xechu

[xechu]

I know I've been radio silent since the release of Devour - Chapter 4, but I've been working on it behind the scenes. I've also started planning on my next series.

Right now I'm still figuring out if I should add an additional chapter to Devour or not (I'm leaning more towards I probably will have to), because I realize the pacing might be too quick/abrupt if I stick to two chapters. I'm locked in on the ending, but it's all the in-between and the build-up that I'm trying to iron out.

For those who are looking forward to CMH updates, I have a few things written out but I haven't gotten around to editing anything yet. CMH is not my main focus as much as I loved what it's turned into, and I appreciate all the positive attention it has received. It was something I took a little more casually and had a lot of fun with, and something I liked to work on when I'm in a bit of a rut. I do hope to have a few pieces released when I have some more time freed up. :)

Thank you. x

[xechu]

HEARTS DIVIDER | green-blue-purple.

──────── ⵌ SMALL ...

──────── ⵌ BIG ...

( requested by → @shegetsburned )

oh goodness, i love these colours, ahhhh ! i originally made these in a more neon-y, brighter colour. let me know in the comments if i should post those too 🙇‍♀️

more : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

support me through ko-fi | more dividers →

[xechu]

From Worst to Hell (Pt. 1)

cw: suggestive themes, 18+ mdni, please read my blog rules before interacting, sexual themes, swearing, use of weed and implied driving under the influence (drive responsibly).

wc: 1.9K

summary: you call your ex-boyfriend in a drunk and sobbing state. What's the worst that can happen?

a/n: this is part of my au 'Cross My Heart' - check out the master list here! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you for reading. x

If the dictionary had the word 'world's-biggest-clown' in it, accompanied with a reference picture, Sukuna had no doubt that it would be his own face plastered on it. Because why in god's name was he laying beside Yorozu in this very moment? Naked bodies and limbs entangled, thick, heady musk lingering in the air, and high out of his goddamn mind.

What he really should have been doing—or should have already done—was grovel at your feet, begging for forgiveness, and giving you the best fuck to show you how sorry he was, and how much he still loves you. He should have done something—anything—when he found his belongings packed up in a box three weeks ago. But, no, it was always his pride and ego—always his insecurities that got in the way, that kept him from admitting he was wrong, that stopped him from apologizing. Sukuna had always known that he was his own worst enemy.

For someone as much of a screwup as he was, the universe had still managed to serve him all the good things in life on a silver platter: a good brother, an understanding sister-in-law, a cute nephew who he practically treats as his own son, a successful business, and you—the woman of his dreams. And yet, he managed to completely fumble it.

As he laid there in self-loathing, a phone call suddenly jolts him to his senses, and when he sees your name on the caller ID, he springs up the bed. He answers, heart racing in anticipation, and then to his shock, you were a sobbing incoherent mess on the other end. The sound of your distress immediately sobered him up.

"Shit, Y/N, what happened?"

"I'm—hic—I don't—I just—hic—wanna go home."

"Fucking Christ," Sukuna muttered, rubbing his face with his hand, "Are you hurt?"

"N-no—hic"

"Good," he lets out a breath of relief. "Can you send me your location?"

He glances at his phone as it buzzes, Y/N wants to share her location with you.

"Alright, sweetheart. I'm coming."

"What happened?" Yorozu's voice rasped, as she leaned in on Sukuna. Her breasts pressing up to his arm.

"I have to go," he shrugged her off as he climbed out of her bed.

"Why? I thought you broke up with her," she shot back, resentment lacing her voice.

"She broke up with me, and for a good reason. But I can't leave her like this." Sukuna clarified, as he zipped up his jeans and threw on his black t-shirt. The scar on his abdomen from the knife wound still tickled as his shirt grazes over it—a constant reminder of why and how things became the current shitshow it was.

"Are you coming back?"

"No," he said firmly, jaw tightening, "No more of this, Yor. This will be the last time."

"You're fucking joking, right?" Her tone was incredulous.

"I'm not. Whatever happened between us tonight, it won't happen again."

"What the hell, Ryo?" Yorozu hissed, "What do you take me for? Just some whore you could come for a good fuck and leave?"

"You and I both got what we wanted out of this. Enough is enough."

"Really? You'd drop me, and our years of friendship just for some other girl?"

"She's not just some other girl," he snapped, his eyes shooting her a warning glare. But to be honest, the fact that Yorozu even saw you in this light in the first place was entirely Sukuna's fault, and he knew it. He hated how he allowed his circle to view you as such, and it was because he never gave you the respect you deserved.

Yorozu rolled her eyes, as she stood up, "I know how much you loved her, but she just isn't good for you," she drew circles around Sukuna's arm, a last ditch effort to appeal to him.

"She can't appreciate the things you've done for her. And worst of all, she's trying to mold you into this person you're not! What are you, her personal fix-me-up project?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying that you've changed, Ryo. She's turning you into someone you're not."

"She was right about you," Sukuna lowly chuckled, as he shrugs away from Yorozu's touch, "I tried to vouch for you, give you the benefit of the doubt because of our history, but I should have cut you off a long time ago."

"I knew she was talking shit about me!" Yorozu's features darken, and her body trembled with anger, "What kind of bullshit has she been feeding you?"

"She hardly talks about you," he shrugged, impatience creeping into his voice, "Look, I have to go."

"You're a scum, Ryomen. You need to get your head out of your own ass."

"Tell me something I don't know," he scoffed, as he took his car keys and left the apartment.

Sukuna shoots you a text: I'll be here in 10. Don't talk to anyone, don't go anywhere.

---

You stood in front of the bar, arms crossed against the chill of the night. Your face was stained with dried tears and mascara streaks. You were a hopeless disaster, even then, 'hopeless disaster' was a gross understatement.

In your head, you knew you were far gone, but it seemed your body had a mind of its own, swaying slightly as you struggled to keep your balance. Why did you call him? You were doing so damn well, and you felt so good about being the one to end things this time, so why on earth were you crawling back to him like some pathetic, needy, little girl? When did you become so weak? This is why he thinks he could walk all over you.

As you mentally berated yourself, you contemplated on if you should just call an Uber home. But before you had time to change your mind, you see your ex-boyfriend's car pull up. Of course, it had to be his flashy one too: a black Lamborghini Urus.

"Hey," he murmured, quickly climbing out of his car and catching you before you lost balance.

"I wanna go home," you slurred, pushing him away and stumbling over your own heels.

"You can't even walk straight, what are you doing?" He let out an exasperated sigh, as he watched you struggle towards the car.

Before you could make an even bigger fool of yourself, he scooped you up, princess-style, and plopped you into the passenger seat. He didn't want to be taking you to the hospital tonight, though it would have been somewhat of an amusing twist of irony.

"Why were you drinking by yourself?" He asked, slipping into the driver’s seat and buckling your seatbelt. It was a stupid question, he knew why, but that’s how desperately he wanted to just talk to you again.

"B-because, you're a fucking dick." It was hard to take you seriously when you were a slurring mess.

"Right, and that's why you called me?" he quipped.

"I know, okay?!" You yelled, frustration overflowing, "Everyone's been telling me to just get over it, and that you're an asshole!"

"Are you sure they said that about me?"

"A thousand-hundred...ten-percent."

"Hm, okay."

Sukuna sat there, his arm resting on the steering wheel and his head leaning in his hand, listening to your slurred ramblings. Even with your mascara-stained face, why were you so beautiful?

"I'm so...pathetic. To love someone who never l-loved me!"

"That's not true," he scowled, "You know I lo—"

"There you go again!" You said in a mocking tone, "Telling me what is and isn't! You're just so clever, Ryo! And I'm just some helpless idiot!"

"I never thought you were an idiot," Sukuna muttered.

Despite the sheer chaos of the current situation, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief and happiness that you were here. The fact that you still thought to call him when you needed help filled him with an unexpected warmth. He was convinced that three weeks ago was the last time he'd ever see you.

"You can have the last laugh like you always do! Ha ha ha." You threw your arms up in exasperation, nearly smacking him in the face and garnering a small 'tch' from him. But he was willing to take in any form of abuse from you right now, after all, he deserved it.

"We're going home. I forget how much of a brat you are when you're drunk," he said, as he started the car.

