Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sunset casts a warm glow through the window of your workplace. A cacophony of music, chatting, and tattoo machines buzzing would greet any customer who appears in the doorway of Spider Lily Tattoo.

Shoko bids you farewell as she leaves for the day, earlier than Mei and yourself as usual. As someone who has pierced bodies and executed scarification for over 10 years, she’s entitled to make her own schedule and exit whenever she pleases.

You’re honored and excited every day to be working here; a female-run shop with two industry powerhouses that treat you like they’ve known you forever instead of just two years. You moved to the city back then to escape a difficult situation with your mentor. The man who educated you on tattooing and professionalism for three years turned out to be a creep in his personal life. Wanting to remove yourself from any connection to him, you cut and ran from the small town and decided to take a chance going toe-to-toe with big shots in the city. It helped a little that you had introduced yourself to certain individuals in the past at conventions and during your travels.

Now, you spend five days a week at Spider Lily. Clean white walls, dark polished wood floor. Matching black picture frames with colorful archival prints lined every wall of the open concept space. Your toolbox on one side, Mei’s on the other, Shoko’s private studio upstairs, only visible once one climbed the twisting staircase present at the front of the shop.
It was certainly a change from the street shop you were brought up in, with its linoleum floor and fluorescent lighting, traditional flash laminated and pinned from floor to ceiling.

Today, you were working with a regular client. Sometimes you were still surprised that you didn’t have to rely on walk-in traffic anymore. Instead, overflow from Mei had turned into a regular customer base for you, and word of mouth among the community brought more projects than you could handle. If Mei wanted you to work harder she never said so, but she did often push you to charge more. “You’re worth more than that,” she would say.

The room quiets as you remove your foot from the pedal. It had been so noisy for the last few hours, with the absence of your machine buzzing you could now hear the music perfectly. King Diamond croons alongside climbing guitar riffs, and you straighten your back to analyze the fresh tattoo on your client’s thigh.

“Everything good?” He asks, tilting his head down. You smile, knowing he had been waiting for a break from the pain.

“Yes, I’m just trying to decide if I’m done torturing you or not,” You joke. He laughs.

“Hey, whatever you need to do, you can do it. I want you to be happy with the piece.”

“You’re too kind, Zeke,” you say, not looking up from his leg. You turn your head and squint your eyes before making a decision.

“Sorry, I’m going to darken this bit here,” You lightly tap the area with a gloved forefinger. “It’ll only take a minute.”

After dipping the tip of your needle back into the inkwell, your foot is back on the pedal and the machine roars to life again. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Zeke’s jaw clench. You know just how much going back in will hurt, but you also know he can take it like a champ.

Moments later, you’re wiping down his thigh with a wet paper towel. The two of you are smiling.

“All right, check it out and let me know what you think,” You say, allowing him to move off the chair and to the mirror. Mei walks over to your station, emerging from the break room in the back corner of the space.

“All done?” She asks, and you face her.

“All done. Wanna check it out, Mei?”

Zeke stiffly walks back to you, happy to showcase his fresh ink to two beautiful women. Mei kneels down to inspect your work. “Lovely as always. Such a big piece to finish in three hours.” She nods with satisfaction.

It’s a large bull skull resting on its side, with chrysanthemums and leaves framing the bottom. A big butterfly with black wings floats above the skull - there’s a feminine eye among the pattern of its wings.

“Thanks. It’s a little different from what he wanted originally, but I love how it looks,” You say, attempting humility. Looking at Zeke’s face, you want to confirm his gratification. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s even better than what I imagined. That’s why I keep coming to you!”

“Well, I love that you’re down for anything,” You respond, removing one black nitrile glove and turning to grab your phone. “It makes my job so easy.”

Mei gets up after her deep inspection of your work. It’s always a little nerve wracking when she comes over to see what you’ve done. She has twice the experience that you do and you really respect her work, even though your styles are so different. What you do leans feminine neo-traditional, and Mei executes stunning realistic jewelry adornments and mandalas. Every day, you’re grateful to work with her and take in any critique she offers. Her apprentice is also a plus.

“Ui Ui,” Mei calls, “Clean up missy’s station.”

You blush at the nickname coming from Mei’s smooth voice. You face your client again after grabbing a fresh paper towel with your gloved hand.

“All right, photo time… let’s head outside, shall we?”

After everything is said and done, you wave good-bye to Zeke. Photos, posting a video to your instagram story, wrapping the fresh tattoo, payment, and scheduling another piece takes 45 minutes when you’re freely chatting with him, Mei, and Ui Ui. By the time you get to sit down for a snack in the back room, you’re exhausted. Mei knows to leave you be for a while and you can hear her talking in the front of the shop about a drawing assignment for Ui Ui.

You’re counting your stack of cash from today, separating tips from your daily total when Mei re-appears.

“So… are you excited about the party at Sabbath Tattoo tomorrow night?” She asks, leaning against the doorframe.

You mentally scramble to remember what day of the week it is before responding. Your brain always feels fried after a full six to eight hours of tattooing.

“Today is Friday so tomorrow night is Saturday…” You have one more appointment on Sunday, but it’s so small that you can always push it to a later hour or reschedule if you get too fucked up. “Honestly, I forgot it was even happening, so I booked someone on Sunday,” You admit, “It’s their anniversary party, right?”

“Yeah, 10 years. Crazy to think that Sukuna has been able to keep that place open since Gojo left. When we were younger I never would have imagined that guy could get it together enough to run a shop,” Mei reminisces. You see one of her eyes roll, the other covered by a thick section of silvery hair. A small laugh escapes your lips.

“Since I’m newer to the area, I don’t know him as well as you, but it seems like hiring Yuji to be front of house really helped.” Now it’s your turn to offer a memory. “Though I remember four years ago when I was an apprentice I visited and you were still there… I wanted to get tattooed but someone said you were too busy.”

Mei sighs. “Yeah, I really couldn’t tell you if we were actually busy or just too high to function. A lot of my time there blurs together, honestly,” her voice is far-off and dreamy. Thinking back to that day four years ago, you remember the terrible jitters that would overcome you going into any tattoo shop then. You still get them when you’re about to interact with someone you admire. Sukuna has always been one of those artists at the forefront of your mind. Which is why, despite moving closer to his shop and tattooing with two of his old co-workers, you’ve barely interacted with him. The man is intimidating as hell!

If his muscular stature wasn’t enough to make someone feel weak and insignificant, then maybe his face tattoos would. Even if somehow you managed to discard your secret mental terror of his physical attributes, the next roadblock was his undeniable skill. With over 900,000 instagram followers, TV appearances, and multiple awards under his belt, everyone in the city knows who to book for their cover-ups and black-out. Ryomen Sukuna made a name for himself creating full sleeves and back pieces that hid multiple regrettable tattoos for his clients; massive expanses of black ink that were dark as night and smooth as silk, executing sharp edges and clean lines on some of the most complicated body parts.

Mei is playing on her phone when you snap out of your reverie.

“I remember going into Sabbath and you were arguing with Gojo. He was laughing really hard at something you said, but Sukuna was working on someone’s neck and he yelled at Gojo to ‘shut the fuck up,’” You do your best impression of Sukuna’s gravelly voice.

Mei chuckles softly and looks up from her screen, probably conjuring a memory similar to yours. “I bet Gojo was making Sukuna’s client laugh and totally complicating his life.”

It’s difficult to hide your wince. “Yeah, even then I could see how they might not work so well together.”

Mei quiets for a moment and starts to think deeply. It seems like she is debating whether to share some information with you or not. She smiles. “You might be surprised to hear this, but there were other factors involved with Gojo breaking off and opening his own studio.”

“The same stuff that made you leave too?” You know a little bit already, but there’s always more details to learn.

“No, actually,” Mei says, trailing off mysteriously. “Well, if you come to the party then you will probably understand more of the drama between all our little shops in this city,” She smirks.

You sigh, “Of course you’re baiting me with juicy gossip!” Feigning offense as a bit of a joke.

“You know how much tattooers love talking shit,” Mei grins and you’re nodding in agreement. It’s definitely a trait that gets on your nerves but you can’t deny your own hand in it. Sometimes clients push your patience and other artists are egotistical assholes.

“Alright,” Mei continues, “I’m going to head out. Feel free to leave whenever you like, Ui Ui will lock up.” She turns to go, her long black skirt fanning around her ankles.

“See you tomorrow?” You ask, getting up to follow her into the main room.

“Actually, I’m off this weekend, but I’ll be seeing you at the party, yes?” She looks at you for a final confirmation. “Don’t leave Shoko and I alone with all those dirty men…,” She faux pouts and you can imagine Ui Ui looking at her with horror in his innocent doe eyes. You know he’s still too young to drink so he likely won’t be there to keep an eye on his beloved mentor. Her comment seals the deal for you, even though part of you is still nervous about the possibility of interacting with Sukuna.

“Yup, I’ll be there.”

Mei opens the front door.

“Great, wear something that shows off your tattoos! Bye now,” And just like that, the door closes, leaving you with Ui Ui who has started sweeping the waiting area. You’re very aware that you have emails to work on tonight, so you pack your bag and call in some take-out from the Chinese place by your apartment before bidding him good night.

+ + + +

The next day starts off slow, and you find yourself rushing a mere 45 minutes before your client is going to arrive at the shop. As you scramble to lock your fixed-gear bike at the street corner, you’re praying that they don’t show up a moment earlier than their scheduled time.

You’re rounding the side of the building when you see a figure wearing a black hoodie standing in front of Spider Lily. They’re standing so close to the glass that they must be looking in for someone. Your pace quickens because of course your immediate conclusion is that your client has indeed arrived early, but as you approach this mystery human, your stomach begins to turn.

The back of the hoodie reads ‘Sabbath Tattoo” and you can’t remember a single client of yours with such imposing height and stature. The keys clutched in your hand make the telltale sound of your arrival and he turns, putting you face to face with Ryomen Sukuna.

Suddenly, you’re cursing yourself for procrastinating the exit from your apartment, forcing you to forego make-up and ride your bike at top speed. Why did I watch that last youtube video?
Sukuna’s red-brown eyes scan you from forehead to toes and back up to your eyes. Your face must betray your panic underneath all the sweat and flyaways from your ponytail, and all you can manage is a regular question. You default to professionalism.

“Are you my appointment for today?”

He smirks – a lopsided grin that shows off half his teeth. Something about his expression makes you think that he can read you easily. Tattooers who are as obsessive about their work as you believe him to be often have an uncanny ability of picking up on peoples’ inner turmoil. Spending thousands of hours inflicting pain on individual humans is probably what refines that skill.

“What if I am?” he says, eyes not leaving yours. You dare step forward, hand going toward the lock. He moves aside.

“I’d say you’re awfully early,” you respond, choosing to not make eye contact as you slide the key in. Door opening, you stride through and he follows close behind.

“Are Shoko and Mei coming in today?” He changes the subject, casting his gaze around the studio, still dark without the overhead lights on. You hurry to the back room to drop your bag and assess the situation.

“Shoko should be here,” you call, “Maybe she just stepped out for a coffee or cigarette.”

Am I talking too fast? It kind of feels like you might be talking too fast. There is absolutely no way that man is my client for today, you tell yourself as you flick the lights on and scramble to check the schedule on your phone. And where the hell is Ui Ui, he should be here too! Did Mei give him the day off?

“Something wrong?”

His voice is way too close, causing you to jump. Spinning around, you realize he followed you to the back and he’s standing in the doorway. You start to feel just a bit faint when you realize he’s blocked you in.

Hell, are you not also a tattoo artist? A voice at the back of your mind screams, He’s on your turf right now so fucking act like it! You steel yourself. He has a sneer on his face, his arms crossed.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just double-checking my calendar,” You say, turning your attention back to your phone and looking for the proper information. If Sukuna’s name was on your schedule you wouldn’t have missed it.

Today’s date reads; “Katie – 12 pm – bouquet of flowers”

“Um…,” you start, quickly getting nervous again. Now you’re worried that somehow you’ve been double-booked and Sukuna is going to be the one that you turn away.

“...Did you use a fake name or something? Because I know you’re not Katie who wants a flower bouquet.” You move closer and flip your phone screen to face him. Heart still pounding in your chest, but you’ll be damned if he catches any more sense of weakness from you.

“How do you know I’m not?”

You look up at his expression. He’s not smiling anymore and his face tattoos are distracting. Why is it so hard for me to get a handle on this situation?

It’s time to play along; it’s likely that he is messing with you.

