hiii

your son squeals, letting go of your hand to run towards bakugou’s car. bakugou’s face lights up at the sight of his son, light laughter flowing from his lips as kenji giggles. he hops out of his car and scoops him up in a hug. 

“how are you, little man? we’ve got a big day today.”

kenji smiles, matching his father’s and you’re always in awe of how similar they look. exact same shade of blonde, same nose.  you happened to birth katsuki’s mini me. at least kenji’s got your hair texture and eyes.

“monsta trucks!!” kenji screams, his fists high in the air and he pounds them on his katsuki’s shoulders.

you raise your eyebrows at the pair, “he won’t stop talking about them.”

it’s like bakugou remembers you’re still there, glancing at you awkwardly and then back to kenji like he’s his safe space. you feel like flicking his forehead. “got the tickets for free. saved one of the driver’s daughters or somethin’.”

and that’s all he gives you, buckling kenji in his car seat and leaving his door open so can say goodbye to your son. this is why you can’t date the guy, if it’s this awkward now, imagine later.

once you finish smothering kenji in kisses, you’ve got half the mind to throw up your middle finger to his father and give him a piece of your mind.

how were you supposed to know he’s liked you for two years if he never told you? it’s not like he wasn’t dating people too during that time! and who does he think he is about not waiting for you… you didn’t even know there was something to wait for!

instead you plaster on a fake smile, locking eyes with him in the rearview. “bye katsuki. we’re going to talk about this.”

bakugou grumbles under his breath, a blush flushing the apples of his cheeks. he’s so stupid. “yeah… i know.” 

bakugou stares through the mirror at you kissing kenji a last goodbye, before carefully shutting the door behind you. he’s stuck to your figure walking away, pressing your password to your apartment building and closing the door behind you.

he’s all sorts of fucked right now. if he thought about you a lot before, you are all he thinks about how. how to get out of this bubble, how still not feel like his pride has been slashed down the middle. rejection is not something bakugou katsuki was built for, it’s not something he experiences. but you, with your constant pulling away, muddled excuses… he snapped and now even though he’s ignoring you, he misses you so fucking bad.

“papa, let’s go! MONSTA TRUCKS!”

that was three days ago and yes, kenji loved the monster trucks. 

“oh he’s so gorgeous. i wish i had kids with him instead of my deadbeat baby daddy.”

you’re friends with some of the mums you see at pick up, others not so much. being one of the younger mums always put you in an awkward position, forced to listen to advice, techniques from mothers on their fourth child. sometimes you appreciated it and sometimes you couldn’t deal with the attitude. today you decide to lean back on the fence behind you, checking your phone until your little boy comes running out.

“i used to have a crush on him as a teen… remember that ua sports festival? what am i even saying, i’ve got a crush on him now and have you seen kenji? such a sweet kid.”

your head whips to the mothers giggling like school girls at the sound of your babies name. kenji? you follow the ladies gaze to bakugou katsuki slouched in a children’s bench he practically takes up ninety percent of. he’s in a black overhead hoodie paired with a black gilet, clutching his phone. he looks ahead for a moment in thought and you almost whine at the sight of him in a black headband, his wheat blonde locks pulled off his forehead. he looks so out of place in a children’s playground, in any other time, you’d laugh. he looks media dynamight grumpy with his intense frown and bulging biceps. you notice the stubble brushed against his lower jaw, a light shadow that makes him look a little rougher, less put together. 

you had to have a kid with the most attractive man on the school run. though why the hell is he here right now? you slide out of your position by the gate, arms crossed as you walk to the pro hero seated on the paint chipped colourful bench. 

“what are you doing here?”

bakugou looks up at you in alarm like you just caught him doing something to. he forces his heart rate to calm and tries not to analyse the annoyance that’s apparent in your eyes. he tries to style it out, leaning back on the bench, spreading his legs wider. he just needed some time away from you, to gather himself before he’s thrust back into your orbit.

you notice how he clenches his jaw and gives you a once over. how you miss the smiles and the sweethearts and the babies and the—

“it’s my day to pick kenj up,” he grunts, fixing his hair, hoping his hair doesn’t look terrible. you’re not supposed to be here, pouting at him adorably with this lip gloss that has sparkles in it. he’s supposed to be annoyed at you, his pride is still on its way to being stitched up but fuck if his fingers don’t twitch to loop around your waist and drag you onto his lap.

“no it’s not. you texted me you had a meeting today.” you shift to pull your phone out of your pocket but bakugou’s already shaking his head, sliding his phone between the tips of his fingers.

“i said next tuesday, sweetheart.”

it’s whiplash hearing the petname and you can tell he didn’t mean to let that slip. bakugou tries not to react, his nose twitching, still frowning. he crosses his arms across his chest but he holds your gaze, not before dropping to your lips. fuck.

at that you unlock your phone to go through your texts… next is right there glowing up at you. 

“oh. shit, i wouldn’t have come otherwise,” it’s the volume increase of the gossip behind you that makes you spin around to glare at the mothers and wow, even some fathers now, very not discreetly talking about you and katsuki. they’re all too slow to look away, their necks probably cracking from the movement.

“i never knew you had yourself a little fanclub,” you say turning back to katsuki who’s back glued to his phone.

“what? you jealous again?”

again, meaning his orange haired assistant from his office. your eyes almost roll out of your head from his tone. snappy, cocky.

you keep your voice low, turning away from the crowd of parents who would love to see a showdown between you both. actually, it’s probably the first time they’ve seen you standing together.

“you’re really pissing me off now,” and that makes bakugou glance up at you again, eyebrow quirked up. if he wasn’t waiting for his son outside his nursery, he’d drag you to the backseat of his car for talking to him like that. with your permission of course.

“you expected me to know exactly what i want from you after you just gave me head, i was half drunk and half asleep and that was your first time even asking me out! then you dump the fact you’ve wanted me for two years and then said you wouldn’t wait for me? you forgot to keep me in the loop. fuck off, katsuki.”

you keep your arms crossed against your chest as you plop down in the ten percent of the bench bakugou’s left over. you don’t eye his chunky thighs or remember how it felt to sit on them a few weeks ago.

bakugou takes in everything you say, sitting still for a second longer than he should have. he shuffles down the seat to give you more space. he mumbles a small fuck, a loud sigh and ducks his face in his hands.

his silence only gives you more time to think about what to say, posture impeccable, “then you decide to ignore me for a week with your little attitude and pisspoor photo editing. then i’m an idiot to not think about how us being up and down might somehow affect kenji.”

everything feels clearer hearing your point of view. sure, deku told him to consider this and bakugou even managed to leave out the detail that he asked you while your hand was on his cock. all the feelings he’s pent up during the week wheezes out of him like a popped balloon because even though he was hurt, he did spring that all up on you. 

“but i’ve been so obvious that i want you.” 

your body heats from his admission again but your eyes stay looking forward, “you’re a big boy, katsuki. speak up.” then you sniff, “it’s not like you haven’t been dating people since kenji was born.”

you need to leave, you’ve said your piece and kenji isn’t expecting you here anyway which means bubble bath and a catch up on your newest series. but katsuki isnt having it. sure, he has regrets about how he dealt with your last encounter, mostly wishing he held you longer, he wasn’t so impulsive to ask you on a date mid sex and he definitely shouldn’t have lied to you.

if you want to hash it outside kenji’s nursery, then fine, he’d indulge.

“that’s not even—,”

“ah you’re both here! mr and mrs bakugou, can we talk about kenji inside please?” 

miss butterwood, kenji’s teacher, is a lovely lady. you’ve always liked her, a young sweet darkskin lady who always matches her hair clips to her blouse. though she’s not giving anything away, just a small smile and a nudge in the direction of her classroom so you both follow. it’s the confusion that makes it not even cross your mind to correct her with the names.

you glance over at bakugou who’s just as baffled as you.

“we’re continuing this.”

“now you want to talk to me,” you roll your eyes before mum mode switches on. you’ve seen a few kids get let out, screams and laughs as they run to their parents outside. kenji is yet to appear and you feel a rock drop to the bottom of your stomach.

“what is this about, miss butterwood?”

“where’s kenji?” 

bakugou asks at the same time and miss butterwood releases a light laugh.

you and bakugou walk into kenji’s classroom at the same time, sitting in the two adult seats provided by her desk.

“i’ll answer all your questions in a moment—,”

“where’s kenji?” bakugou repeats, voice a bite away from being a growl and your eyes widen at him.

for the first time ever, bakugou’s sitting up straight with his hands on his knees. being in the dark always makes him agitated but not knowing something about his son makes him angry, rude.

you rest your hand on his thigh to calm him. if something was really wrong with kenji, miss butterwood wouldn’t be smiling in your face right now. bakugou doesn’t acknowledge your hand, though his clenched jaw softens ever so slightly. “sorry about him. where is he though?”

“kenji’s in the next classroom over. i can bring him in if it makes you feel comfortable, i just wanted to talk to you without him in the room.”

you nod in understanding whilst bakugou stares, eyes narrowing. miss butterwood must deal with a load of crazy parents because she doesn't even flinch.

“i have good and bad news for kenji today, which would you like first?”

“bad,” you and bakugou blurt in unison.

“today, kenji got in an altercation with one of the other children-,”

“hah?”

your jaw drops. kenji? your sweet little kenji who chases butterflies and enjoys nature documentaries with his daddy? 

