

“…Depends on who’s asking.”

Your face snapped up. “WHAT does that mean?!”

He shrugged, absolutely zero concern in his giant tattooed shoulders. “You’re already here. You booked the appointment. At this point, you’ve put your spinal fate in my hands. Just trust the process.”

“The process sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

He patted the bed. “And yet here you are.”

You stared at him. He stared back. Then you flopped down onto the table like a wounded animal, muttering to yourself about life choices.

“If I die,” you groaned into the cushion, “you better make me look hot at the funeral.”

“No promises,” he said. “But I’ll try to pop your bones back into a cute shape at least.”

Then you heard him crack his knuckles. Loud. Too loud.

“Okay,” he muttered, “you’re tense as hell. I’m gonna start with your shoulders.”

You felt one large hand press gently between your shoulder blades. You expected pain. What you didn’t expect… was the way his hand felt—warm, steady, too steady, like he actually knew what he was doing.

You swallowed.

Then he pressed down—firm and slow—and your spine made a sound like a glow stick being activated.

You gasped. “Oh my god—”

“Breathe.”

You did. And another section of your back gave in with a pop. Then another.

“Holy shit,” you exhaled. “That—wait—do that again.”

A soft chuckle. “What, the part where I fix you while you insult me?”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Then his hands moved lower. Your breath hitched. Not because it hurt—but because it didn’t. It was… grounding. Firm. Too precise. This wasn’t some sketchy spine-smashing; it was calculated, skilled.

And weirdly gentle.

“…You’re good at this,” you muttered.

“Obviously.” His voice was close to your ear now. “I told you. Trust the process.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not when his hands moved again—slowly rolling pressure through your hips, your lower back. Another loud pop echoed, and you moaned—accidentally.

Both of you paused.

“…That was not like that,” you blurted.

He didn’t say anything at first. Then:

“I’ve had worse compliments.”

You wanted to disappear. Or punch him. Or both.

Then you felt one hand slide under your stomach to support you, while the others adjusted your hips. His touch was careful, but firm, and a little too… lingering.

“You need this part done,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But it might be intense.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Go ahead.”

And he did.

The pop that came next echoed through your soul. You choked out something between a sob and a laugh.

He leaned over, his breath near your neck. “Still think I’m not licensed?”

“…I’m starting to think you’re not even human.”

He smirked.

“Now you’re getting it.”

After he was done with you, you lay there, dazed. Completely, absolutely, and undeniably wrecked—but in the therapeutic way.

Your entire lower back felt like it had been unscrewed and reassembled. Your shoulders were lighter. You could move your neck. You were half-convinced you were reborn.

And the worst part was you felt a little high. Was this a real chiropractic session or did he sneak a demon cleansing in there too?

You cleared your throat. “So, um… that last one felt like you reset my soul.”

Sukuna shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah, that’s the pelvis. It stores all your trama.”

“Wow, is that medical fact?”

“It is now.”

You turned your head slightly, peering up at him from the table. “You don’t talk like a real doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor.”

You paused. “…Wait, what?”

“I’m a licensed chiropractor. Barely. Don’t expect me to wear a lab coat and start talking in Latin.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, but you were smiling—why were you smiling??

He walked around the table, watching you. “Alright. Sit up slowly.”

You did. This time, no searing pain. Just a weird wave of relief. You rolled your shoulders and turned to look at him. “I actually feel… human again.”

“I know.” He smirked, casually leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“…You enjoy this?”

“Of course. I like breaking people so I can fix them.”

You stared. “You are—not allowed to say that out loud.”

“Why? You’re already halfway to falling in love with me.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

He raised a brow. “That moan you let out? Very suspicious.”

“I was in pain!”

“Sure, sure.”

You grabbed your shoe and threw it at him. He caught it one-handed, lazily, like he expected it. Of course he did.

He grinned, slow and cocky. “I could give you a follow-up session.”

“Hard pass.”

“It’s included in the package you booked. Two sessions.”

You stared. “You are lying.”

“Nope.”

“…When?”

“Tomorrow.”

You blinked. “I have to see you again?”

“Oh, you don’t have to. But you will.”

He handed your shoe back, like a prince in a very unholy fairytale. His fingers brushed yours.

You felt it. That tiny flicker of something behind the jokes and pain and popping bones. A strange spark in your chest you weren’t ready to name yet.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “But I’m bringing pepper spray next time.”

He smirked, opening the door for you.

“Bring whatever you want,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I’ll still fix you.”

--------

i'm ashamed to say I haven’t posted in 15 days… truly shameful behavior right there 😭 this has been sitting in drafts for a while I actually wrote most of it when I was dealing with a lower back issue. It’s still not completely healed but it’s so much better now.

BUT ALSO GIRLSSSS. I GOT MY FIRST PAYCHECK??? Like what??? 😭😭 i'm also trying to get back to posting more consistently so please don’t be too harsh on me!!! Im still working on Part 3 and 4 of House Husband Sukuna so don’t worry—they’re coming! 💗💗

[sukubusss]

keeping blobkuna as a pet has it's challenges.

for one, he doesn't shut up. ever.

he goes on and on about the good 'ole days. about the heian era, shibuya, and shinjuku. he reminisces on all of his fights and all of his wins. when you ask why he is the way he is now:

"mind your fucking business human."

but then he goes back to telling you all of his business.

he misses it, his true form. he misses fighting. he misses eating. he misses fucking. and now? he... this.

"...a fat slug?" you ask.

he scoffs, "stop calling me that."

"but-"

"STOP."

and then he finally mentions him.

yuji.

his grand-nephew.

"family is the worst," you say, in an attempt to relate to him.

"he's not just the worst," he corrects you, "he's a vile piece of shit, a disgusting little insect."

"kinda like you?"

"am i NOT a slug," he barks back.

you yawn and let out a giggle, "sure you're not." it's nearing 10:00pm and your tired. you scoop his angry little self into your hands and lead him to bed.

"what- what the hell are you doing?" he asks, suddenly squished against your chest.

"it's called cuddling," you say, "would you like me to lock you into the old fish tank again tonight?"

no. please. not again. it's hard to breath in there.

"don't be ridiculous," he grumbles, snuggling in closer, "this is nice.. i suppose."

"m'kay- goodnight kuna."

"don't call me that," he sighs, shoving what would be his face into the crevices of your chest, "good night."

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[sukubusss]

Sukuna x Blind!Reader (Part 2)

<- Previous

For some reason he found himself going back to you.

As hard as it was for him to admit it but you—a fragile, blind woman had managed to pique his interest.

So every once in a week, he left his temple and found himself wandering to your house in a state of boredom. Sometimes he encountered someone—a human, a curse or a wild animal. He slaughtered them without a second thought.

You managed to tell it's him just by the sound of his heavy footsteps and according to you, his scent.

"Copper, ash and sandalwood. That's how I can tell it's you." You told him enthusiastically.

Sukuna doesn't do much when he's at your place. He sits on the tatami mat and observes you as you move around, rambling about whatever you did that day.

And it turns out. You weren't lying when you said you have a system.

You knew every nook and cranny of your little house. You knew where everything was. What to do and how to do it. Your blindness did not stop you from living your simple yet fulfilling life.

It was interesting to see you navigating around. It was either with your walking stick or by touching the walls. You explained it to him with a soft smile on your face.

"I can tell I'm in the kitchen because there's a scratch on the wall near the shelves." You explained, feeling around for it and when you did, you beamed and went inside to prepare something for Sukuna.

Your dishes were simple. Miso soup, fish, rice and sometimes chopped fruits or vegetables on the side. Nothing rich and grand like Uraume prepares for him.

But the fact that you actually manage to prepare it properly and not screw it up was— sort of—impressive.

"Do you like it, my lord?" You asked while nibbling on your grilled fish.

"Passable." Was all Sukuna grunted. You pouted at that.

His lower left eye was fixed on you. "You should eat more meat. Don't you get tired of eating fish all day?"

You hummed, chewing your meal slowly in thought. "Mm... I have eaten rabbit meat before... But meat is really expensive and it's not like I can hunt for it." You said with a soft giggle.

And then during his next visit, he brought something for you.

You greeted him with your usual smile. "Good morning, my lor—eep!" You exclaimed, startled when something was tossed on the wooden floor with a loud thud.

"W-What was that?!"

"A boar."

"A boar?!"

"It's dead. Stop worrying." Sukuna said, running a hand across the dead animal's fur. "This is what we're eating tonight."

You relaxed and perked up at his words in interest but then the stench of blood hits your nose and you gasped.

"My lord, I just finished cleaning the floor!" You whined.

"So?"

"So—" You frowned and march right up to him, your eyes unintentionally fixed on his chest with a glare. "At least warn me next time you decide to bring a dead animal inside the house!"

Sukuna stared down at you. His lips quirking up in amusement that you—a tiny, little blind woman who barely reached his chest was scolding him of all people.

... It was... adorable. So to speak.

He smirked. "And what if I don't?" He asked, enjoying the fact that he was riling you up.

Your lip jutted out in an angry pout. "Then... Then I will not speak to you the next time you visit." You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away.

"Hah! Impossible. I will make sure you can't ignore me."

"I won't cook anything for you."

"Go ahead. I shall simply raid your pantry and eat everything that is there."

You turned back to him and glared at his chest again. "You're insufferable!"

He grinned, enjoying this senseless, little argument he was having with you. For some reason, it got his heart acting up.

"At least look me in the eyes when you argue with me, woman."

You frowned at that and tilted your head a bit up. Your clouded eyes where fixed on his collarbone now. He snorts. "Not even close."

Your breath hitched when you felt his finger curl beneath your chin and he tilted your head up and up and up...

"There we go." He hummed in delight as he gazed at your face with a certain intensity. His eyes drinking in each and every one of your features. He watched the way your cheeks tainted pink and your lips curled into a silent oh as you noted this detail about him. That he is far taller than any man you have ever met.

He lets go of you and steps back, a frown on his face as he changes the topic. "Are you simply going to stand there gawking at me, woman? It's time to prepare the meat."

You opened your mouth to protest that you were incapable of gawking at anyone but were cut off when your stomach grumbled.

You flushed in embarrassment while his lips perked up slightly.

It was strange having him in the kitchen helping you.

Well, besides cutting up the boar meat, his help consisted of standing in the corner telling you what to do. With some trial and error, you managed to prepare a dish with some herbs and rice.

"This is so good!" You exclaimed happily.

"Hmph. Not bad."

You beamed at that. Despite his words, you could tell by the tone of his voice that he liked it.

--

"Do you love poetry, my lord?"

Both of you were sitting by the river one day. The question stirring up after a minute of silence.

Instinctively, Sukuna opened his mouth to say no. But he stopped. At this point, is it really necessary to hide his guilty pleasure for the arts from you?

"Yes."

You smiled. "Oh! That's nice! Yesterday I was in the village and a poet was reading his works in the main market." You hummed, tapping your chin in thought. "It was about the tragedies of love but... It didn't particularly move me and his voice was too shrilly."

Sukuna couldn't help but snort at that. "That was no poet. It was a con man simply tricking gullible humans into tossing coins to him."

You smiled at that. "Ah... It's no wonder I was getting such bad vibes from him."

Sukuna frowned. "And you don't get these so-called..."bad vibes" from me?"

You laughed softly. "No at all! Oh! Wait here! I want to show you something." You said, eagerly grabbing your walking stick and standing up to go into your house.

You came back a few minutes later. A scroll in hand and you sat back down next to him.

He noted you were closer than earlier. Your knee gently brushing against his.

You sat there in silence for a moment, your fingertips gently brushing against the scroll in your hand as if it was your most delicate possession. Then you untied and slowly opened it.

"This is my mother's collection." You mumbled softly. "She was an... avid reader and writer. She loved writing about nature. The beauty and life in it."

You were looking straight ahead with your clouded eyes in a solemn gaze. "It's also why I live here. It's easy to get inspiration when you live in a place like this." You giggled humorlessly.

Sukuna stared at you with narrowed eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

You quickly wiped your unshed tears away. "No reason! I simply got sentimental." You sniffled.

You hold out the scroll to him. "Would you like to read it, my lord?"

He found himself unable to refuse. In a way, he was curious to see your mother's works. He took the scroll from your hand, noting just how dusty it was. The pages were turning yellow from the corner. It seems that it had been stored away for years, completely untouched and this was the first time it was taken out since then.

His eyes scanned across each syllable. He had to admit, he was quite impressed. Not only was the calligraphy quite elegant but the meaning behind the poems were thought provoking too.

Next to him, you shifted softly. His lower set of eyes went to you, taking in your slumped posture. Your eyes were downcasted while you nervously wringed your hands.

When he finished reading the first poem, he read the second one out loud.

He watched the way you perked up. Your breath hitched in a soft gasp. A delicate smile graced your lips and your cheeks flushed a soft shade of red.

You intently listened to your mother's poems as the King of Curses narrated them in his deep, baritone voice.

And somewhere along the way, you found yourself leaning against his shoulder in utter content. "You have a very beautiful voice, my lord." You whispered shyly.

Sukuna, on the other hand, stiffened at your soft gesture and comment. He had paused his reading to stare at you. You— the blind woman who was somehow so brave enough to lean against him like he made you feel safe and happy. Like you were utterly grateful to him.

He went back to reading out loud again, wondering deeply why his heart felt so light and warm.

[sukubusss]

"I KNOW IT'S PATHETIC BUT THAT WAS THE GREATEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"

✦ ── synopsis: coworker!sukuna manages to embarrass himself not once, but twice around you.

✦ ── contents: 2.8k words, fluff, loser!kuna, very suggestive, mild smut.

✦ ── a/n: no words, truly. i just love making sukuna look pathetic.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," you blushed, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear and glancing to your side.

He had his fists shoved into his pockets, eyeing you with a spacey look, like he was contemplating something in his head, something completely unbeknownst to you.

“Sukuna?” You whispered out with a tilt of your head, voice resonating easily in the night air, wondering where he’d gone off to in his mind.

“Mhm?” He hummed dreamily, his vision flickering to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes.

You giggled, facing the sidewalk and shaking your head. “Nothing.” 

He paused a moment, biting his lip and unsure of how to talk to the stunning woman in front of him, who managed to dazzle him all night, without sounding like a fucking loser. “I had fun tonight too,” he shrugged, though you could hear the grin in his tone.

Your head perked up at his response, beaming up at him with glittering eyes, the moonlight illuminating your face and making his heart stutter, enthralled in your effortless beauty. “Really?!”

Sukuna opened his mouth to respond, heart short-circuiting at how excited you’d sounded, before his foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk.

He tripped forward, arms flying out as his other foot slammed down on the concrete, effectively catching his massive form before tumbling. 

The action sent a heat washing up the back of his neck, to heat his tan cheeks and even the crowns of his ears.

Your eyes widened, before darting back in front of you, teeth clenching from how hard you were trying to hold back your smile, not daring to address his clumsiness to save him from humiliation.

In all honesty, your cheeks were also aching from how much you’ve been smiling all evening.

You’d known Sukuna for quite some time as he was your colleague at work–a regular and dreary salary job.

But the day it lit up for the both of you, the fire in your eyes snuffed out by the crushing responsibilities on your shoulders thanks to capitalism set ablaze, was the day you stepped into the break room, completely unsuspecting of how you’d be leaving.

It was empty, save for the singular salmon-haired brute hunched over his lunch. He was muttering curses to his phone and you knitted your eyebrows as you meandered towards the coffee machine, your brain muddled from how long you’d been staring at your computer.

It wasn’t your fault your curiosity got the best of you, wondering what had your co-worker so miffed, so you peered over his shoulder sneakily to see him—.

“Oh my god.”

Sukuna could feel his heart stop at the sound of a voice, head flinging behind him as he hadn’t heard you come into the room, too engrossed with whatever was unfolding on his phone.

The guy was watching a porno.

You met his gaze, your cheeks warm at the sight as your pulse quickened. Then peered back at his phone, then back at him, before spinning your head around and staring at the coffee pot. Why was there suddenly barely any coffee? Who decided to drink so much and not brew anymore and force you to endure this?

You could hear his chair screech against the tile floor as he abruptly hopped from his seat, eyes practically bulging from his head in shock.

“H-hold on—“

“I was just leaving,” you starkly interrupted, gripping your hand around your cup and turning quickly.

But Sukuna’s eyes gaped, standing in front of you to halt you, but the scare made you bump into him, effectively pouring hot coffee all over his crisp, white dress shirt.

He winced, a hiss leaving his mouth as he hunched over, hands instinctively flying to his chest before pulling away, nearly singeing his fingers in the act.

You yelped, taking a step back and bumping into the counter, effectively trapping you between him and the makeshift break room kitchen.

He reached for a box of tissues over your head in a frantic manner, you following his movements and eyeing just how his muscles rippled beneath the fabric, before tearing your ogling gaze away.

He patted away at his shirt as you opened your mouth, nearly tripping over your words. “I-if you hadn’t jumped in front of me— I—,” you stopped yourself, realizing how stupid and rude you sounded, watching his face contort into a pained scowl.

Quickly, you bowed your head as deep as you could, clasping your hands around your cup as some sort of grounding exercise to tether you to your embarrassing reality. “I’m really sorry, Sukuna.”

As he wiped at his now-stained shirt, he gave you a once-over, his chest still hot but thankfully not scarred to leave any remnants of a burn except for a temporary red mark. 

He felt an odd sense of contrite at your apology, straightening and tossing his tissues into a nearby trash can with one fell swoop in an impressive breeze.

“Nah, uh. Forget it, that was embarrassing as fuck for the both of us, and I’m fine,” he huffed out, rubbing his nape and wanting to punch himself. “But would you let me just… explain what you saw before you run out of here and report me to HR?”

You bit your lip, feeling oddly cornered as his crimson irises bore down on you, searching for resignation, jitters paling you.

If he had an explanation, you had no idea what would cause him to watch pornography in the staff break room.

But he seemed genuine enough, so you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay, I’ll, uh, hear you out.”

He nodded, something akin to satisfaction dancing on his ever present indifferent expression before he grunted, pulling a chair out for you.

You sat down, and he sat beside you, pulling out his phone. 

You glanced away, nervous your eyes would register anymore of the vulgar scene of a woman being folded into a pretzel by some brute, but Sukuna sighed. “I won’t flash you again.”

You winced, shutting your eyes for a moment to regain your composure, before glancing back down at the table.

He’d set his phone down, opening up his Twitter to some news article he’d been reading about new app regulations.

He even gave you a synopsis of what he’d been reading before handing you the phone and not even peering down at the screen for a second as he relayed its contents to you.

Afterwards, he opened up the replies and, lo and behold, there were a bunch of troll porn accounts spiteful of their crude content being heavily monitored now and posting their videos to flood the comments. 

The top comment was the video you’d just seen moments ago.

You grimaced, and averted your gaze. “So why were you muttering under your breath like a madman?”

He quickly swiped out of the app, a look of disgust painting him. “I tried to leave the replies but this fucking ancient ass phone froze from the amount of content in the comments. I didn’t even realize you walked in until too late,” he explained in irritation, no longer meeting your eyes in shame.

You bit your lip, your head dropping as a chuckle left your lips. Then another. And soon enough you had your head tossed back, a boisterous laugh vibrating from your chest.

Sukuna eyed you warily, shifting uncomfortably in his wet and sticky top, an eyebrow cocked at your enjoyment, before he found it hard to conceal the upward tug of his lips.

You looked really pretty laughing.

From that point on, you poked fun at Sukuna and made him endure your teasing to which he was more than miffed at.

And then you’d join him at lunch, talking about whatever was in the news with him and sliding your yogurt over to which he’d end up finishing the entire thing.

