#sukuna crack

[sugurusladyknightt]

husband!sukuna x gn!reader (2/2).

➺ pt 1

it's been quiet - the two days since your bloody midnight discovery in the bathroom. you'd taken him to the hospital the next morning to get checked and have his wound treated properly. you've been in the same car, you live in the same house, and yet sukuna feels like he hasn't heard your voice in years. only in passing have you addressed him and while he understands you're position, he will not allow himself to stand by idly as this goes on.

sukuna needs to speak to you, to hear you. to tease you and have you tease him back. he needs things to fall back into their rightful place, into the patterns yo both created, the the routine he's made himself so comfortable with.

but how can be complain? this is all of his own doing. his pride and ego have no place to interfere in this relationship, but that isn't even the problem anymore. he nervous and he's scared. what if he messes things up? what if he can't fix this? what if you finally decided he's too much?? what if he's really lost you now?? pushed you too far?

you hadn't let him do much, insisting he rests so the wound could heal properly and not risk it reopening. what if that's code for saying you don't want him around anymore?? that you don't need him? are you finally sick of him?

realistically, he should know that would never be the case, though he's so far into his own world of worries to think about the situation reasonably. his thoughts now only plagued with the possibility of his greatest fear being realized.

so when he hears your keys jingle and the front door open he panics. you hadn't said anything about leaving, so at the end of everything he isn't even afforded a goodbye??

without much thought given to the consequences his actions may have on his body, he's darting off your bed and down the stairs. sukuna catches your wrist right as you're going to open the car's door. when you turn to face him, confusion and annoyance evident in your expression, "sukuna, what the hell, you're gonna end up-"

he's looking at you so intensely when your eyes meet his. the towering pyjama clad form of your husband is accompanied by brows furrowed and bare feet on the gravel of your driveway in the middle of the quiet morning of your neighborhood street.

what a sight to behold.

he doesn't say anything for a long moment, still, you offer him time. always so damn patient with him it makes him feel like the only person in the world. there are butterflies fluttering around uninvited in his stomach when he thinks about it too much.

"where are you going." it comes off more like a statement than a question. in his mind he's already decided that he knows exactly what's going on, only waiting to hear you affirm it.

he feels a dull pain in his side but it's not difficult to ignore it with the ringing in his ears and loud thumping of his heart. he's scared, hiding behind his expression through a toughened exterior.

what a foolish man you've married.

"sukuna," your being your hand up to rest on the upper part of his tattooed armed, tracing the lines gently with the tips of your fingers. "i'm going grocery shopping. we need food, and gauze, some cleaning supplies, and... oh right! and laundry detergent. just sit tight, i'll be back soon."

the way his expression shifts to one of relief brings a smile to your face. he was so worried, too worried to even be embarrassed by the out of place reaction. his hand covered yours as it rests on his arm.

"i'll come with you?" this one, he meant as a question. when you don't refuse, he takes your hand in his squeezing ever so gently; reassuring himself mostly. "wait for me. i'll be quick."

sukuna's back inside your home, darting back up the stairs with different intentions this time around. as quickly as he can, he's dressing himself and making his way back down. now with a clear enough mind to actually slip on a pair of socks and shoes.

he's rushing, like there's an underlying fear you'll have already pulled out of the drive way when he gets there. a cruel joke you'll play as a final parting gift. you're not gone, he finds you there, leaning against the door to the drivers seat. waiting for him.

oh, the morning breeze has never felt so refreshing, the sun never so warm, and the world never so good.

this is you. he doesn't have to worry about cruel jokes, you're far to kind for that. he doesn't need his toughened exterior or towering posture when it's you. you won't play those torturous games with cruel intentions, won't leave without a goodbye. fear has no place between the two of you.

the drive starts of rather quiet, an air of awkward and nervous still lingers. you don't seem to feel it though, leading him to wonder if it's only one sided.

while he's debating on what's the right thing to say, your voice cuts through all the possible options, a familiar reminder you share with him every so often. this is a safe space. his words don't have to be perfect. they can come out choppy and incomplete so long as they're while in their honesty. so long as that's what he needs to say; what you need ti hear.

"i'm sorry."

a simple start, nothing spectacular, but it's a start nonetheless. your hands remain on the wheel as your eyes find his looking out the window. he's fidgeting with his hands like he doesn't know what they're for again; returning your focus on the road and let him continue.

"i-, i was reckless. again. and i'm sorry, i really didn't mean for it to happen it just — did. i'm sorry baby, i now i should avoid getting myself in situations like that. i honestly don't even know what really happened. i know it must be annoying and frustrating for you to always have to end up dealing with the aftermath of it. i understand that you're probably sick of it all by now, i'll do better. i'll be better. i promise."

he looks over to you from the passenger seat, expectant. almost inaudibly he adds, "don't leave."

you've made it to the grocery store by now, putting the car in park before you begin speaking.

"ryo, i appreciate your apology and i'll accept it, but baby, that's hardly what this is about. my anger, which really wasn't anger at all, came from a place of worry. of concern. not annoyance or frustration. much less directed at you! i love you. i love caring for you. i hate to see you hurt, but i'll never complain about treating you when you are. it means everything to me that your okay, healthy, safe. i was — i still am upset with how passive you are about those things when it comes to yourself. trying to treat such a serious wound like that?? be serious. i need you to prioritize these things more."

"you're my priority."

"to prioritize yourself is to prioritize me. we're married, dumbass. marr-ied. married. we're a team; that means that if one of us is compromised, so's the other. that how this works."

well, that's not at all what he was expecting. his mind had strayed so far in an entirely different direction. one where you finally tire of him. where you realize you could leave and go elsewhere — somewhere less bothersome. and he couldn't be any more wrong. sukuna has never considered that his actions won't raise feelings of annoyance but instead; worry for his wellbeing. worry because you care. because you love.

"i'll be better." he says.

"i believe you." you respond, so easily. as if trusting him is the easiest thing in the world to you. even when it was difficult for him to trust himself.

but why? he wants to ask. how are you so sure?

you only smile at him. just so damn patient, and the butterflies are back to spawning in his stomach again.

"okay cute, very nice. but we really have to go now. there's a sale and i know the lines are gonna be crazy."

god, those butterflies won't be stopping anytime soon.

~~

bonus(!!)

he's pushing the cart so he can lean his body over it to rest.

"you know, when you said that we're a team, the first thing to come to mind is those three-legged races"

"mhm, and we'd be falling all over the place thanks to you darling"

"please, we'd do great. in a worst case scenario, baby, i'll just drag you along. you're stuck with me"

"what-"

"not much you could do to stop me", a cheeky wolffish grin playing at his lips.

umm, okay then. psychopath.

[kashverse]

imagine the horror on sukunas face when his daughter starts saying the slangs he uses 😭

it was bound to happen. sukuna’s vocabulary was always going to come back to bite him in the ass. you just didn’t think it would be your sweet, precious angel who would be the one to scream—

"FUCK!"

—in the unusually quiet sukuna household.

you froze. sukuna froze. the houseplants probably froze. there was a pin-drop silence as you slowly turned to look at your sweet baby girl, standing in the middle of the living room with her tiny fists clenched, an identical scowl to her father’s on her face.

"…baby," you said carefully, "what did you just say?"

"FUCK!" she repeated, as if testing out the weight of the word, her face scrunching in concentration. you gasped. 

"sukuna."

"why the fuck are you looking at me?" sukuna hissed, then immediately winced. "shit—fuck—damn it!"

"papa said a bad word!" babykuna pointed, looking gleeful.

"you just said it first!" sukuna yelled, looking personally betrayed. you rubbed your temples, already feeling a headache coming on. “where did you even learn that word?” 

your baby girl blinked at you. "from papa."

you turned your head so slowly towards your husband that you swore you heard your neck crack.

"of course she did."

sukuna was silent.

"baby," you knelt down in front of your daughter, taking her tiny hands in yours. "we don’t say that word, okay?"

her little face fell, eyes glistening with tears as she realized you weren’t pleased. "did i…" she sniffled, voice wobbling, "did i dis’point mama?"

oh. oh no. you felt actual heartbreak rip through your chest as you scooped her up, hugging her tight. "no, no, no, baby, you could never disappoint me—"

but before you could fully reassure her, she burst into tears, wailing, "i don’t wanna make mama sad—!"

"shit," sukuna muttered, running a hand down his face. "now look what you did."

"what i did?!" you shot back, eyes blazing. "you're the reason she knows that word in the first place!"

"it's a normal word!" sukuna argued, throwing his arms up. "people say it everyday!"

"SHE'S FIVE!"

as you continued to yell, sukuna slowly retreating into the corner of the room, crouching down, his arms wrapped around his knees. he was silent. too silent. you paused mid-rant, suddenly aware of the existential crisis happening behind you.

"…sukuna?"

he didn’t respond. just stared into the abyss, eyes vacant. "i failed as a parent," he muttered to himself, voice hollow. "my baby girl… my princess… she swore before she even learned to spell properly. i—i’ve corrupted her—"

you blinked. "sukuna, what the hell—"

"don't cuss in front of her!" he snapped, looking devastated.

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!"

"mama said a bad word!" babykuna gasped.

"oh my god." you wanted to scream.

