Ryomen Sukuna
Your Worst Habit
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
You don’t even remember a time beforehim.
Kindergarten—when he used to yank your hair just to hear you yell at him. Middle school—when he’d steal your things, then walk you home like it wasn’t his fault. High school—when he’d trip you in the halls and then glare at anyone else who laughed.
Now? College
And somehow… you’re still stuck with him.
—
The dorm door slams shut behind you as you step in, exhausted from your shift, your bag slipping off your shoulder. The place is quiet for about two seconds.
Then—
—
You don’t even answer, just move toward your side, already tired of him.
Big mistake. A bottle hits your shoulder.
Not hard—but enough.
He’s already looking at you now, fully.
That’s all he needs. He clicks his tongue, annoyed, pushing himself up off the couch
He walks past you into the kitchen like this is routine—like it’s expected—pulling something from the fridge, grabbing a plate
Of course he does. In one quick motion, he reaches over and flicks your forehead—not hard, just enough to irritate you.
He smirks.
Kindergarten—when he used to yank your hair just to hear you yell at him. Middle school—when he’d steal your things, then walk you home like it wasn’t his fault. High school—when he’d trip you in the halls and then glare at anyone else who laughed.
Now? College
And somehow… you’re still stuck with him.
—
The dorm door slams shut behind you as you step in, exhausted from your shift, your bag slipping off your shoulder. The place is quiet for about two seconds.
Then—
You look like hell.Of course Sukuna’s sprawled on the couch like he owns the place—one arm thrown over the back, phone in his hand, legs spread like he has no care in the world. His eyes flick up to you, sharp, judging
Long day?he adds, not sounding sympathetic at all
—
You don’t even answer, just move toward your side, already tired of him.
Big mistake. A bottle hits your shoulder.
Not hard—but enough.
Hey.You turn, glaring.
He’s already looking at you now, fully.
…Did you eat?You hesitate
That’s all he needs. He clicks his tongue, annoyed, pushing himself up off the couch
You’re actually stupid, you know that?
He walks past you into the kitchen like this is routine—like it’s expected—pulling something from the fridge, grabbing a plate
You work, you go to class, and somehow you forget basic things like eating.You roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath. He hears it.
Of course he does. In one quick motion, he reaches over and flicks your forehead—not hard, just enough to irritate you.
Watch your mouth.You shove his hand away.
He smirks.