Then one day, at the end of your shift where you two began to head out of the doors together, you waved him off goodbye, and Sukuna finally got the burst of courage he’d been waiting on.

He halted you after chasing you down to your bus, standing before you and panting, his tie crooked and gelled hair now pretty disheveled.

Before you could get a word out, eyes wide and curious, he blurted, “Do you want to get dinner sometime? With me?”

You held back the gasp you almost let out in shock, stomach doing at least twenty somersaults in the span of five seconds.

The first time you’d laid eyes on him on your first day at work, you found it easy to recognize how handsome of a man he was.

But you deduced him to the kind of ‘hallway crush’ teenagers would have.

Then, the two of you got to know each other a hell of a lot more despite the horrifying first impression. You saw him as a genuine friend, but that initial attraction only expanded into a crush that always seemed to linger.

You believed him to be far out of your league despite how close you’ve gotten.

So to see him asking you out, had your heart stuttering.

“You mean… on a date?” You queried, still skeptical.

He let out a huff of something akin to laughter, a grin unlike him on his face. “Yeah. I do.”

Goosebumps littered your body, biting your lip as you glanced behind you to see your bus now arriving. “Uhm. Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, proud of himself for finally securing this.

“Yeah. Text me later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Which is how you ended up here, a night to remember and him opting to walk twenty minutes back to your apartment instead of an uber like you’d rode there to meet up because it’s ‘eco-friendly’ (since when has Sukuna cared for anything of the sort?) but truthfully, he didn’t want the evening to end.

He was perfectly content to walk the twenty minutes back to his car parked at the restaurant.

Ryomen Sukuna, the brute of a man that seemed annoyed everywhere he went, had taken quite the liking to you and you felt as if you were seeing a drastically different side of someone.

He was thoughtful and perceptive, a plethora of opinions on nearly any topic you could conjure up. But he was also far more attentive than he let on—remembered nearly anything you said even if it was brought up in passing, complimented you under his breath when you arrived, attempting to mask his astonishment but you could see it clear as day in his eyes, asking you if you had any dietary allergies to relay it to the waiter, and ensuring to cover the bill without you even sparing a glance at you.

The entire evening, the conversation flowed easily, as if it was just another afternoon in the breakroom.

He made you laugh, barely concealing just how much of a grand time he was having but the red wine was loosening him up quite a bit.

He asked you questions about yourself and seemed to mentally catalogue them in case he needed them in the future.

Never prodded too much when you steered clear of a topic, just nodding and bringing something else up.

You’d seen the way he acted around colleagues and even his supervisor, never speaking more than a couple words and holing himself up in his cubicle, face pinched with irritation.

But with you, the indifferent man seemed to let go completely. 

As if spending time with you was as easy as breathing.

“I’m right up the block,” you commented, watching him mentally curse himself for tripping in front of you. His nerves seemed to be catching up with him.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair and focusing on his gait in case of another slip-up.

Within a matter of seconds, you turned the corner and padded up the steps to your apartment, stopping at the top one and turning around.

This nearly seven foot man stopped just a couple steps below, enough to be at eye level with you.

On any other day, you’d taunt him for his height, or he’d taunt you for yours.

But the air between the two of you was so charged as your eyes darted between each other’s.

You broke the silence. “Let’s do this again,” you whispered, your gaze flickering to his lips before returning to his eyes.

Sukuna could feel the raging boner in his pants only become more sensitive by the second. 

He’d been a gentleman with you throughout the course of your friendship, lest he make you any more uncomfortable than he did during your first encounter.

He hummed, tongue running over his lower lip.

You leaned in a fraction, just enough to show initiative, to show that you wanted this like he did, before he took a step up the stairs and cupped your cheeks, lips crashing against yours.

You stumbled backwards, craning your head upwards as your fingers curled in his leather jacket. He wasted no time wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you against him.

He tasted like smoke and the overly expensive wine he’d ordered tonight.

It was breathless, it was heated.

Your lips parted just a bit, and he slid his tongue between, pushing down on your tongue and making you whine.

A guttural hum of satisfaction thrummed in his chest and into your mouth as fireworks sparked in your mind.

He pushed you up against the brick walk of your apartment, cradling your head in his large hand to ensure you didn’t smack it and hurt yourself.

The two of you were too fired up in your first kiss to even care about anyone walking by to see him pinning you right near the entrance.

He knew it wouldn’t go past this, a heated makeout session, that is. He didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to taint what you had right when things were beginning to bubbling with the thought of wetting his dick.

A part of him knew that what went on between the two of you was far deeper than a lustful attraction. 

But that desire still existed, still thrummed in the space between logic and need in his mind.

You were on your tiptoes as he hunched forward, feeling as if you couldn’t pull him close enough, a hand of his squeezing your waist against his front. The kiss was desperate, a close to what felt like ages of mutual yearning. 

His fingers skimmed through your hair as your noses bumped against each others, swapping saliva like two needy teenagers.

But it was far better than any kind of first kiss you’d experienced. There was no room for awkward tension like most went–the two of you had practically destroyed the blurs of worry with your overwhelming want.

Your body was sparked alight, as if you’d been asleep for ages and it was his one kiss to wake you from a dull dream. Everything melted away, fingers tugging him closer, feeling your skirt hike up as your thighs rubbed together.

And what left your lips sent the man against your lips over the precipice.

“‘Kuna,” you whined out breathily, fanning over his kiss bitten lips.

The man broke the kiss immediately, face scrunching up as he stuttered out your name headily with a hoarse “F-fuck,” his head craning forward as his lashes fluttered shut.

Your eyes widened, slowly settling back against your heels as he slammed a hand against the brick wall.

A wave of surprise had you paled, gaze drifting down to his black dress pants to see a damp spot where his crotch is.

“D-did you just-?“ You stopped yourself, mouth parting at the realization, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Sukuna couldn’t get himself out of this one, he knew it. His gaze darted between your appalled expression and the mess he’d somehow made on himself.

And it was all because of that damn nickname.

He’d never heard you use it before, and you hadn’t dared tested it out, an idea that tickled the edges of your love-sick brain. But in your horny reverie, any sense of rationality had left you succumbed to your lust.

To Sukuna, it was so fucking adorable. And so fucking hot.

But how did he explain that you whimpering his nickname had him orgasming prematurely in his pants.

“I- uh,” he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping as he moved away from you. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, the massive man hastened his pace and shuffled down the steps, practically sprinting down the sidewalk and out of your view.

You stood there, completely dumbfounded, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of endearment.

You hadn’t known just how bewitched Sukuna was with you until now.

Sukuna didn’t know how long he sprinted down the main street to rid himself of his mortification prickling his skin like needles. 

But what was far worse, was he had no idea how he would manage to face you at work tomorrow morning. 

[sukubusss]

07 - Blank Space

synopsis ! he’s an american football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night . she’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life . they lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room .

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse,

fic radio ! Motion Sickness by Phoebe Bridgers

The door shut in his face long ago. So why was he still standing outside your study room, hoping that maybe you would feel bad and open the door? Or find in your heart to hear him out.

After watching you stay ultra-focused on your work, he decided to call it quits. As he trudged out of the library, he received a text. He scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket. Luckily, he did receive a message from you. But, it read, “I don’t think we should study together anymore. Wouldn’t want you spending your time with a grade-A bitch. Right, Sukuna?”

He didn’t know what hurt more, seeing that you were no longer adding his name to the study room, or the fact that you now called him Sukuna instead of Ryomen.

He hated his full first name before he heard you say it. As early as the first grade, he had classmates call him Ryo instead because it was something he made for himself. He didn’t want to be referred to by the name given to him by his mother and father.

When you said Ryomen the first time, it took him by surprise. He liked how you defied him immediately after he asked you not to call him that. Eventually, he had gotten used to hearing his full first name from your lips and your lips only. Sure, Toji tried to tease him, but he made it clear that ‘Ryomen’ was reserved specially for you. He liked himself more when you were involved. He felt like he belonged in your rich circle and not in the dump where he grew up.

It was certainly a rude awakening. Im a fuck up. And that’s all I’ll ever amount to. It’s in my DNA, he thought, walking into his room. Soon after he welded his body to his bed, Gojo burst in. “Hey bro,” he chirped, making himself comfortable on his bed.

“What do you want?” he groaned, eyes still trained on his ceiling fan like it was a television.

“Well, I could feel your gloomy aura from a mile away,” Gojo sat up and turned to Sukuna, dissecting his features, “Everything okay, Ryo?”

“Im always gloomy,” he replied.

“Yeah, well, it’s more than usual. What’s up, man?”

Just as he was about to let out an unconvincing, “Im fine,” Toji swung the door open and also plopped onto the bed, whining, “Are you guys having a heart-to-heart without me?”

Sukuna let out a long sigh, knowing that Toji was already reading him, and now he would have to tell the truth. “What's up, Kuna Tuna?” he grinned. That damn nickname he had used since the fourth grade when all he could afford to bring to lunch was tuna still lived on.

“I called her a bitch to those Sigma Chis on the soccer team,” Sukuna revealed, cringing at his actions as he admitted to them.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Gojo asked, pretending he didn't already know.

“Well she is kind of a bitch. But it’s not necessarily in a bad way. It’s in more of a sexy dominatrix kind of way,” Toji explained. Gojo nodded his head in full understanding of Fushiguro’s deranged description.

“So you feel bad for calling her a bitch?” Gojo asked.

“No, she heard me. And poured her matcha all over me and cussed me out,” he recalled with shame.

“Woah, what a bitch move,” Gojo chuckled.

“Don’t call her that,” Sukuna scolded.

“Well, isn’t he like best friends with her? He can lowkey do that. In a not offensive way,” Toji thought out loud.

“Wait, I forgot about that. You already knew, didn’t you?” Sukuna questioned. Gojo simply smiled at him crossing his arms.

“Fuck you, idiot, what did she say?” he asked, proping himslef up on his elbows looking to Gojo.

"My lips are sealed," Satoru shrugged cooly.

"Hold on, why did you even call her a bitch?" Toji asked.

"Well, there are some dudes that are spreading a rumor that she slept with me. Now its turning into some, _____'s a slut narritive and I thought maybe if I made it seem like I don't like her it would help her reputation," he explained.

"Oh, I did see something about that on the school gossip page this morning," Toji recalled.

"Wait, so you didn't do this to protect yourself?" Gojo questioned.

"No? I don't have an important reputation to protect," Sukuna admitted. "But, she's rich and top of her class and all that shit. Her grades and record are her pride so I don't want to fuck with that."

"So you were an asshole to her so you could protect her from the rumors," Gojo concluded.

"I guess kind of. But know she fuckin' hates me so there's really no point in trying to fix shit, when all I do is fuck it up at the end of the day," Sukuna sighed laying back down.

Toji heard the defeat in his voice before he looked at his face to confirm his suspicions that Sukuna was a lot more upset about this than he led on. He made eye contact with Gojo, and without the need to fill the already thick air with words, they chose to leave him alone.

Meanwhile, you sit in your room, finally calmed from the rage, and now sit sulking on your bed, face buried in your pillows with thoughts of Sukuna and your friends disappointing you. You couldn't believe them. You couldn't believe Suguru and Shoko wanted you to study less. Were they saying this because they wanted to take your spot? You had heard some rumours about Suguru climbing the ranks recently. You had some assignments that were due in a month, so you quickly got started on those. You forced yourself out of your short-lived slump to do assignments not even your professors were thinking about.

The pounding headache that took over your senses and the lack of assignments showed that you were in dire need of a brain break. Since you were studying in your room to avoid running into Sukuna, your brain break was spent lying on your bed. Soon after you got comfy, you heard your stomach rumble. It was then you realized you hadn’t really eaten all day.

With perfect timing, you heard a swift knock on your door. It could be anyone, and you weren't sure you were in the mood to talk at all. Still with the little energy you had left, you trudged to the door with the little energy you had left and swung it open.

There stood a semi-drenched Suguru Geto with takeout in his hand. "I'm sorry," he said, inspecting you and waiting for a response. You shattered.

You moved to shut the door quickly, but you slammed it on the arm he had thrown in the way. He stepped into the room and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry, _____," he apologized again.

Suguru dropped the bag of takeout and hugged you more firmly, rubbing your back and occasionally petting your hair slowly. Your salty tears added to the moisture of his dark hoodie. He smelled like rain, his signature cologne, and faintly of the numerous cigarettes he had probably smoked that day.

Instead of reciprocating his hug, you cried into his chest and curled your hands into fists, hitting him with the little force you could muster. "I know, I know you're not happy with me. But even so, you need to eat. And I know you haven't," he whispered in your ear.

"I have work to do," you mumbled.

"No, you don't. I know you've been studying in here, you were listening to the playlist I made for you on Spotify," he said smugly.

"Ugh, I forgot you can see that," you sighed, chuckling a bit.

A bit of silence stretched, and you finally hugged him back, moving your hand from his chest to his broad back. "Hey," you breathed.

He hummed in response. "I'm sorry too. I was kind of being a bitch," you smiled, pulling away from him.

"Don't say that about yourself," Suguru chuckled.

The two of you sat on your floor and had your favorite sushi. Soon, you felt a hurried knock on your door. You and Suguru exchanged a look as he got up to answer the door. Gojo bounced in with a takeout bag in hand. His eyes fell to the rug, seeing that there ws already a line up of food. "But I got your favorite," he whined, unpacking your favorite soup.

He plopped down and started talking your ears off about plans for the next football game party. He was complaining that the theme for the afterparty was a beach party, when he had voted for a Victoria's Secret theme. Suguru called him out for just wanting to see girls in minimal clothing and kept whining, "defending his honor." The three of you continued to chat and laugh over food until another knock was heard. At this point, you were all sure it was Shoko until Gojo opened the door and glared at whoever was there.

You couldn't see from your angle, but something told you it wasn't Shoko. "I don't think she wants to see you right now, dude," he said in a hushed tone. He and the person you assumed was Ryomen exchanged a few more words you couldn't make out, then Gojo hoped right back in with a notebook he silently placed on your desk, and Shoko followed after with a bag of takeout in hand.

"I was on my way in, and Sukuna was at the door?" she said, confused.

"Yeah, he was just dropping something off for _____," Gojo quickly explained, dismissing him as a topic of conversation.

"Well, we definitely should have coordinated this because I got your favorite," Shoko said, holding up her takeout bag and assessing the food already spread out.

"You guys are idiots," you grinned.

"We're your idiots, though," Gojo replied.

You all cringed at Gojo's comment and continued your night. By the end, bellies were way too full. Apologies were said, and you almost forgot about all the drama that led up to this moment. Almost.

After the last goodbye, you shut the door, and your eyes fell on the itch you couldn't scratch all night. That notebook. You picked it up and opened it to the very first page. In his neat handwriting, he printed, "I took notes on the next four units. I explained the methodology for the problems the way you like."

You shut the notebook after reading the message. If he thought that some math help would make you forgive him, he was wrong. Besides, he hadn't even apologized. So for the rest of the week, you refused to talk to him. Still continued leaving a blank space where you used to scribble, "possibly Ryomen," because there was now no possibility of you allowing him to get near you again.

. . .

-> next part

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[sukubusss]

Me and The Devil

two: hate me, hate me not

pairing: special grade sorcerer!sukuna x sorcerer!reader

summary: you and sukuna have always had a strange relationship, if you'd even call it that. going straight from enemies to fuck buddies had always been a bad idea from the start, especially for a man as arrogant and dramatic as him.

content & warnings: AFAB reader, graphic depictions of violence, profanity, explicit smut, sukuna abuses his curse technique (he transforms into his true form self mid-fuck), canon typical violence

m.list | last chapter | next chapter

Everyone, including the staff, has been on edge with the exchange event coming up. It doesn’t help that Sukuna’s been in a mood lately. Nobody asks him why, but they’re all fairly certain it’s over a fellow sorcerer that he’s spent the last two months literally marking his territory on. 

Wherever you were, everyone could always count on the special grade sorcerer to be trailing behind you like a lost puppy if he was in town. A lot of the staff thought it was cute at first, how Sukuna wore his heart on his sleeve for you— bringing you lunch whenever he knew you’d be at headquarters, offering to train you, constantly harassing Ijichi over your whereabouts whenever you were gone for a mission. 

You’d think he’d be going to the curse sites to help you exorcise them, but he doesn’t, even though he’s more than capable of finishing the mission in under two minutes, because he’s still an asshole like that. It’s more so him randomly popping up unannounced and fucking you silly in the woods or some abandoned building— as if he didn’t invite himself over to your house on most nights he’s in town. 

He’s someone that takes, and takes, and takes. 

The only reason why you tolerate it is because he’s actually able to find it in himself to give back to you, whether it be training or being someone you could vent to. As self-absorbed as he is, he’s a good listener, gives, somewhat unhinged, but for the most part decent advice.

You liked him, he made it easy— up until a few weeks ago. 

The ones that have considered asking you what happened don’t even get the chance to. You’ve been taking on just as many missions as he has, and with how complete and utterly fucked up you’ve been leaving the curse sites you’ve visited, it’s safe to say you were just as mad at him as he was with you. 

Maybe Sukuna shouldn’t have trained you, because now you’re capable of flattening an entire village and that’s a little terrifying to the higher-ups that said you’d never go further than a grade one. 

It’s bad, like really fucking bad. The last time you two were in a room together, you used your technique to pull air out of Sukuna’s lungs and he threatened to leave jujutsu society to become a curse user because of it. It took Satoru and Suguru an entire hour trying to talk him down. 

Now over three weeks later, you two would have to be stuck in a room with each other again to watch the students compete for the exchange event taking place.

You’re a little better at putting your feelings aside for your students and coworkers. 

A little. 

Your definition of putting your feelings aside was just blatantly ignoring the special grade when you stepped into the room and started greeting everyone, even your old boss that you hate with a burning passion, Principal Gakuganji. 

And unfortunately, Sukuna is well aware of how much you hate the old man, so the silent treatment had an extra kick to it today. 

“Not gonna say hi to me?” Sukuna asks with a scoff, not doing a very good job at hiding his bitterness. 

“Did you guys hear something?” you ask, looking all around the room, everywhere except for the seat Sukuna’s in. 

“Real fuckin’ mature,” he responds, feeling his temperature steadily rise. 

You laugh, “coulda swore I heard barking.”

“Fuck you,” he rolls his eyes, then he catches Satoru and Suguru snickering in the corner. “Something funny?”

“Nothing,” Suguru murmurs, stifling a laugh and trying to avoid looking Sukuna in the eye because it’ll just make everything so much worse. The last thing anyone needed today was talking him down from the ledge.

Utahime eventually cuts in and clears her throat, pressing a button to turn on the mic to the students that are already out in the forest. 

“Alright students, we’ll be starting the event in 3 minutes. For the first years, remember that there are no rules or restrictions. You could be as creative as you’d like with your techniques, the only thing that we ask is that you don’t kill each other. If you do, that results in immediate execution as you’d be considered a curse user—” she’s cut off by a certain white haired sorcerer, who bursted out laughing. “Something funny Gojo?”

“Do you guys remember when Sukuna threatened to kill Naoya if he didn’t back out of the exchange event when we were second years?”

Utahime groans, “yes I almost forgot, no threatening to kill each other either, as that would be considered cheating.”

“Gimme that,” Sukuna murmurs, grabbing the mic out of Utahime’s hand, “Yuji, I swear to fucking god if you lose, I’m disowning you. Do not disappoint me today, don't fucking embarrass me either.”