"My home, I kicked you out," you giggled, seemingly a little too happy about that.

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Almost immediately, an awkward silence filled the car. He glanced over at you, only to find you staring straight ahead, large globs of tears rolling down your cheeks. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not sure what to make of your drunk erratic behavior.

"Y-you don’t get to call me that anymore!" You started bawling uncontrollably.

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, it didn’t help that as of half an hour ago he was still high out of his mind, and in another woman's bed (which he was still mentally kicking himself over). Sighing, he decided it was better to stay quiet, flipping on the music in the car—the tunes of Arctic Monkeys quietly playing in the background.

Though you only lived about fifteen minutes away, it was going to be a long drive home.

---

Thankfully, the two of you had made it back safely to the underground parking lot of your apartment. It had taken every fiber of Sukuna's being to stay focused on the road, and resisting the urge to fill the silence with comments that could potentially throw you into a crying frenzy again.

He glanced over at you as he parks the car, somewhat bracing himself for another emotional outburst, but you seemed quietly distant, lost in your own thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, a sinking feeling that tonight was going to be a long night. With a resigned sigh, he climbed out of his side of the car and walked over to your door, opening it for you.

"My feet hurt," you frowned, as you flung off your Kate red bottoms, "the shoes you bought me suck."

"Yeah, yeah, just tell me you want to get carried," he scooped you up effortlessly, while hooking your heels on his two fingers that were free, "and you're the one who wanted them, in case you forgot."

"They looked so nice on Zendaya," you murmured, as your head rested against his chest.

"Mhm." He had no clue who Zendaya was, he doesn't keep up with pop culture.

"Keys," he said, glancing down at you as you seemed to drift off to sleep, looking far too comfortable in his arms. Like you belonged there.

"In my bag," you mumbled.

"Grab it?"

"You're so annoying," you huffed, reaching into your purse and fishing out your keys. He tapped with his index finger, gesturing you to hook the keyring around it.

As Sukuna waited for the elevator, carrying you in his arms, he stared at the LED screen of the descending floor numbers. The numbers seemed to pull him into a trance, recalling unwanted memories—how he had hurt you, the brash and callous things he said just to be hurtful. Each digit felt like a ticking reminder of how he was so weak-willed, crawling into the arms of another woman just three weeks later. When suddenly—

"Ryo," you said his name with such unexpected clarity, it made his heart race. It felt as if all was forgiven, and he just woke up from a nightmare. The break-up wasn't real, the hospital wasn't real, sleeping with Yorozu wasn't real.

"Hm?" He tried to hide his anticipation.

"I need to throw up."

"Oh, hell no—"

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

[xechu]

[Devour] Chapter 4: Convictions

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.

cw: depiction of gore and violence, sexual content

Summary: Sukuna knows no bounds when it comes time to ensuring your peace and happiness. Everyday with you was blissful, and for the seemingly unshakeable King of Curses it appears that he, too, fears that this all might be a fleeting dream.

a/n: Sukuna kind of lovesick in this chapter, I know. I struggle a lot with filler chapters because I'm always worried that it gets too boring, or it's a lot of details but doesn't necessarily progress the plot. Looking back, my last chapter should have been split to two. Although this chapter is relatively short, it actually went through a drastic creative change, hence, why it took a really long time. Anyway, be forewarned, this is the final fluff before the angst. :') There will only be two more chapters left after this!! AO3 will be updated tomorrow morning. Thank you so much for reading. x

Master List : < Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 (To be continued) >

Sukuna's POV

Every morning, while you were still sound asleep, Sukuna took a moment to gaze upon you. He watched how your body rhythmically rose and fell, how you clung to him in your sleep, and how your beautiful skin bore the marks and bruises from your nightly passions. It was a sacred morning ritual he never failed to observe—recommitting you to his memory as if he were afraid that one day you would no longer be by his side.

There was no denying it; he truly cherished you. It was hard to fathom that the King of Curses could feel this way. But with such intense feelings also came possessiveness, jealousy, and anxiety.

When it came to your peace and happiness, Sukuna had no bottom line—he would do anything to maintain the status quo; after all, his word was his bond. He had promised your safety, your happiness, and to make up for lost time—and he was determined to uphold that. Life had not been the same since the universe returned you to him; it was never a dull moment. His once monotonous life suddenly felt filled with purpose. Yet to maintain the only good he had came a necessary evil: bloodshed.

He knew there were many things you turned a blind eye to and tolerated, but he remained steadfast in his own convictions and ideals. He would do whatever it took to ensure you stayed blissfully by his side.

Sukuna first discovered the extent of your disdain for bloodshed and violence last winter when he gifted you a tiger pelt, and to his absolute displeasure and horror, you sobbed. Needless to say, they were not tears of happiness.

---

In the confines of the bedroom, Sukuna had his arms wrapped around you, your naked body pressed against his. The sound of your heartbeat brought him comfort, a soothing lullaby that eased him to sleep every night.

"I have something for you, flower," he said just as he felt you starting to drift off.

"What is it?" you looked up at him, puzzled.

He shuffled out of bed. You sat up, wrapping the blanket around you, watching him retrieve something from the dresser. Your eyes widened in surprise.

"The winters are harsher out here compared to the village," he explained, removing the blanket and draping the pelt over you, making sure it fit well.

"Perfect," he murmured. There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "You look absolutely divine."

In Sukuna's mind, he imagined you would beam with joy like you usually did when he presented you with gifts, but instead, a resigned expression crossed your face that didn't escape his notice. He watched as your hand gently grazed the pelt, admiring its beautiful patterns, yet a lingering pain clouded your features—one he couldn't quite comprehend.

"You're not happy," he remarked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"I-It's not like that," you said, capturing his hand in yours. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Ryo."

"Then why do you look so burdened?"

Hesitation lingered on your face. "Well, the winter has been manageable with my current attire," you softly admitted. "A life didn’t need to be taken just so I could stay a little warmer."

“If it means keeping you warm, then it’s worth it.”

“I am warm—without this. You keep me warm.”

“It’s just an animal. You needn’t feel bad about it."

"I just…" tears began streaming down your face, "It didn't have to die for this."

---

There was no doubt that Sukuna was strong—arguably the strongest. But being the pinnacle of strength was a brutal path built upon the bones of his enemies and dyed in the crimson of their blood. He knew no other way of life except to decimate his opposition completely. It was the only way to survive, maintain control, assert dominion, and now, protect his most cherished. After all, the dead can't talk, nor can they retaliate.

Today, like any other day, he admired you while you slept before making his way to the forest. It was the dead of winter; the days had grown short, while the nights were long and unforgiving. For someone like Sukuna, who burned like a furnace, the cold never bothered him—in fact, he found it comfortable and preferred it over the sweltering summers.

As the sun began to rise, he embarked on his routine trek to the forest, the quietness reminding him of the monotonous emptiness of his life before you. It was ironic how he had come to loathe this feeling of solitude. He had become reliant on your presence—though he would never admit it openly. Long ago, he had accepted his destiny—to be scorned, to be despised, and to be alone—but at least he had reveled in absolute power. Now that you were here, he found it difficult to revert to his former life. You had shown him what it meant to be loved. Yet, a fear loomed over him that everything could return to the way it was, for Sukuna believed good things never came his way.

The forest and mountain were his domain, where he could shed all pretenses and let loose—let his bloodlust consume him. It was true, he mostly hunted curses and animals, but humans were also on his list of scores. Over the past year, a handful of nosy villagers and Yamamoto's pesky men had tried to uncover your whereabouts, each meeting a merciless demise. Each opponent felled, each life extinguished, and the symphony of gore that painted his hunting ground, it was all a cathartic release for Sukuna. It used to be the best feeling in the world, but now it was merely the second best—because he had tasted you.

Sukuna knew he had promised you that there would be no more secrets, but his hunting endeavors were something he had long resolved to shield you from. This was not a secret but a necessity, he justified to himself.

As he slaughtered another animal—a fox this time—he stared at its vibrant corpse. The bright orange color of its fur would have looked beautiful on you; he envisioned the softness of its fur against your equally soft skin. But he didn’t want to displease you. Noticing the sun beginning to set, he realized he should clean up before returning to the temple—he looked down at his blood-stained hands and clothes. With a resigned sigh, he made his way to a nearby lake to wash away the evidence of his hunts.