[nanaslutt]

texting them “hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume

ʚ cont: suggestiveness, crack

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

[retiredteabag]

Turned into a women

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

Synopsis: A curse turns them into a women for 24 hours

my smau masterlist

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[rissouu]

ugh, pheromone perfume!

pairings: gojo, choso, ino, nanami, sukuna, toji.

warnings: suggestive, foul language, bullying kind of, violence, crack, etc.

authors note: part 1. from this request tysm for requesting pookie, feel free to come back again. so sorry it took a while :) hey my loves, i been hella annoyed all day and needed distractions so here we are. im lowk thankful for it cause it gave me motivation, so enjoy babies <3 feel free to request more smau’s. 💋

©rissouu 2025

[cuntyji]

ib by @bogactivity's artwork, cross-posted on ao3

dumbass boyfriend! sukuna who takes time out of his day to groom his nails (clip, file and paint) after you expressed your discomfort of the sound of his nails scratching on every surface including his ipad screen (ouch). he thinks of it as your way of neutering him, because really, a king clipping his claws? it feels like an insult. regardless, he does it.

he does not expect to enjoy it so much.

he knows you don't have the luxury of time or money to get your nails done everyday, so he makes good use of his ipad's screen time and searches up ways to paint one's nails in different manners. he sticks to his regular black of course, but sometimes if you focus hard enough you'll see a matte finish on his nails.

it's a comical sight to come back to your boyfriend soon to be husband sprawled on a couch that seems miniscule under his weight as he uses one right hand to cut and file his left hand's nails, and vice versa to paint his third and fourth hands (following a youtube tutorial titled how to get gel nails at home in just seven steps! - simple & affordable for beginners).

dumbass boyfriend! sukuna who finally looks up from his ipad screen and notes your arrival, asking you what took you so long - there are nails to be painted, more specifically, your nails.

dumbass boyfriend! sukuna who is gifted a nail-care set for your next anniversary, and the two of you get matching - yes, matching - nails done for the special day.

dumbass boyfriend! sukuna who becomes a regular at your favorite nail salon alongside you, and on listening to everybody's gossip, offers to blow up any and all offenders heads (including the cheating boyfriend of his usual nail artist and the shitty mother in law of your nail artist).

dumbass boyfriend! sukuna who becomes a trending pin on pinterest and every artist's favorite reference picture the minute you upload a picture of you and sukuna's matching manicure. the difference in your hand sizes is enough to make people gush and scream "me and who?" much to sukuna's confusion.

[aakeysmash]

sukuna lets yuuji wear his jersey

a/n: this drabble contains angst that i didn’t want to spoil in the title (i’m so bad with titles y’all PLS bare with me okay)

college!sukuna masterlist

You know how football players usually give their jerseys to their girlfriends? College!Sukuna gives his to his little brother Yuuji.

You’re not big on sports, but Sukuna asked you to watch Yuuji a couple of times because he had “practice at the ass crack of dawn”. Seeing how ripped he is (you may or may not have walked in on him shaving his beard one time while he only had a towel wrapped around his waist) you already thought he did some kind of sport, but you never cared enough to ask him about it. It’s not until 6 months into your forced proximity that you come to know he’s actually really popular on campus.

It happens randomly. You just finished playing monopoly with Yuuji and you’re listening to your sweet little companion tell you he wants to help you cook this evening. You’re discussing what meal to cook when Sukuna comes home, late, as he did every day this week. He throws his gym bag near the living room door, gets his shoes off and grunts as a form of acknowledgment.

“You know, dogs usually bark more than you to say hi. Imagine being worse than an animal,” you say, not even looking at him, picking up the little plastic houses distributed on your table.

“Imagine never shutting the fuck up,” he answers, ruffling his still wet hair from a shower he must have taken not too long ago, not sparing you a glance either. You scowl, watching the water droplets fall on the freshly cleaned (by you) floor. Well, you have to admit he does look hot in his black hoodie. Black compliments his face tattoos really well, you think.

“Bro! Language!” His mini counterpart exclaims from in front of you, putting his hands on his hips, frowning. He looks like an old lady. A really cute and young old lady.

“Yeah, Sukuna, language,” you snort, flipping Sukuna off behind your back when Yuuji isn’t watching. The tattoed man, still standing by the door, narrows his eyes at you when you turn your back on him. Yuuji goes into his room to put the game away and leaves you two alone.

“You’re lucky I need the fucking money to live here or I would’ve fed your body to the really nice dogs who say hi by now,” your roommate says lowly, coming behind you and pushing you out of the way to lay on the couch. He pushes you harder than usual, so you stumble and bump your thigh on the table, muttering ouch and pouting. You’re pretty sure he didn’t control his strength like he usually does in your playful banters. You sit down to rub your sore spot, waiting for Yuuji to come back and start cooking with you, while he just puts his hood on his head and closes his eyes.

“Is this how you treat a lady?” You mumble, at which he scoffs, not even bothering to answer. As a natural conversation starter, you try to think of something to say. You think he looks like he could use a conversation, anyway. He’s been more distant this last week, but he always had his emo moments, so you didn’t think too much about it. Today his mood is darker than usual though, and for some reason, after six months of living together, that doesn’t sit well with you.

"How was tod-"

"Fine," He interrupts you. You're stunned by his roughness.

“Listen, tomorrow I was thinking of going-“

“Can you shut the fuck up?" He curtly barks, one of his eyebrows ticking.

You frown. "Hey, I was just-"

"I’m not joking. Shut up. Stop talking for one fucking day. God, you’re so fucking annoying,” he grits out, scrunching his eyes even more. At this, you close your mouth fast. Well, maybe he didn’t look like he wanted to have a conversation, at the end of the day.

After his outburst, the silence inside the living room is deafening.

You don’t want it to, but the tone he uses stings, even if you try not to let it get under your skin. You thought you two had become close enough to joke around this way, but you apparently guessed wrong. You just wanted to help, and he just shut you completely out. You just wanted to be a good… friend? Are you even friends?

Yuuji gets back and you stand up from the floor, going toward the kitchen. You wince when you put your weight on your leg.

You inhale deeply, reigning yourself in. “What do you think about… quesadillas?” You ask the little one calmly, and you see him beam.

“Yes, please! I want to learn how to make them good like you-“

“Kid, there’s a game tomorrow. Wanna come?” Sukuna interrupts you two. He’s still sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, but now he has his arms crossed too.

“Hell yeah!” Yuuji answers, jumping with his little fist in the air. Sukuna hums.

“Gotta tell coach. You still have the jersey from last time, yeah?” He asks, getting up from the couch and rolling his left shoulder. When it pops, he grimaces in pain a little.

“Of course I do,” the kid proudly says, looking up at his big brother with stars in his eyes. Standing next to each other they look like the ghost of the past and the ghost of the future from A Christmas Carol. Yuuji is dressed in bright yellow while if Sukuna had any more black on him he’d be a shadow. A chill runs up your spine. Spooky.

“Good,” Sukuna rasps out, solemnly getting the palm of his hand on his little brother’s head.

You start preparing the ingredients for dinner. “Are you eating with-“

“I’m going to sleep,” he interrupts you once again. He still hasn’t looked you in the eyes since he entered the apartment. You turn away, not wanting Yuuji to feel the shift in your mood by looking at your face.

“Goodnight, bro,” Yuuji says cheerfully. Your other roommate rushes inside his room, locking it from inside, and you and Yuuji are left standing in front of the stove in silence.

“Oh. Well,” you start talking again awkwardly, a fake chuckle coming through. “I guess that means he’s not eating with us,” you tell Yuuji, getting back to preparing the ingredients for your dinner, now for two.

“It’s a big game, you know,” Yuuji whisper shouts from next to you, overstuffing his quesadilla. “I already knew about it, but it feels nice when he asks me to go,” the kid continues, a small smile ever present on his lips. Your gaze softens.

“What sport and position are we talking about?” You ask him, handing him a piece of cheese to chew on while you finish preparing everything.

“He’s a quaftef bafck. He’f capftainf too,” Yuuji answers between bites. So he’s a football player. His strength makes sense now.

“You seem really proud of him, Yuuji,” you tell him sweetly, adoring the way he’s trying to get his point across by waving his hands in the air a lot.

He gulps down the cheese. “Yeah, big bro always lets me wear his jersey. He told me that if someone annoying has to be wearing it, then he might as well give it to me,” he smiles, big, while you inwardly cringe. Couldn’t be Sukuna if he didn’t say something that felt more like an insult than a compliment.

“Why is it an important game?” You ask, preparing one more quesadilla.

“Because he just became captain! It’s his first game as a captain!” The kid tells you, jumping a little on his chair and watching you, excited. Oh, is that why he looked like a bird just shat on him the whole week?

“Well, then you have to be his top supporter, don’t you think?”

The next morning, you wake up early to go grocery shopping. You wanted to ask Sukuna to come with you yesterday, but after the way he probably didn’t even notice he treated you, you really don’t feel like it. You get out of your bedroom door and are met with the sight of Yuuji already wearing his brother’s way too big jersey. You snap a pic when he’s still turned around. He looks so cute.

You go toward him, who is conveniently also toward the apartment exit. He hears your footsteps and looks at you expectantly.

“Can you help me tie the scarf?” He asks you, said scarf still in his hands. It's full of little drawings of tigers, which he told you are the mascots of the football team.

“Of course Yuuji. You look so good today, I bet your brother is really happy, mh?” You smile, getting at his eye level and wrapping the piece of cloth around his neck.

“I think he’s almost ready too!” He says, raising his eyebrows. Then, he assumes a confused expression. “Wait, aren’t you coming? I thought we were going together.”

You hesitate.

“I have to go grocery shopping today,” you answer, averting your gaze.

“Can’t it wait? It’s a really big game,” Yuuji pouts.

You hesitate again.

“I don’t think your brother wants me there, Yuuyuu,” you softly smile, trying to be nonchalant, finally securing the scarf and standing back up. You try not to look into the little boy’s eyes, because you’re sure you aren’t that good at masking your feelings.

“But he was-“

“Brat, are you ready?” Comes Sukuna’s voice from down the hall. You push Yuuji toward the approaching footsteps, mouthing Go! He’s talking to you! The child looks back at you like he wants to tell you something, but you ignore it. You hastily open the door to get out, managing to catch Sukuna’s gaze only a spare second before closing it behind your back. You stiffen. Then, you walk away.

Inside the apartment, Sukuna puts on a confused expression, matching his sibling’s one.

