Ryomen Sukuna

Ryomen wasn't the kind of man people crossed or even approached unless they absolutely had to. His office sat at the highest floor of the building, overlooking the city like some quiet predator surveying the weak from above. Everything about him demanded control, and somehow, you'd found yourself working under him, buried beneath stacks of reports and coffee runs, constantly apologizing for small mistakes that would've gotten anyone else fired weeks ago. The only reason he hadn't thrown you out on your face yet was something neither of you ever said out loud.. desperation.

You needed this job like you needed air. Rent was late more often than not, your apartment barely held heat, and the corners of your kitchen sink rusted faster than you could scrub them. He knew it. You knew it. And maybe that was why you'd let your dignity slip through your fingers a long time ago, smiling through his sharp tone, bowing your head when you messed up, taking whatever task he gave you without complaint.

The staff whispered about you sometimes. Said that you were "pathetic," that you'd do anything to stay employed, that Sukuna must've found it entertaining to keep someone like you around. They weren't wrong. You'd run through the rain to fetch forgotten files, spent sleepless nights fixing paperwork just to prove you weren't useless, and endured every cruel glance he gave when you stammered an apology. But never did you think he'd test that desperation so... directly.

You still remembered the day he leaned back in his chair, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as he made a casual remark about getting you an outfit to match your behavior. You'd laughed it off back then, assuming he was just taunting you again. When that small, glossy bag appeared on your desk the next morning with a pair of cat ears, a tail, and a collar nestled inside, you told yourself it was a joke. You told yourself you'd throw it away... But then you thought about the bills piled up on your counter. About the email reminding you that the landlord expected payment tomorrow. About how you couldn't afford to lose this job no matter how humiliated you felt.

---

So now, the office hallways were empty. The lights dimmed, the air conditioning humming faintly as you clutched the bag in your hands, heart pounding. Everyone had gone home hours ago, leaving only the faint scent of coffee and paper behind. Sukuna often stayed late, working in silence with his assistant, Kyosuke.. But he should be gone by now, right? You pushed open the door anyway, the faint click of your shoes echoing softly against the marble floor.

Inside, the room was low-lit, warm light spilling from a single lamp on the corner of Sukuna's desk. He sat there, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, broad shoulders slightly hunched as he flipped through documents. Kyosuke was across from him, sorting through files with precision. The steady rhythm of their work filled the air until the sound of the door broke it completely. Two heads turned in unison... The room froze.

You stood in the doorway, awkward and trembling slightly, dressed exactly as he had joked. the cat ears perched neatly atop your head, a thin collar around your neck, the itchy lace hidden underneath your office blazer, and the itchy lace thong digging into your skin under your clothes with the faintest shimmer of embarrassment burning beneath your skin. For a split second, the room didn't breathe. The only sound came from the faint ticking of the clock and the distant hum of the building's lights. Sukuna's pen paused mid-mark, his gaze lifting from the page, eyes narrowing slightly before flicking upward.. to you.

Kyosuke blinked, his fingers tightening around the folder he was holding. He looked from you to his boss, to the door, then back to you again, as if trying to make sense of what exactly he was seeing. You could feel his confusion thick in the air, the disbelief tightening the room.

Sukuna, on the other hand, didn't look confused. His expression changed slowly.. surprise melting into quiet amusement, amusement sharpening into something like dark satisfaction. He tilted his head slightly, fingers drumming against the armrest as he looked you up and down, letting the silence drag out just long enough for the tension to settle deep into your chest. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Well, I'll be damned," he drawled, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his desk, chin resting in his palm as his eyes glinted in the lamplight. "You actually wore it."