“one of the children pushed him in the sandpit, laughing that kenji’s quirk hasn’t developed yet. which is very normal for kids his age—”

“what the fuck?” bakugou spits, “what kid?”

miss butterwood clamps her mouth shut, shaking her head, “since kenji will probably mention it to you, it was one of his friends amar.”

bakugou feels like the ground has fallen beneath his feet. a fucking rascal is bullying his kid because his quirk hasn’t developed yet? it feels like an ironic joke, a punishment for his younger self’s antics. he’s over it, he’s felt enough regret to last a lifetime over himself as a kid though he definitely didn't expect to be kicked in the face with it today. he’s calling deku about this.

“oh my god,” you gasp and bakugou scoops up your hand that was sitting on his thigh, linking your fingers with his. you squeeze his hand tightly, both of you refusing to look down. you know amar, sits next to kenji in class and they play football together on the weekends, “is he okay now?”

“he hit his head on the wooden frame of the pit and was in tears. we had to clean and patch up the scratch. though as soon as we cleaned him up, he went back over to the amar and pushed him, hitting his head against a tree.”

you shake your head, a faux frown on your face, your lip twitching.

“thank fuh—,” but you squeeze bakugou’s hand extra tight for him to shut up.

“this is all terrible. i hope the child gets reprimanded for striking first and we will… talk to kenji about hitting back, even if it’s in retaliation.”

bakugou tries to follow your lead but he’s not one to fake a thing, opting to sit back in his seat quietly. fuck that, he’s teaching his child to punch if he gets punched, nobody is getting away with shit. “what’s happening to the other child?” 

“since he hit kenji first and also had to get patched up, we are about to inform their parents after and seat him away from kenji. the two were friends before this but i think this spawned from the fact amar got his quirk recently.”

“what’s the quirk?” bakugou grunts

“that is not relevant,” you mumble, but bakugou stays looking at miss butterwood.

“it is a speed quirk,” is all she reveals and bakugou stretches his jaw.

“what’s the good news then?”

a smile falls across miss butterwood’s face and it makes you smile too, your cheeks inching up. you’re beginning to think that must be something to do with her quirk, though it's not affecting bakugou in the slightest.

“kenji has been exceeding at a much faster rate than the rest of the class and we’ve been thinking we could put him in some extra classes after school with the older kids to test alternate skills. logic, strategy and more,”

“take that for a fuckin’ speed quirk,” bakugou mumbles and you roll your eyes.

“kenji is a bright, bubbly child and we know this incident today is out of his behaviour. we wanted to know if you’d be interested in him doing these extra classes. they’ll only be once a week, twice if he enjoys them.”

you look over at bakugou, slowly nodding whilst he gives you a single nod. “yeah, yes. that would be amazing! best we start with once a week.”

there’s a tiny knock at the door and miss butterwood chuckles, “there he is. come in!”

you rip your hand away from bakugou’s, turning to face the door to see your little boy tumble in with a brown bear plushie, gifted by his father. “mama! papa! i’m going in smart class!” then he pouts, standing between both your chairs, “i had a bump today too and… bumped amar.”

you stroke your baby's cheek, eyeing the white padded plaster at the back of his head, “my poor baby.”

you watch miss butterwood, talking to another teacher outside the door, “well done on pushing him back,” you say pointing in his face to make sure he listens, “you never punch first, you always punch—,”

“second!” shouts kenji and he slaps your larger palm in a high five.

bakugou rumbles in laughter, staring at his little family, “and here i thought you’d disagree with my parenting.”

you spin kenji around to face his father, analysing the plaster again. it should heal quickly, it’s about an inch long. bakugou takes his son's hand, swinging it back and forth.

“we aren’t raising a pushover here. we are practicing our patience until his quirk comes. we aren’t sitting ducks in the meantime.”

kenji nods solemnly, “we are not ducks, papa.”

bakugou can only deem himself lucky to be partnered with you to raise his kid and so fucking lucky that his kid has more sense  than he ever had when he was his age.

miss butterwood walks back into the room, waving away the other teacher, “if kenji is okay and you two don’t mind, he can have his first advanced class now? pick him up in an hour and a half?”

bakugou looks at his son who squeezes the plushie he grabbed for him on his last mission, “you wanna go, little man?”

walking out of kenji’s nursery without kenji and instead his father by your side wasn’t your plan for the evening.

“so not only do we have a fuckin’ mastermind, we have a boxer in the makin’. a wonder child.”

you laugh, playfully slapping his arm, “you need to work on your reactions! you were about to act like he won an award for hitting the kid back.”

“i don't give a fuck. i only didn’t because blood wasn’t circulating in my hand anymore.”

“that is not true,” you glare.

“his teacher was using her quirk on you wasn’t she? a chemical one, every time she smiled you were showin’ all your fuckin’ teeth.”

you gasp, “i knew it! i was thinking why weren’t you being affected, looking like you were going to shake her for not saying where kenji was.”

bakugou huffs a laugh, “hero trainin’, baby.”

it’s the pet name that snaps you out of your back and forth, remembering you still have to have that conversation, talk about feelings when you’d rather much be whatever you were before.

you scan the area. all the parents have gone now, just you and bakugou at the entrance. you spot his black porsche on the empty road.

“where’s your lil beetle?”

rich pro hero makes fun of your little red car. only you and kenji sit in it, so you don't need a massive car or even a car collection like the annoyance beside you. 

“it’s not even a beetle! and she’s in the shop at the moment, bad exhaust.”

“you took the bus?”

“yup.”

“how’ve you been gettin’ to work?”

“normies take the bus, katsuki.”

“i can get my driver to take you.”

“that is so not necessary.”

“i’m not askin’. can’t have my baby mama too tired to look after my kid.”

you don't have anything to say about that though blood rushes to your cheeks. you’ll only say no once to a personal driver, you’re not an idiot to say it twice. 

bakugou and you stand on the pavement like strangers. you leave a considerable gap between you both, holding onto the strap of your bag and staring down the road to where your bus stop is. bakugou’s fingers twitch like he’s infected and only your touch will soothe him. he wants to feel your smooth fingers between his calloused ones, the heat of your palm warming straight down to his heart. even an arm around your waist to pull you into an embrace because it’s fucked the last time he’s touched you was weeks ago.

“i’m gonna head to a coffee shop, grab a tea. there’s no point going all the way home to come out again.” 

“i can drop you home or to the coffee place and i can pick him up after so you don't need to. we gotta talk. i need to talk to you.”

it’s the tired droop of his carmine eyes that drag you to his car. bakugou swings it open and once you’ve settled in the seat, he shuts the door and you analyse the interior of his car. kenji’s booster seat directly behind you, a green deku air freshener hanging off his rearview and he’s got a water bottle, his glasses case, yoghurt raisins and gum in the open console between your chairs. bakugou slides in, the sweet caramel smell of him overwhelming you.

“it’s so tidy in here. like it’s brand new.” you awe, not finding a speck of dust across the black leather interior. there’s a rim of orange around his seats and you find the detail very katsuki.

“i don't fuck around with my shit. i’m careful.” he sniffs, jabbing his car key in the slot and switching his car on, “so is kenj.”

you blame the rumble your body makes on his smooth engine humming the vehicle to life. you can only remember what he said to you last time, i would be so careful with you knowing kenji could be hurt by our actions. 

bakugou turns the heating on, checking his mirrors and just when you think he's about to actually start moving the car, he sits back in his seat, turning his head ninety degrees to look at you. if it wasn't so weird between you, you’d feel the prickle of stubble dusted along his jaw, perhaps bring him in for a kiss. tell him how sexy it makes him look—

“what?”

“which coffee shop was it?”

bakugou stretches his arm to rest on the wheel, looking at you before looking at the road. bad idea to have you alone in his car. your perfume, something spicy and floral has him dying to roll his eyes back, grab your neck and pull you for a kiss. you look almost nervous in his presence and he can’t make out why, your eyes darting all around the car then his outstretched arm, his knuckles on the wheel. somehow you’re prettier than when he saw you last, dropping kenji off to him and before that, when you made yourself come on his lap.

you rattle off the location to him, transfixed by bakugou katsuki driving. this wasn’t helping your case at all. he places his palm on the back of your seat, to reverse and you force yourself not to look at the length of his neck or focus on the heat of his body so close to yours. he could kiss your cheek if he wanted but he’s already moved, circled out of the parking spot and driving to the destination.

bakugou is a lazy driver, slightly slouched in his seat, his arm bent at the wheel. you notice him mumble swears under his breath when he sees a car in the wrong lane, then he glances at you, hands tucked between your pressed thighs.

“wanna put music on?”

“no it’s okay. it’s a short ride.”

another boat of silence, bakugou rests his elbow by his window, thumb underneath his top teeth. he needs to apologise, explain his behaviour and beg you to give him another chance, especially after hearing your side.

instead you both sit, eyes glued forward.

“you look cute today. appreciated how you took control in the meetin’. i get agitated too fuckin’ quick.”

you raise your eyebrow at him, this big muscled man, you can still remember the feeling of his tongue slide across you, is calling you cute? 

a quick glance at you and he knows what you’re thinking. at a red light, he flicks to your torso then your legs. bites down softly on his bottom lip, “big jumper, baggy jeans, lip gloss. you look cute today. don’t dress like that if you don’t wanna be called cute.”

he looks away when green glows from the traffic lights, the car gliding forward. you rub your lips together instinctively, warming up under your jumper. 

you refuse to reply to that comment, instead, “what’s the headband for?”

bakugou’s hands drift to his hair, looking in the rearview mirror quickly. “what d’you mean? my hair’s gettin’ too long. need a cut.”

you nod, eyes glued to the black fabric on his hairline. bakugou can tell, you’ve got the same look in your eyes when he had you in his lap before you kissed. 