“Where did she go? Nevermind. We’re late, Yuuji. Run, or I’ll leave you here,” he hurries out, grabbing his house keys, hands sweating and feet carrying him to the stadium, while Yuuji tries to follow him.

When the Itadori brothers come back home, Yuuji screaming and Sukuna grinning like a madman for his team’s victory, you’re not there.

“Awh, I wanted to let her know you won,” says Yuuji pouting. In your place, there’s a sticky note on the fridge, which looks like it’s been there since this morning. In the haste of leaving, they both didn't notice it.

Go Tigers!!! P.S. for Sukuna: I left some quesadillas in the fridge. Good luck, captain.

Yuuji claps his hands, saying you must have made more yesterday after dinner when he was asleep, happy to be eating something good two days in a row. Meanwhile, Sukuna can’t take his eyes off the little piece of paper.

“Yo, do you know where she went to this morning?” He asks Yuuji, who is getting out a plate to microwave the food.

“She said she went grocery shopping. She said you didn’t want her at the game,” his little brother responds, lightly and not worried at all, like this is a reoccurring conversation.

“What?” Scoffs Sukuna, baffled, whipping his head toward his brother’s. When did he ever say something like that?

“Well, she said she thought you didn’t want her there,” specifies Yuuji, shrugging, getting two forks and two knives to put on the kitchen table. “I tried telling her you bought her a ticket too! But I don’t know, she seemed…” he stops, thinking about the correct words to say, now looking directly at his big brother’s eyes. “She seemed sad,” he finishes, muttering.

Right then, a tube of cream for bruises put near the coffee machine catches Sukuna’s eyes. He grits his teeth. He thinks back to yesterday, and to the way you rushed out this morning. To the way you obviously tried to ignore him when you locked his gaze. To the way your ticket never left his pocket, because he never properly asked you to come.

Suddenly, the words on the sticky note burn on his skin like a fresh tattoo.

Shit.

[ccarlislecc]

♡ skunk ♡ ♡ texts between you & your boyfriend, sukuna author's note: this is a repost because the original formatting was actually ass. also, I'm planning on making this like a little series with all my usual characters so here's the first one!!!

♡ selfies

♡ forever

♡ birthday boy

♡ possessive

♡ safe

♡ drunk

♡ favor

♡ dramatic

♡ anxious

♡ fin ♡

thank you for reading! comments, likes, & reblogs are so, so appreciated, but I love you non-interacting people, too ♡ here's my masterlist! mwah 🩷 xoxo, carlisle

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Quisling: crumbling defences

Contents: just a little insight into a day with modern au!sukuna and his president, there's cursing, slight sexual language (very minor), mostly fluff, a little angsty

“Having conducted semi-structured interviews with a substantial number of students and staff across all departments,” you prattle on, standing on the stage of Conference 3 in front of the other members of the Student Council and key senior members of faculty, “our research led us to conclude that security around campus could be improved in various ways, beginning with installing more lamp posts in certain areas, such as around the green house, which as you know has been targeted by the campus vandal informally known as ‘Cursed Womb’.” 

These meetings are always so tedious, and they last far longer than they should, always overrunning for reasons that escape you every time. As you summarise the weeks and weeks worth of work you’ve been doing into a short, snazzy powerpoint presentation, you can’t help but think about the mountain of paperwork waiting for you back in your room, covering the entire surface area of the desk until you’ve actually had to move onto your bed to work. 

It’s an irritating stain in your otherwise clean and tidy room; you aren’t a messy person. Everything has a place and everything is in its place. But the class action against Professor Mahito has overtaken your life. When you’re not talking to the lawyers Sukuna has hired, you’re hosting support sessions with the other victims or writing up notes on every meeting, jotting down times and collecting as much evidence as possible.

“Y/n, if I may interject,” a shrill voice interrupts you, “are you suggesting that the disruptive behaviour of a deranged individual can actually be discouraged with a few light bulbs.”

Light laughter breaks out. 

Your left eye twitches. 

Some of the trustees and senior lecturers with tenure, and decades of research upholding Eden’s reputation, have been undermining you. They interrupt, disregard, and scoff at your suggestions. And you know it isn’t because your work is insubstantial or lacking in anyway at all. The simple truth is, they are friends with Mahito, and you are now their enemy. 

When he slid his hand up your thigh during a one-to-one support session over time management, you could only shift uncomfortably, and clear your throat. You hadn’t said no, is Mahito’s rebuttal to the skeleton argument your team had sent to the courts. And now his other professor friends have been holding it over your head. 

You didn’t say no. 

That mistake is haunting you. 

“Professor Jiro, respectfully,’ a pink-haired guy in the corner drawls, ‘research displays that crime rates decreases by a significant amount after increased visibility. It does, in fact, discourage criminal behaviour. And if you let my president continue, she’ll tell you all about how lamp posts are just one part of her overall plan to tackle crime on campus.”

He’s leaning back in his chair, a pen dancing fluidly between his fingers to a subconscious rhythm, spinning and pivoting effortlessly with a flick of his wrists. A habit of his when he gets restless and irritated. 

You hate that you know that. 

Silence befalls the conference room once more. 

You clear your throat and gesture to the projected slide behind you. “We should install lamp posts across campus, especially through the field behind the Psychology department which many students have reported feeling uncomfortable crossing to get to the Southside Halls at night.”

And the presentation carries on as planned, still a little over time, but otherwise uneventful. The staff members file out, leaving you and the other council members to pack up. 

“Hey, sorry to leave so soon, y/n, but I’ve got to help Gojo out with something,” your treasurer says. 

She’s got an apologetic look on her face and you sigh. 

“He’s not bothering you, is he?” You shuffle the papers in your hand. “Alpha Phi Delta has proven troublesome time and time again for the council, even before Gojo’s presidency.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Frat and trouble tend to go hand-in-hand, don’t they?”

The deadpan expression on your face is the only answer she needs and you wave her goodbye, watching her black figure weaving away, going god knows where to do god knows what for the sunglasses-wearing, second-biggest pain in your ass. 

“She gets to go and I have to stay? Playing favourites, prez?”

And the first biggest pain your ass speaks up, leaning back in a chair a couple of metres away from you, having moved unnoticed by you somehow. He’s balancing precariously on the chair’s back legs, his legs draped over the table, and eyes sparkling at you. 

You ignore him. 

His eyes narrow. “Why’d you let that bald headed old man interrupt?”

You gulp. 

“Did you get the minutes down, Sukuna?”

A ping goes off on your phone and, like a reflex, you pick it up. He’s sent you an email with a subject line titled, ‘Obviously.’ You resist the urge to smack him over the head with the stack of papers in your hands. 

“You really shouldn’t let those old fucks talk over you like that.”

“Fuck. Off. Sukuna.”

He ignores you. “You coming to our hearing later? The lawyers got the warrant approved for the CCTV recordings.”

Your hands still and when you turn he’s looking at you with a firm stare, daring you to make an excuse not to come. He’s been like this the entire time, pushing you further and further and deeper and deeper into this protest, placing you at the centre of it all. You don’t want to be. You’ve done your part by making a statement and signing up as a defendant, and just that small step had forced you back miles. 

People glare at you, whispering ‘liar’ and ‘whore’ to themselves, and the staff interrupt and ignore you, whittling you down into a little girl, instead of the President of the Student Council of Eden University. 

Even some of the city papers have taken a stance against your cause, claiming that Mahito has contributed so much to the development of the university and his field, advancing understanding of the human psyche, that there's no way he could ever be the monster you and the other girls claim he is. 

Sure, those hateful, short-sighted adversaries of the cause are far and few in between — most people have been kind, supportive, and passionate for your cause — but you can’t help but think about all the people that don’t believe you. 

You’ve worked too hard to be disregarded. 

“I don’t know.”

Sukuna scoffs, heat rising to his eyes. 

“The losers getting to you? Is that it? They scaring you off?”

You can’t stand the judgmental tone of his voice, that undercurrent of anger weighing down every word like he’s pelting you with tomatoes in the town square. He has no right. Your chest begins to rise and fall with shallow breaths, your palms growing clammy, and you feel your cheeks burn. 

“Fuck you. You don’t get to judge me! You don’t get to say my coping is right or wrong. You said it yourself. You’re only in this to have something to add to your CV, so that your political career will begin with a legacy of ‘fighting for the innocent and the voiceless’ and whatever other shit you’ve got.”

Everyone else has cleared out, maybe having done so way before this conversation began. It’s just you and your number one enemy staring at each other, the fire raging between your figures suffocating the large room, swallowing all oxygen. 

You’re becoming lightheaded. 

You hate arguing, hate shouting, hate all types of negative energy. It’s bringing tears to your eyes and you flush even harder. There’s no way you’d ever be able to face him if you cry. 

Sukuna lowers his long legs to the floor, standing up to his full height behind the desk. He tucks his hands into his varsity jacket pockets and scans your body from the tip of your shoes to the top of your head. The look on his face resembles disgust, and you wonder if that’s what he sees when you look at him. 

“If you seriously think I’m only in this for my career, then I guess I’m a bigger monster in your eyes than I initially thought.”

You inhale sharply like you’ve just been punched in the gut. 

And he’s turning away, broad back growing smaller and smaller as he nears the doors. You take a step towards him like you can’t hep yourself. Your fingers itch to grab his jacket sleeve, to apologise, and explain yourself. 

But did you even say anything wrong?

No, Sukuna’s manipulative. Always has been, always will be. This guilt wracking through your body is what he wants you to feel so you’ll cave, so you’ll devote yourself wholeheartedly to this class action. And once you do, surely the chances of success of the suit against Mahito and the university will increase, and he’ll win, and he’ll be set for every campaign he ever runs for the rest of his life. 

You’re so sure of this, so set in your analysis of his character that you force your body to still. You don’t chase after him, you don’t even open your mouth to argue back, to have the last word. 