“Well, I never expected you to be the flower bouquet type. But, hey, it’s your body.”

You slip around him, back into the work area. Normally a client hanging near the back room would irritate you, but as another tattooer, it’s not strange that Sukuna followed you back there and stayed near the door frame. Shaking off any weird feelings, working toward normalcy, you connect your phone to bluetooth and hit play on a goth music radio. A band called Soft Kill fills the air from the shop’s speakers. Facing your toolbox, you start to grab plastic barriers and set up to tattoo. You try to remember your emails with this mysterious Katie. The bouquet drawing has already been prepared on your iPad since three days ago. You have at least 2 clients named Katie that you can think of, so you’re really not sure which one you talked to, or if this was an email from a new Katie and you didn’t pay close enough attention.

The more you think, the more you’re sure that Sukuna is playing a trick on you. But why the hell is he here, then?

You print a stencil of the design from your iPad. Looking over your shoulder at him, you silently breathe a sigh of relief because he’s messing with his phone, not paying you any mind. Collecting yourself once more, you speak up clearly.

“You wanted it on your ribs, right, Katie?”

Sukuna’s eyes snap in your direction before he raises his chin to fully face you. His expression is deadpan.

“Yeah, that’s right. I want full color, too.”

Everyone knows that Sukuna’s bodysuit has well-constructed panels and bands of straight black ink. (You have to wonder if it came about as a result of covering his own regrettable tattoos.) Oftentimes other tattoo artists or friends will come in and make the same kind of jokes that Sukuna is making right now. Every single Gojo visit begins with him loudly proclaiming, “Anyone got time for a walk-in backpiece?!”

So now you know Sukuna is toying with you, he’s just really disarming and you were a bit gullible in your vulnerability. Maybe you can get him back by pushing the boundary.

“All right, take off your top so I can see the size of the area we’re working with.”

You watch his eyebrows raise ever so slightly and the mark on his forehead creases. He probably wasn’t expecting it to get to this point.

He slips his phone in his back pocket and in two strides he is too close again. Like a movie, time slows as his tattooed hands cross his midsection to grip the hem of his hoodie – stripping it with the shirt underneath in one smooth motion.

5 years into your career and you’ve tattooed plenty of seriously attractive people; models, basketball players, bodybuilders, firemen, and the list goes on. Maintaining professionalism has always been at the top of that list, though. It’s tempting to stare, but your job also has the benefit of being able to touch these individuals putting their trust in your capable hands.

Right now, Ryomen Sukuna is shirtless, one hand on his hip with the other holding his clothes. All 6-foot whatever and dense muscle standing before you, and suddenly you’re keenly aware that he has you blocked in again, with your back to your table and hydraulic adjustable chair to your right between you and the front door.

Your eyes flit to the clock in the waiting area – 12:45. If the real Katie wants to show up early right now and disrupt this prank gone awry, you wouldn’t have any complaints.

“Here,” he points to a blank area under his left pectoral. There’s a black tribal patterning on his chest and his entire side is a sharp panel of black cutting across at a slight diagonal to his V-line, making his upper torso look even more broad than it is naturally. You have to consciously make sure that your mouth is not agape and you’re breathing normally.
The regular pattern of your everyday process is going to be what saves you right now.

“Okay,” you gingerly grab the stencil, cut it to size, and hold it up to his body. Are you still sweaty from your commute or is your body just abnormally hot?

You set the thin paper back on your rolling tray and trade it for a bottle of alcohol and a bounty towel.

“I’m just going to clean the area…”

He snorts and throws his sweater on the chair.

“I love how you’re talking to me like I don’t know anything.” His tone has a little bite, and you suspect that he actually does not love it, which is what you were going for.

“You know how it is, I just have my routine,” you say, voice sickeningly sweet. With that, you wet the paper towel with alcohol and bring it to touch his chest. Oddly, you can faintly feel the beat of his heart through your glove, the towel, and his taut skin. That doesn’t happen with everyone – just if their nerves are getting the better of them. You’ll accept it as a win for now, but his face doesn’t betray any emotion as you wipe the surface with the steadiest hand you can manage. The focus you hold on your actions at this moment is absolute and you’re not meeting his eyes, but you can feel his fiery gaze burning you.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening cuts through the atmosphere. Relief floods your systems as you see Shoko and the real Katie walk in.

“Missy, look who I ran into outsi– why is Sukuna here with his shirt off?” Shoko stops in her tracks and Katie waves at you kindly before shuffling over to the chairs in the lobby.

“Shoko…,” Sukuna nods at the brunette, “We were just playing pranks on each other,” he responds and grabs his layers, pulling the black sweatshirt over his head again. When his face pops through, he’s smiling down at you with an unreadable countenance. His faded pink hair is extra mussed up and as he runs a hand through it he averts his gaze, reddish eyes landing on Shoko.

“What I’m really here for is extra piercing supplies from you. For tonight.” He slinks over to her and you hurriedly turn to throw the towel and glove into the trash. When your toe comes down on the foot pedal, the top of the silver bin hits the wall with a harsh clang. The tension has broken like a mirror; the scariest moment has passed but you’re concerned about some forthcoming bad fortune.

Now you can finally focus on the reality at hand; tattooing a familiar client with a design that has been chosen and planned. The promise of routine has a calm washing over you, but you can’t help filling in the ladies with a bit more context.

“Yes, Sukuna was trying to convince me that he scheduled a tattoo with me!”

He looks over his shoulder at you, slightly incredulous. You continue, “I haven’t heard that one before, but it was especially funny because he was trying to steal Katie’s name and design.” You hold up the unused stencil, showcasing your work to the room. Katie pipes up, “It looks fantastic!”

Sukuna sneers, “Oh please, you totally bought it.”

Your jaw drops. “Who would believe that! You just caught me off guard,” you pout.

Shoko is softly laughing behind her hand.

“Well, it certainly is surprising to see you here, Sukuna. You could have sent Itadori, though,” she says, walking toward the winding staircase that leads to her private piercing chamber. Sukuna waves his hand and falls in step behind her, but not before he spares you one more piercing glance.

“I have him doing a bunch of other shit. I’m never hosting a party again.”

Their voices fade as they ascend, and finally you can properly greet Katie.

“Sorry about that, and thank you for coming on time! What do you think about this size?”

Katie stands and you move to the mirror to be next to her. She pulls up her skirt to reveal the skin on her calf – the true placement. You squat down to hold up the blue printed paper against her leg and nod up at her.

“Looks good to me,” she chirps, smiling bright.

Katie is laying on the adjustable table and you’re a few minutes into the linework when Shoko and Sukuna re-emerge. He’s carrying a tupperware that likely contains pre-packaged sterilized forceps and jewelry.

“Let me get a few of my business cards and some shop stickers,” Shoko is saying, and she scurries to the back room. Taking your foot off the pedal, your machine ceases vibration and you notice he’s stalking over to you again. Straightening up, you face him with a grin.

“Wanna take a peek? We aren’t very far yet, but…”

“So it’s not on the ribs, huh?” He leans over, careful to hold his new supply box out of the way so he can get closer.

You chuckle dryly, “Well, I was just trying to see how far you would take the joke.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue. “I feel so violated.”

You squint at him and he wrinkles his nose back at you, shaking his head.

There’s something so cute about the way the line tattoo on his bridge creases. Tall, buff, scary Sukuna poking fun at you with a goofy expression… cognitive dissonance has your heart racing again. Luckily, he turns his eyes back to Katie’s tattoo.

“Linework looks crisp. How many lineweights are you using?”

You can hardly believe that he just paid you a compliment.

“Uh… j-just two,” you stumble over your words, cursing mentally. “Loose 9 and a tight 5.”

“Interesting contrast…,” he pauses to turn his head. “...coloring it today?”

“Honestly, that’s up to the real Katie,” you say with a smile and Katie giggles.

“I’m gonna tell everyone that Ryomen Sukuna tried to steal my identity and my tattoo.” You have to laugh with her.

Sukuna shrugs, “It wouldn’t be so bad to get tattooed by you.”

Hearing that from someone you admired for years, someone known for being notoriously critical at that, you want to scream and maybe even cry a single tear.

“I’d love to make that happen some time,” you scramble to get the words out as Shoko returns with hands full of cards and stickers bound together by rubber bands. Sukuna adjusts his posture and she places the goods on the white lid of the tupperware.

“See you at Sabbath tonight,” Shoko says, dismissing him. He smiles a wide, fang-bearing grin at her.

“So excited to have you back in my domain,” he purrs, a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he moves toward the entrance. You’re instantly curious how their friendship has evolved over the years.

“Later, Sukuna,” you call, ashamed that you’re desperate to not be ignored in his farewell. He’s pushing the door open using his back, so he’s in the ideal spot to look at you once again. To your surprise, he pauses, a draft beginning to cool the room.

“See you tonight,” He barely asks, it’s more like a statement. His voice is so deep and inviting that you almost don’t feel threatened by it anymore. You just nod and smile, and you decide then that Katie has been waiting long enough while you were chatting, so you tap the foot pedal to get back to business.

The machine in your palm roars to life and you put your head down, nose inches from the fresh ink on Katie’s leg. After one line, your eye drifts to the door again. Of course Sukuna is gone now, but you’re also reminded of Mei leaving yesterday, encouraging you to wear something that shows some skin.

Chapter Text

After tattooing until 6 pm, you had to hurry home to shower and change. There wasn’t any chance that you were going to show up at Sabbath after two bike rides and a full day’s worth of ink and blood on your clothes. Since you were expected to show off your tattoos, you shaved your legs and slathered every inch of your body in lotion to make the colors pop. Your hair was uncooperative so you simply left it down and put some barrettes in to pin back your grown-out bangs. After finishing the make-up, you looked in a full length mirror one more time.

It was rare to get dressed up so part of you feels exposed. Even though your apartment is right downtown, your job was demanding with the amount of drawing and emails to be done, and you usually worked weekends, so hitting the clubs wasn’t something you did except on friends’ birthdays. The idea of changing clothes again crossed your mind, but this is the best you’ve looked yet.

Strappy heels are showing off the tribal on your feet and the old english on your ankles. Your legs bare except for the tattoos; knees covered by neo-traditional roses of different colors, one shin with a dagger piercing three cartoonish hearts. The opposite shin was still bare, just as your thighs were except for some butterflies. A simple black skirt hugs your hips, and the high waistline was covering your belly button, underlining the sternum tattoo peeking out from your cropped t-shirt. The tee is also black, made from a mesh material and adorned with tiny rhinestones. Since it was sheer, you wore a simple red bralette underneath. To match the crystals on your top, you put diamond earrings in the first hole on your lobes. You brought a plain black purse big enough to carry a cardigan just in case you get cold. Inside is a small make-up bag for touch-ups, a portable charger, wallet, and a lighter. You didn’t plan on smoking but you might not say no if someone offered, and you wanted to be helpful if the situation came about.

Slinging the purse over your shoulder, it was the final accessory that accentuated your one naked arm from the one with the black & gray sleeve. A black dragon’s head rested on your forearm and the body curled around your tricep – clouds and fire were the creature’s accompanying motifs. It was done in Tokyo over the course of three days and it was the one that held the most pride for you.

Feeling good about yourself, you snap a selfie with your iPhone and post to your instagram story.

It’s 8:20 pm and you’re behind on time, knowing it will take another ten to fifteen minutes to walk to Sabbath from your apartment. Maybe you could call an uber or a taxi but the traffic on Saturday night in the city is going to make a car ride take even longer than a stroll.

You feel that showing up fashionably late is fine, and other attendees will be arriving late into the night. If you’re too early, Shoko and Mei might not be there yet. If they don’t show until after your arrival, you’ve decided that Megumi is going to be your main social connection.

The two of you became close after meeting at a convention when you were both still apprentices. Megumi learned under Gojo and has since advanced to making amazing realism tattoos. When Gojo left Sabbath to open his private studio, Megumi stayed behind to build his clientele. Since coming to the city, the two of you have gone out for lunch or coffee a few times, and you did a simple white rabbit on his ankle about a year ago. Through him, you met Yuji Itadori a couple times as well, though you weren’t as close. You assume it’s only because of your connection to them that Sukuna knows who you are and didn’t ask for your name earlier.

Finally, after admitting you looked fabulous, you left the apartment locked behind you. After taking the elevator five floors down, you saunter onto the street. It’s a perfect early autumn evening and the noise of the city fills the air.