It was particularly cold today, and he knew you’d be waiting by your usual spot under the tree, so he didn’t want to make you wait—unlike him or Uraume, you were prone to getting sick. Sukuna couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt remotely ill. While he would prefer you didn’t catch a cold waiting for him, he also found comfort in your routine and predictability. The sight of you waiting—sometimes with Uraume—regardless of the season or weather, and how your eyes lit up when you saw him, had become a cherished greeting.

Quickly donning his now-cleaned kimono (thanks to his cursed technique), he took the stack of firewood he had prepared earlier during the day. As he emerged from the tree line, fully expecting to find you at your usual spot, he was met with emptiness. Though it seemed insignificant, the absence shook him to his core.

Upon returning to the temple, he pushed through the front door, maintaining his stoic demeanor while his eyes frantically searched for you—anxiety creeping in with each passing second until he heard laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen.

"It smells wonderful, Y/N-san," Uraume remarked.

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells. It's my grandmother's recipe," you replied.

Sukuna quietly stood at the doorway, observing the scene between you and Uraume as you both enjoyed each other's company, engrossed in the task of gently removing buns from the steamer and plating them.

Uraume had followed him for many years, but for the first time, he witnessed them laugh. Perhaps it was the dynamic you shared that allowed them to relax around you; they were more tense and stoic with their master, never revealing much of their thoughts or emotions. You had an enchanting ability to put people at ease, and it seemed Uraume had let their guard down around you.

You turned around to see Sukuna standing in the doorway, your sudden surprise causing you to yelp, nearly dropping the plate in your hands. Fortunately, Uraume caught both you and the plate in time.

"R-Ryo!" Your eyes widened. Even in your startled state, there was a sparkle in your gaze—the same excited glimmer every time you saw him—which quickly dispelled all his earlier anxiety. Sukuna couldn’t help but return a slight smile.

"Welcome back, Sukuna-sama," Uraume greeted.

The sheer domesticity of the moment stirred an inexplicable feeling within his chest. The change had been gradual, but you had somehow carved a place in both his heart and Uraume's. While Sukuna was like fire, Uraume like ice, you reminded him of water—adaptable, quietly strong, and resilient. Water doesn’t immediately overwhelm or destroy like fire, but over time it seeps through, making its way.

The taste of the steamed buns at dinner brought back nostalgic memories of how everything first began. In his darkest times, you had always found a way to save him. You brought him clarity and purpose. The mundane day-to-day no longer felt bleak; dinnertime was livelier, and the temple had transformed from a mere roof over his head into a home.

---

Sukuna sat on the edge of the bed, watching as you closed the door behind you. He extended an arm, a silent invitation for you to come toward him. You smiled, making your way into his embrace as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. Sukuna had encountered many women before—nobility, seductive courtesans—but none compared to you. It wasn't just in your appearance, but more importantly, in how you made him feel.

"You weren't waiting for me today," he murmured, resting his head against your chest.

"I lost track of time," you replied apologetically, running your fingers through his hair, which elicited a low purr from him.

"It displeases me—not seeing you there. Not knowing where you had gone."

"I'm sorry, Ryo. I was with Uraume," you chuckled softly. "Where else would I have been?"

Sukuna looked up at you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, concern etched on your features.

In that moment, he wanted to tell you that he loved you—like you had expressed so openly to him—but the words eluded him.

"Yes, flower," was all he could manage.

Why did such words evade him? Sukuna had felled the strongest foes and survived against the worst odds, yet it felt like an impossible feat to utter what was in his heart. So, he could only express it in the one way he knew how—through action.

He pulled you toward him until your body collapsed against his, but he easily supported your weight as he crushed his lips against yours. Your hands pressed against his sturdy chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles as his hands began to explore your body, seeking to strip you bare. Sukuna's teeth sank into the soft flesh of your neck, causing you to whimper. You had always unknowingly driven him to the brink of madness.

The scent of sweet lilies that clung to your hair and skin had become his favorite aroma. But even if he were to lose all his senses, he would still recognize you in every world and in every lifetime—the two of you were soul-bound, connected by an invisible thread. Tonight was supposed to be like any other night, a secret tryst between the two of you, except for some reason, he felt an unusual urgency.

Sukuna's eyes burned with desire as he flipped you onto your back, your legs spreading involuntarily to accommodate his muscular form. He loomed over you, taking a moment to revel in the sight of your flushed face and heaving chest. Trailing kisses along your inner thigh, he savored every moment, enjoying the anticipation that was building within you. Your breath hitched, and legs trembling as he made his way to your most sensitive spot.

With deliberate slowness, his tongue teased and lapped at your folds, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Your legs instinctively closed around his head, overwhelmed by the sensation. But his strong hands held them apart while the other began its own ministrations, his fingers joining his tongue, causing you to gasp at the sweet intrusion. He skillfully thrust his digits as he suckled and nibbled, driving you to the edge. Sukuna knew all the spots that made you writhe, playing it to his advantage, reveling in how he controlled your pleasure. After all, it was only a fair exchange; as you possessed every fiber of his being.

Your walls began to squeeze around his fingers, your breathing becoming shallow pants, and your hands fisted into the sheets—he knew you were close.

"Come undone for me," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers relentlessly chasing your release.

His name escaped your lips as you cried in sheer ecstasy, sending a rush of satisfaction through him. He helped you ride the wave of your release as it washed over you. There was no sweeter sound than your voice calling out his name and the cries he drew from you.

Before you could even overcome the aftermath of your first climax, Sukuna hovered over you, aligning himself at your entrance. His tip brushed against your wetness while his hands firmly held your legs apart. He claimed your mouth in a deep kiss, ensuring you tasted the essence of your release. And then, in one swift movement, he sank his entire length into you, letting out a low growl of satisfaction mixed with your whimpers as tears pricked your eyes.

Without giving you much time to adjust, Sukuna relentlessly thrust into you, his hips snapping with precision and force as his member slid in and out with your slick. Each thrust hit the sweetest of spots, eliciting tremors throughout your body.

Indeed, the best feeling in the world was when he was joined with you. It was an ecstasy like no other, a high that couldn't be replicated or replaced. Your tight walls clenched around his length perfectly, as if you were made for him, and only him.

"Ryo—it's too much," you shut your eyes.

"Take it, flower. Take all of me," he urged, his voice thick with his own impending release. He wanted you to surrender completely.

As Sukuna felt his control slipping, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, reinserting himself and taking you from behind. His arms wrapped around you like a warm, possessive cocoon, the entirety of his hot body pressed flush against yours. One pair of arms snaked firmly around your waist while his other hand found its way to your breasts.

"Hah—!" Your breath quickened, your legs shaking as you struggled to remain upright under the onslaught of pleasure.

Sukuna buried his teeth into the back of your shoulder, his movements becoming erratic, but he wouldn't allow himself to succumb to his own pleasure until you reached your second climax.

"Come undone with me," he commanded, his voice strained from trying to maintain control.

He felt your walls constricting around him, and as you came undone, he, too, gave in to his release, spilling himself inside you.

The intensity of the night stirred something within Sukuna, and as he slipped out of you, a sense of possessiveness washed over him. He cradled you in his arms, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. He wanted to reassure himself that he hadn't gone too far. You returned a reassuring smile, though your face was flushed and still slightly out of breath. Sukuna's gaze softened as he let out a low hum of satisfaction and carried you toward the hot spring. Observing you in his arms, he knew without a doubt that you had become his weakness. Now that you were the source of his vulnerability, he felt a fierce need to protect you, to ensure that no one could exploit his Achilles' heel.

---

Your POV

You bathed with Sukuna in the hot spring, which was a treasured nightly routine. For someone with the notorious reputation of being the King of Curses, he was surprisingly always gentle with you. He treated you as if you were delicate glass.

Though the winter was cold and chilling, you felt incredibly warm in his arms. Ever since you entered his life, each day had been blissful—time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

You understood that Sukuna was not one for words, but he always demonstrated his feelings through his actions. He loved you, and words were not required for you to understand, and just knowing that you held a place in his heart filled you with warmth and happiness, making you feel like you could move mountains.