He stops right before he opens the door, tilting his body ever so slightly to channel his words to you and you only. 

“I wish you could see how strong you actually are. Maybe then you wouldn’t let them get the best of you.”

Your nails dig into your palm. 

“See you around, y/n.”

———

Is it guilt that brought you to the hearing located in an empty office just a ten minute walk from campus? Or the sudden realisation that Sukuna’s right?

It can’t be the latter. 

If society began accepting that devil spawns like Sukuna actually have moral high ground in some situations then the world will never know peace. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself as you push the door open, cringing at the creak, and ignoring the eyes that dart over to you as you settle into a seat at the back. The place is full of students tonight — there are the girls who have been victimised by Professor Mahito, and the friends they’ve brought along for moral support. There are also lawyers and paralegals typing furiously to the side but they quickly become invisible when your eyes settle on a fiery pair already fixated on you. 

He’s not smirking like he always does, like you had expected him to be. There’s not a drop of arrogance or amusement in his eyes, and that makes you feel worse. This hadn’t been a game from the start. Looking now at how he’s organised the whole thing, using his family’s money and connections to get something concrete going, you realise he’s been more into this than you have been. 

One foot has only ever been through the threshold for you, if even that, but Sukuna? Sukuna’s had his feet planted firmly on the ground, placing himself at the forefront of the whirlwind. And you had shrugged off his efforts for justice as mere pragmatism and a feeding of his political agenda. 

You’re a terrible person. 

Mouth zipped and hands clasping each other, you sit there, watching intently every detail presented on the TV screen. Every CCTV recording available displaying Mahito’s advances on a terrified first year in the hallway, against a library bookshelf, in the park, and so on and so forth. 

The evidence is so irrefutable, so in your face, you feel stupid you had ever doubted the class action. And looking around, the horror on people’s faces as they watch the real monster at work highlight just how necessary it is to put things on the line for the greater good. Sukuna had realised that and you didn’t. 

Some kind of president you are. 

Eventually the night draws to an end, conversations fizzle out and people file out one by one. The lawyers had given everyone a thorough talking to, advising everyone not to share any details about the case, the contents of the recordings, and to stay vigilant about any protestors who may be looking to deter the movement. 

There's a sense of hope fizzling in the air, like a weight lifted. Still, there's a long way to go but there's no doubt in anyone's mind that the win is within reach.

You stand outside the office building, just at the top of the stairs, watching the last people disappear into the night. It’s a little cold, winter is approaching after all, but you’ve forgotten your coat. Some things just keep slipping your mind these days.

“Changed your mind, huh.”

Without needing to look, you already know who it is. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with its low tone and deep cadence, a mocking undercurrent always running through every word, lacing it with something sweet and poisonous. 

You glance at him. He’s wearing the clothes he had on earlier, hair ruffled slightly and you want to fix it. On the other hand, you’ve stopped by your dorm to freshen up, feeling a sudden need to be thoroughly scrubbed and cleansed. But you had mistakenly put on a thin sweater and tied your hair up, forgetting the time and place, like you could only think about what he was going to say or do when he sees you there. 

“Yeah,” you begin, mulling the words in your head before speaking them into fruition, “I suppose, after much consideration, I realised you had a point.”

Sukuna laughs. It’s dark and menacing, the kind a sadist lets out in a horror movie. And it makes you shiver. You want to hear it again. 

“What a long winded way of saying ‘you’re right, Sukuna’.”

The way he says it makes your eyes twitch. He’s put on a shrill, overly feminine voice and practically moaned his own name. That’s probably how all the girls he’s been with has said them. 

A blush is rising to your cheeks and you descend down the stairs, feeling him follow behind you. “It’s just one time. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yeah, well, it was good to see you there.”

You’re both walking down the road, you don’t dare acknowledge that his apartment is on the other side of the campus, and he doesn’t mention his intentions. Being side by side, this close, makes your palms sweat. His jacket sleeve brushes against your arm and you move to the left slightly. 

Sukuna only moves in closer. 

“Were you hoping I’d come?”

You hate the melancholy tone your voice has taken, the way you sound so hopeful and wistful. It’s pathetic. Just remember who he is, his true nature, how he hides behind a facade of propriety, of manners and kindness, the perfect gentleman.

Except perfect gentlemen don’t have tongue piercings which sometimes catch the light of the lampposts when he speaks. 

And perfect ladies don’t stare and run their tongue over their teeth absentmindedly either. 

He shrugs and the jacket presses against you. “Wanted to win our little stand-off, of course, so yeah, I guess I did.”

“You won this one but this’ll be the last time.” You huff. “Mark my words, Ryomen.”

He looks down at you, a thoughtful look on his face as he scans your features. You see his jaw tense and you know he’s rolling his piercing like he rolls a pen between his fingers. When you raise a brow in question, he only lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. 

It’s irritating you that he’s being mature. You want him to poke and prod like he always does. You want to watch him crack his neck as a way to control his real thoughts and feelings, want to see that challenging smirk, the burning embers in his eyes as he sizes you up, like a snake does with its prey. 

You just want to see him in his true form. 

Well, if he won’t poke, then you should do it. Set nature back on its course, reset the balance of right and wrong, and ensure all is right in the world. So you stop. You literally stand stiff as a board, falling behind a metre before he realises you’re not beside him. 

A muscle in his jaw ticks, you see it flex under the streetlight. It highlights every sharp edge, chiselled features, and makes his threatening eyes even more alarming. 

“Give me your jacket.”

Sukuna scowls. He looks confused. 

“I want your jacket.”

“Get your own,” is all he says before he turns back around and continues walking, flashing you the Ryomen and 13 on his back. You don’t move. He notices and stops, letting out an exasperated groan, hands on his hip like he’s dealing with a child. 

“I swear to god, not even Yuji is this much of a pain in my ass”

You don’t know who this Yuji person is but you don’t care. You’ve made your stance clear. Sukuna being all nice and wise makes the hairs on back of your neck stand; it’s just plain wrong. You don’t want a friend out of him, you want an enemy. You need him to be your enemy, because anything else, anything more, would be disastrous. 

Sukuna must have seen something in your eyes, whether it’s just the steely determination or your inner thoughts, but whatever it is it makes him stalk over to you. His long legs take him to where you stand, just at the edge of a circle of light, and he’s stepping away from his own light and embracing your shadows. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and thick muscles. It’s easy to forget that he's an athlete when he’s always slouching and lazing around. 

Craning your neck, you watch him watch you. He’s tilting his head to the side, assessing the situation and it feels like it lasts for hours, but only a couple seconds pass before he takes off his jacket and throws it over your face. Pulling it down, you see he’s already walking ahead. 

It smells good. Like burnt wood and cherries. You’ve smelt this scent in passing, when he breezes past you to shake hands with a guest lecturer, or in the hallways when you pretend you don't know each other. But now it’s right under your nose, so strong and overwhelming you feel like you might start swaying on your feet. 

How ridiculous. 

You wear the jacket, zipping it all the way up. It’s still kinda warm from his body and you curse at your tits for aching at the feel of them rubbing against the material. With fast feet, you catch up to Sukuna, who's wearing a plain black shirt, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. 

His short sleeves reveal thick arms, veiny and tattooed. Having seen him leave Uzumaki, the tattoo parlour your friend works at, and been told directly via text that he has ‘many’ tattoos, you shouldn’t be surprised at the sight of the thick lines encircling his wrists and peaking through the collar of his shirt. 

And you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about what his tattoos look like under his shirt. 

“Take a picture.”

His drawl knocks you away from your silly thoughts. You scowl at him and distract yourself by untying your hair and tucking your own hands into the jacket’s pockets, fiddling with your hair tie. It felt necessary to have an extra boundary between you and him. The jacket's engulfing you; it's both too big and too long.

“I was just wondering how you managed to convince everyone you’re such a good guy when you’ve got tattoos like that.”

You stumble when his elbow nudges you suddenly. 

“You always so judgey? Think people with tattoos are all degenerates, is that it?”

Rolling your eyes, you nudge him back. He doesn’t budge. “No, of course not. But I’m just saying, you have tattoos, pink hair and a tongue piercing, and yet when I complain about you to my friends, they all insist I’m the problem. It’s like you’ve got them fooled.”

He’s grinning now.  “You talk about me to your friends?”

You ignore that. Your words seemed harmless enough in your head but somehow he’s managed to twist them into something that works in his favour. You hate him. 

The dorm is in front of you now, and you both slow to a stop, just on the grass. You take off the jacket and hand it over to him with a mumbled ‘thanks’ and awkwardly shuffle your feet. It feels wrong to just leave it at that, so you look up at him and clear your throat. 

“Thanks for all your hard work with this class action, by the way. And I’m sorry for accusing you of not caring or whatever.” You, the ever eloquent president of the student body representatives, are stuttering like you’ve never spoken a day in your life. 

Sukuna looks amused.

“You’re welcome, or whatever.”

It’s still not enough. 

You need to hear him say one word. Just one word that’s been bugging you the entire day. He needs to say it so you know he’s forgiven you, so that there’s no bad blood, none more than usual, so that you can face him tomorrow and scowl at him again like you always do and not feel guilt. You need to know where you stand with Sukuna. 

“Thanks for walking me back, too. That was,” you bite your lip, “really…nice…of you.”

He’s trying not to laugh, you can see his eyes crinkle at the corners, even as he presses a hand to his mouth, hiding the grin that’s definitely there. You’ll let him have this victory, just this once.

Sensing your growing irritation, he exhales through his nose like he’s just had the greatest laugh of his life. “Yeah, you’re welcome for that too.” You gulp and he smiles, sharp teeth on display. “See you tomorrow, bright and early…prez.”

You exhale too. 

And then you’re nodding and turning away. 