You’ve not walked three minutes on the sidewalk before men start cat-calling and shouting “Sick tats!” Usually you would just ignore them, knowing any acknowledgement would send them hustling after you to ask a hundred asinine questions that you’ve heard a million times. On a normal day, if people were very respectful and genuinely curious, you had no problem answering their queries, but today you had somewhere to be. There was no extra time to explain to the masses that yes, tattoos do hurt.

Recognizing the area you’re in, you realize that Sabbath is very close when the final boss of this evenings’ over-curious men appears.

“Hey girly, dope ink!!”

No need to hide your exaggerated eye roll – doing so lets you get a better look of this slimeball and you see he’s crossing the street to meet you.

Oh, great…

You keep walking, hopeful that you won’t have to tell this dude off. Slimeball approaches and keeps pace with you – not a difficult feat given you’re wearing heels.

“Did you hear me? I said-”

“‘Dope ink,’” You parrot, sarcasm dripping from the words just as ink might do. “Yeah, really original conversation starter.”

Of course, the man pushes on, not realizing your distaste for him or just not caring.

“Hey, you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, right?”

He has a faint smell of alcohol mixed with sweat clinging to the fur vest he’s wearing and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. Choosing to ignore his non-question, you focus on the speed of your walk. Not far now.

Dude persists. “I’m Chuck, what’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know my name unless you have $300 for my time,” you say as clearly as you can muster with your heart racing the way it is right now.

You round a corner and the hand-painted signs of Sabbath Tattoo come into view. A pair of figures stand outside, cigarette haze suspended in the light of street lamps and pink neon.

Fuck this whole situation; you’re walking up to the party with a creep tagging along, and you’ve been pushed to walk fast in heels so you’re short of breath.

“Oh, you must work here. That’s what you mean, huh?”

“Not exactly,” You grumble, raising a hand to wave at the Sabbath guys as you go to cross the street. Even though they’re back-lit by the windows of the shop, you can finally tell it’s Suguru Geto with a cigarette and Sukuna with a green bottle in hand. Geto’s bun is an unmistakable part of his silhouette and Sukuna’s hair looks extra pink in the lighting.

Geto is distracted, talking to his boss, but you’re thankful when Sukuna’s eyes meet yours. Slimeball Chuck is babbling nonsense, his voice going in one ear and out the other. Sukuna is watching the two of you with a cloudy expression, fingers flexing around the narrow neck of glass.

“So, where did you get the sleeve done? Man, it’s really so much ink! What spot hurts the worst?”

You’ve just reached the curb, so you must be about two yards from the door of Sabbath when Chuck grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks. It’s happened to you plenty of times – someone touches your skin because of the tattoos, but something about Sukuna witnessing this is humiliating. I could have been meaner, more direct, told him to Chuck himself…

“Hey!” It’s Geto, his pose casual and slouched against the glass of their window. He nods in your direction. “Do you know that guy?”

Giving Slimeball Chuck a vicious glare over your shoulder, you rip your arm away from his sweaty palm.

“No. He’s being very typical, though,” you chide loudly, sure that two heavily tattooed men can empathize with your plight. A couple steps closer to them and you’re actually amazed that Chuck continues to follow. Sukuna and Geto no longer look relaxed, shoving away from the brick exterior as you approach with your unwanted shadow.

“Y’all are open, right? Wanna give me an estimate?” He drunkenly fumbles for his phone and you all know he’s about to dig for an image that everyone would reject based on the way he’s acting right now.

Geto speaks up quickly, not wanting to entertain this idea of a price quote.

“Actually, we are hosting a private party tonight. Sold out of tattoos,” he jokes without laughter in his voice. “We’re open Tuesday–”

“DON’T tell him when we’re here, Geto. Fucking christ,” Sukuna spits, cutting the professional monologue short. His voice is venomous and he steps aside, allowing you to huddle under the awning. Geto bites his tongue by bringing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling. He looks at you with raised eyebrows, both pierced, and all you can do is shrug.

“I’m just trying to get inked, you know! I wanna look like you, my guy,” Chuck proclaims, arms swinging wide. You’re happy to be far enough from him now and you could go inside, but it seems like you should stick around for this.

Sukuna barks a sour laugh, “You could never look this good, shit-for-brains.”

You silently agree, though you only see his back now, high neck sleeveless top hugging the angles of his shoulder blades. It’s obvious when his muscles tense because the dark bands of his tattoos warp and catch the light.

Chuck grimaces up at Sukuna, intimidated by his stature. He dares to point a finger at Sukuna’s chest, not yet touching.

“You can’t talk to a paying customer like that–”

A sharp sound ricochets through the air followed by the tinkling of glass hitting cement, causing you to jump. Geto shakes his head and hides a smirk behind his smoking hand.

It happened so quickly that you didn’t even see it, but now you notice sparkly green shards littering the ground. After hitting it on the wall of the building, the bottle Sukuna had been holding now shapes a jagged weapon, the neck gripped in his right fist.

“You’re not a customer,” he starts, voice low, “But I’ll be generous and offer some free advice.”

Chuck stares, slack-jawed, and you’re ashamed to admit that your expression probably isn’t too different.

“Unless you’re eager to pay with your blood… leave and don’t come back.” His voice is eerily steady, but the tone is assertive. A warm tingle runs up your spine, and part of you thinks that maybe you wouldn’t mind if he turned that bottle on you.

A beat passes before Chuck turns to go, muttering that he wasn’t serious anyway. Geto’s eyes follow the retreating form and Sukuna’s back is still facing you. After sucking in a breath, you decide to refrain from a pathetic apology for something that wasn’t your fault.

“Thank you…,” damn, it still sounds a little pathetic.

Geto puts out his cigarette on the brick behind him and tosses the butt into a can by the door. Sukuna slowly turns and shrugs a shoulder, as if to say it was nothing. He drops the threatening glass to the ground, where it cracks and joins the other half’s remains.

His fingers grip your shoulder, and you realize that a shiver has been wracking your body since stepping up on the curb with that creep behind you. The palm helps to ground you, and at this point you decide that you feel comfortable with Sukuna.

“Let’s make Yuji sweep up this mess,” he says to Geto plainly, turning you toward the entrance and pushing it open with his other hand. Loud metal music swells as the three of you walk in, placing you into a new mindset right away.

Sabbath isn’t much different from all those years ago when you first visited. A low wall with swinging doors separates the waiting area from 5 work stations. Each individual area has a distinct aesthetic, suggesting which artist sits where. A staircase at the back of the room goes straight up to a second level that is visible from where you stand. All massage tables have been moved off the polished cement floor, rolling chairs pushed aside against the exposed brick walls. The front is covered with framed traditional flash and some large wooden signs. The one that stands out the most reads, “No one cares how cheap your last tattoo was!”

A throng of about 15 people moves about in the center, and a handful of folks sit upstairs. You’re immediately seeking out Mei, Shoko, and Megumi.

Geto steps through the saloon doors. Sukuna yells over the music, his arm still resting against your back. You don’t want to pull away just yet.

“Hey, brat!”

Yuji’s head comes into view on the upper floor, knowing to respond to Sukuna’s voice. His pink hair matches that of his boss and you remember Megumi saying that they’re cousins.

“What?” He yells down, visibly annoyed.

“You need to sweep up out front, some dickhead smashed a glass bottle,” Geto shouts, his thumb turned toward the entrance and Sukuna simultaneously.

Yuji throws his head back, exasperated, before hustling down the stairs. He’s wearing a bleach-stained tee and dark gray cargo pants, exposed arms free from tattoos except for a sword under his left elbow and lettering on his wrists.

“Kugisaki is about to pierce Todo’s nipple, you know!” Yuji laments. After grabbing a broom and pan from under the stairs, he pushes past Geto and finally recognises you.

“Long time, no see!” His face shifts from annoyed to happy, arm extending to give you a side hug. With Yuji incoming, Sukuna takes his hand off you and moves away without a word, back to his guests. Your heart drops just a bit.

“What’s up, Yuji,” you respond, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Apparently working when I’m supposed to be partying,” he groans. “But so is Kugisaki. You should head up there and cheer on Megumi. He’s finally getting his ears pierced.”

He shuffles past and Shoko appears soon after, wrapping you in a hug.

“You look amazing,” she croons, drunk already and you can smell cigarettes on her breath. She’s wearing a tight navy blue dress with a short skirt and bell sleeves, gold jewelry on her wrists, ankles, and fingers.

“Thanks, you’re stunning too, babe,” you smile, pleased to be among familiar faces.

She takes you by the arm and leads you to the stairs.

“Suguru just filled me in on what went down out there,” She whispers in your ear.

“He got to you already, huh?” You ask, cheeks flushing. He must have spoken to her while Yuji greeted you; It makes sense that he would immediately tell his oldest friend.

“Well, I pried a bit once I saw Sukuna’s arm on you like that…,” she trails off, tilting her head down to seek out your eyes. You look away innocently, a smile slipping onto your lips while you ascend.

“We don’t have to get into it right now, but…,” Craning your neck, you search for Sukuna down below. He’s bent over a TV in the corner, fiddling with some wires. Choso is there too, unwinding cables and talking.

You lick your lips and lean into Shoko’s ear.

“...I’m definitely interested in him,” you admit. As if I wasn’t already deeply curious about his every secret.

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” Shoko says, her voice sultry. “But with the way you’re looking tonight you might not need it.”

The two of you giggle in unison and you shove her playfully.

There’s a twinkle in Shoko’s eyes. “Now let’s watch my last pupil do some piercings, shall we?”

Her question is emphasized by a squeal coming from the table to your right. You look over to see Nobara Kugisaki grinning, hollow piercing needle in one gloved hand. A large man lay on the table, fists balled up at his sides. Megumi is standing nearby, wrinkling his brow, arms crossed.

“Heyy, Todo!” Nobara yells in a light-hearted manner. “You said you wouldn’t make a sound!”

The guy, Todo, sits up quickly, his face pale. A single silver piercing on his nipple catches the light.

“Whoa, whoa,” Nobara grips his arm before he can move further. Megumi takes a few steps over to brace Todo’s massive form on the table.

“Easy,” Megumi says, his voice smooth.

“You don’t wanna pass out, Todo!” Shoko calls, a grin on her face. Nobara and Megumi shoot a glare in her direction, but she laughs it off like they just told a hilarious joke. Besides the alcohol, her experience is what allows her to make light and she’s not offended by the greenhorns’ thorny expression. You’ve watched her carve satanic patterns into skin using a scalpel, smiling softly all the while, so it’s hard to imagine anything phases her.

“It’s always the biggest guys that go down, huh?” You say, giving Shoko’s arm a squeeze before releasing her.

Yuji is thundering up the stairs, the broom abandoned and replaced by cans of seltzer in each fist. His shoulders drop when he sees Todo’s face and the fresh piercing.

“I missed it,” he pouts.

“Alright, don’t crowd us,” Kugisaki says, her palm facing out. “Todo, get up slowly.”

You move toward the back wall where a water cooler sits. You fill a small paper cup and bring it to Todo who is standing in front of a mirror, still shirtless, his arm around Yuji. Nobara has already started cleaning up, preparing for Megumi’s ears.

“Here you go, man. Nipples aren’t easy,” you offer Todo the cup of water and realize that you’re eye-level with the swollen piercing site. Todo takes it graciously, batting his eyelashes, and Yuji introduces him as a friend of the shop.

“I know he’s scary big, but he’s a teddy bear,” Yuji says, passing you one of the beverages he brought upstairs. Glancing at the label, you read Raspberry Flavor, 8% alcohol content.

Looking back to Todo, you recognize Choso’s signature Japanese style on his arm; a scarlet Raijin surrounded by soft gray clouds and bright lightning strikes. Todo is curious about your own sleeve after you compliment him, and you’re discussing it when Yuji scurries back to where Shoko is. She’s commenting on Nobara’s process and the redhead is waving her off, a bit of fondness behind both womens’ eyes. Megumi is sitting down, wearing a serene expression. Yuji starts joking with Nobara about how good Megumi is at hiding his nervousness. She makes him stand while she marks his ears with a blue pen.

“Hey guys,” A new voice enters the chatter, and you all look over at the stairs where Choso is peeking around the banister.

“Karaoke is set up, so I just wanna get any willing souls on this list,” he holds up a yellow legal pad and a pen.

Todo jumps at the opportunity, elated by the opportunity to sing along with his favorite idol Takada-chan. Shoko waves you over and insists upon your participation. Besides Megumi, everyone signs up. You can’t help but notice that Satoru Gojo has put himself down for three songs in a row. You make a mental note to seek him out soon and say hi.

