A Political Affair Sukuna x Reader

The Game We Play

Seconds turned to minutes, then hours. The day dragged on endlessly—a blur of boredom, mindless scrolling on social media, and lounging around, unable to shake the lingering thoughts of Sukuna. His behavior from the previous day looped in your mind, tugging at something you couldn't quite grasp.

"Maybe if I just..." you whispered to yourself, trailing off as a plan began to form. If you could break through that wall he'd put up, perhaps you could reach him again, ease the tension that had settled between you both. "...he'll relax once I do."

But what if he doesn't respond the way you hope? The idea of losing whatever fragile connection you had made your chest tighten. You had to try. If you didn't, you knew you'd never forgive yourself.

Determined, you made your way downstairs, your heart picking up pace as you approached the living room. There he was, hunched over on the couch, deep in thought. A packet of cigarettes lay on the coffee table, untouched, as if forgotten in his brooding. His broad shoulders were tense, the sinews of his muscles visible even through his casual posture.

The silence in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. You hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of him—the way his strong hands were clasped together, his chin resting atop them as he stared at nothing in particular. He looked beautiful, powerful and terrifying, yet somehow vulnerable.

You took a deep breath and walked over to him, your bare feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. You stood behind the couch, peeking over at him.

His black tattoos etched across his muscular frame, veins taut beneath tan skin. Without thinking, you gently tapped his shoulder. His reaction was immediate—his head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing with irritation, a dark glint in his scarlet gaze.

"Ohh, someone's still angry," you teased softly, though the tension in his posture didn't ease.
Sukuna's lips parted slightly, a flash of sharp canines revealed. You couldn't help but notice the subtle flex of his biceps, tension rippling through him.

You grinned, letting your fingers lightly trace across his shoulder blade. "Come on, don't be mad," you coaxed, your voice a gentle whisper, trying to soothe the storm you sensed brewing inside him.

He grunted, irritation flashing across his features as his jaw tightened. You were getting to him, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Your expression is pretty sexy, you know. Like the 'silent but deadly' kind of hot." You purred, your voice soothing, attempting to ease the tension in the air. But he didn't flinch, maintaining his icy composure.

An idea crossed your mind, and a mischievous smile tugged at your lips. You let your hand drift down his arm, trailing along the taut muscle as you moved around the couch, kneeling between his legs. The surprise in his eyes was unmistakable, his stoic facade faltering for just a moment as you looked up at him through your lashes.

"What the fu—" His voice faltered as your gaze met his. Damn it. How did you always manage to do this? One look from you, and his resolve, so carefully maintained, wavered. Before he could stop himself, his expression softened just slightly, intrigued by your audacity.

You looked up at him with hopeful eyes, silently pleading for forgiveness. His heart began to race. He couldn't stay angry—not when you looked at him like that, making him feel powerless in a way that both infuriated and captivated him, he started questioning why he even tried to keep his distance in the first place.

Reaching behind you, retrieving his cigarettes and lighter from the table, you placed the cigarette between your lips—the lighter's flicker casting a warm glow across your face. Time seemed to slow as you held his gaze, the flame dancing briefly before you pulled it away. The scent of tobacco mingled with the air as you offered it to him with a teasing smile.