You reach the reception doors and feel a sudden itch. Something that makes your hand pause and your head turn. 

He’s still standing there. 

Hands in his jacket pocket, and head tilted at you. 

You ignore the fluttering in your chest. Sukuna’s standing there because he has a penchant for watching girls in the dark, you remind yourself. It’s definitely not because he wants to make sure you get in safe. Everyone might think he's a gentleman but you know he isn't. You learn that lesson a long time ago. The hard way.

With a blush on your cheeks, you look away, paying no attention whatsoever to the little wave he gives you and you disappear inside the building. 

Sukuna is not a gentleman.

You repeat that to yourself on your way up to your floor and again when you receive a text from him saying, 

Sweet dreams, prez.

He just isn’t. 

[solrabi]

Hi can you please make boxer!Sukuna and boxer!Toji fighting for the reader's affection? Like they are close friends but when it comes to reader they just become competitive and rival to see who has her attention. OH AND THEY DO A BOXING MATCH TO SEE WHOEVER WINS GETS THE READER BUT NO ONE WINS AND THE READER TENDS TO THEM(sorry I yapped)

Of course I can <3

cw: fem!reader, light descriptions of fighting, jealousy and rivalry, not proofread (yet)

Toji ran his tongue along the cleft of his scar. His eyes raked down his face and pecs in the mirror as his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Women usually fawned over him without him needing to give even a morsel of his attention. Free drinks at his side of the bar counter, hastily written numbers on lipstick marked tissues shoved lazily in the pocket of his jeans. He knew he was irresistible.

He just wasn’t sure if you, his friend and clueless crush, thought the same way about him. Blissfully unaware of how he’d constantly clear his throat to prevent his voice from embarrassingly cracking while speaking to you. He was so mortified the first time it happened that he didn’t look you in the eye for a whole week.

The man was tired of waiting and was going to ask you out no matter what. Friendship be damned, his feelings for you were growing stronger by the day, festering in the core of his chest every time you’d look up at him through your lashes.

While Toji was mentally prepping himself in locker room, Sukuna was sitting in the middle of the gym’s boxing ring, elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands.

To say that he was in a dilemma was an understatement.

What’s worse than having an unrequited crush on your best friend? Knowing that your other friend and coincidental sparring partner, likes her too. For the past few days, Sukuna had his doubts that Toji had a crush on their friend, and it was soon confirmed when Toji didn’t help Sukuna up after defeating him in a practice match.

The dark haired man simply sauntered over to you, making sure to flex his sweaty abs as he wiped his face with a towel around his neck.

That sly motherfucker—

But Sukuna couldn’t blame him. He would’ve the same too. If it all came down to objectification, he would’ve happily posed for a cliche racy calendar as long as he knew you’d buy it.

“Can we talk?” Sukuna looked up to see Toji standing outside the ring. He was shirtless. He always did that when he knew you were coming over to watch a practice match.

Sukuna cursed under his breath as he got up, not bothering to leave the platform. His ego prevented him from feeling like Toji’s equal. His coach would never approve of his behavior.

“Look, I’m tired of pretending like we both don’t know how we feel about her.” Sukuna only shot daggers at Toji’s unfairly handsome face as he said that. The pink haired man was starting to think that he should’ve just gone to the nasty part of town to get a facial scar instead of tattoos.

He hated the way you’d always fawn over the story of how Toji got his scar. There was something so beautiful yet harrowing about seeing your eyebrows furrow and soft lips jut with a slight wobble over that man in particular.

“And I wanna let you know that I’m gonna tell her how I feel,” he added.

There weren’t a lot of things that surprised Sukuna. Hell, he wasn’t surprised when he realized Toji liked you too. Who wouldn’t? You’re a total sweetheart.

But Toji’s sudden urge to confess and seek a serious relationship was unexpected. Sukuna didn’t remember the last time the man had called a woman after taking her out on one date.

He didn’t want you to end up as just another number in his phone book.

“And sacrifice your friendship with her for a good one-time fuck once you realize that you’re thinking with your dick? Sure, go ahead. But just so you know, she doesn’t deserve that,” Sukuna angrily countered.

“Oh, shut up. You’re only saying that so I’ll back off. You’ve started treating me differently ever since you started liking her too. Well, just so you know, I’m not afraid of a little competition. It’s obvious who she’ll pick.”

Toji cursed himself internally. He didn’t want a pick a fight with his friend, but when it comes to you, he could never rationalize his actions. He angled his head and folded his arms, tucking them by his pecs, trying to be as imposing as possible, “at least I don’t ignore her when she’s feeling down.”

Desperate times call for passive aggressive and triggering measures.

Sukuna chuffs as rage fills him to the brim, vermillion eyes trained on his peer. “Well, since we’re both obsessed with her, let’s settle this like men. Let’s spar-no gloves, no helmets. Whoever wins confesses to her first.”

Tension permeates the gym much like the thick musk of sweat. Toji licks his bottom teeth as he glares at Sukuna.

“Fine.”

The two men walk over to the opposite ends of the ring, wrapping their fists with white bandages. Warriors getting ready for a battle that would determine their fate.

Over the years, Sukuna had built himself to be a formidable fighter, often scaring his opponents by the sheer mention of his name.

His image, of course, never intimidated Toji. Their staunch friendship made it easy for him to not cower under Sukuna’s larger frame and daunting gaze. They’d been through thick and thin together. A brotherly bond like no other.

Though, when you were added into the equation, things changed. Exponentially.

Toji felt like he was having an out of body experience when he turned down a woman for yet another one night stand, feeling guilty for what you might think about his habits. He started styling his shaggy hair better, trimming it out of his eyes in hopes of you seeing him as a kempt man, unlike the unpolished ruffian he used to be.

Sukuna changed his vocabulary when you complained about him swearing too much. Though there were a few slips of tongue, he’d apologize soon after, only to feel rewarded when you’d giggle and tell him all was good. He found himself truly changing when he debated keeping the stray cat you found while walking to the gym one day. That cat still hangs out at his apartment. Until he finds a suitable owner of course (and not because it makes him feel like you’re both raising a child together whenever you ask about the little rascal).

The two men harnessed their emotions in every punch, each hit impacting harder than the last. By now, there were red splotches of both their blood on the bandages. They couldn’t tell if it was a mixture or their own.

Toji had landed a particularly hard punch in Sukuna’s stomach when you had walked in, chatting Uraume’s ear off about some Greek restaurant you discovered.

“I’m gonna go call Coach Yaga. You try to deescalate the situation,” Uraume instructs you before jogging towards the office.

You gasped as you heard the loud thump. The men were too busy brawling to notice that you had walked in.

“Oh my God!” You ran towards the ring, hand stamped to your mouth when you saw blood coating your friends’ bodies.

Toji looked at you momentarily, sending you a quick smile before ducking away from Sukuna’s attack. “Hey, you’re here early.”

“Yeah, and I’m glad I did. Why are you guys hurting each other like this? Stop it!”

“Oh, just relax, we’re only practicing,” Sukuna cajoles as he lands a hard punch on Toji’s jaw.

You could only wince at the sound. “You guys never fight without your gloves. What is going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” both men said in unison.

There was no way you could’ve stopped the fight by entering the ring. You did not want to accidentally hurt yourself while trying to pry the two fighters apart.

So you watched and cringed each time someone got a gnarly punch, bruising them like a peach.

Toji peered up at you through his sweaty and matted bangs as you placed an ice pack on his bloody knuckles. He hissed as you pressed the cold brick even harder, trying to numb the area.

The boxers rash decision led you to where you stood right now: between them in the locker room with an opened first aid kit sitting on the same bench as them. By the time Coach Yaga arrived to break them apart, both men had battered each other to a pulp. Sukuna was sporting a painful purple eye that matched Toji’s (mainly because it was given in retaliation).

Toji had bruises all over his chest and both men had sent each other so many punches that the friction from the knuckle bandages had rubbed their skin raw, leaving their hands covered in blood.

As punishment, Coach Yaga sent them both to the locker room to fix their injuries themselves, but you couldn’t handle seeing them wince in pain every time they touched something so you followed them in.

Sukuna groaned as he lightly touched his purple eye and you immediately moved to where he was sitting to attend to it. You grabbed another ice pack and placed it by his brow bone. His hand was quick to cover yours, preventing you from moving it away immediately.

“What were you both thinking? Did you guys argue over something?”

You were met with silence, both men sitting like toddlers who had been caught trying to secretly stay up past bed time. “I don’t understand how you both can be so immature.”

You try to move your hand away from Sukuna’s ice pack but his hold is rigid. “Let me go, I need to look at Toji’s injuries and my hand’s going numb.”

Toji sends a smug smirk to Sukuna when you turn around to dig through the first aid box. Sukuna only replies to his friend by baring his fangs.

“I didn’t expect this at all. You guys are friends,” you continued as you dabbed ointment on the small cut on Toji’s jaw.

The raven haired man gulps as your scent enshrouds him. It’s much better than the amalgamated miasma of bleach and Old Spice in the locker room.

All while Toji was enjoying being close to you, Sukuna scoffed internally while watching the scene with his good eye. Two could play that game.

“Hey, could put a muscle relaxing patch on my back? I think I’ve got a huge bruise there,” Toji’s head whips towards his sparring partner as he chews the inside of his cheek.

You nod sweetly, and the place the ointment filled cotton pad in Toji’s palm so you could attend to Sukuna instead. Toji watched with betrayed eyes as you gasped at the sight of Sukuna’s back.

“Oh my God, you’re right. This looks horrible.” You glare at Toji. “You really didn’t hold back, didn’t you?”

“Are you seriously gonna blame all of this on me? What about my face?” Toji counters.

“You’re right. I can’t just blame this on you. You’re both at fault for ending up like this,” you reprimand both men as you stick a muscle relief patch on Sukuna’s back. The softness of your hands makes him momentarily forget about his pain.