Recently, however, you had started to consider that there was so much more to see in the world. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea for the three of you to travel together, living a nomadic life. What started as a small intrigue had grown into serious contemplation. You had always wanted to explore the world, and Sukuna and Uraume didn’t seem particularly attached to the temple. It would be a brand new beginning; you would be free from the ever-looming fear of Yamamoto's repercussions, and Sukuna could live without the ridicule or scorn that came with his reputation.

You leaned into him, feeling fatigue slowly overcome you as he scrubbed your hands and arms.

"Ryo," you murmured.

"Flower."

"Do you think we could see the world together one day?"

"Are you bored with your life here?"

"Of course not, but I’ve been thinking… if it’s the three of us, wouldn’t it be such a wonderful adventure?"

"Perhaps," Sukuna mused thoughtfully, "but would you truly be willing to leave behind all that you know?"

"I'm not leaving anything behind if I'm with you and Uraume," you said, turning to meet his gaze.

"And what’s brought this on so suddenly?"

You shook your head. "It's not sudden. I've been thinking about it for a while. But if that's not what you and Uraume want, then I'm happy to stay here too."

"Why don't we give it a little more time and thought?" He brushed his thumb over your cheek.

You nodded, looking into his crimson eyes. With Sukuna, you had always felt safe and cherished. You wholeheartedly believed that whatever the universe had planned for you—whether it kept you at the temple forever or took you elsewhere—it didn’t matter as long as you were with him.

"I love you, Ryo," you breathed.

And as usual, he returned your declaration with a smile.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Taglist: @paradisestarfishh @ssetsuka @ccazimi @qardasngan @rizzyjuney609

[xechu]

Powerpuff sasusho

[xechu]

I have so many WIPs, but 99% of them get scrapped after I get overwhelmed by the ever-increasing number of drafts. 🫣

A part of me just wants to try rapid firing my stuff out i.e not look too deeply into things, not spend too much time editing, not dwell on the ideas too much. But I also can’t bring myself to do it.

[xechu]

let go

[xechu]

shin sukuna ♕

there's a twitter art trend rn to remake the shin godzilla poster with sukuna and i was inspired to do my take since i adore both godzilla and sukuna ♡

shin godzilla poster below the cut ♡

art by starmapz. do not repost. ref © toho

likes, comments and reblogs greatly appreciated ♡

[xechu]

Awnnnnn

[xechu]

For my next project. Heh.

CAUTION TAPE | warning 001.

so this concept has been in my head for a while and I’m happy to finally get it out 😌✨. it was meant for Halloween, but I think it fits true crime or horror vibes as well.

type ( warning ) : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004 / 005

type ( dark content ) : 001 / 002

type ( trigger ) : 001 / 002 / 003

feel free to use; please like, reblog, and credit〜

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[xechu]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from Utahime’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[xechu]

[Devour] Chapter 4: Convictions

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.

cw: depiction of gore and violence, sexual content

Summary: Sukuna knows no bounds when it comes time to ensuring your peace and happiness. Everyday with you was blissful, and for the seemingly unshakeable King of Curses it appears that he, too, fears that this is all might be a fleeting dream.

a/n: Sukuna kind of lovesick in this chapter, I know. I struggle a lot with filler chapters because I'm always worried that it gets too boring, or it's a lot of details but doesn't necessarily progress the plot. Looking back, my last chapter should have been split to two. Although this chapter is relatively short, it actually went through a drastic creative change, hence, why it took a really long time. Anyway, be forewarned, this is the final fluff before the angst. :') There will only be two more chapters left after this!! AO3 will be updated tomorrow morning. Thank you so much for reading. x

Master List : < Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 (To be continued) >

Sukuna's POV

Every morning, while you were still sound asleep, Sukuna took a moment to gaze upon you. He watched how your body rhythmically rose and fell, how you clung to him in your sleep, and how your beautiful skin bore the marks and bruises from your nightly passions. It was a sacred morning ritual he never failed to observe—recommitting you to his memory as if he were afraid that one day you would no longer be by his side.

There was no denying it; he truly cherished you. It was hard to fathom that the King of Curses could feel this way. But with such intense feelings also came possessiveness, jealousy, and anxiety.

When it came to your peace and happiness, Sukuna had no bottom line—he would do anything to maintain the status quo; after all, his word was his bond. He had promised your safety, your happiness, and to make up for lost time—and he was determined to uphold that. Life had not been the same since the universe returned you to him; it was never a dull moment. His once monotonous life suddenly felt filled with purpose. Yet to maintain the only good he had came a necessary evil: bloodshed.

He knew there were many things you turned a blind eye to and tolerated, but he remained steadfast in his own convictions and ideals. He would do whatever it took to ensure you stayed blissfully by his side.

Sukuna first discovered the extent of your disdain for bloodshed and violence last winter when he gifted you a tiger pelt, and to his absolute displeasure and horror, you sobbed. Needless to say, they were not tears of happiness.

---

In the confines of the bedroom, Sukuna had his arms wrapped around you, your naked body pressed against his. The sound of your heartbeat brought him comfort, a soothing lullaby that eased him to sleep every night.

"I have something for you, flower," he said just as he felt you starting to drift off.

"What is it?" you looked up at him, puzzled.

He shuffled out of bed. You sat up, wrapping the blanket around you, watching him retrieve something from the dresser. Your eyes widened in surprise.

"The winters are harsher out here compared to the village," he explained, removing the blanket and draping the pelt over you, making sure it fit well.

"Perfect," he murmured. There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "You look absolutely divine."

In Sukuna's mind, he imagined you would beam with joy like you usually did when he presented you with gifts, but instead, a resigned expression crossed your face that didn't escape his notice. He watched as your hand gently grazed the pelt, admiring its beautiful patterns, yet a lingering pain clouded your features—one he couldn't quite comprehend.

"You're not happy," he remarked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"I-It's not like that," you said, capturing his hand in yours. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Ryo."

"Then why do you look so burdened?"

Hesitation lingered on your face. "Well, the winter has been manageable with my current attire," you softly admitted. "A life didn’t need to be taken just so I could stay a little warmer."

“If it means keeping you warm, then it’s worth it.”

“I am warm—without this. You keep me warm.”

“It’s just an animal. You needn’t feel bad about it."

"I just…" tears began streaming down your face, "It didn't have to die for this."

---

There was no doubt that Sukuna was strong—arguably the strongest. But being the pinnacle of strength was a brutal path built upon the bones of his enemies and dyed in the crimson of their blood. He knew no other way of life except to decimate his opposition completely. It was the only way to survive, maintain control, assert dominion, and now, protect his most cherished. After all, the dead can't talk, nor can they retaliate.

Today, like any other day, he admired you while you slept before making his way to the forest. It was the dead of winter; the days had grown short, while the nights were long and unforgiving. For someone like Sukuna, who burned like a furnace, the cold never bothered him—in fact, he found it comfortable and preferred it over the sweltering summers.

As the sun began to rise, he embarked on his routine trek to the forest, the quietness reminding him of the monotonous emptiness of his life before you. It was ironic how he had come to loathe this feeling of solitude. He had become reliant on your presence—though he would never admit it openly. Long ago, he had accepted his destiny—to be scorned, to be despised, and to be alone—but at least he had reveled in absolute power. Now that you were here, he found it difficult to revert to his former life. You had shown him what it meant to be loved. Yet, a fear loomed over him that everything could return to the way it was, for Sukuna believed good things never came his way.

The forest and mountain were his domain, where he could shed all pretenses and let loose—let his bloodlust consume him. It was true, he mostly hunted curses and animals, but humans were also on his list of scores. Over the past year, a handful of nosy villagers and Yamamoto's pesky men had tried to uncover your whereabouts, each meeting a merciless demise. Each opponent felled, each life extinguished, and the symphony of gore that painted his hunting ground, it was all a cathartic release for Sukuna. It used to be the best feeling in the world, but now it was merely the second best—because he had tasted you.

Sukuna knew he had promised you that there would be no more secrets, but his hunting endeavors were something he had long resolved to shield you from. This was not a secret but a necessity, he justified to himself.

As he slaughtered another animal—a fox this time—he stared at its vibrant corpse. The bright orange color of its fur would have looked beautiful on you; he envisioned the softness of its fur against your equally soft skin. But he didn’t want to displease you. Noticing the sun beginning to set, he realized he should clean up before returning to the temple—he looked down at his blood-stained hands and clothes. With a resigned sigh, he made his way to a nearby lake to wash away the evidence of his hunts.