“why?” he continues, grin spreading across his face like melting butter, “d’you like it?”

he slides into a spot outside the coffee shop, getting ready to park.

“i’m not answering that, katsuki. you’re in my bad books.”

but the smile isn’t leaving his cheeks, so much so he rests his hand over his mouth to cover it.

“if you say so, baby.”

somehow calling you baby during sex has continued out of your living room. you hate how you love it.

once he switches the engine off, you pop your seat belt off, opening your passenger door. “okay, i’ll see you. text me about kenji.”

you think you’re free for a moment, finally fresh air because you were suffocating with all the tension in the car. you’re about to open the door to the coffee shop when a longer and larger arm above your head opens the door for you.

“why are you coming too?”

“i said we gotta talk. we’re talkin’.”

two hands sit on your hips as he guides you into the shop and you let him, loving the heat of his back. you’d never admit it but you imagine for a moment if you did date him, claiming him for the world to know.

you pause in front of the counter and bakugou’s hands still haven’t moved from your waist. “what do you want?” he asks, looking up at the board of drinks.

you pull out your phone to pay, “usually just a peppermint and ginger tea at this time, no sugar—,”

“can i get that and a black coffee please.” he asks to the barista.

the barista clearly recognises him, looks at his hands on you and then back to their ipad to note down your order.

“why a tea at this time?” he mumbles to you and his voice, so close, makes you jump.

“oh, caffeine and me in the afternoon will sit with me until it’s time for bed.”

bakugou listens, “i had night patrol far out, barely slept. my receptionist had to wake me up from my office sofa.”

you watch every word form on his lips, trying to find signs of tiredness. it explains the agitation before, the light dark circles under his eyes now that you’re up closer. bakugou taps his card on the reader, grabbing both your drinks and waits for you to pick a table.

“oh i was going to… thanks,”

his smirk is sweet and small, lightly shaking his head, “it’s nothin’.”

once you both settle in your seats at the back of the shop by the window, you feel lighter despite not talking about anything yet. everything is so easy with katsuki, unbelievably so.

“‘m sorry.”

you weren’t expecting that. 

“not for everythin’ i said, but how i said it. i was just fuckin’ hurt.”

you lift your mug, blowing the liquid and inhaling the mint. you flick your eyes back up to his. 

“i think ‘cause i’ve been in my head about you that i just assumed you knew. i think about you all the fuckin’ time and there’s been no change, nothing new between us until recently.” 

you crying in his arms after work, visiting him in his office, kissing him, sitting on his—

“basically i like you a lot, a fuckin’ school boy crush and i thought i had no chance ‘cause you were datin’ other people.”

“how’d you know i was dating people?” you never told him or kenji.

“i’m not stupid, yn. i can tell when a man has been in your apartment when i dropped kenji back and when you’d drop him to me when you’re going on one. kenji’s never said anything about meeting one of those fuckers so i wasnt sayin’ shit to you.”

“but you’ve dated people too?”

katsuki takes a sip of his coffee, creases between his brows, “i haven’t?”

you prefer to stare out of the window, “i remember an article with a photo of you and two women in the states and you’re an attractive professional hero obviously you have.”

“i haven’t dated anyone, i don't date. that was just…”

you lower your voice, lucky there’s only a student with headphones on in the corner of the shop, “ah, so you were just fucking them? you’re not my man, it’s fine. i’m just explaining why i’ve been so confused.”

bakugou leans back in his seat, throwing his head back and sighing, “fuck.”

“so you’ve liked me since you met me but i started dating people so you started fucking people and then we had sex again and you said you don't want to wait for me even though i never knew there was something to wait for.”

“fuck. fuck. i get it, i fucked up there.”

“and then kenji. you’re his father, you’re different to the rest of the guys i’ve dated and… i don't want us to go wrong.”

bakugou stares at his stormy black liquid, “but what if we go right? what if we’re fuckin’ good together?”

your mouth opens and closes like a fish begging for air. bakugou grabs your hands, across the table, urging you to look up. your lips are parted, his face only a few inches away from yours from across the table.

then he grins and finally you get to see his full set of teeth, his gold tooth that cases his canine. you feel like whimpering at the sight, “baby, what if we work?”

you laugh softly, “i haven’t thought that far ahead. but… but if we do date…”

bakugou’s nodding like a puppy hearing a list of his favourite words, “if we try then we’re taking this slowly. no telling kenji or our parents, i do not want to have their input on this.”

“anythin’, baby.”

“and if i see you even flirt with another woman during this time, i’ll kill you.”

bakugou stares at you like you’re stupid, head tilting, bringing your knuckles to his mouth, “i haven’t cared about another woman since I’ve met you.”

you roll your eyes, clearly enamoured, “this also doesn’t count as a date and you better not ask me when my hand is on your dick again. that was classless.”

bakugou chuckles, intertwining his fingers with yours, gulping down his coffee despite the fact it’s still boiling

“terrible fuckin’ move, i know. i’ll ask you again, we’ll do somethin’ that will blow your mind.” when he sets his mug back on the table, he’s still slightly in shock, “you’re actually lettin’ me?”

his reaction makes you shy, a little cocky, though you school your expression. staring at him without blinking, “don’t fuck up, dynamight.”

your baby father winks at you, squeezes your hand and downs the last sip of his coffee, “wouldn’t dream of it.”

---

PART 4 / BABY DADDY MASTERLIST / SOMETHING ELSE

likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox

Now that he was really giving it some thought, this was the first time that he’d ever woken up in bed with a woman. For all his sexual encounters, he always made sure that the girl would leave as soon as they were done, uninterested in taking his one night stands beyond anything but sex.

With you it was different. He’d swear off sex completely if that was what was necessary to see you like this each morning, so soft and angelic in the golden light. 

His hand moved from your waist up into your hair, threading through the soft strands, stroking gently as he held you against his chest, completely at peace feeling the calm rise and fall of your chest. He wasn’t sure how you’d be when you finally awoke, a sense of anxiety making itself known in his chest as he considered that you might not want to be all tangled up with him like this in the light of day. 

After all the events with Hiromi, he wouldn’t be surprised if your aversion to touch made itself known once more, your trauma leading you to push him away, unable to separate the memories of Hiromi from the presence of Sukuna. 

But for now he shoved the worries aside. 

All that mattered was that right now he had you happily in his arms - if you woke up in complete terror then the two of you could cross that bridge when you came to it. 

He found himself surprised by how long you ended up sleeping in that morning. 

You were typically always awake before him, responding to his good morning texts in an instant, most likely already at the bakery or at the library, forever a morning person. But today it seemed as though you were completely at peace, finally getting yourself some well-earned rest. 

There was a smug part of him that was convinced your relaxed state was his doing, that you’d been wound so tight for months and he’d finally given you the release and safety that you needed. 

He liked the idea that he could have such an impact on you. 

By the time you finally came to at 11am, Sukuna had started contemplating whether or not he should wake you himself. His arm was totally dead from you laying atop it, and his phone was completely out of his reach, meaning that he’d spent the last couple of hours splitting his time between micro-analysing every tiny detail of your room, and fantasizing about what it would be like to fuck you in this bed with all your cute little stuffed animals watching.

Admittedly, he really tried to put that thought out of his head, considering that you weren’t anywhere near ready for that yet, but it was difficult with the way that you kept shifting against him in your sleep, each contact making him achingly hard. 

It was almost a relief when your pretty eyes fluttered open, instinctively shifting away from him as you began to wake up. You looked cute, rubbing sleep from the corners of your eyes as you glanced up at him shyly. 

“Morning, angel.” 

“Hey.” You took a deep breath. “Sorry-” 

“You’ve been awake like three seconds, the hell are you apologising for?” 

You shrugged, a red flush coating your cheeks as you pouted, reaching out to grab a frog plushie that sat beside your pillow, fiddling with its webbed hands. “Y’know, asking you to come over so late and crying and stuff.” 

“You’re so stupid.” He said with a breathy laugh. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

“Really? How come you keep believing that everything’s an imposition then? If you’re so smart, surely you should be able to figure out that I want to be here. Quit apologising.”

“Fine.” You mumbled, not unlike a kid who had just been scolded.

“Good girl.” 

There was an incredulous look on your face, but it did little to hide the furious blush on your cheeks at his words. He’d gotten good at understanding what was and wasn’t crossing a line for you, and flustering comments were definitely on the table. 

As was kissing you on the forehead apparently, if last night was anything to go by. 

It was almost embarrassing how happy that had made him, his heart racing at the thought of a mere peck on the forehead - not even a kiss on the lips and he still felt overjoyed. After all the time he’d spent mocking Choso for being down bad about various girls, he’d never expected that he’d finally understand it. 

“Your hair.” He was taken aback as you reached out to him, fingers gently brushing the strands that had fallen in front of his forehead. “It’s down.” 

“What, did you think it just defied gravity or something?” 

“No.” You giggled. “Just haven’t seen it like this before.” 

Personally, Sukuna hated having his hair down - it would get in his eyes and made him look entirely too much like his brother Jin. He’d been pushing it back since childhood, always making sure to differentiate himself from his sibling. 

Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way you were looking at him right now.

“You look so pretty.” You spoke softly. 

“I’m not going for pretty.” He grumbled, trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered. The feeling only intensified as you laughed once more, dropping your hand back into your lap as you gazed at him. 