Utahime just stares at the man in disbelief as he continues to threaten his little brother like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“I’ve trained you since the moment you enrolled into this goddamn school and if I see you fold even just once, I’m calling your little girlfriend and telling her you bawled your eyes out during Human Earth Worm 3.” 

On the monitor, you can see Nobara and Panda laughing their asses off, while the rest of the Tokyo students try not to laugh, even sweet Yuta. Yuji immediately turns to the nearest camera, looking absolutely mortified. 

“AIZAWA’S NOT MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND,” the boy screams back. 

“And she never will be once I tell her, so you better lock in,” his older brother says rather darkly. 

He calls it tough love, most of the population would call abuse. It’s not until she yanks the mic back when he stops, but even then the students were able to hear him grumbling something under his breath through the speakers. 

“Okay students, you may now start,” she announces over Sukuna’s complaints. “Good luck everyone!”

And the tension that once filled the room when you first walked in begins to settle again. 

In the 3 years you’ve worked as a teacher, not once have you found yourself distracted while watching the students, and this year is no different. Your shoulders are relaxed and eyes are locked in on the screens, mainly on the students you’d be recommending for promotion— Megumi, Maki, and poor Yuji. 

You have no idea how him and Sukuna are related, Yuji’s just too sweet. Even during the times you’ve watched him argue with his older brother, he never crosses the line, never insults Sukuna-- no matter how much he deserves it at times. 

He even tried using his little brother as a pawn when you two first fell out.

“I know Sukuna’s a little rough around the edges, but he really does miss you Sensei.”

You raised a brow, “a little rough?”

“Okay maybe a lot,” he backtracked, “he means well thought… deep down— like really deep down— he just has a hard time showing it, but–”

“What did he promise to give you if you told me all of this?”

“N-nothing!”

“...”

“Ugh fine,” he sighs. “A signed autograph from the actor that played the human earth worm from Human Earth Worm 3.”

“Ah, got it,” you just smiled and nodded, not mentioning that it was CGI, not an actual person— that would’ve broken the kids heart. 

Sukuna’s an asshole to him, but he does love him. That much is known with how he only looks at the screens his little brother is on, even though it’s Megumi and Nobara he should be watching right now. 

Of course he wants him to win all of his battles, but he’s also more than ready to jump out there and strangle anyone who’d dare to take the competition too far, especially after last year's incident. 

Gakuganji has had it out for Yuji ever since he enrolled, most likely because Sukuna just so happens to have the same technique as the king of curses himself, over a thousand years ago. He also coincidentally has the same name as him. The higher ups have been trying to kill him off ever since he was scouted by Yaga and now they’re trying to do the same thing with his little brother, who is also exceptionally talented. 

There’s no doubt the two brothers are related to the cannibalistic serial village-slaughterer. One might even say Sukuna was the reincarnation of him given how he’s the spitting image of the ancient sadist in his “true-form”, but he didn’t care to get into all of that.

The higher-ups need to get their heads out of their asses and realize that this wasn’t the fucking heian era. The modern world met all of his needs. If he wants to eat, he’ll order doordash. If he wants to fuck, he’ll go on tinder. If he wants to kill, he’ll take on more missions. 

While Yuji was able to befriend the slightly delusional yet loyal-as-fuck Todo, the kid from the Kamo clan still has it out for him.

Who knows, maybe it’s just jealousy at this point. Yuji’s been able to hit multiple blackflashes in a row since his first year. Then there’s Noritoshi. Stuck with a bow and arrow, running around like it’s the fucking hunger games and he’s the best value version of Katpiss Evergreen, or whatever the hell her name is. Sounds like a strain of sativa if you asked him. 

But like he said, he’s more than ready to jump in and break both of Noritoshi’s legs then send him back to his clan if he tries to repeat last year's stunt. 

The battle lasted a total of 6 hours— lots of blood, lots of screaming, and Megumi threatening to wipe out Mechamaru with Mahoraga. Satoru just about had a heart attack when the 16 year old got into that stance. It resulted in the mic getting snatched from Utahime, again, so he could beg his adopted son to not fucking kill himself and everyone around him for a win.

“Dramatic ass kid,” Sukuna murmurs under his breath. 

“You’re one to talk,” you murmur back. 

“...The fuck did you just say to me?” he slowly turns his head to look at you, you could feel him burning a hole into the side of your head, yet you continue to ignore him. 

Instead you get up and clasp your hands together. 

“Well… great competition everyone! Good luck to Kyoto next time,” you condescendingly say to Gakuganji. He does nothing but grumble back, still offended over the fact that you switched to the Tokyo branch. 

—

The silent treatment’s getting tiring. 

Sukuna’s given you enough time and space to get over what had happened, yet here you still are, ignoring texts and even going as far as turning on your read receipts to be extra petty. He genuinely gets a sharp pang in his chest when looking back at all of his messages you haven't responded to. 

May 15, 2025

Sukuna [11:20 A.M]: whats ur problem?

Sukuna [11:20 A.M]: there’s no way ur still mad at me rn

Sukuna [11:21 A.M]: it was never a big deal until you decided to blow it up

May 17, 2025

Sukuna [04:20 P.M]: can you please just talk to me?

Sukuna [04:25 P.M]: how can you expect me to try to make it up to you if you don’t even respond to me??

May 18, 2025

Sukuna [12:18 A.M]: actually ykw FUCK YOU

Sukuna [12:18 A.M]: if you wanna be dumb and throw what we had away, i’m not gonna stop you. good fucking luck finding someone better than me 

Sukuna [12:20 A.M]:  i’m the fuckin best

Sukuna [01:35 P.M]: my bad i was drunk last night

May 25, 2025

Sukuna [09:49 A.M]: i know you’re mad at me and all but i never thought you’d try to fucking KILL ME?? 

Sukuna [09:50 A.M]: and now you’re bragging about it to fucking nanami of all people? going around saying you left me breathless is NOT something you should be proud of

May 26, 2025

You [01:20 A.M]: wanna come over?

Sukuna [01:21 A.M]: you’re drunk rn aren’t you

You [01:22 A.M]: maybe

Sukuna [01:22 A.M]: fuck off

Sukuna [01:22 A.M]: you’re not about to turn me into some fuckin bootycall 

Sukuna [01:22 A.M]: how’ve you been?

[Missed Call]

[Missed Call]

Sukuna [01:25 A.M]: you’re never hearing from me again if you don’t answer 

[Missed Call]

True to his word, he doesn’t try again. 

But then he finds out you were given a mission that turned out to be a special grade case. It took him less than a second after hearing the news from Ijichi to realize he’s more than alright with you hating him, he just wanted you alive and to not end up being another casualty in this world.

So now he’s on the freeway, speeding to get to you. 

A cop tried to pull him over just a couple minutes ago and he cleaved their tires. It was one of those moments where he chuckled to himself. He hoped law enforcement would try to get in his way one of these days, just so he could show them that they were powerless when it came to him. He’d watch the blood drain from their faces and genuinely enjoy it. 

His car comes to a screeching halt when he reaches some giant, abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of town. Immediately he feels it, the only type of energy that’s able to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. Though now as an adult, it doesn’t bring him fear, it brings him pure, unadulterated excitement. Especially right now since he gets to play Captain Save-a-Hoe, there’s no way you couldn’t not forgive him after this. 

Except when he steps inside the warehouse, he realizes that energy isn’t from the curse, it’s from you. The curse has been exorcised for some time now, one that would’ve been three times the size of him, had it not been deflated. 

Yes. Deflated. Not to mention it’s all thanks to his training. You went from blowing curses away to compacting their bodies by pretty much vacuum sealing them. You also know how to use cleave, which would’ve been much quicker, but he’s guessing you were enjoying yourself today and opted to watch the poor thing slowly die.

It’s kind of hot, but it’s also kind of fucking terrifying. 

Maybe he should take up teaching part time, you are living breathing proof that he could turn someone into a special grade if he really tried. Though the only reason why he did decide to train you was because he didn’t want you to die at work. He’s not sure if he could be as nurturing towards a bunch of angsty, snot-nosed teens. He nearly strangled Panda last month for telling him that he was built like a spider in his other form. 

You look over your shoulder and scoff at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well I was here to save you,” he responds, perplexed, maybe even slightly devastated since his hopes got crushed. 

“To save me?” you ask, growing even more irritated that, not only did they give a special grade case by accident, but then they sent him of all people to come help you. 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, looking back and forth between you and your little victim. “I was going 120 to get here and even slashed a cop's tires.”

“Aw,” you give him a fake pout, “how romantic. There was no need though.” 

“Clearly,” he grumbles, kicking at the gravel, “you okay?”

“Obviously,” you rudely respond. 

“Really?” he grins, knowing something you don’t. 

“Really.”

He shrugs and begins walking towards you, “I’ll let Shoko be the judge of that.”

“What do you m—”

Sukuna catches up to you within a blink of an eye and presses two fingers to your forehead before you could finish that sentence.

If you weren’t being so stubborn, you would’ve noticed that you had a huge gash on the side of your leg, but that’s what adrenaline does and thank god for that. It eventually would’ve worn off and you’d be screaming from the pain during the ride back because the cut that deep. You probably would’ve passed out from the blood loss anyways, given how you can’t use RCT. 

He throws you over his shoulder and gets you in his car, but not before disintegrating the curse and the warehouse, making sure his residuals completely covered yours. 

Instead of going 120, he goes 90 the whole ride back to headquarters, all while trying to stop the blood from gushing out of your leg by using RCT on you. He thought about doing more, but decides it’s best to leave it to Shoko who’s much better at the technique than him and Satoru are. 

“Fuck, what happened?” Shoko asks, seeing him walk in with you in his arms. 

“Long story,” he mutters, laying you down on the cold metal bed, “need you to keep it a secret though.” 

“How big of a secret are we talking?” she apprehensively asks. 

“Not too big. Just… don’t document this, and if you do, say I found her passed out and that I exorcised the curse myself,” he says with a slightly strained look on his face. “Just until I talk to Gojo, alright?”

She takes a moment to think about it, but eventually nods and says yes to her old classmate, not bothering to question him even further. If it's something that he needs to get Gojo involved in, then it's serious.

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[sukubusss]

—Times up!

❥ Their sex ban is over! (And you're in danger...) Pt. 1 here

❥ G. Satoru, G. Suguru, N. Kento, F. Toji, R. Sukuna, I. Shoko, Uraume, T. Yuki

smau masterlist || A.N. Choso's gonna be in the next smau promise

Taglist 💞: @mikorinstan @bestwomanalive @linaaeatsfamilies @fayeriee

@fushiguroooozzz

[sukubusss]

—Pick a number

❥ You have them pick a number from 1-10 to see how long their sex ban is!

❥ G. Satoru, G. Suguru, N. Kento, F. Toji, R. Sukuna, I. Shoko, Uraume, T. Yuki x fem!reader

smau masterlist

Taglist 💞: @mikorinstan @bestwomanalive @linaaeatsfamilies @fayeriee

@fushiguroooozzz

[sukubusss]

to distant lands - ch.2: dirt | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: The Knight who has watched over you since childhood is retiring and, much to your dismay, your father decides to put his best soldier on the job as his replacement - Ryomen Sukuna, the Kingdom’s most vicious warrior and far from your biggest fan.

Little did you know that Sukuna would end up tangling himself in your life in ways you never could’ve anticipated. 

word count: 11k

fic content: 18+ mdni, smut, princess!reader, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, fluff, angst, protective sukuna, fingering, spanking, sex dreams, violence, parent death, grief, confusing emotions, reader is chaotic, more tags to be added as chapters come out!

authors note: I feel like I keep making reader act like an evil little gremlin in this one I just can't help myself.

series masterlist | AO3 | previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon)

Sukuna was elated. 

He’d expected this post to be boring, but you were certainly doing your best to keep him on his toes. The fact that you’d actually had the resolve to slip out of the castle last night had come as a surprise to him, he’d always figured that you were a little bit too meek for that.

Clearly he was wrong. 

Through his eyes, you had been nothing more than your run-of-the-mill princess. Polite, quiet, lacking in any real knowledge of the world, and steadfast in your belief that everyone had to treat you with kindness just because you happened to be born in a position of high status. 

For that reason, he’d never really cared for you. That first meeting between the two of you, where you’d been all wide-eyed and hopeful, had really pissed him off. He didn’t want the awe of some little princess who couldn’t live in the real world - it had no worth to him. 

He’d grown up with nothing. His family was poor, and his dad was cruel. He’d stolen and he’d fought and he’d ended up in the army at sixteen to make sure that his twin brother didn’t starve to death. 

So when you’d given him that medal, your soft hands brushing against his shoulders and your voice so melodic in his ears, all he could feel was rage. You were pretty, he’d noticed that instantly when he’d looked up at you, but there was no trace of age or weathering on your face, nothing about you that said you’d ever suffered for a single moment in your life. 

And he hated that. 

He despised the way you thanked him for his service, as though he’d done anything for you, like he would fight for the safety of some air-headed fool who knew nothing of the world beyond her own perfectly decorated chambers. He hated that you got to live such a lovely, pristine life, while he had scrambled around in the dirt for years. He hated you. 

But there was something about you, in the way that you reacted to him, that had him going out of his way to bother you. Maybe it was the way that he’d seen the light die from your eyes that moment that you gave him his medal - he’d stolen away at least a shard of your innocence that day and the sadist in him wanted to keep taking more, wanted to drag you down at least part way to his level.

He’d gotten a reaction from you once, not long after he’d first met you. You’d pulled him aside and essentially screamed in his face. It had come as a major shock to him, he had been confident that you didn’t have such a thing in you, always coming across as the type of person who’d never hurt a fly. And yet there you were - the human embodiment of a baby bird, listing off some of the most heinous curses he’d ever heard. 

That had given him a thrill like no other, and in that moment he had been resolved to get you to do it again. You were usually so practiced in your reactions, and it had become evident to him that you would absolutely never cause a scene in front of your subjects. But in private? Clearly all bets were off. 

He’d tried his hardest over the years to rile you up, but you never pulled him aside again, always choosing to ignore him, treating him as though he wasn’t worth your time. That irritated him beyond belief. 

He couldn’t really pinpoint why it was such an issue for him. He didn’t like you - that was why he tortured you in the first place, he just wanted to inject at least a little difficulty into the life of a girl who never had to want for anything. 

And yet, every time you brushed off his attempts to bother you he felt a pang in his chest. 

He just chalked it up to another thing that he hated about you, some stupid royal magic that you probably had where you could make people feel negative emotions whenever you wanted. 

Yeah that was it. 

But his own feelings aside, these little ploys that you’d been running recently to get rid of him were excellent. He’d really been trying to get you to yell at him again when he read that book aloud to you, but you gave him something even better with your grand scheme to run away. The game of cat and mouse that you’d set up for him was almost as good as being on the battlefield. 

Who knew you had it in you? Thanks to your antics, this position wasn’t as boring as he’d thought - not that he’d ever be telling you that. 

It was almost amusing, you’d been doing the absolute most to be a nuisance and drive him away, but playing these games with him was just having the opposite effect. Now he was curious to see what else you had up your sleeve. 

Not before he played a little game of his own though. 

He’d stayed awake in his chambers for a few hours after he’d tucked you into bed last night, considering what he could do for a little bit or retribution. It couldn’t be anything too serious or Kashimo really would get rid of him. No, he needed to do something that was reasonable for him as your Knight. 

Thus, he had arrived at the perfect plot. 

Sneaking into your room late at night he approached the windows, locking up each of them and taking away the keys that usually laid on the windowsill for you to use at your pleasure. There’d be no more sneaking out from you on his watch - he’s sure that your father would approve of that. 

As he headed back towards the door, he found his gaze drawn to you. You were curled up in a ball beneath the duvet, a little drool dripping from your mouth onto the pillow below. Your plushie, Sir Bounce-a-lot, was clutched tightly to your chest, your arms shielding him protectively as though someone would steal him away from you. 

Sukuna smirked as he considered throwing the ratty little toy out the window. It was quite the eyesore, and he was sure that you’d yell at him then. But the way that tears had sprung to your eyes when he threatened it before told him that it might just be a step too far. 

Sure, he was mean, but he wasn’t downright heartless. 

Besides, he had thought that the name was cute. He and his brother Jin had been a big fan of the Arthurian Legends growing up. His favourite had been the story of Sir Gawain of Green Knight - back then he’d hoped that he’d become just like one of those brave knights, striking out on noble adventures. But reality rarely lives up to the fantasy, and those Knights of old were no more than simple legends. 

His gaze stayed on you for a moment longer, brushing aside the strange feeling that swelled in his chest at the sight of your sleeping form.

Making his way out of your room, he quietly closed the wooden door before locking it from the outside. He was pretty sure that you’d throw an excellent tantrum when you realised you were stuck in your chambers tomorrow morning. Maybe he’d even get to hear some begging from you for him to let you out, that would be a real treat. 

However, the next morning you’d given him anything but a reaction. You’d slept in late, that wasn’t really new for you, he was used to you stumbling out of your chambers at 11am. Not to mention, your little midnight adventure probably meant that you were even more keen to sleep in than usual. 

That didn’t explain why, when you did eventually rise from your slumber, you were surprisingly docile in your attempts to escape the room. 

He’d watched with glee as you tried the door handle, snickering to himself when it didn’t budge. He thought he could hear you sighing softly behind the wood, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Please let me out.” You asked. Your voice sounded tired, as though you were completely uninterested in engaging with this situation. 

He weighed up the thought of leaving you in there a little bit longer, stoking your frustration until you really lost it on him, or maybe until you were crying and begging for him to let you out. But, he supposed that would give you too much ammo to use against him if you were trying to convince your father that he was a bad personal Knight. It would become clear that he was taking this opportunity to torment you rather than simply keeping you safe. 

“Just making sure you can’t run away again, princess.” He said as he unlocked the door. “Clearly I need to keep an eye on you now, since you’re so insistent on putting yourself in danger.” He didn’t really mean his words, he knew that you likely wouldn’t try running away a second time, considering the embarrassment that you suffered last night. He was only really saying it to rile you up. 

He’d expected you to yell and scream at him once the door was open, assuming that your initial muted response had been because you’d thought he’d drag things out longer and keep you locked in there if you started throwing a tantrum while still stuck in the room. 

Yet, as he released you from the confines of your chambers he was met with a sheepish look, an odd guilt-ridden expression that he wasn’t used to seeing on your face. You seemed to study him for a moment, as though you had something to say, before sharply turning away from him and heading down the hallway. 

That was odd. Shouldn’t you be at least a little bit angry with him?

“Good morning to you too.” He said sarcastically as he caught up to you. You were striding quickly through the halls, as though you were desperate to put some distance between the two of you. That was easier said than done though, his legs were far longer than yours and the green velvet dress that you were wearing that day certainly wasn’t helping you move quickly. 

“What’s good about it?” You mumbled in response. Your tone was surprisingly defeatist, leaving him at a loss as to what could’ve happened in the few hours you’d been apart. 

—

The gods were sick. Of that much you were certain. 

Because after you were tucked into your plush bed against your will, you were cursed with dreams that your waking mind would’ve never entertained. Those thoughts certainly didn’t belong to you, so some divine force must be inflicting this upon you for its own amusement. 

That was the only explanation. Because there was absolutely no way that you chose to dream about Sukuna in the way that you did last night. 

In this sick and twisted nightmare that had plagued your subconscious, you'd been thrown back to where you were last night: tossed over Sukuna’s shoulder in some dark alleyway. But instead of the reality of the situation, you were stuck in some little fantasy retelling in which Sukuna’s hand had found its way under your dress. 