But first…, Finally, you crack the seltzer Yuji gifted you. Some liquid courage will make it easier when they call your name.

You wait with Shoko to witness Megumi’s piercing and give the guy a generous round of applause. By the time you’re heading back down the stairs with Yuji and Todo, you’re ready for your next drink.

The music in the parlor has gotten a lot louder since karaoke began. Multiple people sing off-tune to popular songs, egging on the main performers who get too close to the microphone. Separating from Todo, you go to the cooler with Yuji to grab the same seltzer.

“I’m obsessed with this flavor right now,” he gushes, “but watermelon is really good–”

He’s cut off by some extra-loud singing and you look at each other, recognizing the voice immediately.

“ Here’s the thing… we started out friends… it was cool but it was all prete-ehnd… yeah, yeah…”

The two of you crack your cans while you’re slipping through the crowd of guests. You don’t want to miss watching Satoru Gojo belt out Kelly Clarkson. Once you maneuver to the front row, you find Mei there, cocktail in hand and grinning so hard her face might split. She looks stunning in a purple halter-top and black bell-bottom pants.

“...I can breathe for the fi-irst time. I’m so moving ooon–”
He’s really not a bad singer, but you have to wonder if he pre-gamed before his earlier arrival. His sweat is reflecting the colorful LED lights, sunglasses fogged up, and he’s interpretive dancing to the break-up story of the song. A plain white tee matches his wild silver hair, and tight jeans rolled at the ankle reveal sections of his darker tattoos. His arms have a few black and gray micro-realism pieces and ornamental designs scattered about, and the backs of his hands sport a bird and a rose. You can see the designs clearly because he’s gripping the base of the microphone tight in one hand and pointing into the crowd with the other.

“...How come I’d never hear. You. say… ‘I jus wanna be with youuu…’”

Yuji leans into your ear. “Look at Geto,” he snickers. It takes you a moment to pick him out. When you do, it appears as though his face is cycling through a few different emotions. He doesn’t look as calm as he did out front, that’s for certain.

“Guess you never felt. That. waayy…,”

Though the crowd can’t see Gojo’s eyes from behind his dark lenses, it’s clear his gaze is dead set on Suguru Geto. Anyone in the group who knows the song shouts out the chorus, and Gojo starts jumping up and down like he’s on stage. After a wild performance, the song starts to wrap up and the crowd cheers. Gojo has many fans, apparently not just for creating perfectly realistic tattoos, but also for his flawless karaoke abilities.

Before his next song is loaded, Mei nudges you with her elbow. “Remember when I mentioned there were other factors…?”

As the second tune pulls up on the projector, it dawns on you that there was a break-up between Suguru and Satoru. From the looks of this scene, it was long and messy.

Back to Black by Amy Winehouse was Gojo’s next pick – a different energy from his last performance. Some people take the slower song as their cue to get another drink or a smoke, others feel inspired by his passionate serenade to get their names on the sign-up sheet. You’re surprised to see that Geto remains, watching Gojo from the shadows.

Later, after your own performance of Mr. Brightside, you’re sitting on some folding chairs with Yuji and Megumi. They’re trying their best to fill you in on the chronological order of the break up once you tell them that you just uncovered this saga tonight.

Yuji says that he wasn’t working at Sabbath then, but Geto spent a lot of time with Sukuna who ranted about the gossip to his younger cousin. Megumi has every detail, admitting that he held his mentor’s hand through it; picking up take-out or groceries when Gojo wouldn’t leave his house, turning away clients and organizing reschedules when Gojo didn’t pick up his phone, giving Geto the cold shoulder at work… You admire his tenacity and tell him as much.

“It was so, so hard to finish my apprenticeship, but at least I could focus on art and tattooing. I didn’t have to nurse a grown man through his heartbreak,” you say empathetically, shaking your head. “I feel for Gojo, but damn, no wonder everything here fell apart for a while.”

With the owner of the shop in disrepair and one artist in a constantly terrible mood, it must have trickled down. Everyone else had to pick up the slack or try to resolve arguments, and it caused Sabbath to explode into three separate entities. You had a feeling Mei and Shoko would say weren’t getting paid enough to deal with the drama. Even four to five years later, it seems like the wounds haven’t fully healed – for Gojo in particular.

“Yeah, Sukuna really stepped it up,” Yuji starts, “He didn’t want this spot to disappear…,” he trails off, thinking that their lives would be very different without this decade-old parlor. He shakes off the cloud of negativity and puffs up his chest. “But you guys have me to run the front, the phones, the social media, and the cleaning, so working here is actually way easy now.”

“You’re the real MVP these days,” Megumi adds.

“I’ll drink to that… here’s to two hard-working young men!,” you shout over the noise, and the three of you touch cans together.

Karaoke ended some time ago, and now the music changes from speed metal to something electronic with a lot of bass. People in the center of the room start to dance with one another. At this point, it’s late enough that the drinks and drugs have been flowing for a couple hours and everyone seems to have lost their inhibitions. The guests have grown in number significantly; other local tattooers and regular clients are in attendance, along with a few friends or plus-ones, so the shop is bustling with energy.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom and weave around the crowds toward the dark hallway in the back corner of the space. You’re almost finished with this fourth seltzer and you’re starting to really feel it, so drinking water is the next order of business. A trash can appears along your route, so you toss the near-empty drink.

As you round the corner to the hallway, you’re squinting in the dark to find the bathroom door. There’s a couple different entryways, probably a supply closet and a break area. At the end of the hall, you notice someone standing in the shadows. Recognizing Gojo’s telltale white hair and shirt combo, you briefly think that this could be a good time to say hi to him.

The thought is swiftly eradicated from your mind when you see that Geto is there too, and they’re embracing passionately. You stop in your tracks, flummoxed by the juxtaposition of the story you just heard and the reality in front of you. The wet sound of kissing somehow becomes very obvious, bouncing off the corridor walls. Even though the music is plenty loud, you suspect there may also be moaning.

Just as you’re debating the quietest way to tip-toe towards the bathroom, a different door creaks open right in front of you, wood now blocking the lovers from your view. Light pours out of the supply closet, and Choso exits with his brother Eso. They look surprised to see you standing there. Choso sniffles before mumbling a hurried “Excuse me,” and they step around your personal bubble.

The closet door is slipping shut when you see one more person hiding among the boxes and massage tables. Sukuna is inside, looking down and shuffling some unseen items. Alcohol is making your thoughts hazy, but you decide that this is your moment – not only to avoid an awkward conversation with Geto and Gojo, but to get alone time with Ryomen Sukuna.

Noises of the party become muffled as the door closes. The sound of the hatch behind you doesn’t draw his attention so you speak up, voice playful.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding all night?”

His head snaps up, furrowed brows becoming smooth once he takes in your presence.

“You’ve been looking for me, huh?” He says, answering your question with a question. You start playing with a lock of your hair, nonchalant.

“No… I’m hiding too. Honestly, I’ve been having so much fun I didn’t realize you weren’t around until just now.”

He scoffs, “You’re terrible at lying.” Casting his gaze back to whatever he’s doing, his arms move around on something you still can’t see. The sound of clicking on glass comes from behind a box.

You choose to ignore that comment. “What’s so interesting all the way in the back of the supply closet?”

Sukuna lifts an eyebrow at you, “No one told you to come in here?” You shake your head, curiosity growing. He smiles wickedly, “Come closer, then.”

Walking four paces in, now you’re shoulder-to-shoulder in the slim closet space. He’s so huge that there’s only a tiny area for you to slot yourself into.

“Feast your eyes,” Sukuna says, proudly displaying six thick lines of evenly divided cocaine laid out on the glass of an unused picture frame.

“I see.” You’re not really surprised. It was obvious that drugs were being used at the party, but you didn’t think the shop owner was going to be one to pass them out.

“Only for special occasions,” is Sukuna’s explanation when he sees the judgment pass over your face. “Everyone wants to do coke with hundred dollar bills at a shop party.” He holds out said bill to you, already tightly rolled.

“Last time I did this stuff was a bad time for me,” you say, palm out to push his hand back. There’s something else he has that you want, but you’re trying to be subtle about it.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t press you. “Missy’s such a good girl… more for me then,” he bends at the waist to snort up a line himself. To make a little space from him, you lean against the wall.

“You know the nickname Mei and Shoko gave me?”

He holds his nose and sniffles, not looking in your direction. “Yeah, I see them at the bar now and then. They get drunk and talk about you sometimes.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you say, your heart skips a beat at the thought of those two talking shit on you to Sukuna.

The cocaine must be what’s making him talkative. “They use it because you’re so fresh, so young,” he jokes and finally looks into your eyes. “...Little missy,” it comes out like he’s rolling every syllable on his tongue. “And Shoko used it when she came into your shop this morning. I forgot about it until then.”

“Ah, because you finally put my face to the name,” you say, smiling as you draw an arm up and down your body like you’re in a showcase. “Also, I’m only like eight years younger than you guys… I think.”

“I follow you on instagram, too.”

“I know, it would probably be weird if you didn’t.”

He frowns, but he’s wearing a smirk. “Hey, that’s a privilege. Don’t get all cocky.”

You roll your eyes. “Please, that’s basic tattooer etiquette. You have to follow all your local connections… unless you hate them, I guess.”

Sukuna ignores you to inhale another line of coke.

“Speaking of hating one another…,” you continue. “Why are Geto and Gojo making out at the end of the hall?” Sukuna coughs, choking the drugs down his sinus passage.

“Ugh, that fucking moron,” he starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. There’s no indication which person he’s talking about. “They do this shit all the time.”

“For real? Break up, ruin everyone’s lives, and get back together?”

Sukuna shrugs, “They made our lives better by calling it quits. They still secretly hook up, though… fuck, I told him to not do anything at this goddamn party.”

He definitely looks annoyed, and it appears that his solution is to do more coke.

“Not everyone knows, I assume?” You offer, watching him easily suck the white powder up his nose.

“Nope,” he strains as he’s trying to swallow whatever’s clogged in his throat. “Forget about those idiots,” he insists, his voice is tense and it’s clear that you’re wrecking his mood by bringing up the drama. You really don’t want to deal with an angry cokehead version of Sukuna in a tiny closet.

“Who are you talking about?” You play it off and Sukuna looks at you quizzically, not yet understanding your joke, so you elaborate with a wave of your hand. “Already forgotten.”

“Oh,” he chuckles a little, “Whatever. Are you sure you don’t want any of this?”

“I’m positive,” you assure him, “I already feel pretty drunk.”

“Let’s do a shot, then.” He lifts a tattooed arm to the shelf above where there are bottles of liquor. There was a table overflowing with bottles out in the parlor so you’re surprised to see there’s more.

“Vodka, please,” you say, “I've been drinking all these seltzers…”

“No shot glasses back here, though,” he admits, grabbing a bottle of Fujimi and screwing off the cap. “I guess we could use rinse cups, but I don’t wanna dig through all this shit.”

He brings the opening to his lips and takes two huge gulps before handing it over. The moment that the drink passes between the two of you is when you finally get a good look into his eyes; pupils dilated, red in the whites, and he’s staring you down, unblinking.

Without hesitation, you follow suit. The sting of the alcohol is powerful, but you can taste the slight bleach-y flavor of Sukuna’s cocaine-tainted saliva on the rim. After you swallow, you wince but you’re trying to make it cute, knowing that he’s still looking at you.

“Yummy,” it comes out as a rasp and you give the bottle back. “Now you can finish what’s left of the city's blow.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Sukuna says, twisting the top on and putting it away.

“I try,” you shrug.

He pivots in the tiny space, closing the already short distance between you. His arms slam against the wall on either side of your head. It catches you off guard and you jump, a small squeak escaping your throat.

Sukuna’s broad chest is blocking the light from the one tiny bulb above your heads. He smells like plastic, dettol soap, and vodka. It’s hard to see his face now that you’re in the shadow, but you watch the whites of his teeth appear when he grins.

“Why are you trying? Do you like me or something?”

If you try to act cool after that whimper, you’re just going to look silly.

“Well, I-I’ve always admired your work–”

“Yeah, you and everyone else,” he growls and has the audacity to bring his hand to your face and grip your chin in his palm. You gulp as he slowly turns your head left and then right.

