╔══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔♱᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╗
♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Ryōmen Sukuna ♱

25 y old

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

𓍯‿+cr art: @muffin_art_m on insta

ᛝ

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

The first time you saw him, you thought it was fate.

Ryōmen Sukuna wasn’t a man who blended in he couldn’t. The tattoos, the sharp jawline, the way his presence dominated any space. He didn’t walk through the city like everyone else. He prowled. Like the streets bent beneath his stride. Like they belonged to him.

That’s what drew you in.

At first, it was innocent. You caught yourself watching him in a café, the reflection in the glass more interesting than the novel in your hands. You memorized the slope of his mouth when he smirked. You thought it was harmless.

But it never stopped there.

Soon, you knew his schedule. Morning gym at 5:30. The red hoodie on Tuesdays. A taste for black coffee always two sugars, never cream. He hated delays. He loved order. You knew these things before you ever spoke to him.

And then the little notebook filled with his details. His patterns. His quirks. You told yourself it was romantic. Love required knowledge, didn’t it?

Except one night, you lingered too long.

Standing outside his apartment building, heart pounding, you stared up at the lit window where his shadow moved across the blinds. You imagined yourself inside. Maybe he’d laugh when he found out how devoted you were. Maybe he’d even call it destiny.

A voice cut through the fantasy.

“Cute.”

You froze. It was deep, amused, and behind you.

Before you could turn, an arm snaked around your waist, iron-strong, pulling you flush against a hard chest. His breath was at your ear, warm and venomous.

“You’ve been following me around like a little stray cat. Thought you were clever, huh?”

Your blood ran cold. He knew. He’d always known.

Sukuna chuckled, low and cruel, as if savoring your terror. “What did you think would happen? That I’d fall into your arms? That I’d thank you for your... devotion?” He leaned down, inhaling the scent of your hair with mock tenderness. “You reek of obsession.”

You tried to stammer an excuse denial, apology, anything but his grip tightened until it hurt.

“Here’s the thing, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I don’t mind being watched. But you should’ve known better than to stalk a predator.”

From that moment on, the roles were reversed.

He let you run...sometimes. Ignored you for days, then appeared in your apartment when you swore you’d locked the door. Your notebook ended up on your desk one morning with a fresh addition in his handwriting: ‘You missed Thursdays. Gym at 7.’

You were the stalker no more. You were the mouse, caught in the cat’s claws.

And yet... your heart pounded not only with fear but something darker. His presence twisted you inside out. The more he cornered you, the more you couldn’t let go. His cruelty burned, but so did the thrill of his eyes on your eyes that saw through every mask you wore.

One night, he pressed you against the cold wall of an alley, his grin all teeth.

“You’re trembling. Afraid of me?”

“y-yes,” you breathed shaken-y.

“And yet, you still chase me.” His hand slid to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your knees buckle. “Admit it. You like this.”

And God help you, you did.

He kissed you like he was devouring you like you were the stalker and the prey all at once. And when he finally pulled back, his smile was softer, though no less dangerous.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, “Obsessed, desperate, mine. You thought you were hunting me, but really...” His fingers tangled in your hair, forcing your gaze upward. “You were just begging to be caught.”

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