He had one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you pinned firmly against his shoulder, while his other hand ran leisurely up your thigh, fingers finding their way to your panties, tracing the outline of your pussy through the thin fabric.

It was hazy, but you were sure you must’ve resisted somewhat, ever true to form even in your dreams, because you’d wriggled about so much that he’d firmly slapped your ass and ordered you to stay still before going back to play with your pussy. 

There was no doubt in your mind that he had teased you, had mused about why you were so wet, about how he thought you hated him. But in his strong arms you had no choice but to hang there, gaze fixed on his back while his hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers brushing along your folds and dipping into you. 

The rest of the dream was a haze, but you vaguely recall his fingers pumping into you with vigour as he mocked you for moaning and whining like you enjoyed it. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you had enjoyed it. You know he’d made you cum at the end, you recall clawing at his back and yelping out his name as your body shook, clenching around his thick fingers. 

And just for a moment you were on cloud nine - the best you’d ever felt. 

But then, you’d woken up. 

Embarrassed. Horrified. Your panties drenched in slick, and need pulsing through your gut with the dream still clearly etched into your mind. All you wanted to do was forget about it, but that was hard when your own traitorous body was practically begging for release, desperate to be touched. 

Gods, this was humiliating. 

It wasn’t like you could even do anything about it. You could pleasure yourself, but Sukuna’s revelation last night about overhearing your conversation with Shoko gave you pause. If he could hear your hushed voices then who knew what else he could hear. 

You were sure that you’d never be able to live that down. 

So instead you headed into your washroom and drew yourself a cold bath, submerging yourself in the freezing water and expelling that burning need from your gut. You were not about to let Sukuna have any sort of victory over you, even if that victory was only in your own head. 

Fuck him. He probably used some weird mind powers to make those thoughts manifest - he was the absolute worst. 

Once you were bathed and ready to go down to the dining hall you found that he’d locked the door to your chambers. Now that you were thinking about it the windows were shut too which was odd, you’d usually leave them open throughout the spring and summer to let in a breeze - it always got way too hot in the castle. 

He must’ve come in during the night to lock them, which you were not a massive fan of. A part of you wondered if he’d done anything creepy to you while you were asleep which might’ve led to the nature of your dream last night, but you knew in your heart that he hadn’t. He may be deeply unlikable, but there were lines that you knew he wouldn’t cross. 

To get him to free you from your captivity that morning you’d stayed very calm, asking politely for him to let you out and choosing not to completely lose your shit. Not because you weren’t angry - you definitely were, but more because you were afraid of how your body would react if you interacted with him too long. You could only imagine how humiliating it would be if you went to yell at him only for your cheeks to involuntarily turn red at the sight of his frustratingly handsome face. 

Avoidance was the best policy for today, at least until you could get a grip. 

Luckily for you, avoiding Sukuna on that particular day was going to be easy. 

He’d taken you down for breakfast as usual and you’d sat in silence, your eyes down on the plate of bacon and eggs that sat in front of you, unwilling to acknowledge his existence. You’d pushed the bacon around your plate, pretending to be unaware of the way that his red eyes were honed in on the side of your face. 

Surprisingly, it was your father who had come to your rescue. Approaching your table and claiming that he needed Sukuna to assist him with something for the next couple of hours. He’d then given you a stern look and a full-blown lecture about staying put in the castle while Sukuna was away, no gallivanting about outside the walls without an escort. 

You’d shrugged your shoulders apathetically and mumbled that he was free to keep Sukuna forever if he wanted. 

Kashimo, in his advanced age, was certainly not sharp enough to hear that comment. The same couldn’t be said for Sukuna, who shot you a condescending grin. “Aww, don’t worry princess! I’ll be back later - try your best to manage without me.” His tone was so sweet that it made you feel a little sick. 

You gave him a wholly unamused look before going back to your breakfast. It didn’t matter, you weren’t going to let him ruin this rare opportunity to be away from him. With him not constantly breathing down your neck, you might actually have the opportunity to dig up some dirt on him and get rid of him altogether. 

Considering that he wasn’t going to quit of his own accord and that he was too good at the job to be fired for incompetence, you were running low on viable options to get him removed from his post. But you did have one more plan, and that was uncovering wrongdoing from his past. A guy like him, who revelled so much in feats on the battlefield, had to have a few skeletons in his closet. If he did, you were going to find them and proudly present them to your father - then maybe he’d think twice about leaving you alone with his favourite Knight. 

The only issue with this plan was that you weren’t entirely sure where you could get dirt on Sukuna. You knew essentially nothing about him from before his appearance in your life four years ago. You were aware that he officially joined your father’s forces ten years ago, when he was just sixteen years old, but as for anything before that? You were clueless. 

It did strike you that sixteen was exceptionally young to be starting out in the army, usually soldiers were at least eighteen before they got started. Maybe there was something worth digging into there? Perhaps he’d been a criminal in a different kingdom as a youth and had run to join your father’s forces to start over in a new life? 

If there was such ugliness lurking in his past, then you were going to find it. 

—

You started your search over at the Knight Barracks. Sukuna had moved into the room next to yours once he became your personal Knight, but for the ten years before that he would’ve been living in the pristine quarters located on the east side of the castle grounds. Perhaps his old room, or one of the other Knights living in the barracks, would be able to provide some insight into his past. 

It wasn’t an area that you visited much, these days you didn’t really have a reason to. When you were young your mother would often take you out to watch the Knights engage in their weapons training on the field just outside the barracks. You had loved watching them partake in duels, the clashing of their wooden training swords an absolute thrill to your eight year old self. 

You were less impressed by it now - in fact, you didn’t think you’d been impressed by a Knight in the last four years, Sukuna had completely shattered that illusion for you. 

As you approached the entrance to the barracks, a couple of the Knights who were sitting around outside instantly dropped onto their knees, bowing their heads low as you walked past them. It made you cringe a little, as much as you were used to people showing you reverence at this point, you didn’t want too much attention drawn to you being here - that would make it much harder to effectively snoop. 

“At ease!” You said softly, dismissing the Knights and hoping that they’d just go back to what they’d been doing before. Most of them did, going back to their books or card games. 

Unfortunately for you, not all of them were so willing to dismiss your presence. Todo, another one of your father’s favourite Knights, towered over you with a grin. “Hey princess! Haven’t seen you around in a while!” 

Todo was a more stereotypical Knight than Sukuna. A genuinely good guy, the kind of person who was endlessly loyal to you and your father and strived to make the world a better place. Unfortunately he had suffered from major injuries to his hands in the war four years ago, which had left him unable to hold a weapon properly. Your father’s respect for him meant that he always had a home here no matter what, and now he spent all of his time overseeing and training new recruits. 

While you had great respect for Todo, you were also a little wary of him for two reasons - the first being the loyalty that he held for your father, he’d definitely rat on you if he caught you doing something suspicious or dangerous. The second was because of the loyalty he held for Sukuna. It was shocking considering their stark difference in nature, but Todo was a big fan of the tattooed menace - allegedly Sukuna had played a big part in ensuring that Todo made it home alive from the war and subsequently earned himself Todo’s everlasting allegiance. That was a major problem for you. 

“Hi Todo. Doing well?” You asked, hoping that you could make a little bit of small talk and be allowed to go on your way. 

“As ever.” He said with a smile. “You never come down here! Something wrong?”

You probably should’ve considered this possibility before you came out here and had a good excuse ready. It had been so long since you’d interacted with any Knight other than Sukuna that you didn’t really think anyone would pay you any mind. 

“No, just a little bored. Besides…” You trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how risky your next statement might be. “Sukuna mentioned that he’d lost something in the move over to his new quarters, figured I’d come over here and check out his old room to see if I could find it for him.” 

“Oh, I see.” Todo said. “He couldn’t come and pick it up himself? Not very manly of him.” 

Shit. You really didn’t want Todo bringing this up to him. 

“I’ve been keeping him super busy.” You blurted out. “So he hasn’t had the time. I figured I’d do this for him as a nice favour in exchange for everything he’s been doing for me!” You had to carefully school your facial expression as that lie fell from your lips, it felt repulsive to heap such praise on Sukuna, but what choice did you have? 

Todo nodded approvingly. “You’re so kind, princess.” 

“Thanks.” You said with a nod as you moved to brush past him, but he stood unwavering in your path. “You probably don’t know which room was his - let me show you.” 

He turned to the door and your shoulders visibly sagged. It was going to be so much harder to snoop with Todo there, plus now you were going to have to search for some imaginary item to bring back for Sukuna - great. 

Following Todo in through the door that he held open for you, you snaked through the many corridors of the Knight Barracks. You’d never actually been inside before, and you were taken aback by the sheer size of it. There were halls leading off in every direction, massive open areas for dining and relaxing, and hundreds of doors opening up into dorms. It made sense, your father had accumulated a massive military force over the years, and over half of them resided in here. 

There was a smaller barracks outside of the castle walls, located in the surrounding town. The forces who resided there were those who worked as the city guard in peacetime, taking down criminals and keeping the townsfolk safe. Whenever the country went to war, those guards would join up with the main forces from the castle and march to war alongside them, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the city while the war was fought. 

Other than the city guard, there was another small population that didn’t live in barracks - Knights of noble status. Most of the soldiers in your father’s army were common folk who joined for various reasons such as stable employment and good pay, but there were a few who joined from the noble class, out of a desire to present themselves as great and brave Knights. 

Yuki’s husband Choso, for example, was one of these Knights. He had come from an excellent family who owned significant packages of land across the Cerulean Kingdom. But his father had also been a Knight, as had his grandfather - it was tradition in their family and many other noble families to serve your time, to do your duty and protect your country in times of war. 

These noble Knights didn’t tend to partake in the day to day duties like the common-born folk would. They’d remain in their own grand estates and generally learn to fight from a private tutor. Any menial labor that average Knights would partake in during peace time was completely below them. The only time that they’d really take up their posts was during big parades and banquets in which they wanted to be celebrated; and during wartime, when they’d ride off to battle like everyone else. 

You’d never really respected those sorts of Knights when you were a little, you always saw them as being a bit false. You couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t dedicate their whole life to being a Knight like the ones who lived in the barracks. To you they were the real Knights, while the nobles were just playing pretend. 

But who were you to criticize? It wasn’t like you were volunteering to go off to war, and you’d never done a real day’s work in your life - unless you counted undermining Sukuna’s authority over you as work. 

Todo led you up several flights of stairs until you ended up in a hallway that was a little narrower than the rest. There seemed to be no more stairs to ascend so you assumed you must be on the top floor. 

“These are the rooms for the highest ranking Knights. Unlike everyone else we get our own chambers.” Todo explained. “That’s my room there, Sukuna’s old one is just down the hall. We’ve left it as it is for now, we weren’t sure if his change in role was a long term thing…” 

He pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to Sukuna’s room for you, standing beside the door as he gestured for you to enter. 

Sukuna’s old room was nice. It was relatively spacious, with a big window located on the slanted ceiling, allowing the sunlight to shine through onto the bed. You wondered if he had ever lain there at night and stared up at the stars - he didn’t seem like the type of man capable of appreciating such things, but with such a nice view it was a possibility. 

The space was pretty bare. There were still sheets on the bed, but beyond that it looked completely unlived in. There was a desk pushed into the corner of the room with a rickety looking chair tucked in beneath it, a small wardrobe was situated along the back wall of the room and a meagre bedside table with a candle sat on the right side of the bed. 

The bed was so small that you wondered how Sukuna had even been sleeping in it, you almost snickered aloud at the thought of his feet hanging off the end.

“So, what was it that he left behind?” 

“A book.” You said, listing the very first thing that came to mind. You quickly got to searching, stalking over to the desk and pulling out the drawers, looking for absolutely anything that belonged to him. 

“Hmmm.” Todo seemed lost in thought. “I never really took him for much of a reader.” 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t think it.” You agreed, pushing one drawer back in and moving on to the next, feeling a spike of frustration as you found that the desk was totally empty. You spun around and crossed over to the bedside table, repeating the same process of yanking out all of the drawers. 

“What’s the book called?” Todo asked. “Maybe we can find another copy if it isn’t in here.”

Why did Todo have to be so good-natured and helpful? In any other scenario you would’ve deeply appreciated how much work he was putting in to help you, but right now you just wished he would just leave so that you could search in peace. 

“I’m not sure what the title is.” You said finally, before a wicked idea sprung into your head. “It’s some romance book though, apparently it’s his guilty pleasure - don’t bring it up to him though, I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” 

Todo was probably too nice a person to spread rumors around, but you hoped that there was at least one malicious bone in that body that would encourage him to share that knowledge with another Knight, you’d love that to become Sukuna’s reputation. 

At least then coming here wouldn’t have been a total loss, which was how it was looking right now. You slammed the wardrobe shut, irritation running through you as you realised you’d searched the whole room. As a final gambit you lay down on the floor and checked under the bed, finding nothing but cobwebs and spiders. 

“Sorry princess, looks like you’re out of luck.” 

You sighed softly. “Yeah I guess so.” 

If there was nothing worthwhile in here then you’d have to break into his current room, which was not ideal. You didn’t have the key so you’d have to either pick the lock or get someone to let you in, and unlike in this case, there wasn’t really any reason for you to be in his room without him also being there. 

“Hey Todo.” You said, pausing for a moment as you considered your next question. “How long have you known Sukuna for?” 

“Since he joined. I must’ve been twenty then - when I first met him he was still just this ratty little teenager, he was already tall but he had hardly any meat on him, I think the famine back then must’ve hit his family hard. It's weird looking at how massive he is now.” Todo had a fond expression on his face. “He was a nightmare back then, couldn’t get along with anyone - I’m glad that he grew up a bit.” 

You rolled your eyes at that. You’re not sure that a man who threatened to throw your plushie out the window should be described as grown up. 

“He was always a monster in the field though, even when he was skinny, he could fight like nothing I’ve ever seen before. No offense princess, but I have no idea why the King took him away from us, if war ever breaks out again we need him on the frontlines.”

You shrugged. “Sukuna said my father is paranoid - with discontent across other Kingdoms he’s afraid I’ll be taken for ransom.” 

“I can understand his concern. I think this arrangement is fine, as long as he’s planning on returning Sukuna to us if there is a war.” 

You nodded. You were confident that would be the case, your father wasn’t going to intentionally weaken his own forces by not letting Sukuna fight. 

Should encouraging the breakout of war be on your list of plans to get rid of Sukuna? 

Maybe that was a little too far. 

“Do you know anything about Sukuna from before he joined us?” You asked curiously. “You mention the famine…” 

“That’s just an assumption.” Todo clarified. “He isn’t the type of guy who likes to talk about himself, he spends a lot of his time alone. It's not like I’m going to pry, as far as I’m concerned he does his job and watches my back, that’s all that matters.”

“Right.” You try to hide how deflated you are by that comment. Although, the confirmation that Sukuna was unwilling to discuss his past was something, hopefully that meant that he had something to hide. “Thanks for your help, Todo.” 

The barracks had been entirely unhelpful, which meant you needed to move into phase two of your snooping. 

After you’d waved goodbye to Todo, you’d slowly made your way back to the main part of the castle, heading upstairs to your quarters. As you walked past Sukuna’s door you gave it an experimental push, just to see if the gods were going to grace you with a bit of luck today - unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge. 

You entered your own quarters and flopped down onto the bed, staring up at the canopy. Asking someone to open the door was too suspicious and picking the lock would likely be impossible - you’d never tried doing it yourself before, and if someone walked past while you were trying to figure it out your whole operation would be done for. 

Maybe you’d just have to wait until Sukuna was back, get him to invite you into his room somehow so you could snoop around his belongings like he did with yours. But if he did have anything to hide, you were almost certain that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you find it.

Why did this have to be so difficult? 

Just as you were lamenting over how much of a struggle your life was, a gust of breeze came in through the window. You looked over at it, one of the servants must’ve come in and unlocked it during the afternoon, considering Sukuna had closed them all last night. 

The open window presented you with an idea. There was a ledge just outside - a ledge that you could shimmy along to climb into Sukuna’s room. 

It was risky. You’d have to bank on the hope that Sukuna had left his windows open. Plus, if you slipped you could easily plummet to your death, this wasn’t as straightforward as your escape down onto the ramparts - but when weighed up against a lifetime of dealing with Sukuna right at your side, you decided that it was probably worth it. 

So, gathering up all the courage you could, you clambered out of the window. You dropped down onto your knees and crawled your way along the ledge. You kept your eyes on the stone platform before you, trying your best not to take a glance down at the drop immediately to your right. You knew how far it was - you’d spent years staring out of your window onto the garden below. 

Moving slowly, you inched yourself towards Sukuna’s room. If anyone was looking up at your tower right now they’d probably have a heart attack, seeing the nation's princess commit such a dangerous act. You really hoped that everyone was too busy going about their usual day to look up - you definitely didn’t need anyone telling your father about this. 

You crawled until windows came into view on your left-hand side, internally rejoicing at the realisation that Sukuna had left them open for the day. You supposed he couldn’t have anticipated that you’d try something akin to this. 

He had no idea how far you were capable of going. 

Carefully, you placed your hands on the windowsill, hoisting yourself through the opening and into Sukuna’s room. You stumbled a little as you hit the floor - the distance between the window and the ground was a little further than it was in your own chambers. 

As you took in your surroundings, you found yourself a little surprised at how neat the room was. You didn’t take Sukuna for the type of person to be bothered with such things, but evidently you were wrong - there wasn’t an item out of place. 

The quarters that he’d been given were lovely. They weren’t quite as big as yours - the bed was a little smaller and less grandiose than the one you had, the furniture in general had a more simple design than the elegance of your belongings, but everything was still very beautiful and expertly handcrafted. 

Glancing around, it didn’t seem like Sukuna had many belongings at all - perhaps he simply enjoyed living a minimalist life? He had a few different pairs of black trousers, and a handful of tunics in a couple of colours in his wardrobe, and in the corner of the room he had a spare set of plate armor. This spare set of armor seemed more intricately crafted than the one you usually saw him wearing - perhaps it was only for special occasions? Or maybe specifically used in wartime? 

Either way, his clothes weren’t of much interest to you. You poked around a little more, opening cupboards and drawers to thoroughly investigate the way that he lived - unfortunately, most of them were empty. It seemed like everything that Sukuna owned had been accumulated since coming to the castle, as though he’d moved here without an item to his name. 

You’d left the most promising part of his room until last - the desk. It was the only thing that was even slightly cluttered, with a few papers and books spread out across it. You rifled through the items with interest. Much to your dismay, the books were all dry non-fiction tomes focusing on war tactics, and the loose pieces of paper were blank - the inkwell on the desk suggesting that the parchment was for him to write on in the future. 

Frustrating. With this few possessions it was as if he had no life at all beyond bothering you. 

You started frantically pulling out the desk drawers in the hopes that there was something there - and that’s where you hit the jackpot. In the bottom drawer you found a stack of letters, each with Sukuna’s name written neatly on the front. 

As you sifted through each letter, you found that every single one of them was from a man named Jin. Each letter was just a single page long, with the dates on them ranging from ten years ago all the way up to now. Based on the amount of letters, it seemed as though Jin had consistently been writing to Sukuna once a month for years. 

There wasn’t time for you to carefully read through all of them - you had no idea when Sukuna might be finished with his responsibilities, and you certainly didn’t want to be caught in here red-handed. 

You did your best to skim through the contents. From what you could gather, Jin must be Sukuna’s brother. The older letters were him expressing relief over Sukuna joining the Kingdom’s forces, telling him that he was so happy Sukuna had gotten a ‘second chance’. That had confused you a little, but it never came up again in the later letters. 