“But,” he continues, “Here you are, teasing me all day long. This morning at Spider Lily, then that pic of you on instagram… couldn’t even get rid of that crackhead outside on your own and it’s lucky for you I was there, huh?” His voice is almost cruel and your eyes get watery.

“Now crawling back here… first day we’ve really spoken to each other and you’re already trying so hard to fuck me.”

Thinking about all the coke you just watched him do, your alcohol-ridden mind is swimming with concern that he might act irrationally. There’s another feeling in you, a heat that pools in your core and crawls up your spine. Bracing yourself, you grab his wrist and tear his hand off your face.

“I’m not going to fuck someone I haven’t even danced with yet,” you say, voice shaking. You’re kind of ticked off, but being as drunk as you are doesn’t allow you to get too riled up. Figures that he would act like a typical big shot…. Somehow, you still want to push his buttons.

Sukuna boldly pushes his leg between your thighs. You inhale sharply, your grip on his arm loosening. Since you didn’t make it to the bathroom yet, you’re hyper aware of the pressure on your lower half. He moves a hand to your hip and slides his body even closer to yours.

“Then let’s dance.”

You exhale and move your hand from his wrist to his nose, returning the favor of getting in his personal space. He starts, head jerking back from your touch. The light hits his face again and you find the white flecks under his nostril. Swiping the area above his lip with your thumb, you relish in the way his expression changes from commandeering to uncertain.

“I’ll meet you out there,” you say, finding calm as you slip out from under him and back into the hallway.

Chapter Text

In the single stall bathroom, you use a cupped hand to spoon water into your mouth from the sink. You want to splash it on your face but then you run the risk of wrecking your make-up. In the mirror, you look into your own eyes and run your fingers through your hair. Even though you’ve been in here for a couple minutes now, your heart won’t stop pounding. Why so nervous? You’re getting what you wanted…

As a matter of fact, Sukuna has essentially fallen into your lap. You just have to accept that everyone at Sabbath might end up thinking of you as ‘easy.’ Or they might not even care.

The thought of Sukuna potentially sleeping with his clients crosses your mind and you decide that he’s the slut, not you. With a flourish intended to build yourself up, you reapply your lip gloss.

Now that you’re a little more confident in your decisions, you open the bathroom door by a sliver. Poking your head out, you look to the end of the hall to ensure that Gojo and Geto have left. The corridor is empty and Sukuna isn’t there waiting for you, either. You step out, head on a swivel, looking for him. The music swells again in your ears as you re-enter the parlor turned dance floor.

Familiar faces appear in the crowd, but you’re using any focus that you have left to zero in on Sukuna. It isn’t hard to find his pink hair hovering over most everyone else.

A frown creases your forehead when you notice that Sukuna has already found a dance partner – a thin girl with long black hair in a ponytail. You didn’t perceive Sukuna to be the dancing type, imagining he was making an exception to get into your pants. As you’re watching him, it becomes clear that he has plenty of experience and your face gets heated.

Maybe you took too long in the bathroom and he got bored, but you aren’t about to start feeling sorry for yourself. If the new game is jealousy, you can play it just as well.

Scanning the room, you’re weighing your options of who might fit the bill. You stalk over to Megumi who is still sitting against his toolbox, currently rolling a joint.

“Megumi,” you snap and he looks up at you with lidded eyes. “Who’s here that Sukuna hates? Like really fucking hates.”

“Uh…,” he looks around, “...Maybe you should ask Mei or Shoko?”

“I dun have time to find ‘em,” you slur. Megumi chews his lip, deciding against commenting on your drunken state.

“C’mon, Megumiiii,” you whine, getting impatient.

“Ugh. My… dad is here?” He pulls a face and you cock your head to the side.

“Why is your dad at your work party where there’s drugs and you know what, actually, never mind,” you ramble. Although you are curious how Mr. Fushiguro ties in with your social circle and why Sukuna might dislike him.

“He’s supportive,” Megumi shrugs.

“That’s great. Where is he, though?” You press and he points to the table of liquor bottles. Your eyes land on a familiar face – maybe you’ve seen his photo or maybe Megumi just looks like him.

“Hold my purse would you, buddy?” You dangle the bag in front of Megumi who reluctantly takes it. As you step away, he calls after you.

“Don’t make it weird! Please don’t–” His voice fades into the background, electronic music overtaking your senses while you join the group crowding the alcohol.

“Care to dance?” You ask, batting your eyelashes. His irises flash under the dark curtain of his hair. A charming scar splits his lip and you’re loving how it looks when he smiles at you mischievously. If it doesn’t work out with Sukuna…, you shake that thought from your mind, not wanting to go against Megumi’s wishes tonight.

Mr. Fushiguro throws back a shot full of brown liquid and offers one to you as well. I really, really shouldn’t…, but the impulse control has left you since the supply closet vodka started taking over, so you accept it.

He’s talking to you while you choke down the alcohol, leaving a drop at the bottom of the tiny glass.

“Huh?” is all you can manage.

“Toji,” he introduces himself again, not knowing that Megumi sent you over here. You give your own name and grab his wrists, dragging him out to the center of the shop.

Toji brings his rough hands to your waist and spins you around, pulling your back end flush against his hips. Your arms drape over his and you tip your head back against his chest. Shutting your eyes for a moment, you attempt to get a handle on the spinning feeling in your head.

The music encompassing you both is dreamy with an edge to it. You’re having a difficult time focusing and there is a high chance that your grinding against him is sloppy and off-beat, but it doesn’t seem like Toji minds much.

When you open your eyes to peek into the mass of undulating bodies again, Sukuna’s forehead tattoo is easy to find. His red glare is boring into you, the lower half of his face hidden by the ponytail of his dance partner so any sentiments he might have can’t be read. A smirk cracks your lips because that moment is when Toji decides to lean down and whisper into your ear about how amazing your ass feels. You thank him by drawing your hands up his forearms to your breasts and then into his soft black hair.

Maybe it’s because you’ve fostered this connection with Sukuna today, or it could be that you’re certifiably wasted at this point, but it feels like the tension is rolling off of him and crashing onto you. You hold his gaze while Toji grinds into your rear and you can’t hide your expression that must be positively erotic.

Time passes with a few more songs, neither you nor Sukuna relenting from dancing with other people. The genres cycle through metal, pop, R&B, and you question the sanity of whoever set up this playlist. Somehow, the deejay is doing their job to seamlessly blend one melody into the next. Different girls came up to Sukuna often and you thought you might have seen him sweating, trying to keep up, but his face didn’t betray any discomfort.

At some point you were picked out of Toji’s arms and you found yourself in the capable hands of a tall, handsome blonde. Dark glasses added to his mysterious visage, but his dancing skills were undeniable. He held you in the air, spun you around, and dipped you down, causing you to throw your head back and laugh. Even Choso cut in and you thrashed around together with abandon.

You want it to be painfully obvious to Sukuna that you’re having way more fun than him. Even if there are throes of women waiting to hang off his perfectly sculpted arms, your confidence doesn’t take a hit. You must give credit to your own roster of handsome men who don’t disappoint.

Apparently Sukuna has had enough when Choso puts his hands on your shoulders and draws you in close. You were so near to his face that you could see the light spot on his nose that had scabbed over when his face tattoo was healing. Sukuna had been the one to do it, and it quickly became clear that he wasn’t going to give you over to his younger employee.

“Pigtails.” Sukuna’s scathing voice came from behind you, directed at Choso. He maneuvered around you and into view, grabbing the other man’s elbow and yanking him away, a finality evident in his motions.

Not one to rock the boat, Choso lifts his forearms to feign innocence and turns away without so much as a thank you.

The peak of your drunkenness has begun to wane due to your efforts to sweat it out, but you’re still giving in to your impulsive behaviors. You stick out your lower lip, pouting up at Sukuna while you slip your arms around his waist.

“Aw, you scared him off,” you lament and decide that you won’t yet reward him with any movement from your hips. He’ll have to suffer for a moment after watching you flit around so easily with his competition. “We were just having fun.”

“Nasty little slut, looking at me while you were rubbing up on Fushiguro like that. You know he’s even older than I am, right?” he spits, venom in his voice. It appears that he’s been waiting to give you a verbal lashing. “Flirting with Nanami and Choso and whoever the hell else… you’re a goddamn tease,” he’s scowling, digging his painted nails into the naked flesh of your upper arms. It’s nothing compared to five hours under the needle, so it doesn’t phase you – if anything, it’s enthralling.

“You started it,” you remind him coyly. “And I couldn’t even count the number of girls trying to get it in with you… Popular with your clients, huh?”

The beat warps again, song climbing in volume. Flashing lights around you bouncing off the walls change from a colorful array to strobing black and white. A fog machine clicks on somewhere in the room and you briefly hope that Nobara has stopped piercing for tonight.

Sukuna harshly spins you, dragging his hands down your sides until they’re resting on the front of your hips. Matching his energy, you move your ass in circles and it’s impossible to hold in a breathy sigh. He leans his head on top of yours, voice coming out just above the shell of your ear.

“I don’t sleep with those women. If I fuck someone who’s paying me tons of money then that doesn’t make me any better than an OnlyFans bimbo, does it?”

You can’t argue with the morality he’s set for himself, so there’s no real response to offer. You’ve never given it up to a customer, either.

“Mm,” you hum, bracing yourself in his arms as you sway. Tilting your chin to meet his eyes, you take note of his pupils, black holes eclipsing the ruby of his irises.

“You telling me I’m special?” You have to speak up over the volume of the music, and you don’t mind if anyone hears you bragging.

Sukuna grunts, intentionally disregarding the question. When he rolls his hips against you, his left hand slips around to the inside of your bare thigh. You elicit a gasp, and you’re trying to make good on your deal to dance with him but you can only writhe pathetically.

The strobing lights make everyone look like they’re moving in slow motion. You’re grateful to the fog hovering in the air creating a veil because Sukuna decides to slide his fingers up against your panties. Shockwaves crackle in your abdomen and through your chest, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

“Sukuna-”

“So warm…,” he mumbles and nips at your ear playfully. “...You better not be wet from dancing with those other pricks.” His voice is low and punishing. The combination of his tone and the subtle ministrations of his fingers causes you to tremble. You fall weak in his grasp, melting against him with your mouth open and your hand meeting his wrist. Squeezing your thighs around his knuckles makes him snicker.

“C’mon… you were having so much fun a second ago. Why don’t you dance some more?”

He tugs on the front of your underwear, pulling it against your folds. It’s uncomfortable and you’re forced to follow the motion as he puppeteers you, shifting forward, up, and back.

As erotic as it is that he’s playing with you like this in the middle of his business surrounded by everyone you know, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough dancing for tonight. It takes gathering all your strength to twist against him and when you’re face to face, he shoves his leg between yours.

“This again?” You ask breathlessly. He manhandles your arms to put them up on his shoulders, then slides his palms down your spine to meet the curve of your back.

“Move,” he demands, and you submit. It’s not much of a dance when you’re essentially dry-humping him. The ridges of his quadriceps feel amazing – you won’t deny it when you can’t stop unabashedly rolling your lower half up and down his thigh. Sukuna is watching you from a prime angle, leaning back and smirking.

“Sukuna, can I…,” you start, cheeks flushed.

“Hmm. Had enough, missy?” He responds softly, pretending to feel sorry for you.

Once again, the alcohol in your system allows you to be as direct as possible.

“It’s so crowded here…. Let’s be alone. Will you take me to your place?” Looking up at him through your lashes, you catch a flicker of surprise on his face. It’s gone once you meet his eyes, replaced by a cheeky grin. He wraps a strong arm around your back, pushing you against him. Your breasts are flush with his torso, your crotch pulsing where his leg meets his hip, and everything about this situation fills you with a deep want.

“Meet me outside in five.”

With that, he releases you and stalks off, undoubtedly to leave any party responsibilities in Yuji’s hands. You feel a slight breeze and notice that your skirt is hiked so high around your waist you have to hurriedly yank it down to cover yourself.

+ + + +

After bidding a rapid farewell to Mei, Shoko, and others, you retrieved your purse from Megumi who refused to meet your eyes. You shrug it off, grabbing a paper cup of water as you exit the shop. Back on the street, everything seems so tranquil without the blasting music and noisy human chatter. You’re enjoying the crisp, cool air when Sukuna emerges soon after you, unceremoniously handing you a helmet with a visor.

“Let’s go,” he quips, throwing an arm around your shoulder and leading you down the street.

He brings you to a sleek black and pink Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle.Of course, why would Sukuna ever have a safe mode of transport?