“Handsome then?” 

“Are you flattering me for a reason?” He asked with a wry grin. 

“Never.” You said, entirely too seriously. 

Fuck, you were so cute.

He pulled himself up from the bed, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to push it up as normal. A couple of strands fell back down, but for now that would have to do. 

Trekking across the room he winced at the sight of his phone, an instagram message request lighting up the screen. It was from an account he didn’t know, but the username and contents of the message made it easy enough to guess who it was from. 

There was a whole lot of cursing, and a slew of insults about you, ranging from emphasizing how much of a prude you were to somehow calling you a whore within the span of the same sentence. 

For all of your talk about how elegant Hiromi was with his words, it certainly wasn’t shining through in this message. He’d probably sent it when he was still raging drunk, although he’d still had the clarity to send it from a burner account to make things more difficult if Sukuna were to try reporting it to the police. 

Bastard. 

Sukuna glanced over at you, sitting on the bed and stretching, your shirt rising a little as you reached your hands over your head. He supposed that he should tell you about the message, but that felt wrong. He didn’t want you to think about Hiromi for a moment longer - he’d take care of it and you could keep your peace. 

“You’ve got all your socials set to private, right?” Sukuna asked. 

You winced, clearly smart enough to understand what would prompt him to ask such a question, but unwilling to compromise your own peace by delving into his words. “Yeah, only followers can message me.” 

“Good.” 

“Do you think he’ll come back? Hiromi?” Your voice was quiet. The frog plushie was in your lap now, where you were fiddling with it anxiously. 

Sukuna thought about that. He didn’t really know Hiromi well enough to decisively say either way, but the man had probably been shaken up by Sukuna’s presence last night. His instagram message was filled with plenty of faux courage, but that was much easier to present through a screen than in person. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

He hadn’t meant to sound so flippant, only realising that his response had probably scared you when he noticed the way that your shoulders seized up a little. 

“It doesn’t matter though. If he comes back I’ll deal with him.” He approached you, fingers finding their way beneath your chin as he leant forward, tilting your face up a little before pressing a kiss against your forehead as he’d done last night. “Let’s have some breakfast, yeah?” 

As he’d expected, he’d found your cupboards to be relatively bare. That tended to be the norm with you, only generally having groceries to spare when Sukuna was coming around regularly. Considering that he’d been in Kyoto for the past week he should’ve expected that you’d go straight back to your habit of convenience store dinners. 

Not that he minded, it just meant that he got to take you to a cafe for breakfast, which was probably for the best anyway, it was better for you to get out of the house. 

You were staring out of the window of the cute cafe he’d led you to, drumming your fingers absentmindedly against the wood of the table as he approached with a tray in hand, placing a mocha down in front of you along with a pain au chocolat. 

“This place is good, I sometimes go before lectures, but the cakes and pastries aren’t anywhere near as good as the ones your dad makes.” He said, taking a bite from the cinnamon roll that he’d gotten for himself. 

“I’ll tell him you said that, he’ll be thrilled.” You said, turning your attention to him. It was clear that you were trying your best to act like everything was normal, but he could still see that glassy, far-off look in your eyes that said differently. 

“I already have told him.” He said with a grin, thinking about the way the old man had lit up at his words. 

Hell, he’d even received a call from his own dad a day later where Wasuke had told him all about how thrilled your father had been at the compliment, gushing about what a lovely son Wasuke had raised. 

Ironically, his dad had spent the rest of the phone call yelling at him, asking why he’d be so damn polite to someone else’s family but not his own. 

You smiled. “No wonder he loves you so much. Hadn’t realised how much you were feeding his ego.” 

“Oh? He loves me?” 

“Yeah.” You said, rolling your eyes. “He’s very invested in…this. Keeps telling me to invite you over for dinner and stuff.” 

Sukuna tilted his head. “In this? Whatever do you mean?” His tone was playful, feeling a rush of excitement at the way you glared at him. It was probably mean to tease you right now, considering the night you’d had, but some things were too good to pass up. 

“You know, this.” You gestured between the two of you, clearly praying that was enough of an explanation to sufficiently appease him. 

It wasn’t. 

“No, actually I don’t know.” He said, leaning forward and resting his chin atop his hand. “Guess you’ll have to explain it to me.” 

“I hate you.” You mumbled, before falling silent, unwilling to play along with his game. 

He wasn’t really surprised - he knew that you weren’t ready to label things yet, but the fact that you’d even told your father about everything going on was enough of a sign for him on where your mind was at. 

Well, that paired with the fact that he’d spent last night in your bed. 

“I don’t think I’ve received that invite, you know? The one to dinner with your dad.” He spoke after a beat of silence, shit-eating grin fixed on his face. 

“No?” You asked, blinking up at him innocently. “Oh, I swear I asked you to come and be held captive in my dad’s apartment while he talks you through every baseball card he’s ever owned.” 

Sukuna laughed. “I definitely would’ve remembered if you’d asked, that sounds like the ideal Friday night to me.” 

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, obviously assuming that was sarcasm. 

To an extent it was sarcasm, since his perfect friday night would probably be something along the lines of fucking you on his couch while some shitty movie plays in the background, but as far as he was concerned spending an evening with you and your dad wasn’t far off ideal either. 

After all, he’d get to spend the night hanging out with you, hearing embarrassing stories about your childhood and just generally deepening the bond you had. Not to mention, he liked your dad a lot - he had plenty of time for the old man and was more than happy to listen to him talk through his card collection. 

“I’m not kidding. Invite me over.”

You stared at him, surprise evident on your face as you gave him a little smile and a nod. You opened your mouth to say something only to falter as your phone lit up, a text coming in from an unknown number. Sukuna couldn’t quite read it from his position opposite you, but the way that the colour drained from your face said it all. 

The screen went dark as you sucked in a deep breath, making an effort to try and calm yourself. Sukuna stared at you for a moment before reaching out towards the phone. 

“Can I see?” 

You nodded, unlocking it and handing it to him without a word, turning to look out the window, as if you could pretend that nothing was happening as long as you didn’t personally acknowledge the notification. 

He frowned as he stared at the paragraph before him.

[Unknown]: I didn’t expect you to act like all the other whores who hang off Sukuna but I guess my expectations of you were too high. Have fun begging for a shred of attention once he dumps you for someone hotter. I’ll be making millions of yen as a lawyer living in Ginza, probably dating some sexy girl who has her life together while you’ll be sad and alone wishing that you were with me. You were never good at thinking for yourself and it really shows. Hope you can live with your stupid decisions.

Digging his fingernails into his palm, he tried his best to calm himself down. What the fuck was this guy’s problem anyway? Why couldn’t he just leave you in peace? Any normal guy would take a rejection, realise that they were unwanted and back off, but for some reason that wasn’t enough for this guy - he needed to tear down your character too. 

He could only assume that what he was reading right now was a mere fraction of that way Hiromi had spoken to you back when you were actually in a relationship - no wonder you’d woken up this morning and had the first word out of your mouth be an apology. 

It pissed him off. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go deal with him.” 

You looked at him in disbelief, shaking your head desperately. “Please, I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

He winced, sighing as he stared back at you, crimson eyes unwavering as he examined your anxious expression. “Then what do you want to do? We can always report it to the police, since he is stalking you.” 

“I-” You glanced around, as if nervous that someone might be listening in on your conversation. “I don’t wanna go to the police.” 

He had to lean forward to even hear you, a little taken aback by your stance. Sukuna was the type of guy who probably wouldn’t go to the police unless it was really necessary, but that was because he’d been on the wrong side of the law before. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t have any objection to going to the authorities - you were completely in the right.

“Why?” He asked, letting the question hang in the air for a while before deciding that you weren’t going to give him an answer. “Look, we can’t just do nothing. He showed up at your house and now he’s still texting you nasty shit. We can report it to the police, or I can go and deal with it, but he has to know one way or another that he can’t get away with this.” 

“I don’t want to do anything, I just want it to stop.” You mumbled, eyes trained on the table. “I’m just worn so thin, I’m so tired from the last few months I don’t want to deal with this at all.” 

“Then let me deal with it. Let it be my problem. Hell, if you don’t want me to speak to Hiromi I can go to the police for you, I can do all the paperwork and shit, whatever, I just need to do something.” 

He could understand your point of view - taking any course of action would take effort and energy that you didn’t currently have. But he was far from okay with letting Hiromi pull this shit and walk away with no consequences. 

“The police won’t listen.” You said with a deep sigh. “We’ve got no real evidence beyond a couple of messages where he’s being mean, which isn’t exactly a crime. I know that the police never take harassment seriously so it just feels pointless. Besides, he’s such a smooth talker I know that he’ll just turn things around and make me look like the crazy one.” 

“I mean.” Sukuna lowered his voice. “You’ve got a ring camera, right? So we can prove he showed up last night. Plus, stalking and harassment aside, he also assaulted you back when you were in a relationship. If you told the police about that they’d probably take it seriously - at the very least you’d be able to get a restraining order against him and then if he ever tried anything again he’d be arrested.” 

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t- I don’t want to tell them about that.” 

Sukuna’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But it would-” 

“No.” You said firmly, before taking a deep breath. “Victims rarely get believed anyway - all that would do is lead us into a long and drawn out trial where I’d have to re-live everything only for Hiromi to come out on top in the end. I don’t want that, I just want to move on.” 

There was a part of him that wanted to challenge that, wanted to point out that it was worth trying anyway because what Hiromi had done was despicable, leaving you mentally ruined, unable to easily cope with intimacy in the way that you could have before. 