“Meat-headed oafs,” you mumble under your breath.

“I think I’ve got a bruise on my back too. Can you apply a patch there?” Sukuna throws a middle finger to Toji when you turn your back to them.

When you’re about to go back to the first aid box after applying Toji’s patch, Sukuna pulls you to him again, “I think I need more patches on my ribs.”

Exhaustion begins to settle into your bones, but you listen to your friend anyway. You’re about to leave until Toji grabs your waist and pulls you into his direction.

He looks at you with puppy dog eyes. “Can you massage my biceps? They’re very sore—“

“Hey, I think my patch’s adhesive isn’t strong. Can you apply another one?” Sukuna interrupts.

Jealousy bubbles in both of them and it threatens to spill out.

“I asked her for help first!”

“But I can’t reach my back. You can touch your biceps just fine—“

“Both of you shut up! I’m not your slave. Uraume will help you. I’m mad and I’m going home. You’re both such babies.” And with that you walk out of the locker room with a sulking faces and folded arms.

“This is all your fault,” Toji blames. Sukuna simply slaps his friend’s bicep and Toji’s lack of a whimper makes him scoff.

“You just wanted an excuse for her to touch you. I needed real help.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do to get attention. I’m gonna confess to her before you know it.”

Sukuna knows he’s being warned. And he knows he shouldn’t wait around for too long or you’ll be swept away when he least expects it.

[all-with-angel]

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐄!

Summary: In which you try to avoid the rude, short-tempered and dangerous special grade sorcerer, Sukuna Ryoumen, who happens to also be your senpai. But whatever you do, it seems that he simply never leaves you alone.

Pairings: Sorcerer!Sukuna x male!Reader, Implied Satosugu if you squint

Content. male! reader, amab reader, rivals to lovers, swearing, light gore, bullying (from both parties), suggestive, reader is described to be using a katana, reader is in their second year while Sukuna is in their third year, Sukuna is mean but reader ain't taking it, reader is also mean, socially awkward Sukuna mistaken for yandere/stalker Sukuna, more to be added..

A.N. When I saw the severe lack of sorcerer!Sukuna, I said fine, I'll do it myself. Inspired by another sorcerer!Sukuna fic I can't find rn... This is my first published fic on here, please be nice! English isn't my first language so kindly tell me about any misspellings/grammar issues. I hope you enjoy ♡

W.C. 3.4k words

Part 1 || Part 2 (WIP)

The first time you met Sukuna Ryoumen, you knew—you just knew—he was going to be a problem.

It wasn’t just the way he carried himself, that confident, swaggering arrogance of someone who knew he was untouchable. It wasn’t just the sharp, toothy smirk he wore, or the way his eyes, ringed in crimson, sized you up like you were nothing but an entertaining little nuisance. 

No, it was the fact that he would not leave you alone.

The same day that you had met him, you had been sitting on a bench with Shoko while waiting for Gojo and Geto to finish a mission. It was a lazy afternoon, one that had you playing idly with the hilt of your katana while Shoko smoked and went through her phone, occasionally snickering to herself when a particularly funny post rolled around.

You two sat in that comfortable silence for a while until Shoko had hummed and nudged you out of your daydreaming. “Huh?”

“Take a look,” Shoko tilted her phone in your direction as you squinted to read the text on the small screen. “That ‘curse king’ guy from the Kyoto branch is apparently transferring over here.”

You blinked at the screen, like Shoko had said, it was Yaga telling her to return back to the school as soon as possible with Gojo and Geto to meet him.

Sukuna Ryomen.

You had heard of him plenty, mostly from Gojo yapping about his rival from the Kyoto branch that he had to supposedly keep in check. Maybe that's why he was transferred here. Your mind had supplied, you knew Gojo’s strength was no joke and by logic neither was Sukunas. Rumors, i.e, Gojo had told all of you that he was a massive brute with anger issues who eats women and children– You scoffed at that, as if the higher ups wouldn’t execute a threat like that immediately.

“But it’s trueeee!~ You should really see him, if looks could kill, you would be dead!” Gojo had defended, dramatically whining before turning to his best friend, as if a partner in crime. “Right, Suguru?~ C’mon, back me up here!--”

To which Geto had rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Satoru, I haven’t even seen him yet.”

“Still! I’ve seen him and my eyes are your eyes! You gotta trust me on this one, c’mon Suguruuuu!~” Gojo had resorted to lightly shaking the raven-haired male, whining as he did so.

At the memory, the two had seemingly appeared out of nowhere as you and Shoko’s focus snapped to the two smiling at eachother like some lovesick idiots. They walked in stride, as Gojo’s arm was resting on Geto’s shoulders. Gojo was practically draping his body weight onto the dark-haired sorcerer, but he didn't seem to mind.

“Finally, I thought you two had ditched us,” Shoko sighed in relief as she put out her cigarette, groaning as she stood up and stretched. “-what were you two up to, anyway?”

Geto looked away, finding the trees much more entertaining, humming with a much too neutral expression. “Ah, well, the curse was-” 

“BO-RINGGG!!!” Gojo exclaimed. “-but! But! But! Me and Suguru had time to have fun instead!” He cheered with a bright grin as he skipped over to you and leaned down far too close to your, or Shoko’s, phone. Perhaps a way to change the subject as Shoko raised a brow. “What’cha got there?”

“Ah, that rival of yours is transferring to the Tokyo branch, Yaga said to meet him at the school–”

Gojo’s eyes shone in excitement, with the fact he had another person to annoy endlessly, and he clapped once, loud and clear. (Also in front of your face, which made you flinch.) “Well! That my dear oh dear classmate, means that we must go! Now! C’mon!!!” Gojo wore that signature grin of his as he dragged all three of you with Blue, rushing to go and see his so-called rival. 

Something in your gut, and every piece of your being told you that this may not end well.

Well, you were right.

You weren’t the type to cause trouble, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let someone walk all over you. And for some reason, Sukuna seemed determined to make your life miserable.

And really, you never asked for this.

Not for the responsibility of greeting some special grade menace that had just returned from a mission, not for standing in a line like some underpaid retail worker waiting to endure a horrible customer. And especially not for meeting Sukuna Ryoumen, the infamous third-year who had a reputation for being a ruthless fighter and a complete asshole.

Yet, here you were.

You were bruised, tired, and not in the mood for anything outside of food and maybe a long nap. Unfortunately, Yaga had other plans.

“I want you all to meet Sukuna Ryomen,” he announced once the four of you were settled back at Jujutsu High.

You barely looked up, not out of fear no, never, but more out of boredom. You just wanted to finally take your lunch break and eat some much-too-sweet convenience store snacks with the others.

Sukuna Ryoumen stood lazily beside Yaga, arms crossed, his tall frame relaxed, but something about him immediately put you on edge. He had sharp edges and confidence, his entire being screaming danger. The tattoos that wound down his arms only made him look more feral, more like a creature that belonged in battle rather than a school hallway. His expression, twisted into something smug, shifted lazily between all of you, like he was already unimpressed.

Geto and Shoko glanced at each other before shrugging. They didn’t care much. But Gojo—oh, Gojo already looked thrilled.

“Sukuna!” he greeted obnoxiously, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose. “Wow, they really let you out, huh? Was it a mistake? Should I call security?”

Sukuna’s eye twitched. “Shut the hell up, Gojo.”

“No need to be so grumpy~” Gojo sing-songed. “Haven’t seen you in, what, a year? You look awful.”

Sukuna was already cracking his knuckles. “Keep talking and you’ll be eating through a straw, Six Eyes.”

Gojo cackled like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. That was the moment you made the conscious decision to not get involved.

Sukuna clearly had a history with Gojo—probably some weird family rivalry thing that you had no business being in. So, you tuned them out, stretching your sore shoulders and wondering how quickly you could make an excuse to leave.

But then, Sukuna’s gaze landed on you.

At first, there was nothing. Just a flicker of mild disinterest—he had already decided you weren’t worth his time. But then—then—his smirk faltered, ever so slightly. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. His sharp crimson eyes narrowed, scanning you in a way that made your muscles tense on instinct. Like he was seeing you properly for the first time. And you hated that.

You met his stare head-on, unfazed, and tilted your head slightly. “Something wrong?”

Sukuna let out a quiet huff, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Nah.” His voice was amused, but there was a glint of something sharper beneath it. “You’re just not what I expected.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “And what exactly were you expecting?”

Sukuna’s grin stretched wider, something about it entirely too smug. “Someone boring."

You didn’t know what it was about you that made Sukuna suddenly give a damn. Maybe it was because you didn’t react to him the way most people did. You didn’t fawn over him like an awe-struck underclassman. You didn’t shrink under his presence. You didn’t immediately try to challenge him to establish dominance like Gojo did.

Sukuna wasn’t the type to pay attention to people unless they were worth his time. He ignored weaklings, brushed off challenges he found pathetic, and generally acted like the world was beneath him. So at first, you thought maybe he’d forget about you. That his moment of curiosity was fleeting.

It started off small, before it became a problem you couldn’t control.

A passing smirk in the hallway. A casual shoulder bump that was just a little too forceful. A comment here and there, his voice always carrying that teasing lilt that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or if he genuinely thought you were beneath him.

You ignored him at first.

But Sukuna was persistent. It was like some curse had latched onto you, except instead of a monster with rotting flesh and sharp claws, it was a six-foot menace with an ego the size of Japan, rivaling even Gojo’s.

One day, you were minding your own business, heading to a late-night training session when a shadow peeked out from behind you. Actually, scratch that, the shadow loomed over you like a death knell. An omen of many, many years of suffering.

“Your stance is sloppy,” Sukuna’s voice cut in even as you tried to will his existence from entirely disappearing, making you tense with irritation.

You’d whirl around, glaring. “Excuse me?”