As time went on the notes grew more thankful, Jin expressing his gratitude to Sukuna for sending him money and telling him all about how his life was going. At some point, Jin had started studying to become a doctor, his letters suddenly all focussed around his studies, and how excited he was to be working in alchemy. 

In the later sets of letters, those from the last four years, it was apparent that Jin had a child - the name Yuji started appearing regularly, and there were even some scribbled crayon drawings in the last two letters. 

While this was all an interesting insight into Sukuna’s background, it wasn’t much of a help for what you were seeking. 

Sukuna wasn’t really mentioned much in the letters at all, it was all just Jin talking about himself. There were several occasions in the early letters where Jin had scolded Sukuna for writing short letters, or for not writing at all. He’d also always ask how Sukuna was doing at the end of the letter, occasionally making a comment on the state of the Kingdom along with it. But nothing in his letters actually divulged any information about Sukuna beyond the fact that he had a brother and a nephew. 

You grumbled to yourself as you placed the letters back into the drawers. You weren’t willing to accept that Sukuna was just an all-round good guy with no shady past - someone who loved bloodshed to the extent he did had to have something shady about them. Not to mention he was covered in tattoos, surely he didn’t get all of them by choice. 

Either way, there was nothing worth uncovering in here, and you were likely running out of time anyway. So, feeling a little dejected, you begrudgingly accepted defeat. 

You had to jump a little to pull yourself back out of the window in Sukuna’s room, almost messing it up entirely with your foot slipping on the rug as you leapt up. Luckily you managed to escape the situation unscathed, making it back to your own room in one piece.

—

You’d been getting ready for bed later that evening when there was a firm knock on the door. You figured it was Sukuna returning from whatever errand your father had him running, and subsequently you took your sweet time opening it. 

What you weren’t expecting to see was the King himself staring down at you. 

“Daughter.” he greeted gruffly as he stepped into your room. It was rare that he came to visit you like this - generally if he wanted to see you he would call you down to the throne room and talk to you there. 

“Father.” You responded, a little on edge. 

“I received some curious reports when I returned from my outing this afternoon.” 

You tilted your head at him innocently. You knew that the silence was him giving you a chance to fess up to wrongdoing, but you weren’t sure what he knew yet and you didn’t want to confess to anything unnecessary. 

He let out a heavy sigh. “Todo said that you went over to the Knight Barracks earlier, that you wanted to find something for Sukuna in his old room.” 

“Ah yes. I was looking for a book he mispla-” 

“And,” your father cut you off, “one of my advisors saw you crawling into Sukuna’s current room from outside the window.” 

Well, that was damning. You wondered which of your father’s advisers had spotted you. Higurama’s study was in the tower adjacent to yours, so you supposed he could’ve been looking out the window and seen the whole thing play out. It felt like you just couldn’t catch a break. 

“Do you even understand how dangerous it is for you to be playing around out there? What if you’d have slipped? What if part of the rock had crumbled beneath you? You would’ve been killed.”

You dropped your head, nodding along solemnly because you knew that was the reaction he wanted - it wouldn’t prevent you from going out there again in the future, but you certainly weren’t going to let him know that. 

“You’re my only child. I have no other family, you’re it. Do you understand how important you are to me? To this Kingdom? You’re in your twenties now, you need to stop with these childish follies and start taking life more seriously.” 

His lecture continued on for a while. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before - lots of talk of making sure that you were acting like a proper Princess, about how you needed to be sensible and presentable so that he could match you with a suitable husband. Your mind wandered over to Sukuna, wondering if he was aware of the sneaking that you’d gotten up to today. 

“What were you even doing, breaking into Sukuna’s room?” The realization that your father had asked you a question brought you back to reality, blinking a few times as you comprehended his words. 

“I was trying to gift him something - secretly.” You lied smoothly. Sometimes even you were surprised by how naturally a lie would roll off your tongue. You had no doubt that you’d picked it up from your mother, she had been a particularly cunning noble in her youth, always playing the social game with others in high society to get whatever she wanted in life. 

“What?” Your father asked. 

“He left a book in his old room when he moved out. I went there to check but I couldn’t find anything, so I got him a new copy.” Your father’s face remained skeptical so you decided to embellish a little further. “It would be embarrassing for him to know it was me, I don’t want him to think I care about him.” 

A sickening thought, but if it helped sell the lie that was all that mattered.

Kashimo studied you for a moment, clearly unsure on the truth of the matter, before sighing and waving you off. “It doesn’t matter, just don’t do something dangerous like that again.”

“While you’re here…” You blurted out as he turned to leave. “On the topic of Sukuna, are you really sure that his skills are best placed here? I spoke to Todo earlier and it seems like they really miss him over there.” You hoped that the smile on your face was coming across as genuine rather than sly. 

“As I told Sukuna, if war breaks out he’ll take up his old post, but for now the most useful place for him is at your side.” Your expression was obviously unconvinced, because your father elaborated further on his explanation. “In the Gojo Kingdom, one of Satoru’s high ranking advisors had one of his twin daughters kidnapped and held for ransom. I won’t have the same happen to you.”

Your brow furrowed at that information. You and Satoru used to be close when you were children - his Kingdom wasn’t far from yours, separated only by the mountain range that you could see from your window. The advisor that Kashimo was referring to was likely Geto Suguru, a noble from Gojo’s Kingdom who had adopted two young girls a couple of years back. 

“When did that happen?” You asked. You don't get to see Satoru much these days - his father had died a few years ago and he’d taken over as King, since then he hadn’t had much time to go gallivanting about in the way he did in his youth. 

“A few months ago.” Your father said solemnly. “They got the girl back, but it has us all shaken up - there were rumors that the captors were working for the Zenins, that their blasted nation has been recuperating their forces after their last loss and is looking to give expanding another go.” 

“Why are you only telling me this now?” You asked. You’d gotten to know Suguru relatively well through Satoru over the years, you would’ve liked to be informed that something so tragic had befallen him. 

“I didn’t want to scare you.” He paused for a moment to study your face. “But evidently you’re not scared enough, which is why I’m telling you now.” 

That comment frustrated you a little, it made you feel like he was treating you like a kid despite expecting you to act like an adult. It wasn’t like you could really fight back against his comment though, considering that you had snuck out of the castle just the night before. All things considered, maybe you should take things a little more seriously.

Although, with Sukuna around and watching you like a hawk, you were confident nothing bad was ever going to happen. 

Your father seemed satisfied with the outcome of the conversation and headed towards the door. “Oh, and please play nice with Sukuna. I’m not sure what you were doing in his room but I’m not buying that gift story, I know you’ve been doing your best to make his life miserable lately.” 

You didn’t give him any response, waiting until he was out of the room until you let out a sigh. This was not convenient. 

—

It was a few nights later and Sukuna was lying awake in his room, staring up at the high ceiling. He was bored - you’d been giving him the silent treatment lately, no more schemes to overthrow him since you’d snuck into his room a couple of days ago. 

Yeah, he knew all about that little adventure of yours. 

It hadn’t been hard to put the pieces together, between the stuff on his desk being out of place, the rug beneath his window being rumpled and the lecture that he’d heard your father giving you through the wall it was evident that you’d broken in and snooped around. 

He almost respected you for it. The drop from outside his window was no joke, it would’ve taken a lot of courage for you to shimmy along that ledge without crying. Maybe you did cry - he would’ve liked to see that: you clinging to the ledge with tears and snot running down your face, but too determined to turn back. 

You didn’t know that he was aware of your break-in. He’d planned to make fun of you for it at some point, but for the last couple of days you’d come across as oddly listless. Whenever he’d tried poking at you, or even just making conversation, you’d just regard him with this vacant stare as though you weren’t listening at all. 

Perhaps this was another one of your schemes, maybe you’d gone back to your initial plan of boring him to death - but he was pretty certain that wasn’t the case after seeing how you were acting with everyone else. You no longer seemed to have any interest interacting with the palace staff that you were usually so friendly with, just barely muttering out a ‘thank you’ when one of the servants would hand you food before going back to staring into space. 

It was a little unnerving to see you like this. Since he’d become your Knight he’d observed that you seemed to have boundless energy for your cute little hobbies and nefarious schemes, but right now it was as though you were an empty shell. 

He didn’t like it. Seeing you so disinterested gave him an itchy feeling in his chest. You couldn’t even find the energy to glare at him. 

In a moment of desperation, he’d even asked your handmaid Shoko if she knew what was going on with you. Shoko had regarded him coolly and shrugged, giving him nothing more than a simple two word answer of ‘Who knows?” That had been frustrating, since you seemed to trust and regularly confide in her, but it was evident that Shoko was not his biggest fan and would subsequently give him nothing. 

So now here he was, unable to sleep because he was too busy agonising over what your problem was. 

It felt a little bit embarrassing for him - he shouldn’t care, it shouldn’t matter to him at all. Yet, he genuinely enjoyed the way you reacted to him normally, he liked how you’d fight back, he liked that fiery little glare you’d give him when you pissed him off. 

He hated this empty husk that you seemed to be right now. 

Just as he was about to play out another theory in his mind, he heard the telltale sound of the door to your chambers creaking open down the hall. Even though he’d locked your door that first time that you’d snuck out, he hadn’t done it again - it had felt a little cruel, you were a grown woman after all. 

He sat up abruptly, more enthusiastic than he should be that you were doing something. He wondered, with a little excitement building in his chest, if you had planned out another escape attempt and your recent behaviour had all been an elaborate act to throw him off the scent. He hoped so. 

Dressing quickly in black trousers and plain white tunic, he pulled on his boots and headed out into the hallway. He didn’t bother putting on his full-set of armor, he doubted he was going to need it. 

It didn’t take him long to find you. 

He was a little surprised when he stumbled across you in the perfectly manicured garden. It was the first place he’d gone to look, assuming that you were going to try another escape attempt via the secret passage that you used last time - perhaps he should just be calling it a passage now? It wasn’t really a secret ever since he’d discovered it. 

You were sitting on the marble bench beside the pond. You looked forlorn, gazing down at the lily pads that dotted the surface of the water. Your knees were drawn up to your chest with your chin resting on top of them, arms wrapped around your legs seemingly to shield yourself from the chilly night air. You were only wearing what he assumed was your nightgown, a long, thin, light blue dress that he’d never seen before. 

It was clear that you hadn’t bothered bringing a torch or lantern out with you, instead opting to sit in complete darkness - an odd decision. He considered sneaking up on you for a moment, it would be easy in the darkness and with how lost in thought you seemed to be. The far off look on your face held him back though, you were clearly not in a place to be messed with. 

Approaching you slowly, he made sure to make a bit of sound to alert you to his presence. You turned around to look at him for a moment - your eyes were puffy and red, cheeks stained with tears. It felt as though he’d intruded on a very private moment. He was expecting to see annoyance in your expression, maybe even humiliation - but no emotion registered on your face, instead you simply turned back to looking at the pond. 

Considering that you hadn’t immediately sent him away, he took that as an invitation to approach, quietly taking a seat on the marble bench beside you. His gaze was fixed on you, but you wouldn’t even spare him a glance. He couldn’t understand what the problem was, you weren’t the sort of person who had an issue telling him to go away, you’d done it on several occasions over the last few weeks - seeing you like this was concerning. 

“You’ll catch a cold.” He mused softly. Now that he was closer to you he could see just how thin your nightgown really was, taking note of the fact that you were visibly trembling.

“Like you care.” You mumbled in response. Hearing your voice felt like a joy to his ears, you’d been so silent lately that he was just happy to hear a response - even if it was a rude one.

“I don’t think your father would be happy if you died from exposure on my watch.”

You let out a deep sigh, hugging your knees closer to your chest. “I don’t think it would matter all that much, he’d be mad for a couple of days and get over it.”

He frowned at that response. He’d spent a great amount of time with Kashimo since he’d joined the Kingdom’s army, and one of the King’s biggest concerns was the safety of his daughter. His love for you was apparent to anyone who was close to him - you were practically all he talked about. 

“He’d be devastated.” Sukuna said seriously, watching you closely - noting the flicker of irritation that crossed your features. 

“It's not me he loves. He just loves that I look like my mother. He wants to protect me because he couldn’t protect her, not because I’m me.” You paused for a moment. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t make sense.” 

Sukuna got the gist of it. He was somewhat fascinated by this confession, he hadn’t even had to push that hard to draw it out from you, it seemed like your guard was really down. Not to mention, you’d apologised to him. 

“I just- I want to be my own person, I suppose? When my mother was still around, my father never really even bothered with me, he was too busy running the Kingdom - it sounds bad to say, but I liked that, I loved having my freedom. Ever since my mother died I’ve just felt like a trapped bird, with him always telling me how to live my life and excessively worrying over me.”

You peered at him cautiously, clearly trying to gauge what he was thinking. Evidently the expression he was wearing wasn’t sympathetic enough, as you looked away and started anxiously twirling your hair around your finger. 

“Sorry, this probably sounds so petty to you - the little rich girl complaining that she has to spend all of her days in a grand castle.” 

He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that, he was almost surprised that you’d so easily understood his initial dislike of you, it was a level of self-awareness that he found himself respecting. 

“What brought this on?” He asked. “You’ve been weird for a few days - the silence is starting to creep me out.” 

You shot him a look before turning back to the lake, taking a deep breath before you spoke. “It's the anniversary of my mother’s death today. This time of year is always a struggle for me.” 

He nodded in understanding. That explained why the King himself had been so withdrawn over the last few days, locking himself up in his study and throwing himself into administrative work.

“I feel like I never get to openly grieve.” You continued. “My father loves to pretend that nothing happened, acts like she never existed. Instead of being sad about it like a normal person he heaps all of this pressure on me, it's stifling. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, about her, but he can’t even speak her name - the wound is too deep.”

“I’m sorry.” Sukuna said genuinely. He had joined the Kingdom’s forces after the Queen had already died, so he’d never known her. Most royals married for political reasons, he hadn’t been aware of Kashimo’s deep love for her, but it explained why he hadn’t married someone else and tried for a male heir. 

“Don’t be.” You paused for a moment. “This pond was her favourite place in the castle. She used to love seeing all of the frogs in the spring - she’d always bring me out to show me the tadpoles, charting their growth as they developed into adult frogs.”

Sukuna smiled gently, considering the image of a miniature you stumbling around the edge of the pond and picking up frogs. 

“I come out here on the anniversary of her death every year to honor her. I wish she’d been buried in this garden rather than in the family tomb.” 

The two of you sat quietly for a moment, gazing at the surface of the pond. This was probably the longest he’d heard you talk without you insulting him. He didn’t hate it. 

In that moment you seemed desperately lonely.

A deep feeling of sympathy settled in his chest. Perhaps you were more weathered by life than he had originally thought - just with more pressure on your shoulders not to let it show. 

“My parents died when I was young.” His voice cut through the quiet. If you were going to share something about yourself, he would too. “I was only fourteen. My father was pretty into gambling and he racked up debts with too many people. Got himself and my mother killed when he wouldn’t pay up.”

He could feel your gaze on him now, watching with great interest as he spoke. 

“Those debt collectors then took everything from me and my brother - kicked us out of our family home, left us on the streets with nothing.” Sukuna tried to keep his voice steady as he told the story - he hadn’t recounted this in a long time but he could already feel that familiar rage seeping into his bones at the thought of it. 

“What did you do?” You asked softly. 

“I did whatever I could to keep us alive.” Sukuna said matter-of-factly. “I stole food and clothes, sat on the side of the street and begged, tried scamming random people on the street out of their money. Eventually I ended up running with a gang, and that’s where things really fell apart.” 

He chanced a glance over at you. Your eyes were wide with interest as you waited for him to continue. An intrusive thought about how cute you looked giving him your full attention flitted into his head - he was quick to shove it aside. 

“The gang were a bad crowd, they’d done every bad thing I had and more. I won’t bore you with the details, but one time we were trying to rob this noble’s place and the guy woke up. He saw my face and told me he’d get the guards after me. I panicked and the next thing I knew, I’d killed him.” 

You gasped and he felt guilt curling in his stomach. This was the first time since he’d known you that he felt like you were finding some common ground - telling you all this was almost certainly going to ruin it.

But he didn’t want to hide it either. 

“I got arrested afterwards, the gang ratted me out straight away when the guards came knocking. I ended up in the dungeons and figured I’d rot there for the rest of my life.”

“But you didn’t?” You asked quietly. He looked at you in surprise, the fact that you were still willing to ask questions suggested that you hadn’t made your mind up on what you thought yet. 

“No. Thanks to the King.” 

You tilted your head in question. 

“While I was in there, I’d gotten a reputation of being particularly…scrappy. The King came to my cell one day and gave me the option to join his forces rather than spending my life behind bars. Obviously I agreed - it meant I could live a life, and I’d have money to send back to Jin so he wouldn’t starve.” 

You seemed to ponder that for a second. “He never mentioned that.” 

“It happens more often than you’d think. A lot of the people in the Kingdom’s forces were former criminals. He’s selective about who he chooses, he’ll only offer it to people he believes deserve a second chance - those who are particularly young like I was, or people who were only criminals out of desperation.” 

He wasn’t sure what you thought of that, watching the way your eyes narrowed as you seemed to process that information. He was surprised that you’d never been informed of that initiative, considering you were going to rule the country one day he figured you would already know. 

“Are the tattoos from prison then?” 

He almost did a double take. He was expecting judgement from you to some extent, perhaps even disgust. He wasn’t prepared for such a superficial question. 

“Yeah…” You seemed to sit with that information for a second before looking up at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eye. 

“So you do have a questionable past! Wish I could’ve found that out a few days ago. I couldn’t find anything in your stupid room, and I got in trouble for it.”

Sukuna did his very best to hide his surprise at that statement. You’d thoroughly caught him off guard. You weren’t scared of him? Disgusted at what he’d done? Instead all you cared about was that the information had arrived too late for you to use it against him? He felt an oddly warm sensation in his chest as he looked at you - you were wearing an expression that he hadn’t seen directed at him before, something akin to understanding. 

It seemed almost like you were trying to lighten the mood for him. There was an urge to point that out and tease you for it, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

So instead he went along with it. 

“You’re not very good at this whole getting rid of me thing, you know.” Sukuna spoke with a soft chuckle. “It's entertaining, don’t get me wrong, but everything you do just gets thwarted. I mean, you tried climbing into my room in broad daylight. Did you really think no one would see you? Besides, your father is well aware of my colourful past anyway.”

You blushed, evidently feeling a little embarrassed having your failures laid out in front of you - you’d clearly thought it was a decent plan. “Sorry, no one ever taught me how to come up with evil schemes, this is the first time I’ve tried anything like this. I never had the chance to learn it from a gang.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Mmmm, you did always seem like such a good girl before, just a few weeks with me at your side and you’re thoroughly corrupted huh?” 

You wrinkled your nose in disgust at his wording. “Don’t put it like that. I was just beginning to think you weren’t so bad.” 

He let out a soft laugh, ignoring the way that your comment made his heart flip. “The King is beside himself you know, he doesn’t understand why you’re being so difficult - he keeps apologising to me for you making my life hard.”

You seemed to think about that for a moment before shooting him a serious look. “I’ll stop actively antagonising you for now.” You said decisively. “But I’m not going to make life easy for you.” 

That didn’t come as a surprise to him. 

“I’d never expect you to.” He said with a grin. 

The two of you sat there in silence for a while longer, staring out at the pond, the stars twinkling in the sky above you. The quiet felt comfortable, as though you were almost enjoying his company at your side. 