“Here,” he says, helping you to place the helmet over your head. “I only have the one,” he explains, forgoing the skull protection so you can wear his regular gear. He puts on a leather jacket and you pull your cardigan out of your bag as well. He flings his leg over to get seated and directs you how to saddle up on the back. Even though it takes a minute in your heels, it doesn’t bother him and he gets a kick out of your struggle.

“Are you sure you’re good to drive?” You have to ask. Given how you’re feeling, there’s no chance you would get on the road right now. He scoffs, and it appears that’s the most reassurance you’re going to get.

“Hold on. Arms around my waist, okay?”

You comply, hands cupping his chest with a vice grip. It’s clear he doesn’t feel concerned about his level of intoxication because within moments, you’re hurtling through downtown, squeezing by cars and dodging jaywalkers. You have to shut your eyes sometimes, fear coiling within you while the speedometer climbs under Sukuna’s hand. It’s not like you’ve never ridden on the back of a guy’s bike before, but the way Ryomen Sukuna swerves and runs stop signs is downright illegal. The heat, motion, and the vibration of the machine has quite the effect on your nether-regions, and you’re very aware of your naked thighs touching Sukuna’s midsection.

The adrenaline pumps throughout your entire body for what seems like way too long, and Sukuna barely slows down once you’ve reached a more residential area. He turns up a steep hill and the roar of the motorcycle peaks again while it climbs. Ahead is a black expanse of forest darker than the night sky, bleached from the lights of the skyscrapers behind you. Anxiety pokes into the corners of your mind, finally reappearing after you’ve been sobered by the terrifying commute. The bike cuts into the darkness, canopy overhead swallowing any brightness except for the headlamps illuminating the road.

Eventually, you roll to a stop in front of his house; a modern building, thin and tall from what you can observe but it's hard to discern any detail in the deep black of the trees. When he turns off the vehicle you’re plunged into darkness, causing you to fumble around while your eyes adjust.

Sukuna senses your unsteadiness and lifts you from the bike with ease, popping the helmet off your head and carrying it under his arm.

You tag along behind his silhouette, a couple paces back to follow the route he snakes down the walkway that leads to the front stairs. With one shoe up on the first step an automatic light pops on, red in color, making the situation that much more ominous. The rhinestones on your shirt cast white reflections on the face of the building and glitter across Sukuna’s back.

He turns to talk down at you, ascending the staircase backwards without looking, comfortable in his domain.

“Are you scared yet, baby?”

You squint in the new light and watch his teeth flash into his signature grin. There’s no denying that your heart is pounding, but you’re also aware of your desperation to run up to his door, throw it open, and strip to your underwear… so you can’t really say you’re scared. You opt to shake your head, eyes not moving from his while you climb.

“We’ll see how quickly that changes,” he purrs, opening his front door and ushering you in with a warm hand on the small of your back. It’s still dark inside but the red glow from outside pours in through a window and Sukuna doesn’t bother to hit the lights while he sets down the helmet and his keys.

“Why would I be scared?” You say, peeling off your cardigan and tucking it back in your bag, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

As if on cue, Sukuna produces a three-inch knife from an unknown origin. Your heart skips a beat and your purse drops to the floor. You back up against the wall. There’s no way…

The jacket makes him look bigger than ever before, and the windy motorcycle ride turned his hair into a jagged halo. He reminds you of a wild animal when he closes the gap between you in one stride, bringing the blade flat under your chin. Terror washes over you, eyes wide and aware of every muscle twitch in his jaw.

“Fuck, I love watching you squirm,” he groans, and you take it as an admission of innocence — that he’s only doing this to get off and not to bring you harm.

His free hand slides over your chest and he presses the flat of his palm under your collarbone to seek out your racing heart. He releases a salacious moan that reverberates down to your crotch, causing you to push your thighs together.

“You’ll be a good girl, right? You’re going to let me do whatever I want.” It’s not much of a question, but at this point he must sense how willing you are to bend to his desires. It’s just that you didn’t quite expect this to escalate so quickly, right here in the entryway….

Scared to nod with your neck against the knife, you part your lips to respond. Sukuna uses the moment to put his mouth on yours, drinking in your panicked breath. Your eyes flutter shut, allowing him to slip his tongue deep into your throat. The sensation of a steel ball tapping against your teeth reminds you, oh, yeah, his tongue is pierced…. Saliva pools in your jaw while his muscle slides against yours, and you slowly move a shaky hand to his abdomen, hoping to ground yourself. Fingers angled down, you slide the ends of your digits under his waistband, feeling the softness of flesh stretched over his hip bone.

He grunts and tears himself away, bringing the knife with him and leaving you with spit dripping onto your chin. Your chest heaves dramatically, adrenaline coursing in your system while he stares you down.

Your voice comes out a whisper, “Sukuna-”

“Don’t talk yet,” he demands, lazily holding up the knife. “Unless you want me to use this.” He flicks it, silver catching the red light from the window. He uses the bounce of the reflection to drink in your appearance, a band of light trailing up to your chest from your thighs.

“Strip,” is his next command. A blink of time passes before you lean down to your shoes, bracing yourself against the wall as you slip them off. Next, you unzip your skirt, sliding it down to your ankles. You stop to look at him, breath catching because he’s bathed in the crimson color of the porchlight, following his own order and throwing his coat on the tile in front of the door. A warm wetness spills in your underwear when his fingers go to undo the button at the front of his pants and he hasn’t moved his eyes from you.

“Hurry up now,” He urges, voice almost kind. Your sheer top is the next to go, and you’re silently relieved that he didn’t cut it off of you because it wasn’t cheap. Finally, you’re standing there in your undergarments; the plain red bralette and black satin panties adorned with one tiny scarlet bow. Your midsection tattoos are fully exposed now – the bird on your sternum, the kitsune mask on your stomach, and the snake winding up your ribcage.

Now Sukuna is palming himself over his trousers, seemingly at a loss to make any other requirements for you as his exhales become long, shuddering breaths. You follow suit, hand cupping your mound and stroking your fingers against the soft fabric.

He stops to yank his tight shirt over his head and just as you catch the god-like vision of his perfectly sculpted muscles basked in a ruby glow, the outside light clicks off, plunging you both into darkness. Taking advantage of the cover, Sukuna is on you again with calloused hands on your waist, planting his lips to your neck. Your heart is thundering out of your chest because you can’t see the knife anymore, unsure if he’s cast it aside or planning to use it soon.

He sinks down your body in a rush, dragging teeth, tongue, and open mouth across the soft valleys of your skin. It’s difficult to contain the whimpers and sighs that stutter out of you, and your hands find his shoulders when he’s kissing at the space under your belly button.

“Please,” you start, gently rocking your hips, “I can’t take it….”

Sukuna’s eyes flash up to you, searing coals glittering and the whites wide from an unknown thought. It crosses your mind that it’s a warning of what’s to come.

He drags the back of the knife up your leg, lips still pressed to the curve of your lower belly. A shudder runs through you at the delicate sensation of the cold steel making patterns on your flesh.

In one smooth motion, Sukuna leans back, one palm digging into your hip bone, and he swipes the knife under the fabric of your panties. You gasp, the blade frigid next to the heat of your arousal.

“I said don’t speak, didn’t I?” With that, the knife pulls forward and easily tears the satin of one leg hole. He drags the tip along your stomach before dipping it down to the other side, slicing the elastic. Now useless, the shred of fabric drops to the ground.

“Oops,” he giggles as draws his face closer to your weeping cunt. “Got you.”

You look down and see a small cut has appeared at the apex of your thigh— a tiny thing that bleeds nonetheless. His thumb goes to it and he presses down, causing you to throw your head against the wall and grit your teeth. It was barely noticeable at first, but as the pressure increases, the pain tears through your veins and you cry out.

“AAGH!!”

“Shit…,” Sukuna hisses and doesn’t waste any more time before he slides the same thumb against your slit.
“You’re so wet… love the pain like I do, huh?”

His tongue goes to the sweet spot between your legs, flat against your skin and the round steel of his piercing rolls against your clit. You choke back another shout and release a heavy sigh, the new sensation delivering a warmth that swims through your organs and dulls the throbbing pain.

The knife must be abandoned, having served its purpose, because as his thumb slides into your core, the other hand grips the meat of your uninjured thigh and hikes it over his shoulder. Your cheeks are hot at the way that Sukuna stretches you open, one leg draped over him while the thick digit massages your walls. His fingers are collecting the slick that gushes out of you while you roll your hips. Your thigh is held in place with a bruising grip.

Sukuna drinks you in, the steady motion of his finger accompanying the rhythmic swipes from his tongue. Greedily, he dips into your opening, piercing and all, nose tight against the patch of your pubic hair. He groans inside you, ministrations from his fingers surprisingly gentle and using every inch of his tongue to draw out your breathy moans.

When you’re a trembling mess he pulls back, mouth open and glistening from the wetness. The tongue ring flashes as he licks his lips and draws it back into his mouth before swallowing theatrically. When he takes his hands off you, he smiles devilishly, the thickness of his thumb dragging against your clit when it slides out.

Still on his knees before you, Sukuna’s sopping wet hand tucks into his waistband and hurriedly pulls out his dick. Sliding his fist up and down the shaft, the fact that you both know he’s using what came out of you to lubricate his movements causes him to moan shamelessly.

You still can’t see very well but from where you’re standing, the show is impressive.

“God, I want you to fuck me,” you concede, breathless, wondering if he’ll choose to punish you again for speaking up.

He laughs at that, eyes lit up under a creased brow as he focuses on his cock.

“God? Use my fucking name, you brat.”

You want to tell him how self-centered he is and take control, imagining how you would throw your body over his, shoving him flat on the ground and sit on his dick without even a warning…. But the idea of him throwing you around is more appealing, so you’ll continue to do as he says.

He must have read your face because he smirks.

“Don’t forget to ask politely.”

You swallow and delicately bring your fingers to a raised nipple, brushing over the fabric of your one remaining article of clothing that hides a final secret.

“Sukuna, please. I need you to fuck me.”

“Tsk,” he pumps his cock twice before rocking onto his heels and standing back up. “Overly eager, aren’t you…. Why should I rush our first time?” His voice is sickly sweet as he tucks himself back into his pants. The implication of being taken by him again in the future makes you swoon. You thought maybe this would be a one-time drunken encounter, one of the notches on his belt.… Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet; he could still be playing around.

“Look, I… I don’t want to rush… but–” You can’t help but graze over your nipples again, glancing up at him. It must look pretty pathetic, but Sukuna likes something about it because he comes closer to you once more, pressing his hard-on against your hip.

“It’s alright baby, I’ll play with you again and again…,” he graces your cheek with feather-light kisses. “...Until you break...or until I tire of you.”

There it is… the promise of detachment; he’s perfectly capable of tossing you aside after using you.

The only problem is that at this moment you couldn’t care less one way or the other; whether he ghosts you or falls in love with you or any other outcome. The way he talks down to you is only contributing to the heat boiling within, appreciating his technique of instilling fear mixed with saccharine intermissions.

“Please,” you whisper it again, bringing your palms to his shoulder blades and running your fingertips down his back. “Please…”

Asking so nicely earns you another open-mouthed kiss with the piercing bouncing around on your tongue. You groan, he rubs his bulge across your stomach, and you rake your nails across his skin, hard.

“Fuck-” he starts, incredulous. “You bitch.”

“You don’t mean that,” you sing, smile on your lips as you do it again. His skin collects under your fingernails and he arches against you.

“Hah… save it for later. You’ll get what’s coming to you,” he grabs the fat of your ass, finally tearing you away from the wall.

With one hand moving up to your elbow, he drags you to a dark hallway and shoves you further in. Surely it’s not his full strength but you still stumble — a reminder of who’s really in control.

“Up the stairs,” comes his voice from behind you, commanding.

With one arm searching for purchase, you move forward slowly into the unknown.

Chapter Text

When you find the staircase it is cold metal on your bare feet. Sukuna is inches behind you as you climb, so close you can feel his hot breath on the back of your thighs. Part of you wishes he would just turn a light on so you don’t have to worry about slipping on a step or tripping when you reach the top. The other part is thrilled by the uncertainty of the blackness around you, a swooping feeling like butterflies in your stomach.

Once you reach the summit he’s on you, arms around your waist and your legs, swinging your body over his shoulder with ease. The sudden movement knocking your feet from underneath forces you to let out a short scream, surprised and powerless in his grip. He laughs out loud and strikes the underside of your rear with a swift hand to elicit another small cry.