But the panic on your face gave him pause. 

It wasn’t for him to decide whether you spoke up about that, and you were probably right - plenty of violent rapists walked free, so the chances of convicting a man for sexual assault when the two of you had been in a relationship at the time was even less likely. 

Why should you have to face Hiromi again? Unpick all of your negative emotions only to come out of it with nothing. That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t going to force you into that. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled after a few beats of silence. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” 

“It's okay.” You were clutching your mug tight between your hands, letting the warmth seep into your skin, avoiding his gaze. “I just- I don’t wanna deal with a load of legal stuff, I don’t really want anything out of this beyond him leaving me alone.” 

“I get it.” 

He reached across the table, tips of his fingers skimming gently across yours as he pulled your hand from the mug, entwining your hands together, squeezing lightly as he encouraged you to look up at him. 

“No police - that’s fine. But please let me go and talk to that asshole.” He said softly, maroon eyes fixed on you. “Let me look after you.” 

He’d expected more resistance - a conclusion to the conversation in the form of you firmly putting your foot down on ignoring the issue entirely and hoping that it went away on its own. To some extent he could understand your desire for that - he’d always heard that the best way to deal with a narcissist was to give them absolutely nothing, no fuel to feed their egos. 

Sukuna really wasn’t a do nothing type of guy though, so he was elated when you actually gave in, giving him permission to go and clearly lay out to Hiromi what he thought, since the message clearly hadn’t made it through his thick skull last night. 

So once the two of you had finished your coffee, and you’d begrudgingly handed him Hiromi’s address after making him promise that he wasn’t going to beat the guy to death and get arrested, he headed off to confront the man. 

He’d dropped you off at his house in the meantime, taking you back to your place to pack up a bag of things, suggesting that you’d feel safer in a place that Hiromi hadn’t stalked you to the night before. Considering that Toji and Choso wouldn’t be back for a few weeks it was no issue for you to be there, you could just hang out in his room while he got the job done. 

Rage was burning hot in his chest by the time he arrived outside Hiromi’s house, which was disgustingly fancy for a university student. You’d mentioned that your ex’s parents were wealthy, that they’d actually bought him his own place to live in while he finished his studies, but he wasn’t expecting this. 

No wonder he had such an inflated ego if this was what mommy and daddy were prepared to do for him. 

It was evident that Hiromi wasn’t expecting him, considering the look of sheer terror that crossed the man’s face when he opened the door, all the blood draining from his cheeks, brown eyes wide with horror. Sukuna had to admit that it made him feel good - he knew he was a scary guy and any validation of that did wonders to his ego. 

Of course Hiromi was nothing more than a keyboard warrior, a man with a load of pretty words and no real backbone. Sukuna would’ve found him amusing if not for how scared you were of the guy. The fact that you’d ever let someone so pathetic have so much control over you made him sad - this man shouldn’t have even been allowed to stand in your presence, let alone plague your mind for two years. 

“What are you doing here?” Hiromi’s voice was calm, but the way that his hand was tightly clutching at the door said otherwise. 

“We’re past that, don’t you think?” Sukuna said. “Playing dumb doesn’t really work for a guy like you, I know you’re clever.” 

“I apologise for my behaviour last night.” Hiromi said. “I was inebriated, I acted in poor taste.” 

Sukuna stared at him incredulously, before letting out a laugh, almost doubling over with how hard he was cackling. “You’ll really just say anything, huh? No wonder she’s so scared of you, that apology was so convincing that you’d have anyone fooled.” 

“I was being genuin-”

“Not me, though.” Sukuna cut him off. “I know not to believe a single word out of your mouth.” 

Sukuna’s hand was pressing against the door now, keen to ensure that Hiromi didn’t attempt the coward’s way out of shutting it in his face. 

“Please, I’m so hungover, can you just leave?” 

Hiromi was growing irritated now, standing up a little taller, clearly trying to twist the narrative so that he was the victim. He wanted it to look like Sukuna had shown up to pick a fight for no reason. That really pissed him off, and he could completely understand why you’d never felt like you had the upper hand with this man, his strong self-preservation ever knocking you off-kilter. 

“No. I’m not leaving until I have assurance that you’re gonna leave her alone.”

“I told you, yesterday was just a mistake, I won’t-” 

“What about the message you sent this morning?” Sukuna asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He balked at that, almost impressed by Hiromi’s insistence on denying every single claim made against him. He supposed that was a perfect trait to find in a person training to be a defence lawyer. Yeah, Sukuna had done some research on the man that morning, getting you to contact Nanami for all the information he had before he’d made the drive over to Hiromi’s house. 

That was how he knew that right now Hiromi was working for a company that valued their reputation significantly. 

“Oh, so you don’t remember comparing my girlfriend to a whore this morning?” 

He didn’t really care that you weren’t technically his girlfriend yet, because in his mind you absolutely were. 

“No? Why would I do that?” 

“Mmm. Must’ve been her other abusive ex then, I guess.” He said sarcastically. “How about this, then?” He held up his phone to show Hiromi the long message that he’d received in the early hours of the morning. 

“I told you already, I wasn’t in my right mind, I was drunk.” 

“Oh, so you admit you did send this one then?” 

For a moment, Hiromi seemed caught off guard. “No, I-”

“You know, it's funny - I get drunk all the time and I’ve never stalked a girl or sent her incel-like messages. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that - or whatever that fucking saying is.” 

He’d never really believed that, but it worked well enough for his argument right now. 

“Look man, it was one night, one mistake. My bad. This is between me and her anyway, I don’t know why you’re interfering. She’s probably told you plenty of lies about me and now you’re white knighting her, which is really lame - she isn’t worth all that.” 

The level of delusion that Hiromi seemed to live under was something else entirely. Did he honestly think that he could turn Sukuna against you? That there would be any chance in hell that he’d believe someone who was clearly lying to his face over believing you? 

Sukuna had watched you have a visceral reaction to being kissed, and the information that you had told him about Hiromi had to be practically dragged out of you. There was no doubt in his mind who the liar was here. 

All of his instincts were screaming at him to punch Hiromi in the face right now, to break his nose and leave it at that - but your voice in his head urging him not to get into trouble was winning out. He didn’t want to spend the afternoon in jail, didn’t want to put you under that stress. 

He’d much prefer to spend his day back at his house with you in his arms. 

So he took a deep breath, and kept firm control over his temper. 

“I think you’re misunderstanding.” He said calmly. “You say this is between you and her, but she wants nothing to do with you. So here I am, warning you to stop. Stop contacting her, stop talking about her, stop even fucking thinking of her.” 

Hiromi chuckled. “What, are you gonna police my thoughts?” He asked incredulously. 

“No, I’m not. But if you so much as glance in her direction I’ll be getting in contact with that legal firm that you intern at and I’ll show them everything. The messages you sent earlier today, the ones you sent just before she blocked you, the ring camera footage of you bashing on her door last night.” 

Hiromi paled at that, eyes widening a little. In his drunken state he obviously hadn’t considered that there might be a camera. 

“And, with all those things in mind, they might also be interested to hear about the way that you treated her during the relationship. Working with a guy who can’t take no for an answer doesn’t look great for a firm who actively avoids taking cases to defend rapists.” 

“That’s not what-” 

“I think you can lie to the police just fine, and I’m not gonna put her through you dragging her name through the mud in a court. That isn’t fair. But do you really think your firm will take any chances on you? I think you’ll be out of there quicker than you can even comprehend what’s happening.” 

Hiromi hesitated, anger clearly simmering beneath a measured expression, ever focussed on keeping on that mask of manipulation, even in this situation. But Sukuna could see his hands trembling at his sides, balled into tight fists. 

“So what’s it gonna be? Keep your job and stay the fuck away from her? Or throw away your future for a girl who’d rather die than go anywhere near you?” Sukuna smirked at him condescendingly. “You’re a smart guy, right? I’m sure you can make the right decision.”

—

You spent the next week practically living at Sukuna’s house. 

Even though he’d gone out of his way to lay down the law to Hiromi, making it immensely clear what would happen if he came anywhere near you again, you still didn’t feel particularly safe in your own home. Sukuna had offered to stay with you until you felt comfortable again, but your preference was to be in a different place entirely. 

You hadn’t spent much time at Sukuna’s place before. Mainly because he lived with Toji and Choso, and with the two of you in a weird place still, without any labels on what your relationship was, you didn’t want to make things more complex by letting more people know about the situation. 

Even if they all definitely already knew where Sukuna was spending his time outside of the house. 

But right now it wasn’t something that you had to worry about - with everyone off on summer break, Sukuna was currently the only one living in the house, and that meant that the two of you had the run of the place. It was nice, getting to spend the days alone together, in a place where you actually felt safe. 

At first Sukuna had offered to sleep in Choso’s room while you took his bed, not taking for granted the idea that you’d want to share a bed with him again, ever doing his best to take your boundaries into account. 

Originally you’d taken him up on his offer, curling up alone in his bed that smelt so much like him as you tried to drift off to sleep. But as you stared into the darkness of his room, mind racing with horrible words that Hiromi had spat at you, you found that sleep was an impossibility in your solitude. 

Sukuna was shirtless as he opened the door to Choso’s room, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he gazed down at you. For a moment your mind drew a blank at what you’d even gone there for, too distracted by the sight in front of you. Your eyes trailed down his figure, admiring the tattoos running down his chest, his defined abs, the way that his sweatpants were hanging low on his waist. 

