Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna had thought you pathetic at first. That had been his initial judgment—swift, dismissive, absolute. The way you stood there trembling, fear written plainly across your face, had amused him more than anything else. Not impressive. Not threatening. Just another fragile thing pretending it belonged on the battlefield. And yet... you hadn’t run. Despite the way your body betrayed you, despite the instinct screaming for escape, you remained where you were. Shaking, yes—but standing. Watching him. Waiting. That single, foolish decision lingered in his mind longer than it should have. A jujutsu sorcerer, they would have named you. Sukuna had scoffed at the thought. Too weak for the title. Too unpolished. Even when you tried to defend yourself, even when you forced your hands to rise, it had been clear how little chance you had. He defeated you easily. Your fall had been swift and unceremonious, your body hitting the ground hard before he seized the collar of your uniform. His grip had been firm but measured, fingers tightening just enough to assert control as he dragged you with him. There was no rush in his stride. No irritation. Only an unspoken decision already made. He brought you back with him. When he threw you onto the bed, it was careless—but not cruel. You landed awkwardly, limbs slack as unconsciousness claimed you. Sukuna lingered, standing over you for a moment longer than necessary, gaze tracing the rise and fall of your chest. Then he sat. And waited. Time passed unhurriedly. When your eyes finally fluttered open, Sukuna was still there at the bedside, exactly where he’d been. He hadn’t bound you. Hadn’t moved you. He simply watched, elbows resting on his knees, chin tilted slightly as though he were studying something rare. The corner of his mouth lifted when he noticed you were awake. “There you are,” he said softly. His voice lacked mockery this time. Instead, it carried something slower—curiosity sharpened into focus. His eyes roamed over you, not in a rush, not indulgent, but attentive in a way that felt uncomfortably deliberate. Most wouldn’t have earned this much patience. Sukuna leaned closer, enough for the mattress to dip further beneath his weight. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to. His presence alone crowded the space, his attention unwavering. “You surprised me,” he continued, head tilting slightly. “I don’t like being surprised.” The smirk that followed wasn’t cruel—it was pleased. “Still,” he added, eyes narrowing faintly, “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.” He studied your face again, as though expecting it to change under his gaze. As though he were searching for something he hadn’t yet named. “You’re weak,” Sukuna said plainly. “But you didn’t break. Not right away.” A pause. “That makes you... interesting.” He straightened just slightly, watching for any movement, any reaction, his focus absolute. “So,” he murmured, almost thoughtfully, “what do you think you are to me now?” He stayed there, eyes fixed on you, expression unreadable—far too invested for this to be simple cruelty, and far too dangerous for it to be anything else.

Sukuna had dismissed you as pathetic at first. That had been easy. Natural, even. The way you trembled when you realized what stood before you, the fear flickering too plainly across your face—it had all fit neatly into his expectations. Another fragile sorcerer playing at bravery. Another disappointment. But then you hadn’t run. You should have. Every sign was there: the stiffness in your posture, the way your hands shook despite your attempt to steady them. And yet you remained where you were, staring back at him with wide, unguarded eyes. Terrified, yes—but stubbornly present. That had been... unexpected. A jujutsu sorcerer, by title alone. Sukuna would never grant you the respect the name implied. Too weak. Too soft around the edges. Even when you tried to defend yourself, it had been clumsy—almost embarrassing. Still. When he struck you down, it wasn’t with the irritation he usually reserved for insects that wasted his time. He watched carefully as you fell, noted the way you tried to recover even as your body failed you. When his hand closed around the collar of your uniform, hauling you up, his grip was firm—but not rougher than necessary. You were dragged back with him, an afterthought that refused to stay forgotten. When he tossed you onto the bed, it was careless in execution but not intent. Sukuna lingered longer than he needed to, standing over you, eyes tracing your face with a faint crease of interest. Something about you refused to settle neatly into place. So he sat down. And waited. When you finally woke, Sukuna was still there at the bedside, elbow resting against his knee, chin propped lightly against his hand. His gaze snapped to you the moment your eyes opened, sharp at first—then slowly softening into something unreadable. And then— A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “That’s the face,” he murmured, lips curling upward. “That one.” The smirk that followed wasn’t sharp. It was... fond. Amused in a way that felt almost indulgent. He leaned closer, peering at you like one might examine a stray animal that had wandered someplace it didn’t belong. His eyes roamed freely, openly, as if the act of looking itself entertained him. “You’re cuter than I thought,” Sukuna said plainly. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just an observation, stated as fact. His head tilted slightly, studying the way you reacted, as though the response itself mattered more than the words. He didn’t touch you, but the closeness made it obvious he could at any moment—and that he was choosing not to. “Too cute to be this brave,” he continued, almost thoughtfully. “Or this stupid.” The smile lingered, slow and dangerous. “You don’t even realize it, do you?” he added, eyes narrowing with interest. “That’s the best part.” He straightened just a little, gaze never leaving you. “I was going to get bored,” Sukuna admitted. “But now...” Another quiet laugh. “I think I’ll keep you.”