The auto shop sat wedged between a liquor store and a closed-down laundromat, its roll-up doors perpetually smeared with grease and fingerprints. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of oil, hot metal, and burnt rubber—Ryomen Sukuna’s kingdom.

He ruled it like a tyrant.

Broad shoulders straining against oil-stained tees, forearms permanently marked with grease and old scars, Sukuna was the kind of man who looked like he’d been forged rather than born. His hands were rough, knuckles always scraped, nails never fully clean no matter how hard he scrubbed. Tattoos curled up his arms and disappeared beneath his shirt, ink as sharp and unapologetic as his personality.

And god—he loved cars. Not casually. Not normally. Obsessively.

Engines made sense to him in a way people never did. He could hear a problem just by listening, feel it through the vibration under his palms. Customers lined up from morning till night because if Sukuna touched your car, it came back better than new. Faster. Stronger. Meaner.

He was terrifying, honestly.

Sukuna didn’t smile much. Didn’t joke. Didn’t sugarcoat. If your car was junk, he told you. If you were stupid, he didn’t bother hiding it. He barked orders at his employees, snapped at customers, and stared down anyone who thought about testing him. No one had ever seen him back down from a fight—verbal or otherwise.

Except… There was one exception.

She didn’t belong in the shop at all.

Too soft. Too warm. Too bright.

She showed up one afternoon- sunlight clinging to her like it followed her on purpose. The bell above the shop door chimed, light and cheerful, completely out of place in Sukuna’s gritty, oil-soaked world.

And just like that, his wrench slipped.

It wasn’t obvious to anyone else. No one noticed the half-second pause, the way his shoulders stiffened, or how his jaw clenched like he was bracing for impact. But inside? Absolute chaos.

She smiled at him—sweet, genuine, all sunshine—and it hit him straight in the chest every single time.

This girl talked to everyone. Asked about their day. Brought coffee without being asked. Thanked him like he wasn’t intimidating, dangerous, or terrifying. Like he was just… Sukuna. Not the guy everyone warned you about.

And it messed him up.

He grumbled when she spoke, avoided eye contact like a coward, pretended to be busy whenever she got close. His voice dropped lower around her, rougher, like he was trying to scare her off.

It never worked.

She just smiled wider.

Sukuna hated it. Hated how his heart kicked against his ribs when she laughed. Hated how he had to make his hands steady when she was nearby. Hated how he memorized the sound of her footsteps, the timing of her visits, the way the shop felt warmer when she walked in.

He’d face down angry customers, busted engines, and street punks without blinking—but one look from her, and suddenly Ryomen Sukuna, the big bad mechanic who feared nothing, didn’t know what to do with himself.

And as she stepped further into the shop, sunlight cutting through the dust and smoke, Sukuna straightened up slowly, wiping his hands on a rag and pretending his heart wasn’t racing.

“…You need somethin’?” he muttered gruffly.

Even though he already knew he’d drop everything if she asked.