He brought her here to be seen—

but not looked at.

Not like that.

The Yakuza ball is filled with power: syndicate heads, crooked officials, quiet killers in tailored suits. Eyes that know how to weigh weakness. And tonight, those eyes are on her.

She’s wearing the dress he picked—tight, blood-red, dangerous.

She looks like a fucking warning.

But she wandered from his side.

Started talking. Laughing. Letting other men get comfortable.

And Sukuna?

He hasn’t moved from his corner.

He’s just watching.

Watching her smile at the wrong person.

Watching that person lean a little too close.

Watching someone else trail their gaze down her thighs like it’s allowed.

They must’ve forgotten whose woman she is.

So he reminds them.

Glass shatters. A nose breaks. The music never stops—but the room does.

And Sukuna’s suddenly behind her—towering, silent, claiming.

One hand on her waist.

The other bloodied from a warning no one will forget.

Because she’s his.

And tonight, every man here is going to remember what it costs to forget.

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🖤 territorial yakuza!Sukuna | 🩸 ballroom bloodshed | 🥃 jealousy at first sight | 🔥 red dress rage | 🚬 possessive hovering | 🛑 don’t touch what’s his.