“That’s enough, missy,” he chides while he walks down another hall toward what must inevitably be a bedroom. With sharp nails, he pinches the flesh of your thigh in an attempt to draw another sound from you.

“hngh…”

“You’re strong, aren’t you? No need to complain, I’m going to reward you for being such a good whore.”

Your face flushes at his words. There’s no denying that you begged for this and walked right into his lair. Whatever he wants to do with you, it’s going to happen and you’re going to fulfill your new title.

The sound of a door opening shakes you from your internal dialogue. The bedroom is surprisingly well-lit due to a skylight in the ceiling and one wall made from windows.

Sukuna tosses you onto the bed where you land with a yelp. The white duvet fluffs around your limbs like a cloud. You scramble to sit up and try to take in the surroundings.

The room is surprisingly plain, two large mirrors on either side of the door that you just entered through. It appears that there’s a closet and an entryway that probably leads to a bathroom. A plain black bedside table and a lamp are the only other items visible. In the center of it all at the foot of the mattress, Sukuna has pulled his cock out again and strokes it leisurely. His head is tipped back, vision fixed on the ceiling.

“The moon is shining down on us…,” he says cryptically before turning his eyes back on you.

“…I want to see everything,” he finishes, pointedly looking at your bra. Quick to obey, your arms bend to undo the tiny clasp at the back and the fabric falls away, revealing pierced nipples. Feeling confident, you toss the bralette aside and lean back onto your elbows, displaying yourself to him. Sukuna bites his lip.

“Like it?” You ask sweetly, opening your knees so the silver light hits your glistening pussy.

“Very much,” he says, voice gravelly. “Now come here, lay down. On your back.”

Sukuna directs you to the edge of the bed where you orient yourself to his specifications. With strong fingers gripped under your armpit, he drags you closer so that your head hangs off the edge, hair falling in a curtain against the bed frame. He pushes his jeans and black underwear down past his knees.

One hand is still wrapped around his length, thumb swiping the head with every roll of his wrist. Now with it so close to your face, you can take in the reality of his size; there is a vague feeling of impending doom thinking about it sliding down your throat. It looks heavy, thick, and there’s a swell under the tip decorated with a huge vein. Two of his signature black bands are tattooed near the base — surely to gauge how deep he can reach inside someone. Inside you.

His free hand travels down your chest to stroke at the skin between your breasts. You’re thinking about how he was looking for your heartbeat earlier and suspect he’s doing the same right now.

“Just relax,” he purrs, pressing the reddened cockhead against your mouth. The precum slides around on your lower lip and you open up, vision becoming dark again as he settles over you.

There’s nothing to be done while he gets comfortable in your mouth. His penis causes your jaw to stretch and mold to his shape – the girth takes a moment of adjustment before he moves again and you can’t do anything except take it in. Before long, somehow he’s sliding further, his hands fixed on your breasts while he slowly shifts forward and back. You put your own fingers on his hips, just in case you have to claw him off of you.

“Show me…,” he groans huskily.

The expanse of his palms pull your knees up your body and apart. Though you’re compromised in a darkness that involves his balls rubbing against your nose, you can imagine the likeness before Sukuna’s eyes.

Your tattooed body laid before him; hips tipped upward with your legs held in place by him, your piercings and your cunt glittering daintily in the moonlight. When he thrusts down your neck and you gag, you briefly think, He’s in quite the privileged position at this moment.

Even so, you’re eager to please and you force your throat to loosen. The musk of his sack rubbing your face is intoxicating. You slide your fingers around his body to grip at the muscle of his ass and gently push him deeper.

“That’s right,” Sukuna eggs you on and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Take it in... You’re so close, baby. Just another couple inches.”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you hope he can feel the wetness on his balls.

You’re shaking a little when he finally decides he can’t move forward anymore and you swallow heartily more than twice. The moan that rumbles in Sukuna’s chest is rewarding. Now lubed up with plenty of saliva, he starts thrusting in and out using a steady rhythm. One of his hands snakes up the column of your neck to brush his thumb against the lump created by the end of his dick. The two of you happen to shudder in unison, goosebumps prickling your arms and your nipples hardening further.

Just as you were about to appreciate how gentle he’s been so far, he shifts and his movements start to hit deeper and harder. You moan when he presses his fingers against the area under your jaw once more, and it almost feels like he’s getting even harder in your mouth.

“Mm-mm,” is all you can manage, and with a meaningful squeeze to his ass, he pulls out of you so you can catch your breath. Sukuna looks down at you, hand still caressing the side of your neck.

“You’re huge,” you manage to choke out. The blood rushing in your temples is making you lightheaded.

Sukuna rips his hands off your chest and your throat, moving them to your inner thighs and gripping tight. Tilting your opening toward himself, bending you at the waist, he spits on your pussy. He quickly slips two fingers in and they curl toward your stomach, effectively hooking you into place. Since you didn’t see it coming, it causes you to jolt and give a shaky wail.

“Just a little longer, okay?” Sukuna pleads, and without any confirmation, he slams back into your open mouth. Thankfully, now you know what to expect with him pistoning down your throat, but his fingers….

The way he’s twisting them into you feels divine, and he doesn’t bother to work up from a slower pace. The speed that he’s utilizing is exactly what you want right now, and you can only shout around his girth, the sound muted and gurgling.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Sukuna says as he adds another digit down your hole, stretching you out at first. Then, he just… gives it to you. One hand holds your hips in place while the others’ fingers pump in and out of you vigorously. You moan loudly and tears spill out of your eyes, your nails clawing at his skin in an effort to stay grounded.

The assault of his cock on the back of your throat is almost forgotten with how good his hand feels. The way your jaw falls open with your exclamations allows him greater purchase down the pink cave of your neck. It’s painful, but you’ve never backed down from a challenge. Getting your kneecap tattooed was leagues worse than this.

Instead of pulling him off, you messily slurp at his length again, twisting your head and your tongue the best that you can in this position. If he’s trying to reward you for your efforts, it becomes obvious with how his fingers start to stroke at the most sensitive spot — the notion of how he managed to find it so easily makes you hot all over. The sounds you can hear are downright sloppy, the wetness between your legs squelching with every persistent dive of Sukuna’s thick fingers.

“You’re my cute little cocksleeve, aren’t you? …gonna make all your holes memorize my shape—“

Somehow he knows just what to say to get you even wetter. You want to tell him you’re about to cum, but what if he stops? It might be best to keep it to yourself for now… but Sukuna’s experience allows him to notice the telltale shaking of your legs.

“Not yet.”

He ceases the ministrations and pulls away from your folds. Frustrated, you push at his hips and shove him out of your mouth. The strand of spit that connects you snaps and lands across your nose.

“Gah… haha… come the fuck on—“ you groan, voice raspy from Sukuna using you.

He uses his wet cock to slap your cheek once, twice… three times. A fourth time for good measure, harder than the others.

“Seriously?”

“Tsk, so sassy. That’s why you need a dick in your mouth to shut you up.”

Sukuna’s hand scoops behind your head and grabs a fistful of your hair. He’s able to easily maneuver you this way, pulling you back into a sitting position on the bed. It doesn’t hurt much – not enough for you to give him the satisfaction of making any noise.

After shaking off his pant legs and boxers, he leans a knee on the edge of the bed, coming in close. The grip on your scalp tightens up and you wince. Sukuna’s ruby irises scan your face, taking in the make-up smudged around your eyes and spit smeared all over your jaw. His stare bores into you and his other hand suddenly goes back to your heat, twitching his fingers to draw a sound from you. As expected, you unleash a heavy sigh.

“Pretty girl… You’re not going to complain, you’re going to beg to cum.”

He pins you flat against the bed by your hair and fingers you more, merciless in the onslaught and irregular in tempo to ensure that you don’t reach your peak again so easily. You let out some short screams and Sukuna is nodding along, encouraging. His body is massive above, caging you, and you reminisce about all the other times today — only today, you hardly believe it – that you’ve been in similar positions. A delirious smile cracks your face, halting your noises.

“What’s so funny, missy?” He asks, curling his fingers to press against your g-spot. You shiver and moan before you can gather yourself to respond.

“J-Just thinking about ha– how… you had so many opportunities to pin me down today…,” your voice is still raw and crackling. “...I was so scared of you like, ten hours ago…”

“I’m a gentleman,” Sukuna jokes. “And you’re a cock-hungry slut.”

With that, he’s pistoning his fingers again, stretching you wide and holding you in place with his fist in your hair. Your whimpering gives way to shouting and within a minute, you’re fulfilling the requirements of begging for your release.

“Sukuna – please, please, please…”

“What is it you want?”

“I want – to cum. Please. I– Sukuna, please let me…”

He laughs again, the sound deep and reverberating in the empty room.

“That’s good. Polite girls get to cum.”

Suddenly, he releases your locks and bends, dipping down to your core. He uses that freed hand to raise you up by the waist and settles his mouth onto your clit while his fingers continue to work you. The tongue piercing hits you rapidly, just right, over and over, and he’s very deliberate with the three fingers pushing inside of you. The pressure builds in you until it feels like a dam about to burst.

“I’m gonna cum! Please, don’t stop, I’ll–”

Fisting the sheet, you keen and your body shakes, gushing all over Sukuna’s face and chest. His mouth rides it out, tonguing at you while the orgasm hits violently at first. It’s almost amazing how long it lasts before the peak begins to even out. The waves of pleasure wash over you, making your limbs quake.

He pulls back, panting, the wetness spattered on your crotch, your inner thighs, and all over his upper half. It’s just a little embarrassing; you’ve never cum like that for anyone.

This is going to be a problem.

“Th…Thank you,” you sigh, still polite, and throwing an arm over your face to hide your shame.

“No hiding,” Sukuna chides, pulling your protective limb off of you. “Now you’re going to make me feel good.”

The tiredness is already creeping into you after that, but you find the energy to open your legs and wrap them around his waist.

“Yeah… wonder what it’ll feel like… in me…,” you drawl, voice slurred from the come-down. A single lazy roll of your hips has the tip of his penis slipping against the crack of your ass and your slit.

“Such a good little whore…,” with a groan, Sukuna settles his cock against your slick opening. No more lubrication needed, he pushes it in slowly. He’s eager to feel your tightness wrapped around his dick instead of just his fingers. As much effort as he put in to stretch you out, you’re still so tight. He urges you again to relax as he slides in deeper. He shifts and readjusts your hips, holding your thighs against him while he leans back to watch it going in.

Halfway is when you start to cry out, breath heaving from your open mouth. He spits at the connection, and your own fingers go to the spot to spread it around and bump against your clit. You can’t help but clench again at the pleasure and Sukuna hisses.

“Fuckingchrist you’re not a virgin, are you?”

All you can do is shake your head.

“Then relax and take it, slut.”

With that, he unceremoniously rams it in, pleased to see that he’s filled you up to his tattoo. Your back arches and you squeal pathetically. The stretch is delightful, but the way it hits the back of your walls is going to take a moment of getting used to.

“S-slow… please,” you ask nicely, your palms going to cling to his chest. They look tiny next to the black markings all across his chest and shoulders.

He moves, slow like you requested, and you shudder with delight. Your sensitive clit rubs against a huge vein as he moves in and out, and the desire that washes over you starts to make everything easier. Sukuna’s rough hands move to your upper torso and every finger slots between the spaces of your rib cage. He’s pressing down, holding you in place while he speeds up.

The pressure is amazing, and he uses his quads to bend you at the waist, gaining the ideal angle where he can thrust down into you over and over. With your calves clinging around him, Sukuna grunts and digs his nails into your sides, determined to stay locked inside of you.

“Hey–” he starts, looking down at you with sweat beading on his brow. “I want you to choke me.”

“Hunh?” You mumble, not fully understanding him. You’re focusing on the delicious, massive cock filling you, pulsing with heat and making you whole.

Sukuna huffs, frustrated by your hazy response, and decides to shock you back to attention. He lifts you up, pressing your ribs tight between his palms. He spins and slams you against the windows. The air knocks from your lungs, but you let out a satisfied whimper.

“Choke. Me.” He demands, his face an inch from yours while he presses you tight against the cold glass. His palms slide down to your butt and the top of your thighs, holding you in place while he readjusts to shove up into you.

Resting on his shoulders, your hands are already so close to the muscles of the neck, so all you have to do is slide them into place and push down. He closes his eyes to relish the sensation of your smaller fingers wrapped around his throat.