“Sloppy,” he repeated, shrugging lazily. “You’re telegraphing your movements too much. Any idiot could see your next move coming.”

You scoffed. “Right. And I should take advice from you?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sukuna smirked. “Unless you wanna keep sucking.”

“Ha, I bet you know alot about that, whore.”

Sukuna scowled, muscles flexing in anger. “Hah? What did you just call me, bastard?”

Sukuna dropped his arms to his side, cocking his head lightly to the side as he glared at you. You hummed mockingly, before fully turning to face him. You took your time to plant the wooden sword you were using into the ground and leaned on it casually before painstakingly blinking up at the fuming pink-haired sorcerer.

“I called you a whore, w-h-o-r-e.” You grinned lazily as you watched Sukuna’s eye twitch and his hands tighten into fists. He laughed. Like, actually laughed in a dangerously low tone. “You really don’t give a shit, huh?”

“Correct.”

His smirk widened. “I like that.”

“Well, I don’t like you.” Your nose scrunched up in disgust at the thought of liking an arrogant prick like him.

“Oh? You sure? You seem pretty into me.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, you got me, Ryoumen. I was actually planning to confess my deep, undying love to you any second now.”

Sukuna replaced his scowl with a dangerous grin, “Go ahead,” He obliged in a condescending tone. “Be my fucking guest.”

You didn’t miss a beat before grabbing one of your knives from your belt and throwing it at his head. He dodged, still grinning even as a thin cut started bleeding on his tattooed face. “That’s the spirit.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

At first, you thought maybe if you ignored him long enough, Sukuna would lose interest and move on to his next source of entertainment. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to focus on anything for too long unless it served his ego or his bloodlust.

But no.

No, of course not.

Because that would’ve been too easy.

Instead, Sukuna had decided that you, of all people, were going to be his new favorite hobby.

It wasn’t just the occasional, casual antagonizing anymore. No, he had upgraded to full-on shadowing your every move like some deranged stalker. Everywhere you went, he was there—leaning against a wall with that smug expression, watching you like a cat that had just spotted a particularly feisty mouse. It was infuriating.

And the worst part? No one else seemed to see a problem with it.

“Maybe he just wants to be friends,” Shoko snickered, lighting up a cigarette like she hadn’t just uttered the most blasphemous thing you had ever heard.

Gojo, the absolute traitor, had just laughed and slapped you on the back. “Sukuna? Friends? Nah, he just likes messing with you. Think of it as a compliment.”

A compliment? A compliment? 

A compliment!!?????

Sukuna was like a parasite, burrowing under your skin, living off your irritation like it was some kind of fuel. No matter where you went, no matter what you did, somehow, he was there. Watching. Commenting. Smirking like he knew something you didn’t. And he was always pushing.

Not just with his words—though those were bad enough—but with his actions. A nudge of your shoulder when you walked past, sending you off course. Snatching your drink and taking a sip, looking you dead in the eyes as if daring you to do something about it. Cutting into your spars with others to correct you—except his ‘corrections’ always came in the form of attacks, meant to prove a point rather than actually help.

The worst part? He was actually good. Annoyingly good.

It wasn’t just that Sukuna was strong—everyone knew that—but he was skilled, refined. Where Gojo had raw, absurd talent, and Geto had calculated control, Sukuna had this terrifying mixture of instinct and experience, like he was born to tear people apart. Every time you fought him, you knew you were improving—but it pissed you off beyond belief because he knew it too. And he loved it.

Sukuna didn’t just want to beat you. He wanted you to acknowledge him, admit he was a monster on the battlefield that could tear you and everything else to pieces. He wanted you to fear him, respect him like the others did, he wanted you to kneel. 

But he could rot in hell before you’d give him that satisfaction.

It reached the point where you started keeping an eye out for him—like prey learning to anticipate a predator’s movements. Your day-to-day was suddenly filled with paranoia, irritation, and a growing hatred so deep you thought you could probably strangle him if given the chance.

It wasn’t even funny anymore.

Not that it ever was, but at this point, Sukuna’s constant presence in your life had gone from ‘mildly irritating’ to ‘downright fucking unbearable.’ It wasn’t just that he was a menace, or that he carried himself with the kind of arrogance only someone with real power could back up—it was the way he seemed to think he was entitled to your time, your attention, your goddamn patience. You’d seen the way he treated others. People either feared him, admired him, or were too busy licking the dirt off his boots to realize he saw them as nothing but playthings.

You were none of those things. And for some reason, that fascinated him.

A reasonable person would have continued to ignored him. Taken the high road. Kept their head down and let Sukuna’s interest wane until he moved on to his next victim.

But you weren’t a reasonable person.

And Sukuna, you had unfortunately found out, was a fucking stalker.

It started out slow, almost subtle. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was all in your head. A coincidence. You’d see him in the hallways, near the training grounds, in the mess hall—whatever, it was a small school, people crossed paths. But you did know better, and you weren’t stupid enough to believe in coincidences when it came to Ryoumen Sukuna.

You’d turn a corner at Jujutsu High and find him lounging against the wall, arms crossed, smirk in place. He never said anything right away, just watched you with an amusement that made your skin crawl. Then, as if he’d grown bored of the silence, he’d toss out some snide remark—your technique, your stance, your tired-looking face—whatever would get under your skin the quickest.

“Running late? How tragic. Must be hard, being so painfully average.”

“You look like shit. What, finally realizing you’ll never be as strong as me?”

“If you’re gonna keep staring, at least buy me dinner first.”

The last one had been particularly insufferable because you hadn’t even been looking at him. He’d just walked up, gotten in your space, and said it because he knew it would piss you off.

So, naturally, you bit back. You had no problem shoving past him, telling him to fuck off, or throwing a well-placed insult right back at his smug, tattooed face. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if you just ignored him, he’d get bored.

You tried it, once, ignoring him instead of arguing or actively avoiding him.

You’d finished up a mission, still sore and bloodied, only to walk through the gates and spot him leaning against the entrance, arms crossed like he’d been waiting. 

“Ha, you look like shit, pretty boy,” His voice was a deep, lazy drawl as he looked you up and down, scoffing at the mess that was you. Your uniform was torn in some places, pants stained with red splotches, your hair was a mess and your katana definitely needed some cleaning. “Did you lose a fight with a monkey? Or a curse? Cause you could’ve fooled me.”

You wanted to slam his head into the concrete, you felt your fingers twitch at the thought. No, no, you were too tired to deal with him right now. You walked right past him and straight into the school, making a beeline towards your dorm as you left a few drops of blood in your wake.

Sukuna’s grin dropped, turning into a deep scowl as he watched your retreating figure. His red eyes narrowed at you before muttering to himself. “Tch.”

The next day, your life felt much more free than the last few weeks. You were nearly always under the damning gaze of Sukuna, he glared at you from the other side of the field, shoving you when you two passed in the hallway or scoffing condescendingly at you when you laughed with Shoko. Not that you cared, ofcourse, you continued to ignore the bastard as if he didn’t exist. You hummed and brushed it off whenever Shoko or Gojo had brought it up.

“He’s more pissy than usual, huh?” Shoko remarked, blowing out smoke from her lips and glancing towards you. “You have anything to do with that?”

“Nope.”

“Aww, is my dear friend ignoring his clingy boyfriend?~” Gojo teased, voice pitching up too many octaves like an adult talking to a baby. “Oh, what a travesty! Trouble in paradise!” He dramatically flopped on his back, which meant lying on both you and Shoko’s laps, lanky limbs weighing on the both of you unceremoniously.

You scrunched your nose in disgust at that, scowling at Gojo’s antics as Shoko huffed at the Six eyes user sprawled on her lap. “Shut up, Gojo, go bother your boyfriend instead.” You snarled before shoving him off of you.

He landed on the floor face first with an accompanying Oof! Before quickly turning to lay on his back and whining. “But Suguru is buuuuuuusyyyy!” He flailed his arms and legs around, like a child throwing a tantrum in the middle of a store.

You and Shoko sighed in unison.

You ignoring Sukuna lasted one, quiet and mostly peaceful week before he upped his game. He wasn’t just appearing at Jujutsu High anymore—he was showing up everywhere. You'd be grabbing food from a street vendor, and suddenly there he was, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"Didn’t take you for a cheap date," he’d remark, eyeing your meal. You rolled your eyes and turned away after getting your change.

After one particularly rough mission that left you with a nasty gash on your side that was healed thanks to Shoko, you swore you saw him outside your dorm window. You were playing on your gameboy, ignoring the assignments piled on your desk before you noticed two pairs of red, piercing eyes and signature bright pink hair right outside your window. You blinked, and he was gone, but the feeling of being watched lingered long after.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t just some idiot with an inflated ego. He was strong. Incredibly strong. You hated it. Hated that his arrogance wasn’t just empty bravado but something he could actually back up. You’d seen him fight before, seen the way he didn’t just defeat opponents but humiliated them, toyed with them like a cat batting around a half-dead mouse. 

He would transform into that giant hulk of a form, tearing his clothes to pieces as an extra pair of arms grotesquely grew from his sides, flesh and bone pulling itself together while he grinned like a madman. He ripped some of his enemies apart with his bare hands, using his CT when he eventually got bored of them. He was terrible, annoying and arrogant– Atleast Gojo was funny, Sukuna’s only form of humor was either bullying you or watching curses squirm under his gaze.

And yet, as much as you despised him, there was something terrifyingly exhilarating about throwing yourself headfirst into his orbit. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring gravity to take you. Shit, you thought to yourself, before pushing those thoughts down, down, down into the depths of your mind.

Part 2(WIP)➠ (Taglist is open!)

[kashverse]

dadkuna and wife!reader being all lovey dovey and their daughter barges in to protect her mama😭

i don't usually write suggestive content on here but this made me laugh so here you go [there won't be a part two or a smut continuation of this, sorry <3]

the moment your daughter finally knocks out early, sukuna is on you. "you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this," he mutters against your lips, hands already sliding under your shirt. you smirk, pressing yourself closer to him, fingers curling around the zipper of his hoodie. "oh, i think i do." his eyes darken. "yeah?"