Heart pounding, you tried to remind yourself of the issue at hand, completely frozen at the sight of him. You’d known he was hot but seeing him like this felt like something else entirely. 

“See something you like, baby?” He asked, lips curling up into a grin as he watched you carefully. 

“Uhh- I- I wasn’t-”

He let out a short chuckle as you stumbled over your words, leaning his forearm against the door, towering over your smaller figure. 

“Everything okay? It's late.” 

You played with your fingers, averting your gaze from him in an attempt to hide the flush painting your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“No?” 

You shook your head, feeling a little embarrassed to show up like this, acting like a little kid who’d had a bad dream. What kind of adult couldn’t deal with sleeping alone?

“Just feel too on edge, even if he’s not coming back, everything just keeps playing over and over again in my head.”

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. Planting a kiss atop your head, he ran his hand comfortingly up and down your back, letting you relax against him. You could hear his heart racing, your breath hitching at the realisation that despite his outwardly cool appearance, he was as affected by you as you were by him. 

“Want to share the bed again?” He asked, saving you the humiliation of asking the question. 

You just nodded into his chest, letting him lead you back to his room, settling you both into his bed and pulling you close against him, just like he had the night before. It was a little different, feeling a whole lot more intimate with him being half naked. But you found that it wasn’t something that bothered you. 

On the contrary, with his arms firmly wrapped around your body, you found yourself drifting off in a matter of minutes, the anxious thoughts floating away with his comforting presence at your side. 

Sharing a bed became normal from that point on. 

There was no more questioning from Sukuna’s side as to whether it was okay - it just became part of your routine, an addition to the list of intimacy that you’d allow him. 

It wasn’t really a big deal - sharing a bed. Before the events with Hiromi you would’ve shared a bed with any close friend of yours without a second thought. But it felt like a major milestone now. Considering how panicked you’d felt when Sukuna had first kissed you, the fact that you now felt totally at peace when laying in his arms felt like a massive improvement. 

You were sure that you still wouldn’t be able to cope if it was anyone else touching you, but with Sukuna at the very least, you felt safe. It began to even be something that you would seek out, laying your head on his lap when you’d watch TV, nestling your face into his chest each night, nudging yourself against his lips when he’d lean down to plant a kiss against your forehead. 

It felt almost like you were normal. Like you weren’t someone who’d had a complete breakdown in his room at a simple kiss. 

Being with Sukuna all the time felt comfortable, and even with thoughts of the encounter with Hiromi still swirling round your head, you found that those days at his house were the happiest you’d ever been. 

You’d told your dad about the situation with Hiromi, filling him in on the fact that Sukuna had been looking after you ever since. The man had been livid, threatening to get in contact with your ex himself, only for you to calm him down and remind him that you’d rather he just took care of himself for now. 

But he still insisted on you taking a break from the shop, promising you that he’d figure it out between your aunt and cousin so that you could take a break. You’d tried to push back, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer, teasing you about how he’d much rather you lock down his future son-in-law than waste your time working. 

And as much as you’d protested, you had to admit that it was nice to wake up at Sukuna’s side with no weight on your shoulders - the whole day ahead of you, spending sleepy mornings in his arms, tangled up in his bed until the day got too hot to bear the warmth of each other’s bodies. 

You’d do whatever you pleased with your days, heading out to cafes and parks, doing grocery shopping so that the two of you could cook meals together in the evenings. Sukuna always made the most of the time that you were alone in the house, taking the opportunity to show you his favourite movies and play games with him, laughing at just how bad you were when he destroyed you on Smash Bros for the 50th time. 

It wasn’t strange or uncomfortable, and the nervousness that you’d occasionally felt around him seemed to melt away. Being at his side felt natural, like it was where you were meant to be. You were comfortable with him to the point where you wondered what it would be like to take things further, the question always on the tip of your tongue as he pulled you close at night. 

He definitely wanted to take things further - you weren’t blind to that. When you’d cuddle in his bed, or when he’d place you on his lap, holding you against him on the couch when watching a movie, you could often feel how hard he was through his jeans or sweats. 

Ever since he’d first kissed you on the forehead he’d been growing more bold, always taking the opportunity to place a gentle peck somewhere on your skin, be it your head, nose or cheek. You’d often catch him staring at your lips while you were talking, getting the occasional impulse to lean forward and kiss him yourself, only to be caught up with uncertainty about how you’d react. 

What if it undid all of the progress you’d made? What if you still couldn’t cope? 

The last thing you wanted was to hurt him, especially when you were in such a good place. 

But you had to admit, that as the days wore on, that uncertainty began to unravel. The way that he made you feel was like nothing you’d never experienced before - completely different to your experience with Hiromi. And with each moment you couldn’t help but think that it was worth the risk. 

Denying something that you wanted out of fear of how it could go wrong was stupid. Wasn’t it worse to not have it at all?

You knew that you wanted him, what were you even hesitating for? 

—

Sukuna’s hand was wrapped firmly around yours as you made your way through the crowds at a summer festival in a nearby park. He’d been excited to go for weeks, loving the idea of going on a date with you that felt more special than an outing to a restaurant or cafe. 

Not to mention, he loved the idea of seeing you all dressed up in a yukata - and you certainly delivered on that front, looking absolutely adorable in your light blue outfit, covered with a pattern of red flowers. You were even wearing a cute hair stick, a red glass flower sitting on the end of it. 

His get-up wasn’t anywhere near as elaborate as yours, wearing a simple white yukata with navy accenting that he’d had for the last couple of years. He wasn’t really the type of person to go to summer festivals, hence the simple and inexpensive choice of clothing. 

He’d always seen festivals as the kind of thing that you’d do on a date, having watched Choso attend many of them over the last two years with various girls. For that reason they’d never been something he was all that interested in. 

But now that he found himself with someone that he actually wanted to take out on dates, his opinion had shifted. 

And he was glad for that, because the way that your face was all bright with joy had his heart racing. You were clinging to his hand as you tugged him here and there, bringing him round to each stall as you nattered excitedly about all the food you wanted to eat and how much you were looking forward to the firework display. 

The two of you ate your way through most of the festival, feasting on every type of food that you could imagine on a stick before moving onto the sweets, making sure to try out everything that the stalls had on offer - sharing choco-bananas, candyfloss and candy apples until you both started to feel sick. 

Opting to go and find a place to sit and let your food digest as you waited for the fireworks to start, you came to a halt for a moment at one of the game stalls, watching people shoot at targets, your eyes skimming over the wall of prizes. You gave Sukuna’s hand a squeeze as you stared, seemingly transfixed by the sight. 

There was an assortment of stuffed animals up for grabs, which you seem instantly drawn to. Considering the sheer amount of soft toys that you had in your bedroom, he couldn’t say he was that surprised, but you’d walked past plenty of stalls like that one already that evening. 

“I’ve never won one of these prizes.” You said with a pout, eyes clearly focussed on something specific but he wasn’t sure what. “My dad would always take me to these types of festivals as a kid and my aim would suck so I never won. My dad would try to win a prize for me but his aim also sucks so we’d walk away with nothing.” 

“That checks out.” Sukuna said with a laugh, thinking about how he’d watched you miss throwing something into the trash from just an inch away. He figured you’d pout or tell him to shut up, but you just continued on with your story. 

“When I was like ten years old, there was one specific plushie that I always wanted - this cute little tiger one that I’d see every year at this festival that we’d go and visit down in Kyushu for our yearly holiday.” 

Sukuna stared at the display once more, his crimson gaze falling onto a tiger plushie sat in the middle of the display. In his opinion, it was an ugly little creature, overly chunky with a slightly misshapen face. The creators of the toy had clearly been too lazy or cheap to add eyes, opting to sew in black lines to suggest that the toy’s eyes were closed. 

It was no more special than any of the plushies that lined your bed, but you were staring up at it like it was the best thing you’d ever seen. 

Which, somehow, made Sukuna feel a little jealous which was stupid because this thing was a fucking plushie, but he only wanted you looking at him like that. 

Regardless, he shook the feeling off quickly, because seeing you smile made him insanely happy and that meant that he’d do anything to keep that bright look on your face, even if it meant winning you that stupid little creature. 

“I’ve got pretty good aim.” He said casually, heart fluttering as you stared up at him all starry-eyed. 

Although, it was nothing compared to the look that you gave him when he actually stepped up and won the damn thing for you. 

He’d always been great at these games - this kind of thing was absolutely within his forte, and he had no problem hitting every target he was given, much to the dismay of the boy tending the stall. Hell, the thing was probably rigged to make it harder to win and he was still good enough. 

You’d broken out into a huge grin as he’d handed you the tiger, clutching the thing like you’d been handed a valuable piece of jewelry rather than an ugly soft toy. 

But your excitement made him feel good all the same, his ego thoroughly stroked as you gushed on about how impressive he was, how you had no idea he was so talented. 

He was a man who received compliments all the time, both men and women alike always praising him for one thing or another. It was always something he saw as an annoyance - he’d never been the type of person who needed external validation to make him feel good. 

A compliment from you though? That was something else entirely. Your soft little voice telling him how great never failed to put him on cloud nine. He could hear it again and again and never get tired. 

The two of you made your way through the rest of the festival and up some steps, further into the park where the buzz started to die down a little. There were a handful of other couples up there, likely all seeking the same thing as you - a quieter place to watch the fireworks together. 

It didn’t take much time to find a nice spot, sitting next to each other on a secluded little bench, staring out at the sky that would be streaked with colour in a short while when the show finally got started. You leant your head against Sukuna’s shoulder, letting him slide an arm around you as you leant into his side. 