It was particularly cold today, and he knew you’d be waiting by your usual spot under the tree, so he didn’t want to make you wait—unlike him or Uraume, you were prone to getting sick. Sukuna couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt remotely ill. While he would prefer you didn’t catch a cold waiting for him, he also found comfort in your routine and predictability. The sight of you waiting—sometimes with Uraume—regardless of the season or weather, and how your eyes lit up when you saw him, had become a cherished greeting.

Quickly donning his now-cleaned kimono (thanks to his cursed technique), he took the stack of firewood he had prepared earlier during the day. As he emerged from the tree line, fully expecting to find you at your usual spot, he was met with emptiness. Though it seemed insignificant, the absence shook him to his core.

Upon returning to the temple, he pushed through the front door, maintaining his stoic demeanor while his eyes frantically searched for you—anxiety creeping in with each passing second until he heard laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen.

"It smells wonderful, Y/N-san," Uraume remarked.

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells. It's my grandmother's recipe," you replied.

Sukuna quietly stood at the doorway, observing the scene between you and Uraume as you both enjoyed each other's company, engrossed in the task of gently removing buns from the steamer and plating them.

Uraume had followed him for many years, but for the first time, he witnessed them laugh. Perhaps it was the dynamic you shared that allowed them to relax around you; they were more tense and stoic with their master, never revealing much of their thoughts or emotions. You had an enchanting ability to put people at ease, and it seemed Uraume had let their guard down around you.

You turned around to see Sukuna standing in the doorway, your sudden surprise causing you to yelp, nearly dropping the plate in your hands. Fortunately, Uraume caught both you and the plate in time.

"R-Ryo!" Your eyes widened. Even in your startled state, there was a sparkle in your gaze—the same excited glimmer every time you saw him—which quickly dispelled all his earlier anxiety. Sukuna couldn’t help but return a slight smile.

"Welcome back, Sukuna-sama," Uraume greeted.

The sheer domesticity of the moment stirred an inexplicable feeling within his chest. The change had been gradual, but you had somehow carved a place in both his heart and Uraume's. While Sukuna was like fire, Uraume like ice, you reminded him of water—adaptable, quietly strong, and resilient. Water doesn’t immediately overwhelm or destroy like fire, but over time it seeps through, making its way.

The taste of the steamed buns at dinner brought back nostalgic memories of how everything first began. In his darkest times, you had always found a way to save him. You brought him clarity and purpose. The mundane day-to-day no longer felt bleak; dinnertime was livelier, and the temple had transformed from a mere roof over his head into a home.

---

Sukuna sat on the edge of the bed, watching as you closed the door behind you. He extended an arm, a silent invitation for you to come toward him. You smiled, making your way into his embrace as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. Sukuna had encountered many women before—nobility, seductive courtesans—but none compared to you. It wasn't just in your appearance, but more importantly, in how you made him feel.

"You weren't waiting for me today," he murmured, resting his head against your chest.

"I lost track of time," you replied apologetically, running your fingers through his hair, which elicited a low purr from him.

"It displeases me—not seeing you there. Not knowing where you had gone."

"I'm sorry, Ryo. I was with Uraume," you chuckled softly. "Where else would I have been?"

Sukuna looked up at you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, concern etched on your features.

In that moment, he wanted to tell you that he loved you—like you had expressed so openly to him—but the words eluded him.

"Yes, flower," was all he could manage.

Why did such words evade him? Sukuna had felled the strongest foes and survived against the worst odds, yet it felt like an impossible feat to utter what was in his heart. So, he could only express it in the one way he knew how—through action.

He pulled you toward him until your body collapsed against his, but he easily supported your weight as he crushed his lips against yours. Your hands pressed against his sturdy chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles as his hands began to explore your body, seeking to strip you bare. Sukuna's teeth sank into the soft flesh of your neck, causing you to whimper. You had always unknowingly driven him to the brink of madness.

The scent of sweet lilies that clung to your hair and skin had become his favorite aroma. But even if he were to lose all his senses, he would still recognize you in every world and in every lifetime—the two of you were soul-bound, connected by an invisible thread. Tonight was supposed to be like any other night, a secret tryst between the two of you, except for some reason, he felt an unusual urgency.

Sukuna's eyes burned with desire as he flipped you onto your back, your legs spreading involuntarily to accommodate his muscular form. He loomed over you, taking a moment to revel in the sight of your flushed face and heaving chest. Trailing kisses along your inner thigh, he savored every moment, enjoying the anticipation that was building within you. Your breath hitched, and legs trembling as he made his way to your most sensitive spot.

With deliberate slowness, his tongue teased and lapped at your folds, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Your legs instinctively closed around his head, overwhelmed by the sensation. But his strong hands held them apart while the other began its own ministrations, his fingers joining his tongue, causing you to gasp at the sweet intrusion. He skillfully thrust his digits as he suckled and nibbled, driving you to the edge. Sukuna knew all the spots that made you writhe, playing it to his advantage, reveling in how he controlled your pleasure. After all, it was only a fair exchange; as you possessed every fiber of his being.

Your walls began to squeeze around his fingers, your breathing becoming shallow pants, and your hands fisted into the sheets—he knew you were close.

"Come undone for me," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers relentlessly chasing your release.

His name escaped your lips as you cried in sheer ecstasy, sending a rush of satisfaction through him. He helped you ride the wave of your release as it washed over you. There was no sweeter sound than your voice calling out his name and the cries he drew from you.

Before you could even overcome the aftermath of your first climax, Sukuna hovered over you, aligning himself at your entrance. His tip brushed against your wetness while his hands firmly held your legs apart. He claimed your mouth in a deep kiss, ensuring you tasted the essence of your release. And then, in one swift movement, he sank his entire length into you, letting out a low growl of satisfaction mixed with your whimpers as tears pricked your eyes.

Without giving you much time to adjust, Sukuna relentlessly thrust into you, his hips snapping with precision and force as his member slid in and out with your slick. Each thrust hit the sweetest of spots, eliciting tremors throughout your body.

Indeed, the best feeling in the world was when he was joined with you. It was an ecstasy like no other, a high that couldn't be replicated or replaced. Your tight walls clenched around his length perfectly, as if you were made for him, and only him.

"Ryo—it's too much," you shut your eyes.

"Take it, flower. Take all of me," he urged, his voice thick with his own impending release. He wanted you to surrender completely.

As Sukuna felt his control slipping, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, reinserting himself and taking you from behind. His arms wrapped around you like a warm, possessive cocoon, the entirety of his hot body pressed flush against yours. One pair of arms snaked firmly around your waist while his other hand found its way to your breasts.

"Hah—!" Your breath quickened, your legs shaking as you struggled to remain upright under the onslaught of pleasure.

Sukuna buried his teeth into the back of your shoulder, his movements becoming erratic, but he wouldn't allow himself to succumb to his own pleasure until you reached your second climax.

"Come undone with me," he commanded, his voice strained from trying to maintain control.

He felt your walls constricting around him, and as you came undone, he, too, gave in to his release, spilling himself inside you.

The intensity of the night stirred something within Sukuna, and as he slipped out of you, a sense of possessiveness washed over him. He cradled you in his arms, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. He wanted to reassure himself that he hadn't gone too far. You returned a reassuring smile, though your face was flushed and still slightly out of breath. Sukuna's gaze softened as he let out a low hum of satisfaction and carried you toward the hot spring. Observing you in his arms, he knew without a doubt that you had become his weakness. Now that you were the source of his vulnerability, he felt a fierce need to protect you, to ensure that no one could exploit his Achilles' heel.

---

Your POV

You bathed with Sukuna in the hot spring, which was a treasured nightly routine. For someone with the notorious reputation of being the King of Curses, he was surprisingly always gentle with you. He treated you as if you were delicate glass.

Though the winter was cold and chilling, you felt incredibly warm in his arms. Ever since you entered his life, each day had been blissful—time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

You understood that Sukuna was not one for words, but he always demonstrated his feelings through his actions. He loved you, and words were not required for you to understand, and just knowing that you held a place in his heart filled you with warmth and happiness, making you feel like you could move mountains.