“Harder, baby–”

You’re gasping as he effortlessly maneuvers you up and down his length, the movements shallow. Even so, you manage to squeeze your palms fixed to his jugular, your thumbs under his Adam's apple. Should I press on the front or the sides, I can't remember– You’re unsure, but you just bring your hands in tighter, trying to make your fingers touch. Sukuna is groaning with his eyes closed, his thrusts slowing down, causing you to shudder. Your arms go straight in your efforts to choke him out, watching his face closely for any sign to stop. He’s leaning back when his eyes flutter open again and he’s looking back at the spot where your bodies meet – where your cunt keeps pulling him in even when he ceases movement.

His red gaze rolls up to your face and he smiles wickedly, tongue slipping out to curl around his lip. That’s when he squeezes your ass twice, and you assume it means that he wants you to lay off. You let go, hands coming to rest on his trapezius.

Sukuna breathes in shakily and sighs before letting out a rumbling chuckle.

“That was good, but more on the sides next time, okay?” You nod.

“You’re going to do it once more.”

With that, Sukuna takes you back to the bed, not allowing you to slip off his dick while he sits down, settling you on top. You’re moaning at the stretch and the way he shifts around, kissing at your chest, your shoulders. He leans back onto the sheets, hands resting on the curve of your hips to hold you in place. Sukuna braces his legs, pulls out slowly, and slams up into you, forcing a shout from your throat. Your back curves, breasts falling forward. He’s using his grip to bounce your ass down when he thrusts up, sheathing himself fully and totally in control.

You didn’t think that it could get any better after that earlier orgasm, but the way his cock slides through you rapidly, hitting your cervix again at just the right angle, you can hardly hold yourself up. Sukuna’s mouth latches onto one of your pierced nipples and he saws at it with his teeth, sending waves of pain and pleasure rippling through you. Tears leak from your eyes while you’re moaning wantonly and he pummels you harder, the wet slapping of your nether-regions echoing in the room. Your shaky hands cling to his upper biceps while he tongues your piercing, staring up at you with something almost like reverence.

“Sukuna — please, I’m going to cum again —”

With a wet pop, he releases your breast and the nipple slides around on his cheek.

“Just like that, huh?”

“Yes… yes…,” you could actually cry with the way the pleasure is overtaking you.

“Alright, get your hands on my neck,” he orders, leaning back into the sheets.

You’re trembling, but you manage to straighten up and push your hands against the muscles of his throat again. Putting your weight into it, you’re rewarded with the quickness of his cock stirring your insides. A softer, drawn-out orgasm swims up your spine and you subconsciously dig your fingernails into his neck while you’re sighing and quivering.

“Ahhh…”

“F…Fuck–” Sukuna chokes out, eyes rolling back in his head and the movements of his hips stuttering out. You can feel the thighs beneath you quaking and he lifts you just enough, pulling you up until the cockhead slides out and hits his stomach with a moist slap. You release a sad-sounding whine, the clenching in your core seeking his girth.

“Okay-“ he rasps, squeezing your rear again, relenting. Your hands slide to his chest, fingers splayed over the round muscles of his pecs. He sucks in a breath and moans gratuitously.

Boldness reappears in you after being on top, so you manage to tease him, just a little. Gingerly, you slide your wet pussy down his shaft. It twitches once, the bounce drawing your eye for a moment.

”Did you nearly cum?” You ask, looking back at him through your lashes with a tiny crinkle between your eyebrows.

He glares in response, but he can’t hide the smile that works its way onto his lips. It must have something to do with the way his neck is blooming pretty pink welts next to the black lines of his tattoos.

Sukuna shoves you off, flipping you on your back. Landing in the sheets, you offer up a tiny giggle. He straddles you, taking back his position on top and pins down your arms.

“I want it, Ryomen Sukuna… I want your cum all over me,” you say softly. “Please.”

“Hmm, you’re cute,” he responds plainly. His palm moves from your arm to your hip where his thumb finds the small cut from earlier. The blood has started to coagulate so it’s slightly sticky. You were close to forgetting about it but now you tense, thinking he’s going to press at it again and reopen the wound.
…but I’ve been so good!

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you now,” he reassures you, no doubt having felt your reaction or seen the panic flash over your face. The new pet names are also appreciated; you’re elated knowing that you’ve graduated from whore to sweetheart.

“You think it’s gonna scar?” You ask sweetly while your freed hand goes to squeeze one of your breasts. “It would be really hot if it left a little mark,” you sigh. Sukuna looks at you appreciatively.

“Yeah, that would be perfect… then all your other worthless dance partners will know what’s mine.”

The jealousy is undeniably sexy and you realize there’s no coming back from this new social binding. Though you’ve both been intoxicated and maybe not yourselves tonight, the memory will persist.

You open your legs for him again and he lines up with your entrance. Hands to his base, he guides in the length and you shiver at the sensation. Sukuna’s push forward is leisurely, seeming to be considerate of your already punished hole. When he is nearly sheathed, he slowly slides back until the swell at the end is stretching you out. It appears that he enjoys watching, slowly entering, pulling out a few more times.

“So good…,” you whine, breath getting heavier.

He chuckles, a low and rumbling sound. “You like it like that, huh? Getting all stretched open…”

His hand stays there for a moment to prod at your sensitive clit, the rough pad of his thumb sending shockwaves through your abdomen. A small whimper passes through your gritted teeth.

“Here, lemme–” Sukuna mutters to himself, maneuvering your leg straight up against his body so your ankle lines up with his neck. Following his lead, you put your other leg parallel. He holds your calves up against his chest and you can feel the layer of sweat on his skin.

“Keep playing with your tits,” he insists, the pace of his throbbing member quickening. Obedient still, both of your hands go to knead at your soft flesh, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples, the silver in them flashing.

“Sexy…Can you do it – hnn – like this? Choke me…,”

“With my ankles?”

“Mhmm,” Sukuna nods, lower lip pinched in. You’re kind of shocked at how desperate he is to halt his breathing, but it intrigues you.

He helps you to place your feet around the back of his head just how he wants them and presses on the jutting bones of your joints to indicate how you should apply the pressure.

One of Sukuna’s strong forearms wraps across your legs, holding them against his torso. The other hand grabs the fat of your hip, finger hovering close to the knife wound again. He keeps you steady while he slams in over and over, noises beginning to pour from you.

“Fuck– yeah, Sukuna, harder…”

The encouragement has him increasing his thrusts, pounding deep inside. He leans over you more, pressing your legs back, stretching you and gaining more depth. You’re crying out, doing your best to keep those ankles in a vice around Sukuna’s neck, knees knocking together.

When you look up at Sukuna he seems almost feral; lids heavy over his glazed eyes, mouth open to release strangled exhales, red in his cheeks and sweat dripping over his face tattoos.

With the way he’s hammering down into your core and how he looks right now, it’s enough to make another orgasm overtake you. Your nipples are so hard and sensitive in your palms, they’re tingling through the high. It takes you by surprise and you whip your head to the side, emitting a weak scream. Losing control over your legs, the grip on Sukuna’s throat lets up. He groans as he breathes in, the pace of his hips becoming erratic.

“Sukuna! Sukuna-- Oh my god, oh fuck, oh my goddd—”

There’s a faint throbbing in the depths of your folds, hardly noticeable with the way your body is vibrating. You’re not sure if it’s Sukuna’s dick or your own body sucking him in.

“So hot, baby… shit – I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Hnn… pull out, I–I want it on me,” you manage to mumble, your voice almost lost in the sloshing of your conjoined nether regions. Your hands go to push at his shoulders.

“Fuuck…” Sukuna moans as he straightens, swiftly pulling out and moving one hand to his cock, fucking into the grip. The other hurriedly grabs your foot and places it at the front of his throat. He bears his weight down on it, and you keep the one leg straight while the other falls open, laying bare your gaping entrance.

Sukuna’s cum shoots over your body in an arc, landing on your neck, your chest, and your stomach. He’s grunting loudly, sounding almost enraged while he strokes himself through the orgasm. It feels so empty without him in you now, but the aftershocks have you continuing to mewl and writhe underneath, your insides clenching around nothing. He sighs, moving the arch of your foot from under his chin, hooking your thighs around his waist instead.

As he comes back to earth, a white droplet still connected to his ruddy cockhead, his hands come back to your chest. Using his palms, he spreads his seed across your flesh, sliding it every which way over your body. He massages your tits, tingling nipples slipping through the spaces between his fingers. The slimy new sensation causes you to moan.

You did say that you wanted his cum all over you. It’s a little juvenile, the way he’s sort of playing with it, but you find it cute after everything else he’s done.

When he appears satisfied, he collapses next to you in the bed, staring up at the skylight.

“Mmm, little missy takes it so good…,” he exhales, eyes closing. He’s clearly spent, reveling in what just transpired.

The layer of semen on your torso is beginning to cool down and now it feels gross. After all that, you could fall asleep just like this, but there’s also a nagging aversion to the idea of staying here and cuddling through the night. You roll onto your side, facing him.

“I wanna shower… there’s one over there, right?” You ask, casually as possible.

Sukuna’s eye cracks open, looking at you sideways before sliding shut again.
“Mhmm,” he responds, smiling to himself. You slink off the bed without another word.

+ + + +

When you emerge from the shower wrapped in a towel, Sukuna isn’t there in the bedroom. Your party outfit is folded neatly on the corner of the bed next to another pile of clothes. You unfurl the garments to find a white band tee and black athletic shorts. It appears that Sukuna had the foresight to offer comfier clothes. He did destroy your panties, after all. If he’s going to take you home on that bike again, you wouldn’t want to sit bare-assed.

You step into the shorts and pull the large shirt over your bare breasts. Who doesn’t opt for the guys’ clothes after hooking up, anyway?

With the party attire under your arm, you tip-toe downstairs to tuck them into your purse which you retrieve from the floor in the entryway. You briefly check your phone and the screen lights up to tell you it’s 2 am.

After wandering around the main floor, you finally find Sukuna in the kitchen with a light on. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray sweatpants.

It’s a little intimidating, having been with him in the dark for so long and now you’re fresh-faced, hair wet from the shower, vulnerable all over again.

Blissfully unaware of your internal dilemma, Sukuna notices your silhouette in the doorway and beckons you with his hand.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, sweeter than you’ve ever seen him. It makes your cheeks hot.

“I don’t usually eat at two in the morning, but…”

You look at the counter to see what he’s offering. On a plate, there’s some cut-up fruit; pineapple, kiwis, banana, strawberries, grapes. There’s even a glass dish of honey next to it with a tiny fork and a cup of water.

“Wow, you’re totally spoiling me,” you say, words catching in your throat. You start to pick at the plate and you realize just how much you needed this. Dipping a strawberry into the honey is the best combination; so good that you might just start to cry.

“Good girls get rewarded for all their hard work,” he says simply, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed, watching you. With slightly watery eyes, you’re determined to not meet his gaze.

After swallowing a chunk of pineapple, you put your chin in your hand, pretending to look lost in thought.

“You know, I did work pretty hard… you’re really into choking, eh?”

He shrugs, unashamed.

“I was in the mood for it tonight. There’s many things that I like.”

There’s a sense that overwhelms you; his experience and capabilities, the confidence…. You start to worry that you’re going to become like a stray dog, following him around for the foreseeable future. Something is urging you to be taken in and trained.

As if he’s reading your mind, he says, “You can stay if you want.”

You turn the idea over in your head. It’s late after all, and you’ve already decided that you’ll have to reschedule your appointment for tomorrow.

Now that you’re both totally sober, there’s a slight awkwardness. You wouldn’t be caught dead pulling the “what are we?” conversation on Ryomen Sukuna after one day and one night.

“We can sleep in separate beds,” he offers, sensing some apprehension.
God, are my expressions that readable?

Your breathing comes easier when you’re allowed to have your own space.
“I’d like that. Take me home in the morning?”

He nods. “Just go back to that room we ruined, okay baby?”

“Alright.”

Sukuna closes the space between you to put his palm on your cheek. His thumb gently runs under your eye where you’re surely blushing.

He gives you a big smile and something about it still looks devilish, like he’s plotting.

“Good night, Sukuna,” you start, ready to be alone with your thoughts. “Thank you for…well, everything.”

“Nighty night,” he purrs, hand falling away and walking out of the kitchen without sparing you a second glance.

You breathe a sigh of relief and work on polishing off the generous offering of fruit. A few minutes later, you take the glass of water to the bedroom, ready to sleep.