He knew for certain that he was enjoying yours. 

a/n: hope you enjoyed! I really loved writing the final scene for this one.

planning to get the next update out in around a week.

reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3

Taglist: @ccazimi @ryomeowie @qardasngan @poopooindamouf @pick-pookie @noooo-onee @ravenwitchh @wobblewobble822 @being-blue-is-better @sukubusss @kittsoraxx @lanaleanne

© sukunahs

[sukubusss]

"Stop moving."

You groan, trying to sit up when you find yourself weighed down by two large arms wrapped around you. You trying to pry Sukuna's arms off of you, but to no avail. "S'kuna, let me go."

He doesn't even give you the privilege of an answer, simply tightening his grip around your middle. Sukunas lips find your neck, warm as he takes a bite of your throat.

"Ah, ah, no! 'm still sore!" You attempt to wriggle away tilting your head to hide your poor nape from any more of his marks. He doesn't relent, but he does release his mouth from you before slowly peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder blade. He does so with an annoyed huff, but hes noticeably more gentle. Unhurried.

"Your covered in marks, brat." He grumbles before giving a dark-colored hickey a slow lick. "Where else am I supposed to kiss you?"

"How about my lips?"

Sukunas eyes flicker up to you, raising his head from your neck.

"I mean- they are sore but not as much as the rest of m-" His lips are on your own before you could finish, and you couldn't do anything but sigh into his mouth. You close your eyes, gently wrapping your arms around his neck.

He seems satisfied at this, judging by how he nips at your lips without drawing blood this time, and pushes his tongue into your mouth.

You feel him shift his position, pulling you closer and laying some of his weight on you.

When he pulls away, theres a smirk on his face as he licks his lips. Crimson eyes full of want.

"We should go for another rou-"

"Absolutely not."

[sukubusss]

DRIFT! DRIFT! DRIFT!

PAIRING: RACER!SUKUNA x F!READER

moodboard

Contains: MDNI, fast paced (SORRY), smut, p in v, car sex, fingering, unprotected sex, angst if you squint, gang mention, based in the 2000s, smoking, illegal street racing, life.

SUMMARY!! Set against the neon-soaked streets of early 2000s Tokyo,What starts as summer fun spirals into an adrenaline-fueled underworld of illegal racing, gang politics, late-night parties, smoky garages, and rooftop kisses that taste like danger. You're the girl who was never supposed to get involved. He's the guy who never lets anyone stay. But when the past catches up and a rival gang threatens everything, Sukuna puts it all on the line—not just his car, but his heart. Because falling in love at 120 mph doesn’t leave room for brakes.

Cw: 10.1K

A/n: Race you to the end!!

The streets never slept in Shibuya.

Especially not in the summer of 2003.

You landed at Haneda just before midnight. The plane doors hissed open, and the warm, sticky breath of the city hit you like a second skin. It was thick with humidity, soaked in neon light, and thrumming with bass you couldn’t hear yet—but you could feel it. Beneath the traffic and airport announcements, the city whispered something wild.

You weren’t here for sightseeing. You weren’t here for school, either—no matter what your acceptance letter to the local university said. Tokyo was supposed to be your fresh start. But you knew the truth. You came for the speed.

Your cousin picked you up in a beat-up Nissan Silvia with cracked leather seats and a cassette player jammed halfway into a mixtape. He barely said hello before shoving the car into gear and pulling out of the terminal parking lot like he was being chased.

"You hungry?" he asked over the roar of the engine.

"Starving," you replied.

He lit a cigarette, passed it to you instead. "Good. We're hitting the track first."

"Track?"

His smirk curved slowly. "Not the kind you’re thinking. Welcome to Tokyo."

The underground scene wasn’t found on any map. It lived in abandoned shopping malls, below overpasses, and in the narrow alleys of Shibuya, lit only by stolen power and blue halogen glow. The first place he took you was an underground car meet hidden beneath a highway, surrounded by rusted scaffolding and illegal food stalls.

People were everywhere—leaning against hoods, trading money, sharing smokes. Girls in short skirts and oversized sunglasses. Guys with dragon tattoos peeking out from under sleeveless shirts. And then there were the cars. Neon-lit. Glossy. Growling like predators waiting to be unleashed.

You felt your stomach twist, not with fear—but anticipation. You belonged here.

Your cousin nudged you. “See that red RX-7 over there? Don’t even look at the guy who drives it.”

You looked. And that’s when you saw him.

He leaned against the side of the car like he owned gravity. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing ink—black tribal lines and flaming skulls, a snake curling over one bicep. His grin was lazy, like he already knew he’d win whatever bet you tried to make with the night. A cigarette dangled between his fingers. His eyes, when they caught yours, gleamed—red.

It was a trick of the lights, you told yourself. But something about him didn’t feel human.

“That’s Sukuna Ryomen,” your cousin muttered like a warning. “Fastest driver out here. Screws anything with legs. Might be part of a gang. Some say he crashed once and came back from the dead.”

You smirked. “And what, you want me to be scared?”

“I want you to be smart.” Too late.

Later that night, after a street race that nearly ended in a three-car pile-up on a downtown ramp, you slipped away from the crowd, headed toward the edge of the lot. The city lights above glimmered like drowned stars.

“You lost?”

The voice curled against your skin like smoke. You turned—and there he was, standing beside you, closer than you’d realized.

Sukuna.

Up close, he was worse. Arrogant. Smirking like he could see right through you. His presence was magnetic, like standing too close to something that could short-circuit your brain.

“Just watching,” you replied.

“You look like trouble.”

“You look like you give lectures on it.”

That made him laugh—deep and lazy. “You’re funny. You ride?”

“Sometimes.”

He held open his passenger door. “Come with me.”

You hesitated. It was stupid. You barely knew his name. But the city behind you was burning hot with risk, and your blood was matching its rhythm. You got in.

By the time the RX-7 screamed out of the lot and onto the empty highway, you were laughing—terrified and alive all at once. Sukuna didn’t talk much while he drove, and that made it worse. The world turned into a blur of color and speed. Streetlights flashing by like strobes. The smell of burned rubber and sea air in your lungs.

He didn’t just race. He danced with the car.

And you danced with danger. When he finally drifted into an alley and killed the engine, you realized your legs were shaking.

You looked at him. He looked at you. And neither of you said a word.

The night didn’t end there. You ended up back under the overpass with the others, sitting on the hood of his car, your knees brushing his as he rolled another cigarette.

“You staying in Tokyo long?” he asked, voice low.

“Long enough to cause some problems.”

He grinned. “Good.”

He didn’t kiss you that night. He didn’t need to. But when he flicked his lighter, shadows moved across his face like devils trying to crawl out of his skin. And you knew—this wasn’t just a boy. He was a storm. And you were about to drive straight into it.

It started with a call at 1:27 a.m.

Your phone buzzed across the table at the tiny apartment you’d been crashing in, where the ceiling fan ticked like it was about to fall and the walls reeked of someone else’s old ramen. You had been halfway through wiping off eyeliner, still in your low rise jeans and a shirt that wasn’t really yours, when his name lit up the screen.

Sukuna.

No emoji. No text. Just a missed call. And then another.

You answered the third.

“Get dressed,” his voice rasped on the other line. “I’m outside.”

You found him leaning against the RX-7 again, smoking like always, city lights painting his red car purple. He didn’t say much, just looked you over with those eyes and nodded for you to get in. No music. No explanation. He just drove.

Through tunnels lit by endless amber. Over bridges stretched like veins across Tokyo Bay. Into the quiet hillsides on the edges of the city, where the road narrowed and the trees swallowed the light.

You didn’t ask where you were going. With him, the answer never mattered. Only the motion.

He broke the silence only once.

“You trust me?”

You glanced at him from the passenger seat. His profile was sharp in the moonlight, jaw tight, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift like it was part of his body.

“I don’t know you,” you said.

He smiled without looking at you. “But you still got in.”

Then he floored it. You gasped as the car surged forward, tires shrieking as he took a hairpin turn at full speed, drifting into the curve with the ease of someone who didn’t care if he lived through the night. You gripped the door instinctively, and that made him laugh—a low, dark sound that buzzed in your spine.

“Relax,” he said, glancing at you. “She listens to me.”

The car responded like a lover—smooth, violent, loyal. As the city disappeared behind you, something unspoken sparked between the two of you. Not words. Not flirtation. A dare. The kind of electricity that builds just before a kiss. Or a crash.

When he finally pulled into an empty overlook on the mountain, Tokyo glittered below like spilled diamonds. Sukuna cut the engine. Silence swallowed the space between you.

Then he turned.

“You ever fuck in a car?”

You raised your brow, unimpressed. “That’s your line?”

He laughed again—lazy, unapologetic. “No. Just a question.”

You met his gaze. The heat in your chest was no longer from the adrenaline. You were still pulsing from the way he drove. From the way he looked at you like he’d already imagined your body in his hands. You didn’t answer.

Instead, you climbed into his lap.

Sukuna's hands slid slowly up your thighs, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He took his time, savoring the feel of your soft skin, the way your muscles twitched and jumped under his touch. His mouth followed the path of his hands, his lips brushing hot and teasing across your jaw, up to your ear. He nipped at the sensitive lobe, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh before his tongue soothed the sting.

Sukuna's grip on your hips was tight, possessive, his fingers digging into the soft curves as he held you in place. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen molding to the soft swells of your breasts and belly. Your back arched into the low ceiling of the RX-7, the cramped space only adding to the electric charge crackling between your bodies.

Sukuna's breath was fire against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin as he murmured, "You like this, huh?" His voice was a low, sinful rumble, dripping with a dark promise of pleasure and danger.

You hated how much you did. Hated the way your body responded to his touch, to the reckless, carefree aura that clung to him like a second skin. But you couldn't deny the thrill that raced through your veins, the way your heart pounded and your core clenched at his words, at the feel of his hard length pressing insistently against your hip.

The gearshift dug into your knee as Sukuna shifted gears, the car lurching forward with a growl of the engine. Your head hit the window more than once, the glass cold and hard against your scalp, a stark contrast to the heat of Sukuna's body pressed against yours. But you didn't care. You welcomed the slight pain, the reminder that this was real, that you were truly here, pressed against danger in the most delicious way possible.

Your hands tangled in Sukuna's short, spiky hair, fingers gripping the soft locks as you pulled his mouth closer to yours. You crashed your lips against his in a desperate, hungry kiss, pouring all of your pent-up desire and frustration into the embrace. Sukuna groaned into your mouth, his tongue delving past your lips to stroke and tease, to claim you with a fierce, almost violent intensity.

Sukuna's hands slid slowly up your thighs, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He took his time, savoring the feel of your soft skin, the way your muscles twitched and jumped under his touch. His mouth followed the path of his hands, his lips brushing hot and teasing across your jaw, up to your ear. He nipped at the sensitive lobe, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh before his tongue soothed the sting.

Sukuna's grip on your hips was tight, possessive, his fingers digging into the soft curves as he held you in place. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen molding to the soft swells of your breasts and belly. Your back arched into the low ceiling of the RX-7, the cramped space only adding to the electric charge crackling between your bodies.

Sukuna's fingers found the edge of your waistband, pushing and tugging until your shirt bunched at your ribs. Cool air hit your exposed skin, making your nipples tighten and strain against the thin fabric of your bra. His hands slid around to cup the soft mounds, his thumbs brushing over the stiff peaks, teasing them into even harder points. You gasped at the sensation, your head falling back against Sukuna's shoulder as he rolled and plucked at your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Sukuna's mouth trailed hot and open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue tracing the delicate lines of your collarbones. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, leaving blooming marks in his wake, as his hands slid down to the button of your jeans. With deft fingers, he popped the button open and dragged the zipper down, the denim parting to reveal the lacy edge of your panties.

Sukuna's breath hitched as he caught sight of the damp spot darkening the fabric, evidence of your growing arousal. "Already so wet for me," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. His fingers pressed against the damp lace, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed sex. You whimpered and arched into his touch, your hips rolling instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Sukuna's fingers slipped beneath the lace, brushing against your bare, slick folds. He groaned at the feel of your wetness, his cock twitching and throbbing in the confines of his jeans. “Already so wet For me.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rapid circles. Sparks of pleasure shot through you, making your hips jerk and buck against his hand, desperate for more of that intense sensation. Sukuna's fingers curled inside you, stroking and teasing, as his thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit.

"You like that, don't you, baby?" Sukuna purred, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "You like feeling my fingers buried deep in this greedy little cunt, playing with this pretty little clit until you're dripping all over my hand?"

His words sent a thrill through you, your core clenching and pulsing around his fingers. The car filled with the obscene sound of your juices dripping onto the leather seat, the slick schlick of Sukuna's fingers pumping in and out of your soaked sex. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as he fingered you with a single-minded intensity, determined to make you fall apart on his hand.

Sukuna's fingers pumped faster, plunging deeper, as his thumb rubbed harder and faster over your throbbing clit. The dual stimulation had your toes curling in your shoes and your nails digging into the leather seat, desperate for something to hold onto as the pleasure mounted. You could feel your climax building, your walls starting to flutter and tighten around Sukuna's fingers as he worked you towards the edge with expert skill.

"Sukuna," you gasped, your voice high and breathy, nearly a moan. "I'm...I'm going to..." But before you could finish, Sukuna pulled his fingers out of your dripping sex, leaving you empty and aching, teetering on the brink of your release.

"No," he growled, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "Not yet, baby. Not until I say so." He gripped your hips,

and crashed his lips against yours in a searing, demanding kiss. He swallowed your whimpers and moans, his tongue plundering your mouth, stroking and teasing, as his hands slid down to the button of his jeans. With a swift tug, he popped the button open and shoved the denim down his muscular thighs, freeing his thick, hard cock.

Sukuna's erection jutted out, flushed a deep, angry red and leaking precum from the swollen head. The sight of it made your mouth water and your sex clench with anticipation. He gripped himself in one large hand, stroking the thick length slowly, teasingly, as he pressed the dripping tip against your entrance. "Beg for it," Sukuna demanded.

"Please, Sukuna," you whimpered against his lips, your voice high and desperate with need. "Please, I need your cock. I need you to fill me, to stretch me, to ruin me for anyone else. I want to feel you throbbing deep inside me, pumping me full of your hot, thick cum until it's leaking out of me."

Sukuna groaned, his cock twitching against your sex as your words washed over him. "That's my good little slut," he purred, his voice a low, approving rumble. "You want this big dick buried inside this tight little cunt, don't you? Want me to fuck this greedy hole until you can't walk, until the only thing you can do is scream my name?"

He notched himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock kissing your swollen folds, slick with your arousal. Your walls clenched and fluttered at the promise of being filled, of being stretched and claimed by Sukuna's impressive length. You nodded frantically, too far gone in your desire to form a coherent response. Sukuna took that as the permission he needed.

With one brutal, powerful thrust, Sukuna buried himself inside you, his thick cock splitting you open and stretching you wide around his invading length. Your back arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cried out at the sudden intrusion, the feeling of being so utterly and completely filled. Sukuna groaned, his hips pressing flush against yours as he savored the feel of your velvet heat enveloping him like a glove. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight," he panted, his voice strained with pleasure. "This cunt was made for my dick."

Sukuna started to move, setting a hard, driving rhythm that had the car rocking and shaking around you. He gripped your hips bruisingly tight, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he slammed into you again and again, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each deep, powerful thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your wanton moans filled the cramped space as Sukuna fucked into you with wild abandon.

"Yes, yes, yes!" you chanted, your voice rising in pitch with each thrust, each surge of pleasure that ripped through you

Sukuna snarled, his eyes flashing with a feral intensity as he doubled his efforts, pounding into you with a force that had the car bouncing and shaking around you, the windows fogging up as the air grew thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat

Sukuna's breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Fuck, your cunt feels so good," he growled, his voice strained and rough with pleasure. "Squeezing my dick so fucking tight, like this greedy hole doesn't want to let me go." He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising, desperate kiss as he pounded into you, his tongue plundering and conquering, claiming you utterly.

Your moans and whimpers were swallowed up by Sukuna's demanding mouth, your fingers tangling in his short hair as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against the force of his thrusts. You could feel your climax building, your walls starting to flutter and tighten around Sukuna's pistoning length as he fucked you with a single-minded intensity.

Sukuna could feel your walls starting to quiver and clench around his cock, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. He knew you were close, could sense the way your breath hitched and your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate for release. But he wasn't ready for this to be over, not yet. He wanted to push you to the brink, to make you come apart completely on his cock before he filled you with his seed.

"Don't you dare come until I say so," Sukuna growled, his voice a low, dominant rumble. He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze, to see the dark promise of pleasure and punishment in his eyes. "I'm going to fuck this tight cunt until you can't take anymore, until the only thing you can do is scream my name and beg for my cum."

With that, Sukuna redoubled his efforts, slamming into you with a force that had the car shaking and the leather creaking beneath you. The thick head of his cock kissed your cervix with each brutal thrust, the sensation of being split open, of being claimed so completely, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Sukuna's hand slid between your bodies, his calloused fingers finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rapid circles. Sparks of electric pleasure shot through you, making your back arch and your hips buck wildly against Sukuna's. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as Sukuna worked you towards your climax with single-minded focus, determined to make you come undone.

Sukuna could feel your body trembling beneath him, your walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his pistoning cock as your orgasm approached. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way they glazed over with pleasure, and he knew you were teetering on the very edge of ecstasy. But still, he held back, refusing to let you tumble over the precipice until he was ready.

"Not yet, baby," Sukuna commanded, his voice a low, dominant growl.

To emphasize his point, he pinched your clit hard, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers and sending a jolt of intense pleasure-pain straight to your core. At the same time, he slowed the pace of his thrusts, withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sliding back in with a deep, deliberate stroke that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

Sukuna chuckled darkly at your reaction, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your sensitive skin. "That's it, baby. Feel every inch of my cock as it stretches this greedy hole, as it claims this cunt as its own." He punctuated his words with another slow, deep thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours as he filled you utterly, completely.

Sukuna's free hand slid up your body, palming the soft swells of your breasts before dipping beneath the fabric of your bra. He pushed the cups aside, exposing your aching nipples to the cool air, to his hungry gaze. Leaning down, he captured one stiff peak between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp before his tongue soothed the sting. He laved the sensitive bud with long, slow licks before sucking hard, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting through you.

He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way they darted wildly, unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure radiating through every nerve ending.

"Please, Sukuna," you gasped out between ragged breaths, your voice high and thin with need. "Please, I can't...I need...I need to come. Please let me come!"

Sukuna's eyes flashed with a dark, wicked gleam. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured, "Beg for it, baby. Beg me to let you come on my cock like the desperate little slut you are." His words sent a shiver down your spine, your sex clenching hard at the filthy command.

"P-please, Sukuna," you whimpered, your voice breaking as you fought to hold back your rapidly approaching climax. "Please, I need it. I need you to let me come. I'll do anything, just please...please let me come!"

Sukuna growled, a low, approving rumble in his chest. "That's my good girl," he praised, before snarling, "Come for me, baby. Come all over my fucking cock right now!"

With that permission, your body exploded, your orgasm crashing over you with the force of a tidal wave. You screamed Sukuna's name, your voice raw and ragged as it echoed off the car's interior, as your sex clamped down hard around his pistoning length, rippling and fluttering as it tried to milk Sukuna for all he was worth. Sukuna groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt squeezed and massaged his cock, pushing him closer and closer to his own release.

Sukuna's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises as he slammed into you with a final, brutal thrust. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming sex, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he found his own release. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Sukuna snarled, his voice strained and rough with pleasure as he came hard, painting your insides with thick ropes of his hot, sticky seed.