Recently, however, you had started to consider that there was so much more to see in the world. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea for the three of you to travel together, living a nomadic life. What started as a small intrigue had grown into serious contemplation. You had always wanted to explore the world, and Sukuna and Uraume didn’t seem particularly attached to the temple. It would be a brand new beginning; you would be free from the ever-looming fear of Yamamoto's repercussions, and Sukuna could live without the ridicule or scorn that came with his reputation.

You leaned into him, feeling fatigue slowly overcome you as he scrubbed your hands and arms.

"Ryo," you murmured.

"Flower."

"Do you think we could see the world together one day?"

"Are you bored with your life here?"

"Of course not, but I’ve been thinking… if it’s the three of us, wouldn’t it be such a wonderful adventure?"

"Perhaps," Sukuna mused thoughtfully, "but would you truly be willing to leave behind all that you know?"

"I'm not leaving anything behind if I'm with you and Uraume," you said, turning to meet his gaze.

"And what’s brought this on so suddenly?"

You shook your head. "It's not sudden. I've been thinking about it for a while. But if that's not what you and Uraume want, then I'm happy to stay here too."

"Why don't we give it a little more time and thought?" He brushed his thumb over your cheek.

You nodded, looking into his crimson eyes. With Sukuna, you had always felt safe and cherished. You wholeheartedly believed that whatever the universe had planned for you—whether it kept you at the temple forever or took you elsewhere—it didn’t matter as long as you were with him.

"I love you, Ryo," you breathed.

And as usual, he returned your declaration with a smile.

Taglist: @paradisestarfishh @ssetsuka @ccazimi @qardasngan @rizzyjuney609

[xechu]

Master list has been updated with Chapter 4’s release!

Devour (Master List)

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Current word count: 21.5K

Last update: Feb 14, 2025

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion.

Tags: mini series, angst, smut, Heian Era, true form Sukuna

Prompt: Sukuna understands love, but in the end it is worthless.

Current status: ongoing

A/N: Happy new year! Kicking off 2025 with my first mini series featuring Heian era Sukuna. You can read some more of my personal ramblings about this series here. Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned. x

Prologue: Innocence

Chapter 1: Reunited

Chapter 2: Yearning

Chapter 3: Consume

Chapter 4: Convictions

Chapter 5: Scorn (To be continued)

Chapter 6: Tempest

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute or repost.

[xechu]

[Devour] Chapter 4: Convictions

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.

cw: depiction of gore and violence, sexual content

Summary: Sukuna knows no bounds when it comes time to ensuring your peace and happiness. Everyday with you was blissful, and for the seemingly unshakeable King of Curses it appears that he, too, fears that this all might be a fleeting dream.

a/n: Sukuna kind of lovesick in this chapter, I know. I struggle a lot with filler chapters because I'm always worried that it gets too boring, or it's a lot of details but doesn't necessarily progress the plot. Looking back, my last chapter should have been split to two. Although this chapter is relatively short, it actually went through a drastic creative change, hence, why it took a really long time. Anyway, be forewarned, this is the final fluff before the angst. :') There will only be two more chapters left after this!! AO3 will be updated tomorrow morning. Thank you so much for reading. x

Master List : < Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 (To be continued) >

Sukuna's POV

Every morning, while you were still sound asleep, Sukuna took a moment to gaze upon you. He watched how your body rhythmically rose and fell, how you clung to him in your sleep, and how your beautiful skin bore the marks and bruises from your nightly passions. It was a sacred morning ritual he never failed to observe—recommitting you to his memory as if he were afraid that one day you would no longer be by his side.

There was no denying it; he truly cherished you. It was hard to fathom that the King of Curses could feel this way. But with such intense feelings also came possessiveness, jealousy, and anxiety.

When it came to your peace and happiness, Sukuna had no bottom line—he would do anything to maintain the status quo; after all, his word was his bond. He had promised your safety, your happiness, and to make up for lost time—and he was determined to uphold that. Life had not been the same since the universe returned you to him; it was never a dull moment. His once monotonous life suddenly felt filled with purpose. Yet to maintain the only good he had came a necessary evil: bloodshed.

He knew there were many things you turned a blind eye to and tolerated, but he remained steadfast in his own convictions and ideals. He would do whatever it took to ensure you stayed blissfully by his side.

Sukuna first discovered the extent of your disdain for bloodshed and violence last winter when he gifted you a tiger pelt, and to his absolute displeasure and horror, you sobbed. Needless to say, they were not tears of happiness.

---

In the confines of the bedroom, Sukuna had his arms wrapped around you, your naked body pressed against his. The sound of your heartbeat brought him comfort, a soothing lullaby that eased him to sleep every night.

"I have something for you, flower," he said just as he felt you starting to drift off.

"What is it?" you looked up at him, puzzled.

He shuffled out of bed. You sat up, wrapping the blanket around you, watching him retrieve something from the dresser. Your eyes widened in surprise.

"The winters are harsher out here compared to the village," he explained, removing the blanket and draping the pelt over you, making sure it fit well.

"Perfect," he murmured. There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "You look absolutely divine."

In Sukuna's mind, he imagined you would beam with joy like you usually did when he presented you with gifts, but instead, a resigned expression crossed your face that didn't escape his notice. He watched as your hand gently grazed the pelt, admiring its beautiful patterns, yet a lingering pain clouded your features—one he couldn't quite comprehend.

"You're not happy," he remarked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"I-It's not like that," you said, capturing his hand in yours. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Ryo."

"Then why do you look so burdened?"

Hesitation lingered on your face. "Well, the winter has been manageable with my current attire," you softly admitted. "A life didn’t need to be taken just so I could stay a little warmer."

“If it means keeping you warm, then it’s worth it.”

“I am warm—without this. You keep me warm.”

“It’s just an animal. You needn’t feel bad about it."

"I just…" tears began streaming down your face, "It didn't have to die for this."

---

There was no doubt that Sukuna was strong—arguably the strongest. But being the pinnacle of strength was a brutal path built upon the bones of his enemies and dyed in the crimson of their blood. He knew no other way of life except to decimate his opposition completely. It was the only way to survive, maintain control, assert dominion, and now, protect his most cherished. After all, the dead can't talk, nor can they retaliate.

Today, like any other day, he admired you while you slept before making his way to the forest. It was the dead of winter; the days had grown short, while the nights were long and unforgiving. For someone like Sukuna, who burned like a furnace, the cold never bothered him—in fact, he found it comfortable and preferred it over the sweltering summers.

As the sun began to rise, he embarked on his routine trek to the forest, the quietness reminding him of the monotonous emptiness of his life before you. It was ironic how he had come to loathe this feeling of solitude. He had become reliant on your presence—though he would never admit it openly. Long ago, he had accepted his destiny—to be scorned, to be despised, and to be alone—but at least he had reveled in absolute power. Now that you were here, he found it difficult to revert to his former life. You had shown him what it meant to be loved. Yet, a fear loomed over him that everything could return to the way it was, for Sukuna believed good things never came his way.

The forest and mountain were his domain, where he could shed all pretenses and let loose—let his bloodlust consume him. It was true, he mostly hunted curses and animals, but humans were also on his list of scores. Over the past year, a handful of nosy villagers and Yamamoto's pesky men had tried to uncover your whereabouts, each meeting a merciless demise. Each opponent felled, each life extinguished, and the symphony of gore that painted his hunting ground, it was all a cathartic release for Sukuna. It used to be the best feeling in the world, but now it was merely the second best—because he had tasted you.

Sukuna knew he had promised you that there would be no more secrets, but his hunting endeavors were something he had long resolved to shield you from. This was not a secret but a necessity, he justified to himself.

As he slaughtered another animal—a fox this time—he stared at its vibrant corpse. The bright orange color of its fur would have looked beautiful on you; he envisioned the softness of its fur against your equally soft skin. But he didn’t want to displease you. Noticing the sun beginning to set, he realized he should clean up before returning to the temple—he looked down at his blood-stained hands and clothes. With a resigned sigh, he made his way to a nearby lake to wash away the evidence of his hunts.