"mhmm," you hum, leaning in. "no meetings. no interruptions. no—" 

a bloodcurdling screech shatters the moment. before you can even react, something comes flying at full speed straight toward sukuna’s perfectly sculpted jawline. BAM. 

"WHAT THE FUCK?" 

"BAD WORD!" 

you and sukuna whip your heads toward the doorway. your daughter stands there, fists clenched, breathing heavily, eyes wild. "papa, leave mama alone!" 

sukuna, rubbing his jaw, glares at the object that assaulted him. it’s a labubu. he blinks. then looks back at his daughter. "did you just throw a fucking—" 

"BAD WORD!" 

"—a freaking toy at me?" 

"YES!" she stomps her foot. "leave mama alone, mean man!" 

you slap a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh. sukuna looks at you, betrayed. "oh, don’t even," you snicker. "you made her watch wonder woman before bed." 

"so what?" he huffs. "the kid should have taste." 

"so—" you gesture at your daughter, who is currently braced for battle. "congratulations. you just made yourself the villain." 

"i’m her fucking father!" 

"BAD WORD!" 

sukuna groans, running a hand down his face. your daughter glares at him. "say sorry to mama!" 

"for what?" 

"FOR BEING MEAN!" 

"i wasn’t—" sukuna stops. inhales. exhales. 

"…fine," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "sorry." 

"hmph!" your daughter huffs, satisfied. "good!" then, with the self-righteous air of a tiny vigilante, she marches back to her room. you wait until the door clicks shut. then you collapse against sukuna, howling.

"shut the fuck up," he grumbles, rubbing his jaw again. "bad word," you mock, grinning. sukuna glares at you. then, suddenly, he grabs you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. "oh?" you blink, breath hitching. 

"kid’s asleep again," he murmurs, voice lower, rougher, hands sliding down your back. "what were we doing before that little cockblock?" your face heats up. "you were whining about not getting laid." he hums, pressing his lips to your jaw. "and are you gonna fix that problem, baby?" you smirk, wrapping your arms around his neck. "that depends." 

"on what?" 

"whether or not you get knocked out by another labubu."

[nanaslutt]

finding a hair that isn’t yours

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume

ʚ cont: crack, fluff

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

[retiredteabag]

They watch you trying to catch a mosquito

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

my smau masterlist

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[cuntyji]

random texts featuring your boyfriend ryomen sukuna ! cw: suggestiveness, d3ad mom (sukuna's...), can be read as established relationship or otherwise

[aakeysmash]

prompt:

reader getting injured because she slipped in the shower, sukuna has to help her get to the hospital, where reader gets some pain meds making her kinda high. she confesses to him while being high

content: fluff, crack. reader is in the hospital and blood is named but there’s no gore. yuuji and sukuna are siblings. i love sukuna and i need him in my life so bad… someone PLS be my sukuna

“So, just to be sure: one margherita for me and one with sausage for you?” Asks you Yuuji while putting on his shoes.

“Yup,” you answer, popping the p. “Can I just have a quick shower while you’re gone?”

“Uhhh, sure, let me go ask Sukuna,” your friend tells you smiling and rushing up the stairs of his home.

You and Yuuji have been best friends since forever. You remember the first time you both cried your eyes out at the park in kindergarten because a lizard had just eaten the ladybug you had been watching for half an hour. Since that moment you’ve been attached at the hip, your homework filled afternoons in high school turning to pizza nights when both of your work schedules allowed you to now.

“Big bro said sure,” comes Yuuji’s voice from the end of the staircase.

“I did in fact not say that,” growls Sukuna from behind him. Sukuna is the same age as you and Yuuji, but he always seemed older. Sometimes wiser, but sure as hell more annoying than his brother. Hotter, too, but that’s a topic for another time.

“I didn’t ask you to join me, big boy,” you say sarcastically, fake smiling. He crosses his arms, leveling you with a bored look.

“Yuu, if you aren’t fast enough you’re not going to find her corpse when you get back,” he tells his brother, still staring you up and down. Yuuji sighs, tired, then opens the front door.

“Make sure to not kill each other. I have a shift after this, stop bickering. You two act like siblings more than I do with you, Sukuna,” he reprimands you both. You and his brother roll your eyes at the same time, then you push him out, closing the door in his face. You turn around and find yourself face to face with Sukuna's menacing grin.

“You have 5 minutes before I come knock at the bathroom door with a kitchen knife, doll.”

You’re scrubbing yourself clean with a random pine body wash you found in the shower when the playlist you put before entering the stall stops. You’re annoyed, because now you’re forced to listen to Sukuna’s ugly songs from the bathroom wall (that he’s blasting just to annoy you), so you try to reach your phone. You’re on your tippy toes, not wanting to get out completely, when you trip and fall since you didn’t wash the soap away from your body. You bump your head on the sink in front of the shower, hard, and you muffle a whine. You close your eyes as hard as you can and open the shower head with the room spinning inside your skull.

“Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes or you’ll fall… fuck, it hurts so bad,” you tell yourself while you speed run the end of the shower and blindly put your shirt over your head. It’s not the first time you've bumped your head on something, you were a crazy kid, so you’ve learned to open your eyes only when you physically can’t function anymore or you'll start seeing stars immediately. You barely get to put your pants on when you notice your forehead feels wet, and you didn't even wash your hair. As you get out of the bathroom wobbling you touch your head. When you open your eyes, you see blood on your hand. The room spins. You barely have time to look up and watch Sukuna coming out of his bedroom frowning before seeing black dots in your vision.

You try opening your eyes, but they feel so heavy. Your body feels rather stiff. What's this smell?

"Oh, she's waking up," a female voice softly says from somewhere next to your right.

"Thank you, miss, I got it from here," a rough voice responds.

"Make sure she drinks a lot, and keep a couple of painkillers near you. The scans show she doesn't have any internal damage, but she hit her head pretty hard. She's going to have a big bruise for a couple of days," the female voice continues. You hear the man making a sound of affirmation.

There’s a brief pause. "Your wife is very lucky. It's not every day that a man takes a woman up four flights of stairs by simple arm strength," the woman concludes sweetly, getting out of the room after he responds with a grunt and closing the door behind her.

"Your ass is lucky I lied or they wouldn’t have let me in, dumbass. Open your eyes, I know you're awake," the voice you now recognise as Sukuna says, getting closer. You try opening your eyes, managing to focus your gaze on him. Everything feels so fluffy, apart from your throat. You cough, and you think you see him rolling his eyes before getting you a glass of water and sitting beside you on a chair. You gulp it down, still feeling fuzzy, then you blink a couple of times.

You gape at him. He's cute. “You look funny,” you say, poking his cheek. He’s so squishy. Like a little mochi. A little mochi filled with strawberries. Strawberries and cream. He slaps your finger away, and you put on a hurt expression. He huffs.

“Why am I here?” You ask. The more you look at him, the more heads he seems to have.

“You fell in the bathroom,” he says, straightening up from the chair and covering your right leg with the duvet the hospital gave you. You raise an eyebrow at his gesture, and he just rolls his eyes again. “Don’t want you to also catch a cold. Yuuji would kill my ass.” You just hum.

“I caught ya when you already fainted. Yuuji came back home and panicked, but he couldn’t back out from work, so I was stuck with your ass. Took ya here but the elevator broke down. And I ate your pizza, by the way. All this is gonna cost ya 200 dollars, cash,” he lists, sprawling back onto his chair, deadpan.

Silence engulfs the both of you, and you don’t know what to say. You heard what the nurse said and you are searching for a way to bring it up, but the words in your mind are all scrambled. It’s probably the morphine that you realise they gave you, IV still attached to your left arm. You open your mouth to say something along the lines of “I’d like to thank your gym membership for this,” but instead the words that leave your mouth are-

“I’d like you to be my husband.”

His eyes snap to your widening ones. “Wait that wasn’t what-“

“Huh?” He just replies, dumbfounded. You panic, waving your hands in the air between you two.

“No, what I meant was- like- thank you for getting me up here- can you stop looking at me with your weird 16 eyes?- not that you aren’t attractive! You’re super hot! But that’s not- oh god,” you whimper, rubbing your face, noticing how you’re just making the situation worse. You prepare yourself for his snarky comeback, closing your eyes, but everything is silent.

Suddenly, you hear him snort. You crack your eyes open, touching the big cotton gauze they put on your forehead. You must be hearing things. It’s definitely the morphine, there’s no way Sukuna is actually laughing.

“Yes, I’m laughing, doll,” he says, chuckling. You widen your eyes.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You cringe.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” he responds, smirking. You groan.

“Take me out to dinner first, damn,” he yawns. You jut your bottom lip out, frowning and giving him your middle finger. Then you register his words.

“You’d come? I mean, if I asked you out.”

“Well, if you’re paying,” he responds, shrugging. That’s still a yes, isn’t it?

He ruffles up his pink hair, black t-shirt straining across his bicep. You can’t contain the urge to poke the muscle.

“Stop touching me like I’m made of play dough, doll,” he sighs, slightly less annoyed than 5 minutes ago.

“Would you let me play with you if you were made of play dough?” you ask, words a little slurred, still poking his arm, and he flexes it. “Don’t show off,” you mumble.

“You’re even weirder when you’re drugged,” he grins. He kinda looks scary, though. If you didn’t know him, you’d piss yourself by looking at his sharp teeth.

“But would you or would you not?” You whine, dragging out the last word, letting your hand fall next to you. He misses the warmth of your hand, so instead, he just puts his on your thigh. To be warm, of course. The room is so cold. Yeah. Definitely because of the missing heat.

“Yeah doll, I would.”