You could feel each powerful spurt of Sukuna's cum as it coated your walls, filling you up until it seemed like it would never end. Your womb clenched and contracted, greedy for every last drop of Sukuna's essence, as if trying to suck it deep inside you. Sukuna's body shuddered and jerked below you

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both lost in the afterglow of your intense coupling. Your chests heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin slick with sweat and flushed a deep, rosy pink. Sukuna's softening cock remained nestled inside your dripping sex, plugging you up, keeping his seed sealed deep within your body.

"I think this car just might be my new favorite fucking place." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, intimate kiss.

After, he lit a joint and passed it to you, his arm draped over your shoulders, both of you half-dressed and breathless.

You watched the city together. Not speaking. Just smoking and existing.

Then he said, quietly, “You’re not like the others.”

You looked over at him, skeptical. “You say that to all the girls you bring up here?”

“I don’t bring anyone up here.”

And for the first time, his voice sounded real. Like he wasn’t Sukuna the racer, Sukuna the gang-affiliated adrenaline god, but just a boy hiding out in the mountains with his car and a cigarette.

You turned your head and kissed him again—slower this time. Like maybe you believed him.

By the time he dropped you off, the sun was starting to rise behind the skyline. Tokyo looked softer in the morning haze, like the sins of the night hadn’t happened yet.

You climbed out of the RX-7, legs shaky, clothes rumpled, heartbeat still loud in your ears.

Sukuna rolled down the window. “Same time tomorrow?”

You leaned down, met his eyes.

“We’ll see.”

Then you walked away, knowing he was still watching.

Knowing he’d come back.

The next night came with thunder in the distance and a forecast no one paid attention to. Tokyo’s sky hung low with smoke and heat, and the city pulsed louder than ever—like it knew something was about to happen.

You did your makeup in the cracked mirror of a noodle shop bathroom, sliding on the same dark liner you wore the night before. You didn’t know what Sukuna had planned. He didn’t say anything when he texted Meet me at the docks. Bring your nerves.

But you went. Of course, you went.

The docks were chaos.

The industrial district was never meant to hold this much horsepower and neon. But somehow it did—crammed with imported muscle cars, revving engines, and bodies wrapped in crop tops and leather. A crowd buzzed around the race line, drinks in hand, thick clouds of weed drifting through the heat.

And there he was.

Sukuna stood near the starting point in a black tee and low-slung jeans, a blunt between his lips. His tattoos were on full display tonight, dancing across his arms and crawling up the side of his neck like flames. His red RX-7 gleamed under the floodlights like it had blood in its veins.

You walked up behind him. He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

“I was beginning to think you couldn’t handle two nights in a row,” he said.

“Please. You’re the one who looks like a commercial for heartbreak.”

Now he turned, eyes dragging slowly down your frame. He exhaled a curl of smoke. “You’re really gonna make me fall for you in front of all these people?”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped. You hated that he could do that—slice through your armor with a single smirk.

“What’s the plan?” you asked.

“Simple. I win. You ride with me. You keep your hands off me until I say otherwise.”

“Oh? Sounds like you’re scared I’ll distract you.”

He stepped close. Close enough that your breath caught. “I know you will.”

The race was set for midnight.

Sukuna and two other racers—an older guy with a shaved head driving a matte black Mustang, and a bleach-blond girl with a nose ring in a lime green Supra—lined up at the far end of the dock. The finish line was a white stripe spray-painted on the asphalt near a stack of rusted shipping containers. The course was short but brutal, weaving through crates, open cargo, and a tight hairpin curve along the bay.

“You coming?” Sukuna asked.

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want the distraction?”

“I said I know.” He grinned. “I like driving on the edge.”

You’d ridden with him before. But this was different.

This wasn’t drifting through moonlit hills or kissing in a parked car. This was pure chaos.

As soon as the girl in a red bikini dropped her scarf, Sukuna slammed the clutch and you were gone.

The car roared down the dock, wind whipping through the open window, your heart jumping into your throat. Crates blurred. Sparks lit the air as one of the other cars clipped a corner and spun, slamming into a steel wall. The crowd screamed.

Sukuna didn’t flinch.

He grinned.

“Hold on,” he muttered.

You barely had time to process before he yanked the wheel, drifting clean around a bend that should’ve flipped you both into the ocean. The tires screamed. The scent of rubber burned your nose. You pressed your hand to the dash, the G-force shoving you into your seat—thrilled, terrified, completely his.

“Are you trying to kill us?!” you shouted.

“No,” he said, calm as hell. “Trying to win.”

And he did.

He flew through the finish with half a car length ahead of the Mustang. The RX-7 skidded to a stop, your adrenaline so high you could taste it.

People cheered. Some jeered. The other racer slammed his door and threw his helmet at the ground. But you didn’t care.

You were laughing. Wild, breathless, alive.

Sukuna looked at you like you were the best thing he’d seen all night.

Then he leaned across the console and kissed you—hard.

There was no warning. No hesitation. His hand was at the back of your neck, lips claiming yours like he’d waited too long and didn’t have the patience anymore.

And you kissed him back.

Later, after the race cooled down and the crowd moved to the after-party, you stayed behind with him in the car. The windows were foggy again. His shirt was halfway off. You were in his lap, your fingers in his hair, laughing between kisses.

“Still scared?” he asked.

“Of you?”

You paused. Then whispered, “Terrified.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you closer, lips against your jaw.

“Good,” he murmured. “Means you’ve got instincts.”

But the night wasn’t over. As you slid back into the passenger seat, ready to follow him to the afterparty, you saw the black SUV roll slowly through the edge of the dock.

No music. No lights. Just tinted windows and license plates that didn’t belong.

Sukuna’s face hardened instantly. His hand gripped the steering wheel.

“Who is that?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. He just drove. Fast. Away from the dock. Away from the SUV. Into the heart of Tokyo night, where everything fun eventually turned into something dangerous.

You didn’t hear from Sukuna for three days.

Not a call. Not a text. Not even a rev of his RX-7 pulling up outside your apartment like he had that first night. Just silence, broken only by the flickering TV in your room, the cheap fan spinning overhead, and your own thoughts—louder than ever.

You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.Tried to tell yourself: It’s just fun. It’s just summer. It’s just him being him.But deep down, you knew that was bullshit.

Because when he kissed you after that race, when he dragged you across the console like the world might end before sunrise—you felt something real. And that terrified you more than the speed ever did.

Friday night came, and with it, a heatwave.You showed up to the warehouse party anyway.

Not for him.(That’s what you told yourself.)

Music pulsed from inside like a heartbeat too fast. Bodies packed the converted industrial building like it was a nightclub, smoke curling in the corners, drinks spilling onto the floor. The smell of weed and exhaust clung to everything.

You were wearing something new. Something low, tight, soft on your skin and just dangerous enough that when you walked in, heads turned.

Including his.

Sukuna was there, of course. He leaned against a stacked speaker, red solo cup in hand, his arm slung around the waist of some girl you didn’t recognize—short skirt, high ponytail, laughing like she thought he was hers.

You froze.

His eyes met yours across the crowd, and for a second, you thought he might say something.But he just smirked. Lifted his cup. Like this was all a game. Like you were just another player.

Your chest tightened. You turned your back on him.

You found someone else by the bar. Tall. Cute. Not Sukuna. He complimented your shirt. You said thanks. He asked your name. You gave it.You laughed too loud at his joke. He leaned a little too close.And you let him.

You weren’t doing it to be petty. Not exactly.You just didn’t want to stand there alone while Sukuna played god with every girl in the room.

The second the guy’s hand touched your hip, Sukuna moved. Fast.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the noise like a knife.

The guy blinked. “You got a problem, man?”

“She’s with me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Funny. I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

He didn’t even look at you—just shoved the guy back, hard enough that he stumbled into a table of drinks.

“Hey!” you snapped. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

Sukuna turned to you, his eyes dark. “Yeah? And what the fuck are you doing grinding up on some stranger like a party favor?”

Your jaw clenched. You stepped closer, voice low. “Oh, I’m sorry—did I miss the part where you owned me?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

He grabbed your wrist, pulled you through the crowd, out the back door, into the alley where the only light was from a broken vending machine flickering like a dying star.

“Sukuna—let go—”

“I don’t like being ignored,” he growled.

“You think I do?” You yanked your arm back. “You disappear for days, show up with some girl, and I’m supposed to just sit here waiting for your drunk ass to remember I exist?”

He backed you against the brick wall, arms on either side of your head.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

You stared him down. “But you wanted me to think it.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

Finally, he muttered, “I’m not good at this shit.”

You blinked. “What, feelings?”

He laughed bitterly. “Yeah. That.”

Your chest softened, just barely. “Then why pull me into this?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”He leaned closer. “Because every time I close my eyes, I see you in my car, on my lap, under me—”

He stopped himself. “And it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

You didn’t let yourself speak.

Not until he whispered, “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You didn’t. Because it would’ve been a lie.

The kiss that followed wasn’t soft. It was a collision—tongues and teeth and something in between a fight and a confession. You didn’t stop him when his hand slid up your thigh. You didn’t care when the wall scraped your back or your lip caught on his teeth.

The alley heard everything. Your breathing. Your gasps. Your need.

You didn’t go home that night.

You woke up in the passenger seat of the RX-7, parked by the river. The sun was just rising, painting the skyline gold. Sukuna was asleep in the driver’s seat, head tilted back, mouth parted slightly, one hand still tangled in yours.

You stared at him for a long time.

Because even now, with the city finally quiet, with his walls down and yours cracked open, you still didn’t know if this was real. Or if you were just the latest thrill in his endless summer.

By the time July hit, Tokyo felt like a flame caught in a glass jar—blazing, trapped, ready to explode. You spent most nights in Sukuna’s car or in his bed, and every morning wondering if you were still just a distraction or something more dangerous.

He still never said much. But he showed up.

Late-night rides. Sweaty mornings. His hand slipping into yours when no one was looking.And when they were looking? He let them.

He liked the way people stared when you were with him. Like he was making a statement. Like he was saying: She’s mine.

The heatwave broke the night he brought you to the underground tunnel races. You’d never seen anything like it.

Beneath the city, where old train tracks had been converted into miles of echoing concrete veins, the scene felt like hell’s personal racetrack.

Oil drums lit the corners. Music bounced off the walls. Engines roared and echoed through the tunnel like thunder in a tomb.

Sukuna tightened his gloves, pulled his hair back, and handed you a helmet with a look that said: Trust me.

You did. Even though every part of you was screaming not to.

“This race isn’t for money,” he told you as you slipped into the seat beside him.“What is it for?”He paused. “Respect.”

The way he said it made your stomach knot.

Respect in Sukuna’s world didn’t mean popularity. It meant power. It meant being feared.

You leaned back in your seat and let him drive you straight into the dark.

The race was brutal.

Sharp turns with no warning. Barrels placed like booby traps. Other drivers clipping bumpers, trying to send him spinning. The RX-7 nearly flipped twice. You screamed. He laughed.

Then the tunnel curved too fast. One of the cars behind you clipped your back tire—metal screeched, you hit your head hard, Sukuna cursed under his breath— But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even blink.

He drove like the devil owed him something. Like pain was an aphrodisiac and fear was a flirtation. You were bleeding. Your side was bruised. And when he crossed the finish line, smoke trailing from the hood, the crowd exploded in sound.

He didn’t celebrate. He looked at you. Only you.

Later, when you pulled over by the river again, he sat on the hood of the RX-7, shirt off, blood drying on his temple. He lit a cigarette, then lit one for you. Passed it wordlessly.

You didn’t ask the questions sitting in your throat. But he answered anyway.

“You ever heard of the Akuma Syndicate?”

You stiffened. Everyone in Tokyo had.

“They used to run the underground scene,” he said. “Drugs. Cars. Weapons. Whatever paid fastest. I used to race for them.”

Your eyes widened. “Used to?”

“They wanted me to do more than race,” he said, voice low. “Wanted me to push product. Scare people. Kill, if I had to. I left before I crossed that line.”

You exhaled smoke. “You think they’ll let that go?”

He didn’t answer.

When he kissed you that night, it was different. Not rough. Not playful. But slow. Careful. Almost like an apology. You kissed him back like you didn’t care who he used to be.

Even if you did. Even if you knew the past always catches up.

A few days later, you saw it happen.

You were walking back to the garage where Sukuna had been tuning the RX-7 when you spotted the black SUV again—the one from the docks. Tinted windows. No license plate.

Parked across the street. Watching. Waiting.

The air was thicker than usual that night, sticky with tension and gasoline. You felt it the second you stepped into the garage.

Sukuna wasn’t working on his car.He was sitting on the hood, arms folded, jaw clenched, staring at the floor like he was waiting to be executed.

You didn’t ask. Not yet. You just walked up and said, “They’re back, aren’t they?”

His eyes didn’t move. “Yeah.”

“The black SUV?”

A slow nod.

“They followed me from the tunnel,” he said, finally looking up. “Didn’t even try to hide it. They’re not playing subtle anymore.”

Your stomach dropped. You crossed your arms. “What do they want?”

He paused.

“They want me back.”

You scoffed. “Back in the gang?”

“They called it a favor. One last race. Big money, big stakes. Winner walks. Loser gets nothing.”

“Nothing as in—?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That kind of nothing.”

He didn’t say it outright, but you saw it written all over his face. This wasn’t just a race.It was a setup.

If he refused, they’d come for him. If he accepted, he might not make it to the finish line. And somehow, you already knew what his choice was.

“You can’t outrun them forever,” you said quietly.

“No,” Sukuna admitted. “But I can sure as hell try.”

The race was set for midnight in Odaiba.Near the old ferris wheel, long shut down, rusting against the skyline like a forgotten god.

The crowd was smaller this time.Fewer party girls. More men with guns under their jackets.This wasn’t a street event. It was a syndicate job. And everyone knew it.

You stood near the RX-7, watching Sukuna tighten the bolts on his hood, sweat dripping down his temples. He looked composed, but his eyes were darker than usual—quiet, stormy, ready.

“I don’t want you here,” he said.

“Tough,” you replied.

He turned toward you. “If something happens—”

You kissed him.

Hard.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “If you burn, I burn with you.”

He smiled at that. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

The other racer stepped out of a black Evo with tinted windows and dragon decals.He was older. Scarred. Long hair pulled into a knot. He looked like someone who didn’t lose often—and didn’t forgive the ones who beat him.

His name was Riku. You recognized him from the files the cops sometimes leaked online.He was more than just a racer. He was an enforcer.

And he had a message.

He walked right up to Sukuna before the race and said, “Nice ride. Shame if something happened to it.”

Sukuna didn’t even blink. “You can threaten me all you want. Just don’t touch her.”

His eyes flicked to you.

Riku smiled. “No promises.”

You rode with Sukuna. He didn’t ask this time. He didn’t warn you off. He just looked at you once, handed you the helmet, and muttered, “You sure?”

You slid into the seat. “Are you?”

The race started at the edge of the bay. A quarter mile along the waterfront, then a sharp turn through the container yards, ending in a narrow tunnel that spit out near the abandoned amusement park.

The signal dropped. Sukuna slammed the gas.

The RX-7 launched forward like a bullet, tires shrieking, Tokyo lights blurring into lines. The Evo stayed neck-and-neck for the first stretch, Riku trying to cut in close, nearly clipping your side mirror.

You held your breath. Sukuna’s knuckles were white on the wheel.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” you whispered.

He grinned. “Baby, death couldn’t catch me if it tried.”

Then the Evo slammed you from the side.Hard. The RX-7 skidded, spun, metal groaning. You screamed as Sukuna jerked the wheel, trying to correct it. Sparks shot from the undercarriage.

But he recovered. Barely. Then he did the unthinkable. Instead of speeding up to pass, he braked.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer. Just let Riku take the lead through the yard.

Then—at the last possible second—he cut left. A shortcut.

A narrow path between containers barely wide enough for a bike, let alone a car. You could feel the walls graze the mirrors. But Sukuna was calm. Focused. At the end of the path, he shot out onto the main track just as Riku reappeared from the turn.

They were neck and neck.

The tunnel was the last stretch. Dark. Cramped. Echoing.

You couldn’t see the finish line. You couldn’t breathe. And then— A glint of metal ahead. You saw it too late.

A spike strip. Laid out across the tunnel floor.

“SHIT—!”

Sukuna swerved just in time, tires hitting the edge but not the center. The car lifted—slammed down again—something cracked beneath you.

But it kept moving. And then— The finish line.

The RX-7 flew through the checkpoint. Sukuna didn’t scream. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t celebrate. He just slammed on the brakes, flung the door open, and checked the damage. You tumbled out behind him, heart pounding.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded. He pulled you into him and didn’t let go for a long time.

Riku didn’t get out of his car. The second he crossed the line, he peeled off into the night, tires screaming. You didn’t know if it was rage, shame, or fear.

But it didn’t matter. Sukuna had won.

Back in the car, he looked over at you.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m keeping you out of this.”

You smirked. “Like hell you are.”

He exhaled. Touched your face.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

You kissed him soft. “Maybe that’s the point.”

August cracked Tokyo open like a bottle left out in the sun too long. Sticky heat. Thicker smog. Everyone moving a little slower—but not you. Not Sukuna.

Not when you were still living on fumes and adrenaline. Not when the gang was quiet, the cops were watching, and you had nowhere to go but faster.

You and Sukuna were closer than ever now.His hand always on your thigh when he drove.Your shirt always half on by the time you pulled into a parking lot somewhere dark and empty.You’d talk after. Breathe each other in like you were trying to memorize what this all felt like.It was fun. And messy. And stupid.

But it was real. And that scared the shit out of both of you.

The party was at a rooftop club in Shibuya—high up, neon-soaked, pulsing with house music and smoke machines. The invite was from Nobara, the closest thing either of you had to a friend in this world. Loud. Sharp. Loyal as hell.

“She’s dating a DJ,” Sukuna muttered as he parallel parked between two Maseratis. “So expect noise and idiots.”

“I like noise and idiots,” you said, putting on lipstick in the passenger-side mirror. “I date one.”

He smirked. “Is that right?”

“You’re a loudmouth with no impulse control and a death wish.”

“And you like it.”

You didn’t deny it.

The party was already boiling when you stepped inside. Flashing lights. Bare skin. Glitter. The floor vibrated under your feet. Sukuna pulled you close, whispering against your ear, “Stick close.”

Not because he didn’t trust you. But because he didn’t trust anyone else.

You danced. Drank. Let yourself get a little too loose on tequila and the music. Sukuna didn’t stop you—he watched you, eyes locked on your hips like the whole room was on mute except for the way you moved.

And when some guy tried to cut in, Sukuna stepped between you so fast the guy backed off without a word.No fight. No scene. Just that look.Like: Don’t test me.

You laughed into his neck, drunk on power.And maybe on him.

But then the lights changed. Suddenly everything was red and white. Too bright. Too uniform. That wasn't part of the show.

It was police.

You saw Nobara across the room, eyes wide. She mouthed, Go now. But it was too late.

A megaphone cut through the music. “Nobody move! This party is under investigation for narcotics and illegal activity!”

Sukuna’s jaw locked. You grabbed his hand. “What do we do?”

He scanned the exits. Calculated. Fast.

“Get out that side door,” he hissed. “Run through the stairwell. Don’t look back. Don’t stop.”

You froze. “What about you?”

“I’ll find you. I promise.”

But you didn’t get the chance to run.

Two cops were already on you. Shouting. Pushing. Slapping metal cuffs onto your wrists. Sukuna tried to step in—

“Don’t move! Hands behind your head!”

Guns drawn. Voices shouting.

Your heart dropped. They took both of you.

Holding cell. 3:42 a.m.