It was particularly cold today, and he knew you’d be waiting by your usual spot under the tree, so he didn’t want to make you wait—unlike him or Uraume, you were prone to getting sick. Sukuna couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt remotely ill. While he would prefer you didn’t catch a cold waiting for him, he also found comfort in your routine and predictability. The sight of you waiting—sometimes with Uraume—regardless of the season or weather, and how your eyes lit up when you saw him, had become a cherished greeting.

Quickly donning his now-cleaned kimono (thanks to his cursed technique), he took the stack of firewood he had prepared earlier during the day. As he emerged from the tree line, fully expecting to find you at your usual spot, he was met with emptiness. Though it seemed insignificant, the absence shook him to his core.

Upon returning to the temple, he pushed through the front door, maintaining his stoic demeanor while his eyes frantically searched for you—anxiety creeping in with each passing second until he heard laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen.

"It smells wonderful, Y/N-san," Uraume remarked.

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells. It's my grandmother's recipe," you replied.

Sukuna quietly stood at the doorway, observing the scene between you and Uraume as you both enjoyed each other's company, engrossed in the task of gently removing buns from the steamer and plating them.

Uraume had followed him for many years, but for the first time, he witnessed them laugh. Perhaps it was the dynamic you shared that allowed them to relax around you; they were more tense and stoic with their master, never revealing much of their thoughts or emotions. You had an enchanting ability to put people at ease, and it seemed Uraume had let their guard down around you.

You turned around to see Sukuna standing in the doorway, your sudden surprise causing you to yelp, nearly dropping the plate in your hands. Fortunately, Uraume caught both you and the plate in time.

"R-Ryo!" Your eyes widened. Even in your startled state, there was a sparkle in your gaze—the same excited glimmer every time you saw him—which quickly dispelled all his earlier anxiety. Sukuna couldn’t help but return a slight smile.

"Welcome back, Sukuna-sama," Uraume greeted.

The sheer domesticity of the moment stirred an inexplicable feeling within his chest. The change had been gradual, but you had somehow carved a place in both his heart and Uraume's. While Sukuna was like fire, Uraume like ice, you reminded him of water—adaptable, quietly strong, and resilient. Water doesn’t immediately overwhelm or destroy like fire, but over time it seeps through, making its way.

The taste of the steamed buns at dinner brought back nostalgic memories of how everything first began. In his darkest times, you had always found a way to save him. You brought him clarity and purpose. The mundane day-to-day no longer felt bleak; dinnertime was livelier, and the temple had transformed from a mere roof over his head into a home.

---

Sukuna sat on the edge of the bed, watching as you closed the door behind you. He extended an arm, a silent invitation for you to come toward him. You smiled, making your way into his embrace as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. Sukuna had encountered many women before—nobility, seductive courtesans—but none compared to you. It wasn't just in your appearance, but more importantly, in how you made him feel.

"You weren't waiting for me today," he murmured, resting his head against your chest.

"I lost track of time," you replied apologetically, running your fingers through his hair, which elicited a low purr from him.

"It displeases me—not seeing you there. Not knowing where you had gone."

"I'm sorry, Ryo. I was with Uraume," you chuckled softly. "Where else would I have been?"

Sukuna looked up at you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, concern etched on your features.

In that moment, he wanted to tell you that he loved you—like you had expressed so openly to him—but the words eluded him.

"Yes, flower," was all he could manage.

Why did such words evade him? Sukuna had felled the strongest foes and survived against the worst odds, yet it felt like an impossible feat to utter what was in his heart. So, he could only express it in the one way he knew how—through action.

He pulled you toward him until your body collapsed against his, but he easily supported your weight as he crushed his lips against yours. Your hands pressed against his sturdy chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles as his hands began to explore your body, seeking to strip you bare. Sukuna's teeth sank into the soft flesh of your neck, causing you to whimper. You had always unknowingly driven him to the brink of madness.

The scent of sweet lilies that clung to your hair and skin had become his favorite aroma. But even if he were to lose all his senses, he would still recognize you in every world and in every lifetime—the two of you were soul-bound, connected by an invisible thread. Tonight was supposed to be like any other night, a secret tryst between the two of you, except for some reason, he felt an unusual urgency.

Sukuna's eyes burned with desire as he flipped you onto your back, your legs spreading involuntarily to accommodate his muscular form. He loomed over you, taking a moment to revel in the sight of your flushed face and heaving chest. Trailing kisses along your inner thigh, he savored every moment, enjoying the anticipation that was building within you. Your breath hitched, and legs trembling as he made his way to your most sensitive spot.

With deliberate slowness, his tongue teased and lapped at your folds, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Your legs instinctively closed around his head, overwhelmed by the sensation. But his strong hands held them apart while the other began its own ministrations, his fingers joining his tongue, causing you to gasp at the sweet intrusion. He skillfully thrust his digits as he suckled and nibbled, driving you to the edge. Sukuna knew all the spots that made you writhe, playing it to his advantage, reveling in how he controlled your pleasure. After all, it was only a fair exchange; as you possessed every fiber of his being.

Your walls began to squeeze around his fingers, your breathing becoming shallow pants, and your hands fisted into the sheets—he knew you were close.

"Come undone for me," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers relentlessly chasing your release.

His name escaped your lips as you cried in sheer ecstasy, sending a rush of satisfaction through him. He helped you ride the wave of your release as it washed over you. There was no sweeter sound than your voice calling out his name and the cries he drew from you.

Before you could even overcome the aftermath of your first climax, Sukuna hovered over you, aligning himself at your entrance. His tip brushed against your wetness while his hands firmly held your legs apart. He claimed your mouth in a deep kiss, ensuring you tasted the essence of your release. And then, in one swift movement, he sank his entire length into you, letting out a low growl of satisfaction mixed with your whimpers as tears pricked your eyes.

Without giving you much time to adjust, Sukuna relentlessly thrust into you, his hips snapping with precision and force as his member slid in and out with your slick. Each thrust hit the sweetest of spots, eliciting tremors throughout your body.

Indeed, the best feeling in the world was when he was joined with you. It was an ecstasy like no other, a high that couldn't be replicated or replaced. Your tight walls clenched around his length perfectly, as if you were made for him, and only him.

"Ryo—it's too much," you shut your eyes.

"Take it, flower. Take all of me," he urged, his voice thick with his own impending release. He wanted you to surrender completely.

As Sukuna felt his control slipping, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, reinserting himself and taking you from behind. His arms wrapped around you like a warm, possessive cocoon, the entirety of his hot body pressed flush against yours. One pair of arms snaked firmly around your waist while his other hand found its way to your breasts.

"Hah—!" Your breath quickened, your legs shaking as you struggled to remain upright under the onslaught of pleasure.

Sukuna buried his teeth into the back of your shoulder, his movements becoming erratic, but he wouldn't allow himself to succumb to his own pleasure until you reached your second climax.

"Come undone with me," he commanded, his voice strained from trying to maintain control.

He felt your walls constricting around him, and as you came undone, he, too, gave in to his release, spilling himself inside you.

The intensity of the night stirred something within Sukuna, and as he slipped out of you, a sense of possessiveness washed over him. He cradled you in his arms, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. He wanted to reassure himself that he hadn't gone too far. You returned a reassuring smile, though your face was flushed and still slightly out of breath. Sukuna's gaze softened as he let out a low hum of satisfaction and carried you toward the hot spring. Observing you in his arms, he knew without a doubt that you had become his weakness. Now that you were the source of his vulnerability, he felt a fierce need to protect you, to ensure that no one could exploit his Achilles' heel.

---

Your POV

You bathed with Sukuna in the hot spring, which was a treasured nightly routine. For someone with the notorious reputation of being the King of Curses, he was surprisingly always gentle with you. He treated you as if you were delicate glass.

Though the winter was cold and chilling, you felt incredibly warm in his arms. Ever since you entered his life, each day had been blissful—time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

You understood that Sukuna was not one for words, but he always demonstrated his feelings through his actions. He loved you, and words were not required for you to understand, and just knowing that you held a place in his heart filled you with warmth and happiness, making you feel like you could move mountains.

Recently, however, you had started to consider that there was so much more to see in the world. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea for the three of you to travel together, living a nomadic life. What started as a small intrigue had grown into serious contemplation. You had always wanted to explore the world, and Sukuna and Uraume didn’t seem particularly attached to the temple. It would be a brand new beginning; you would be free from the ever-looming fear of Yamamoto's repercussions, and Sukuna could live without the ridicule or scorn that came with his reputation.