The tiger plushie that he’d won you was clutched in your hands tightly, your fingers rubbing at the soft fur of its head, a small smile playing on your face as you stared down at it. 

“What you gonna call it?” He asked. 

“Hmmm, I’m not sure.” You said thoughtfully. “I haven’t named every plushie I have.” 

“But this one’s special, right? Surely it should have a name.” 

You stared down at it for a moment longer before letting out a cute giggle. “You know it kinda reminds me of you, maybe I’ll call it Kuna.” 

Sukuna glared at you with distaste, he wasn’t pleased to be compared to this lump of a soft toy. 

“Y’know, the markings and stuff, they’re kind of like your tattoos. Plus, you won it for me so it only makes sense that he gets to be named after you.” You explained. 

Admittedly, that softened the blow significantly, a warmth spreading in his chest at the thought that you’d look at this tiger and think of him. Perhaps once you’d gone back to sleeping in your own bed you’d even clutch it against you when you slept because it reminded you of him. 

“Do whatever you want.” He grumbled, but it was mostly performative. You just giggled even harder, setting the tiger down in your lap as you huddled up closer to him, staring out at the view of the park you had from this vantage point. It was nice to see the festival still in full swing as before, the lanterns illuminating the people below you. 

“My dad would’ve loved this festival, he’s always a snob about these kinds of things but this one would’ve lived up to his standards.”

“A summer festival snob?” 

“Yeah. He hates it when things move too far from tradition, I think he has these great memories of festivals he went to as a kid and gets mad when they don’t live up to the same standards. That Kyushu festival that I mentioned? They modernised a lot a couple of years ago, had all kinds of westernised food and stalls and my dad was mad.” 

Sukuna laughed, unable to even imagine what it would be like to get on your dad’s bad side. He was always so kind whenever Sukuna was around, but he supposed that your father and his must have more in common than he was aware of - they wouldn’t be so friendly otherwise. 

“My family didn’t go to many festivals.” Sukuna said. “My dad was always working and my mom left so there was no big family outing. Me and Jin went with some friends towards the end of high school, and I went to one in my first year of uni with the guys, but that was it.” 

“Oh…That’s a shame, I feel like it's the best when you’re a kid.” 

He shrugged before glancing down at you, his eyes soft. “Maybe, but I feel like I’m enjoying it a lot right now anyway.” 

You blushed, still managing to hold his gaze as you stared up at him. You could feel his breath fanning against your face, your noses almost touching as he leant down a little, eyes flickering to your lips for a moment. 

“I like having you at my place.” He murmured. “Feels right, seeing you there each morning.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, breath hitching.

“Yeah. I feel like you have no idea how crazy you’re driving me though.” 

You blinked up at him, tilting your head in question. He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself because that shit was hard when you were always looking so damn cute, just existing in front of him like you weren’t the prettiest woman in the world. 

“I think I have some idea.” You breathed. 

That statement alone was sending him into overdrive, heart hammering in his ribcage as you leant closer to him, the tips of your noses brushing for a moment before he threw caution to the wind. If you didn’t like it you could pull away, but he wasn’t going to pass up on what was probably the clearest signal you’d given him in weeks. 

His lips pressed softly against yours, more cautious than the way that he’d usually kiss, giving you every chance to pull back. 

But you didn’t. 

His heartbeat was ringing in his ears as the fireworks started to go off in the background - something that seemed completely unimportant to him now that he had you like this, your body warm against his, the taste of sugar still prominent on your lips from all the candy you’d eaten that evening. 

After a few moments he pulled away, anxiety swirling in his chest at what might come next, wondering if he’d send you running just like the last time. But things were different now, you were staring up at him with a shy smile, no fear or disappointment in your expression like before. 

“Can you do that again?” You asked sweetly, the colours from the fireworks reflecting in your eyes as you awaited his response. 

He broke out into a grin as he leant forward once more, pressing his lips against yours with more force this time, his tongue flicking against your lips to give him access, deepening the kiss as he pulled you flush against him, one hand tilting your head up a little to improve the angle as you let out a little whine against him. 

Pulling back for a moment to catch his breath he observed your flushed cheeks, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. 

“I’ll do it as many times as you want.” 

—

It was late by the time you arrived back at Sukuna’s house, still giddy from the evening, letting him pull you into his room, tugging you into his lap and picking up where he’d left off - his lips on yours, his fingers all tangled up in your hair. 

You were clutching his shoulders tightly, your chest pressed against his as you leant into the kiss, the sensation making your heart flutter. 

Over the course of the evening you’d decided that Hiromi must’ve been a terrible kisser, because with him everything just felt kind of wet and disappointing. You’d assumed that you were the problem, that you were just one of those people who didn’t really enjoy kissing. 

That certainly wasn’t the case. 

With Sukuna it was just so different. It felt good - the way that his tongue would move with yours, paired with the way he’d nip lightly at your lower lip. He’d intersperse rougher, open-mouthed kisses with soft pecks, keeping you on your toes and yearning for more. 

The two of you had been at it for a while, no words required for the moment. It was clear that this time was different to the first kiss that you’d shared in Sukuna’s room a few weeks back, this time there was no hesitation in your mind, no thoughts of the trauma Hiromi inflicted, no nagging fear that Sukuna was just interested in a one night stand. 

This time it felt right. 

His fingers were toying with the obi holding your yukata together, and as you shuffled a little in his lap you became all too aware of his hardened length beneath the fabric, pressing up against your thigh. 

If you’d been in this position a few weeks ago, there was no doubt that it all would’ve been too much for you, that the realisation of him wanting you like that would be too overwhelming, sending you running for the hills. 

But some power that had been held over you had been released lately. Perhaps it was the realisation of just how pathetic Hiromi truly was that had spurred this. Were you really going to let a man as sad as him impact your intimacy with someone far better? 

Absolutely not. 

So instead of stomach-churning anxiety, you found yourself grinding your hips against Sukuna, giving in to the desire and need that had been steadily building in your gut over the last few weeks. 

He pulled back from the kiss, expression measured as he studied you, head tilting to the side in question, wondering just what it was that you were trying to do. 

“I want you.” You whispered, lips still close to his. 

His red eyes widened a little in surprise, clearly not expecting to do anything more than making out. Considering how slowly you’d warmed up to things you couldn’t say you were shocked by his reaction. 

“We don’t have to do anything.” He said carefully, one of his hands cupping your cheek. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, if that’s what this is.” 

“It's not.” 

He gave you a skeptical look. “I’m not gonna be mad, you don’t have to-” 

“I want this.” You cut him off. “Please. My only experiences with this suck, I just want something good to overwrite it all.”

He bit his lip, considering his options. A pang of uncertainty struck you just as hard as ever, your subconscious murmuring that he just didn’t like you that much, as if he hadn’t spent the last few hours mapping out your lips, the past weeks holding you as you slept. 

“I know you’re experienced, I know you can make it feel good.” You reasoned, and he gave you a look that could only be described as exasperation. In a less serious conversation you probably would’ve laughed. 

“Yeah, I’m experienced at fucking, I’m not so experienced at sweet, gentle stuff.” He pointed out, before running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I’ll be sweet and gentle with you, I just mean- you caught me off guard, I guess.” He let out a breathy laugh. 

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.” You murmured, glancing down in embarrassment. 

“I know, I just- I want it to be good for you. I figured I’d have time to make that first time special, make sure that you were comfortable and all that.” 

“I’m comfortable right now. I’m comfortable with you and I trust you, so…” You trailed off, playing with the edge of his yukata, where the fabric crossed over his chest. He sucked in a breath, clearly fighting a war in his head before speaking again. 

“Are you sure, baby?” He asked firmly, red eyes fixed on you, searching for any hint of reluctance, but finding none. 

“I’m sure.” 

His lips were on you once more, kissing you desperately as his hands tugged on the bow holding your yukata together. You busied yourself pushing his yukata down off his shoulders, leaving him bare-chested as the fabric fell down to the obi at his waist. 

Even though you’d seen him shirtless before, the sight never failed to ignite something in you. He was so unbelievably hot, his tattoos serving to accentuate the physique that he’d clearly worked hard to get. 

Not that he allowed you much time to admire him - his lips moving onto your neck, sucking at a sweet spot just above your shoulder as he finally got the bow untied.

A soft gasp left you as he nipped at your skin, warmth pooling in your stomach as he slipped the yukata down your shoulders, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You hadn’t planned for this, which meant that you were wearing mismatched underwear, something you probably would’ve considered if you’d known the night would lead to this. 

Not that Sukuna seemed fazed, pulling back for a moment to admire you, his hands skimming up your sides, raising goosebumps under his touch. 

“So pretty.” He hummed, peppering kisses on your shoulder, his hands finding the back of your bra and unclasping it deftly. 

Your heart was thudding as he slowly pulled it off you, a wave of shyness washing over you now that you were bare under his gaze. It wasn’t like you were particularly insecure about your body, but being in this situation for the first time in a long time, with only bad experiences to reflect on, was a little nerve-wracking. 

“Fuck.” Sukuna breathed softly, hand cupping one of your breasts, tracing along the curves carefully with the tips of his fingers, his touch light, like you were made of something fragile. 

Eyes fixed on him as his fingers carved a path upwards, a shuddering sigh left your lips at the sensation of his fingers reaching your nipple, skimming tenderly over the peaked bud, the feeling sending a jolt of electricity straight to your gut. 

