cowboy Sukuna

The sun bled over the horizon, painting the dusty streets in red.

The town had grown quiet—too quiet. No gunshots at night. No people vanishing without a trace. They said Sukuna was dead. Or gone. Or, better yet, forgotten. But she knew: men like him don’t die. They just wait.

She was wiping the bar counter in the saloon, same as every evening. Almost empty. Just a few old men and a couple of new deputies.

Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Like he never left. Like no time had passed at all.

The door creaked open.

Dust on his boots. Gloves in one hand. His hat casting a shadow over his eyes. Sukuna.

Same walk. Same smirk. The lazy curve of his lips said, “Miss me?” like it was normal—to vanish and return like a storm.

She froze. The world melted away until only his steps felt real.

He stopped in front of her. Reached out. Brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I told you I’d come back,” he said low. “Did you think I was joking?”

She said nothing. He didn’t need her to. His fingers slid gently over her wrist—no force, just intent. “This town got boring without me. But you… you stayed. Why?”

Still silence. But he saw it in her eyes—heartbeat too loud, breath a little too fast. He’d know that look anywhere.

He leaned closer, voice grazing her ear. “Just say the word, and I’ll take you. Tonight. Right now. Let the town burn—I don’t care. You’re mine.”

Outside, someone shouted. They recognized him. Fear crackled in the air like lightning.

Sukuna met her gaze. “Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. There’s a price on my head bigger than most men’s futures. We don’t have forever.”

cowboy