You leaned into him, feeling fatigue slowly overcome you as he scrubbed your hands and arms.

"Ryo," you murmured.

"Flower."

"Do you think we could see the world together one day?"

"Are you bored with your life here?"

"Of course not, but I’ve been thinking… if it’s the three of us, wouldn’t it be such a wonderful adventure?"

"Perhaps," Sukuna mused thoughtfully, "but would you truly be willing to leave behind all that you know?"

"I'm not leaving anything behind if I'm with you and Uraume," you said, turning to meet his gaze.

"And what’s brought this on so suddenly?"

You shook your head. "It's not sudden. I've been thinking about it for a while. But if that's not what you and Uraume want, then I'm happy to stay here too."

"Why don't we give it a little more time and thought?" He brushed his thumb over your cheek.

You nodded, looking into his crimson eyes. With Sukuna, you had always felt safe and cherished. You wholeheartedly believed that whatever the universe had planned for you—whether it kept you at the temple forever or took you elsewhere—it didn’t matter as long as you were with him.

"I love you, Ryo," you breathed.

And as usual, he returned your declaration with a smile.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Taglist: @paradisestarfishh @ssetsuka @ccazimi @qardasngan @rizzyjuney609

[xechu]

A bit of a delay on [Devour] chapter 4, but I'm working on final edits so it will be coming out tonight.

Drank a lot of water and hot soup, and then knocked out real good last night - so now I'm back up and running.

Thank you! x

[xechu]

Combating a flu right now, which is very unusual for me because I haven't gotten sick in years.

I'm still trying to push for Chapter 4 of [Devour] to come out tomorrow at 4:00 PM EST, but my mind and writing is a bit of a haze. So it might be postponed to a weekend release if I'm really dissatisfied with how things are panning out.

x

[xechu]

Our man didn't catch a break for real 🥲🥲🥲

Hehe. Tysm for your tags. x

a/n: A bit of a long post, but I thought I'd share some character notes I have of Sukuna from my au 'Cross My Heart'. I don't foresee myself writing anything that is related to Sukuna's past before him meeting reader, which is why I thought it would be nice to release some notes just to give him some more depth. This will have some little fun facts about Jin as well since they're twins. As you might be able to tell, I'm a bit invested in this au right now. But I am trying to work on my other fics, so you might not see anything else come out for CMH this upcoming week. x

tw: 18+ mdni, suggestive themes, mature themes, complicated family dynamics, death

cmh!sukuna - growing up & teen years

Their mother has always been out of the picture so it was just Wasuke, Jin, and Sukuna. Wasuke never mentioned much about their mother, it always seemed to be a sore topic. All they know is she's no longer alive.

Sukuna had always been kind of troubled as a kid and well into his teens. Finance has been tight growing up, so Jin and Sukuna had to work odd jobs since they were 13 until they were of legal working age, which then they would be on an actual payroll working minimum wage jobs.

Uraume knew both Jin and Sukuna since elementary school, but they have always been a little closer with Sukuna. They didn't attend the same high school as they attended another school in a different district, but they were still in contact with Sukuna.

In high school, Jin was the nerd, and Sukuna was just an edgelord that all the girls found very mysterious and alluring. Sukuna's height skyrocketed during this time as well, so he just naturally stood out. He was popular not because he aspired or tried to be - it just happened.

Given his physique, some teachers would also try to recruit him into sport teams, but Sukuna said no, because he had to work part-time after school.

Jin and Sukuna never talked to each other much. Even though they were in the same high school. People didn't even realize they were related because of how different they looked, until graduation when some students saw them taking pictures together with Wasuke.

Sukuna looks a lot like Wasuke, and Jin looks a lot like their mother.

There was a bit of resentment between the two brothers growing up, because Sukuna thought Jin was spineless, whereas Jin thought Sukuna was selfish.

To be honest, both Sukuna and Jin had a difficult time expressing their thoughts and feelings because Wasuke was pretty harsh on the boys growing up, but he also had a lot on his plate as a single father. Given Wasuke's curt nature, he didn't really know how to nurture children and did only what he thought was right.

Sukuna was easily agitated and explosive, versus Jin who bottled everything up and could be a bit reclused when things got too overwhelming.

Kaori and Jin were high school sweethearts. They met in the debate club during Jin's sophomore year. Kaori is one year older than Jin. Jin was not the argumentative type, but he decided to step out of his comfort zone, and try something new. Seeing how Jin is now, it's hard to believe he was incredibly shy in high school. Kaori had a lot to do with him being more expressive with his feelings and really getting him out of his shell.

cmh!sukuna - college days

Left home shortly after high school graduation. He got into a huge fight with Wasuke, because Sukuna wanted to go into trades instead of university. Jin was accepted into a prestigious ivy league university on full scholarship.

Wasuke had found Sukuna's acceptance letter to the same university in the bin, after Sukuna lied and said he didn't get accepted. Wasuke went into an explosive fit - he couldn't understand why his son was settling for 'less' and told him with that mentality he will amount to nothing.

Though Sukuna left home at 18 and seemingly hated his brother, he never changed his telephone number just in case one day Jin needed him.

College was when Sukuna really began to let loose and felt the full experience of freedom.

Lost his virginity to some random TA in his college, he couldn't even remember her name or face, until she approached him one day out of the blue and thought she was pregnant. They went to a health clinic and it turned out to be a false alarm. The TA wanted to continue the relationship on the down-low, but Sukuna dropped it.

Sukuna met Yorozu during his first year of college. Her band was prepping for a college event - they did a cover of ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ by The Killers, which initially piqued Sukuna’s interest

Yorozu and Sukuna hit it off quite well, it had a lot to do with their approach to life, and to be honest they were both kind of troubled at the time.

Toji and Shiu came into the picture shortly after, they met Yorozu during an elective course they all shared, and somehow the four of them all came together as a group even though they were from vastly different fields of studies. Toji and Shiu have known each other for a long time.

Yorozu's area of study - music (4 year), Shiu's area of study - international business (4 year), Toji's area of study - exercise science (3 year), Sukuna's area of study - automotive technician (apprenticeship program, 2 years)

cmh!sukuna - 20's, up to when he went to jail

When Sukuna was 21, he received a phone call from Jin. Wasuke passed away very abruptly. He came home from work one night and said that he had a headache, went to bed early and never woke up.

After going through Wasuke's stuff, they accidentally broke one of Wasuke's picture frames. The framed photo was from their high school graduation. Sukuna never saw the photo before, but Wasuke wore a big smile, one that Sukuna had never seen growing up. And when he looked closely, he could see that his father's gaze was actually on him in that photo.

On the back of the photo, Wasuke wrote a note to his late wife. "They grew up well. I tried my best though it would have been better if you were around, but they still managed to pave a path for themselves despite my shortcomings as their father. Jin is very much like you, while Ryomen reminds me much of myself. They are truly both our children. I am proud of them. I miss you, but the three of us are doing fine."

That revelation with the photo really fucked Sukuna up. That's when he also patched things up with Jin.

Jin graduated at 22 from an ivy league business school, and had this ambition of becoming an entrepreneur. At this point, Sukuna had already been working as a full-time mechanic for two years. Jin approached Sukuna with the idea and that's when they kickstarted their garage business.

The first year was quite difficult, but then afterwards it started picking up, eventually by their fifth year, business was booming. Jin was able to get married to Kaori, and bought a house to start their family. Sukuna bought two condos, and continued living his life of work hard, play hard, and just enjoying a commitment-free life.

Patching up his relationship with Jin and starting a business really saved Sukuna's life - and that's why he has so much respect for Jin and the business. It definitely curbed down his edginess and he felt less troubled, but he's far from a saint and knows there's still a lot he needs to work on.

A few months later, the altercation with the bad business deal happened and Sukuna went to jail for two and a half years.

Toji, Shiu, and Yorozu would occasionally visit him in jail

Jin and Kaori would visit Sukuna too, but Sukuna was the one to tell Jin and Kaori not to visit when they found out she was pregnant. "Don't worry about me, take care of the kid. I don't want a pregnant woman coming in and out of jail like that. I'll see you both and the kid when I'm out."

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