The floor was concrete. The light above buzzed. You sat on a bench in a cold room that stank of sweat, piss, and cheap cologne.

You weren’t crying. Not yet. Just shaking a little.

You didn’t know where Sukuna was.They’d split you up at the station. Asked questions. Names. What you knew. What he did. If you were a part of it.You told them nothing.

But you were scared. Not of the jail. Not of the cops. But of losing him. Because they wanted him. You were just a bonus.

At 5:12 a.m., the door creaked open.

You stood up fast, heart in your throat— And there he was. Black hoodie. Bloody knuckles. Grinning like a devil who just won a bet.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Charges dropped. Nobara called in a favor. Her DJ boyfriend’s dad is a lawyer or something. Big shot. We’re good.”

You stared at him. “You… you got me out?”

He nodded. “Told you. I’d find you.”

You launched yourself into him. Held tight.

“Ride or die, right?” you whispered.

He kissed your hair. “Ride or fucking die.”

That morning, you drove out of the city with the windows down and music too loud.You watched the sun rise over Tokyo from the expressway, legs tucked under you, Sukuna’s hand resting on your thigh.

He didn’t say much. But he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world not burning.

They left Tokyo before nightfall. No goodbye. No warning. Just the two of you and the RX-7 cutting through Japan’s countryside with the sunset in your mirrors and a burner phone in the glovebox.

You didn't ask where you were going.Sukuna didn’t offer specifics.But it didn’t feel like running. Not with him.

It felt like something slower. Quieter. Like the beginning of the end.

The safe house was a rundown cabin in the hills above Hakone. Hidden by trees, overgrown grass, and fog so thick it looked like smoke curling off the earth.

Sukuna killed the engine, leaned back, and lit a joint right there in the driveway.“Not exactly the Tokyo skyline,” he muttered.

You slid out of the car, stretching your legs. “You brought me to a horror movie set.”

He smirked. “Could’ve left you in jail.”

“You did get me arrested.”

“I also got you out.”

You took the joint from him, inhaled deep, and blew smoke into the cooling air.

“Fair enough.”

Inside, it smelled like cedar and something older. Dust. Oil. Memories.

There were faded posters on the walls—old street races from before the 2000s. A tiny kitchen. One bed. No Wi-Fi. The landline didn’t even have a dial tone.

You looked around. “Who’s place is this?”

He opened a beer and took a long drink. “Used to be mine. Before Tokyo.”

“You lived here?”

“Briefly. After I walked away from the syndicate.”

You sat down on the couch, watching him. “Why’d you come back?”

His eyes flicked toward you, then away. “Didn’t feel real out here.”

That night was slow. Heavy with quiet. No engines. No music. No lights outside except stars you’d forgotten existed.

You and Sukuna sat on the porch, passing the joint back and forth, legs brushing.He smelled like smoke and mint. His hoodie was unzipped, and you could see the scar that curved beneath his ribs—a reminder of some old fight he never talked about.

“I thought I liked the chaos,” he said suddenly.“I thought it made me feel alive.”

You looked at him. “And now?”

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, smoke curling up into the moonlight. “Being with you... it’s different. Makes me want to stop looking over my shoulder.”

You leaned your head against his. “So stop.”

He paused.

“I’m trying.”

Later, lying in bed, you traced his tattoos with your fingers. The windows were open. The crickets were loud.

You whispered, “If we stay here, what happens?”

Sukuna turned his head toward you in the dark.

“Then it’s just you and me. No gangs. No racing. Just... whatever this is.”

You swallowed. “You think we could do that?”

He kissed your shoulder.“You make me think I could.”

And then he kissed you again.Slower this time. Less urgency. More ache.The kind that builds behind your ribs. When he pushed inside you that night, it wasn’t rough or wild like the others. It was quiet. Deep. Like he needed to feel everything.

His hand tangled in yours. His mouth brushed your cheek. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe he was.

The morning after, the phone rang. The landline. The one you thought didn’t work. You both froze. Sukuna answered. You couldn’t hear the voice. But his expression changed instantly.

Gone was the softness from the night before.In its place—tension. Fury. Cold calculation. He hung up without a word.

“What?” you asked, standing.

He turned to you, voice tight.

“They found us.”

You didn’t even pack. There was no time. One second, the phone went dead. The next—Sukuna was already yanking open the garage door, his keys in hand, eyes like a lit fuse.

“They were watching the line,” he growled. “Should’ve known it wasn’t just for decoration.”

You followed him, barefoot on the cold wood floor, adrenaline rising like a tide. “Who was it?”

“Riku.”That name again—coiled like a snake in the room.“He said it’s over if I don’t race. That they’re done playing.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

He didn’t look at you. “They come for you.”

The drive down the mountain was silent.Sukuna’s jaw locked. His grip on the wheel too tight. You didn’t ask more questions. You just sat there, the sunrise spilling across the dash, thinking about how quickly peace disappears.

At the bottom of the hill, he took a turn you didn’t recognize.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I left a piece of myself,” he muttered.

The “somewhere” turned out to be an underground garage in Kanagawa. Hidden behind a ramen shop. No signs. No cameras. Just a keypad Sukuna still remembered the code to.

Inside were two things:

1. A matte black Nissan Silvia S15, pristine.

2. A man sitting on a folding chair, smoking a clove cigarette.

He looked up when you entered. Narrow eyes. Silver hair. Sharp suit despite the grime.

“About time,” the man said.

Sukuna nodded once. “You still owe me.”

“I paid that debt years ago.”

“Then consider this interest.”

The man glanced at you, then at Sukuna. “Racing for a girl?”

Sukuna stepped in close. “Racing to keep her alive.”

The race was set for Dead Man’s Curve, a winding downhill nightmare of a track known for killing anyone cocky enough to try it after rain.

And tonight, the streets were slick. They wanted it that way. Riku was already there, leaning against his Evo. Arms crossed. A knife of a grin on his face.

“You brought her?” he called out. “Thought this was business, not romance.”

Sukuna walked right up to him.

“If I win,” he said, “you never come near her again.”

“And if you lose?”

Sukuna didn’t blink.“I don’t lose.”

You stood on the edge of the track, heart hammering. Rain misted over your skin. The engines revved like war drums.

The rules were simple: One-on-one. Downhill.No shortcuts. No brakes—figuratively or literally. Winner takes freedom. Loser takes consequences.

The flag dropped. They were gone.

Watching Sukuna race was like watching lightning fight gravity. Fast, chaotic, but with some kind of divine precision underneath.He was faster on the curves, daring where Riku played safe. But Riku was violent—ramming Sukuna’s back bumper, trying to spin him out.

It almost worked—twice.

You screamed when the Silvia’s tail end fishtailed dangerously near a cliff, but Sukuna controlled it like it was an extension of himself.

Then— At the last switchback— Riku made a move. Sharp. Dirty. He pulled forward, nosed in, slammed Sukuna sideways. But Sukuna had been waiting.

He let the spin take him halfway, then jerked the wheel, cut across the inside, and floored it. The Silvia shot out of the curve like a bullet.Riku overcorrected—

His car clipped the guardrail. Spun. Flipped.

Everything went silent.Smoke curled into the air. You ran.

Sukuna was already out of the car, breathing hard, face pale.

“Are you okay?” you cried.

He nodded. Looked back toward the wreck.“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you said. You grabbed his face. “I know.”

Later, under the flashing lights of arriving police and blinking streetlamps, Sukuna stood beside you with his arm slung around your shoulders. Riku would live. Banged up, arrested, done.

The gang? Disbanded. And you? You weren’t running anymore.

In the car that night, Sukuna looked at you, eyes raw.

“You still in this?”

You smiled.“You never even asked me if I wanted in the first place.”

He reached over, tangled your fingers with his.

“This summer was supposed to be fast and stupid,” he whispered.“I didn’t mean to fall in love.”

You kissed him like a crash you didn’t mind dying in.

August faded like the last drag of a cigarette.The streets were calmer now. No sirens in the distance. No rumble of midnight engines. Just a stretch of sun-bleached days, open roads, and the kind of silence that makes you question everything that came before it.

Sukuna hadn’t raced in weeks.He hadn’t needed to.

He still worked on cars, still drove too fast on empty roads when his head got loud.But the war in him had quieted. Because of you.

The city felt different when you weren’t hiding from it. You and Sukuna spent your mornings tangled in sheets, afternoons tuning engines with oil-slick fingers, and nights at rooftops or ramen shops with cold beer and music crackling through blown-out speakers.

He wasn’t perfect. He still rolled his eyes when things got too soft. Still smoked too much. Still drove like he had something to prove.

But he was different. Calmer. With you, he was becoming someone who could stay.

The conversation happened in the middle of nowhere. Just the two of you in his Silvia, parked at an overlook above the city. The sun was setting behind the skyline, bleeding gold and orange into the smog.

You had your legs in his lap, your head against the window. He was quiet. Thinking.

Then—

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. Sat up. “What?”

He ran a hand through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip.“This was supposed to be fast and fun. Get in, get out. No feelings. But then you walked in with that mouth and that attitude and suddenly I was thinking about you when I shouldn’t have been.”

You swallowed. “Sukuna…”

“I know I’m not good at this shit. I don’t say the right things. I don’t even know what the right things are. But I do know I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep next to you every night.”

He looked over, eyes soft but burning.

“So I’m saying it now. No more almost. No more bullshit. Be mine. Officially.”

You stared at him. Hard. Long. Then you smiled.

“You’re already mine, Sukuna.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it for years.Leaned in and kissed you. The kind of kiss that doesn’t rush. Doesn’t demand. Just promises.

You crawled into his lap right there in the front seat. Your lips still sticky with lip gloss, your hands in his hair. He pulled your shirt over your head like it meant nothing, but held your face like it meant everything.

You made love in the passenger seat of his Silvia as the Tokyo skyline blinked in the distance—slow, raw, honest.

Not adrenaline. Not lust. Love.

That night, when you were curled up against him, half-dressed, hair a mess, Sukuna whispered into your hair:

“This life… this city… all the noise? It can take everything. But it doesn’t get you.”

And he meant it. You still live in Tokyo.Still race sometimes—for fun, not survival.Sukuna opened his own garage. You help him run it.

Sometimes you drive out past the city just to feel the wind again. Sometimes you pull over and kiss like you’re still hiding something.But mostly, you’re just you and him.

A little messy. A little wild. But real. Fast.Loud. And alive.

Because some love stories don’t slow down. Some? They burn.

It was a Tuesday.

Not the kind of day anything dramatic should happen. You were in the garage, hair tied back, wiping grease off your hands while Sukuna cursed at a stubborn turbo.

The shop radio buzzed with early 2000s throwbacks. Everything felt easy. Domestic.

Like a life you never thought either of you would be lucky enough to have. And then— The bell over the garage door rang.She stepped in like she owned the air.

Tall. Tanned. Leather jacket and heels that didn’t make sense on the cracked pavement. Her hair was dyed copper. Her lips blood red. But her eyes? They looked at Sukuna like she never forgot him.

A/n: craving a fast and furious summer real bad

[sukubusss]

competitive eater? more like pathetic yearner !

Sukuna Ryomen had the stomach of a monster—a built-in chamber of steel with acids enough to burn eighty buffalo wings in under ten minutes. After all, his title as the “King of Cuisines” wasn't miraculously earned through nothing.

Bold, masculine, and intimidating— Sukuna's aura was just hard to miss. His mere presence was a force that would dominate everyone on the field; let alone at the table. It doesn't matter how many platters you serve at him or how spicy and exotic the food may be, he's all downing it in one go.

No breaks.

No timeouts.

No 'i can't do this anymore' vulnerablity in front of live TV either.

He was unbeatable. Add that to his unsually attractive bad boy appearance and you'll find the exact reason why people love him.

The shock factor? Sukuna initially joined competitions because he was forced to. Yes, you heard that right. It wasn't because of boredom or some cliché passion.

He was forced.

It all started in highschool, back when he and Toji were broke and ambitious teens who'd jump at every opportunity to get money. It was stupid Fushiguro who dragged him into this ridiculous shit cause his ass didn't wanna be alone.

But somehow, the universe seemed to had other plans. Sukuna won the prize money without breaking a sweat, and no, it wasn't just first timer's luck. Unbeknownst to him, he was making a name for himself; champion after champion, unintentionally catching the attention of many people. From broke teen to whatever he was right now. It was honestly a win.

Then, you came. 

An angel sent to save him from dying on a a Sunday.

It was love at first sight for Sukuna who was definitely caught off guard. Fuck, he could even feel cupid's arrow lodged deep within the chambers of his chest, the vibrations of his heart drumming in his ears. You were perfect.

You waltzed in his direction, a welcoming smile on your lips. He caught a glimpse of your flawless manicured nails as you handed him the menu. Your oh so gentle voice sounding like a melody in his ears.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Your first question. Your first interaction. A siren's voice that cursed Sukuna to lay wide awake at night thinking of no one but you. So, he returned to the restaurant hoping to see you again. Sometimes you were there, and often times you'd be gone for weeks. To him, your existence felt like a vivid dream. It was as if fate was playing dirty tricks on him.

It bewildered him that he was spiraling whenever he couldn't see you—something that he's never felt for a woman before.

This was just a silly little crush. A temporary feeling. He'll go back to normal soon, right?

Well...not exactly.

His visits were consistent to the point that the owner, who turned out to be your father, finally recognized him as the Sukuna himself. Your father, being the self proclaimed comedian that he is, framed Sukuna's photo to the concrete wall like it was a rare artifact that only the chosen ones would find. Kinda valid. It's not everyday you get to have someone like him as a regular you know?

When you finally come home for winter break after battling the stressful half of your last year in college, Sukuna was elated. He found out from your dad a  week ago when he mentioned it during their usual chat. And he might've stalked your instagram too..

Whoops..!

You've never felt so confused in your entire life. Because 1) why was there a photo of a man being hung up as decoration inside the restaurant? And 2) why was the said man laughing with your dad like both of them were comrades from a century old war?

You remembered him from before. The distinct head of messy pink hair that contrasted to the blackened tattoos inked on his skin. He didn't look much older than you, probably just a year or two.

You could only smile as Sukuna formally introduced himself. His palms curled into fists, both drenched in sweat, likely from his attempt to play it cool like he wasn't waiting for this to happen.

“I see you've met my dad, is that really you on the wall over there?” you joked, easing the tense muscles on his shoulders.

Sukuna could defy the laws of physics right now and straight up melt into the floor, if only you weren't looking at him with those eyes.

He could've flirted with you back then. Could've asked your old man for your number. But he didn't, and he chose not to.

Chivalry wasn't dead.

Sukuna would make sure of that.

[sukubusss]

-> just a something small

thinking about boyfie!Sukuna with creative gf!reader.

“Don’t move,” you said, brow furrowed as you traced yet another swirl of henna onto Sukuna’s already tattoo-covered arm.

“I’m literally not moving.”

“You breathed. I felt it.”

He stared at you, unimpressed. “That’s usually encouraged.”

You didn’t respond. You were too busy drawing a stick man, very deliberately, right inside one of his thick, black tattoo bands. It looked comically out of place. Like someone had graffitied a caveman onto the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

You sat back proudly. “Look at him. Living his best life.”

Sukuna tilted his head to examine the stick figure. “He has no face.”

“He’s minimalistic. Don’t be rude.”

He said nothing, which in Sukuna-language meant “this is ridiculous but I’m letting it happen because I love you or something.”

He didn’t mind being used as a canvas. That much had become clear. You’d started with henna, but the chaos had escalated over time.

One evening, while you were studying on the couch, you realised his hand was resting peacefully on your lap. Completely still. Completely unguarded.You grabbed a pen.“You’re doing something,” he said without looking.

“No I’m not.”

“You’re drawing on me.”

You were. A tiny cat on his thumb, a sunflower on his pinky, a suspicious-looking frog on the side of his hand.

He looked at them after five minutes of silence.“Why is this frog judging me.”

“He knows what you did.”

Later, you sat him down at the kitchen table like you were about to perform a very serious operation. You held up a bottle of pale pink nail polish.He glanced at it. Then at you. Then at his lighter.

“I’m repainting it,” you said. “Your personality is 90% violent and the other 10% is whatever colour your hair is. We’re leaning in.”

He didn’t even argue. Just pushed the lighter across the table like a defeated man handing over a family heirloom. You worked in silence for a bit, tongue between your teeth. “You’re very precise,” he said.

“I trained under the ancient masters of DIY TikTok.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Good. That’s how I maintain my mystery.”

You didn’t stop there. Oh no. Next was Labubu. Your slightly terrifying big-eared plush toy. One morning, Sukuna walked into the living room to find you sewing tiny pink thread onto its head.“What’s happening.”

“He’s becoming you.”

Your Labubu now had angry little eyebrows, a tiny scar, and black ink marker tattoos all over his felt arms. You handed it to Sukuna.

“He’s your plush clone. Be gentle. He’s moody.”

Sukuna stared at it. “It looks like it’s planning murder.”

“Just like you.”

He didn’t argue. That meant you were right.

You found a DIY jacket tutorial and decided Sukuna needed a makeover. He was napping. You were in a creative mood. Dangerous combination. You ironed on three patches, one of which said “Menace to Society,” and drew a snake on the sleeve in fabric marker.

When he woke up, you showed him.He blinked at the jacket. Then at you.“I was asleep for twenty minutes.”

“You trusted me. That was your first mistake.”

He was a man of very few words. You were a woman of… too many. Somehow, that balanced. He let you paint his lighter, design his hoodie, and vandalise his body with henna frogs. He let you stitch thread into a plushie’s forehead and call it bonding. He let you use his hands as notebooks when your own were full.

And in return, you kissed his scar without asking, drew hearts on his knuckles, and said stuff like, “You’re the calmest chaos I’ve ever met.”

He didn’t smile often. But sometimes you caught the edge of one when he thought you weren’t looking. Especially when the stick man got a little cape.

“Don’t,” he warned when he saw you giggling.

“He’s a hero, Sukuna.”

“You need supervision.”

“You are my supervision.”

That shut him up. Mostly because it was true.

[sukubusss]

★ gym days with biker!sukuna :p › more for this dynamic here !

"wait, wait," you say, tugging on the crisp black fabric of his compression shirt, which is a sharp contrast to your own soft, pink one. "i want a pre-workout pic."

he responds with a low grunt. you don't have to ask him twice, especially when you're already pulling that signature glossy pout. besides, he won't admit it, but he secretly likes being posted on your social media.

he knows you're his, but now everyone who follows you knows it too. it just gives him a sense of satisfaction, a sweet, private satisfaction that he'd never confess to.

for the most part, you just follow him around, admiring how good your boyfriend looks as he practically bench-presses the weight of a car. or something close to it, anyway. he doesn't mind your presence, not one bit.

you look incredibly gorgeous swinging your legs as you sit idly on the machine. the fabric you're wearing hugs your curves in an addicting way, tight against your supple form. you're not entirely focused on him, though, as you swipe through your photo gallery, deciding which capture of you two is the cuter one.

your long, studded acrylics tap against your screen as you hum, "i wish you had, like, an account, so i could tag you and stuff."

sukuna doesn't mention that he does have an account, but it's strictly for sending death threats to perverts in your comment section. yeah, he leaves that bit out.

he's nowhere near tired, but he can't wait to go home and decompress with you, to feel your nails rake softly against his back. you probably couldn't hurt him if you tried, but you're incredibly gentle with sukuna, holding him softly, loving him softly.

"ooh, 'kuna, can i spot for you?"

he certainly doesn't need a spot, but he's a man of ego. and to impress you, he'll do anything. a small smile touches his lips. "sure, petal."