In the back of your mind, you’d been aware for a long time that you were touch-starved. Because despite your crippling fear of intimacy, you were still a romantic at heart, still someone who yearned for closeness and the touch of another person. Those feelings had just been twisted and corrupted by Hiromi, locked away thanks to his mistreatment. 

But Sukuna had the ability to pull them from you once more, all of your nerves going haywire as he tweaked your nipple with two fingers, leaving you rubbing your thighs together with need in the face of the attention he was giving you. 

His fingers were nothing compared to his mouth, a fact that you found out almost immediately as he craned himself down, flat tongue running over the bud, teasing you for just a moment before bringing it between his lips and sucking tenderly. The pressure made your breath hitch, waves of pleasure passing through you.

It was a pleasure that didn’t subside easily, practically frozen on his lap as he lathered your breasts with attention, feeling yourself grow wetter with each flick of his tongue, unsure of what you should be doing right now while he made you feel good. 

After all, it wasn’t like you had much experience with this. Should you be doing something? Was it okay that you were just clinging to him and whining like you were? A small flicker of insecurity ate at you, anxious at the thought that he’d be disappointed by your lack of experience - that other girls he’d been with might’ve done a better job at pleasing him. 

“Get out of that pretty head of yours.” Sukuna pulled back from your breasts, straightening up and bringing a thumb beneath your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. “Can practically hear you overthinking.” 

“Sorry, I’m just worried I won’t be good at this.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Not sure you understand how badly I want you, baby. It’ll be good because I get to touch you. I don’t care if you don’t know what to do, I’ve got plenty of time to teach you anyway.” 

The implication behind his tone, that this was just the first time of many, had your stomach fluttering. A feeling that was only heightened as Sukuna slipped his hand down between your thighs, fingers pressing against your panties. 

“So wet, is this all for me?” He asked with a small chuckle, causing your face to redden in embarrassment. “I’m flattered, baby.” 

His fingers moved deftly to the edge of the fabric, lifting you ever so slightly and pulling your panties down your legs, letting them drop to the floor. He then maneuvered you a little in his lap, so that you were sitting sideways, your head nestled in the crook of his neck. Your eyes were fixed on that space between your thighs where his hand was currently positioned, the tips of his fingers running along your folds and gathering up the slick that had accumulated there. 

Your body was jolting each time his fingers brushed over your clit, like you’d been yearning for this longer than you’d been aware of, desperate for him to make you feel good. 

But that didn’t stop the panic from rising in your chest at the feeling of his middle finger pressing gently at your opening, mind conjuring memories of how badly the stretch had hurt the last time you’d tried anything like this. Even when masturbating you’d only ever touch externally, opting to avoid the inevitable pain that penetration would bring. 

“You okay?” He mumbled against your hair, hand stilling for a moment. “We can stop.” 

“It's okay, I’m just nervous.” 

He hummed, giving you a gentle squeeze with the arm currently wrapped around your midsection. “We’ll take it nice and slow.” 

You sucked in a breath as the tip of his finger pressed into you, his movements careful and calculated as he worked his finger into your tight heat. You knew that you were clamping down on him more than you should be, making the situation harder for both of you as your walls gripped his finger tightly. 

“Relax, baby.” He cooed, planting a couple of kisses on the top of your head, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, distracting you from the discomfort as he slid his finger deeper into you. It still hurt a little, the feeling foreign to you, but with each small ministration of his finger, you could feel a hint of pleasure sparking in your gut. 

Fingers digging into his biceps, you let out a soft whine that had his cock twitching beneath you. That positive reinforcement made you feel good, flesh slick coating his fingers as you loosened up ever so slightly. 

“There we go.” 

He was moving his finger a little faster now, having located that sweet spot inside you that had your stomach clenching with need, more little whimpers falling from your lips with each subtle movement. 

It came as a surprise when he started to push a second figure in, your body jolting and instantly relaxing as he applied more pressure on your clit. His free hand moved up to below your chin, tilting your face up to look at him, red eyes hazy with lust as he pulled you into a deep kiss, effectively distracting you from the pain of the stretch. 

He kept you like that for a while, exploring your mouth as he worked two fingers inside you, swallowing up your soft moans as he expertly curled his fingers into a spongy spot that had your mind overcome with desire, desperate for more. 

“Feel good?” He asked, breaking the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting the two of you for a moment. 

You nodded, eyes wide and glassy as you stared up at him, knowing that your voice would come out all shaky if you tried to speak. He huffed, grinning as he picked up the pace, palm pressing more firmly against your clit now, your gut tightening as the pleasure built. 

“Good.” He hummed. 

It didn’t take much time for him to make you cum after that. It was clear that he hadn’t really been trying before that point, focusing more on getting you used to the sensation, stretching you out so you were ready for what would come later. But upon hearing that it felt good, it was like he kicked things into a different gear. 

You whined and squirmed in his lap, clutching desperately at his bicep as you watched his hand moving between your thighs, heart racing at the sensation of him littering soft bites on your neck, pussy fluttering around his fingers each time his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. 

The orgasm caught you off guard, crashing over you quickly and suddenly as the pressure in your gut released. His name fell from your lips as you clenched around his fingers, gasping for breath as he continued his onslaught, red eyes filled with lust as he watched your pleasure filled expression with a lazy grin. 

“That’s my girl.” He purred, pulling his hand out from between your trembling thighs before lifting you off him, laying you down on his bed, completely exposed to him. 

Even though he’d already seen everything, had already had his fingers buried inside you, you still felt a little exposed lying splayed out before him like that. Especially with the way he was standing over you, gaze drinking in your body appreciatively, with a focus that had your heart pounding. 

It didn’t help that his lower body was still covered, his obi still holding up the lower part of his yukata, leaving you in a sense of vulnerability that he didn’t currently share. 

Though, he didn’t give you much time to feel shy, the bed dipping beneath him as he knelt down at the end of it, laying himself down on his stomach, settling in between your parted thighs, his breath fanning over your exposed pussy. 

His fingers found their way to your clit, toying with it for a moment, letting out a low chuckle at the way that your legs twitched from overstimulation, your body still coming down from your last orgasm. 

“So pretty.” He mumbled, before bringing his mouth to your pussy, licking a broad strip up it that had you gasping with pleasure. 

You’d always wondered what it was like to be eaten out. 

It wasn’t something that Hiromi had ever done. All you’d ever done with him was have penetrative sex - foreplay hadn’t been something he was particularly interested in, claiming it to be a waste of time. You hadn’t imagined that it would feel this good, your toes curling at the sensation of Sukuna’s warm tongue pressed against you, working in tandem with his fingers on your clit. 

“S-Sukuna- fuck-” 

A vibration passed through you as he let out a hum against your pussy, never letting up as he flicked his tongue mercilessly against you. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, tracing patterns against you as he lapped up the juices from your first orgasm. The embarrassment of him being between your legs quickly faded as you lost yourself in the pleasure, a hand reaching down to tug at his pink locks. 

He made you cum even faster that time. 

Your second orgasm had your vision turning white, thighs squeezing around Sukuna’s head as you whole body shook, pulling at his hair hard enough to draw a groan from his lips. Not that the action deterred him, staying between your legs and lapping up the fresh slick that was starting to drip down your thighs. 

Quiet chuckles were leaving him each time he ran his tongue through your folds, enjoying the way that your legs would shake with each pass, fingers twisting in his hair as you tried to gasp for breath, overwhelmed by the feeling. 

Sitting up, he wiped slick from his chin, shooting you a grin that had your heart racing. “You taste so sweet.” 

Cheeks turning a furious shade of red, you glanced away, doubtful that was actually the case, thinking back on how Hiromi had said he’d never eat you out because it was gross to do that kind of thing. 

And yet here Sukuna was telling you that you tasted sweet. 

It felt like you were going insane. 

Sukuna was on his feet, watching you carefully as he undid his obi, letting his yukata fall to the floor. Your eyes trailed over his body, a little surprised to find that he had tattoos on his thighs, almost jealous of the tattoo artist who’d put them there in the first place. 

But your attention was quickly drawn away from the tattoos as he pulled off his boxers, your breath hitching at the sight before you. 

You knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors from girls, and even if you hadn’t, Sukuna’s general physique paired with his unfaltering confidence made it an easy assumption to make. 

But now that you were actually seeing it, you came to the conclusion that you might have been underestimating him. 

He was far bigger than Hiromi had been, and that realisation scared you, because sex had been a painful experience back then, with a person far smaller. You’d barely managed to take two of Sukuna’s fingers, this was something else entirely. 

The fear must’ve been written all over your face, because Sukuna looked sympathetic as he approached, crawling onto the bed. “Just like before, we can take things as slow as you want.” He promised, cupping your face in his hands gently. 

“I just- that’s not gonna fit.” 

“It will, but if you don’t wanna try we can stop.” His fingers were stroking your cheek, letting you take your time and think of your answer. 

There was a part of you that wanted to run for the hills, to tell him that it was all too much. But a much bigger part of you did want to try, desperate to appease him. It was hard to say no to someone who had your stomach swarming with butterflies at their mere presence. 

Of course you wanted to give it a try.

“Can I- can I be on top?” The question came out a little shaky. 

Sukuna’s red eyes flew wide with surprise, clearly not expecting that response. “Uhh- yeah? If that’s what you want?” He seemed perplexed by your request. 

“I don’t like the idea of not being in control right now.” You explained. 

You’d only ever been beneath Hiromi, essentially a passenger to anything that happened, unable to do anything about the pain, not in control of the speed or the depth or anything else. You were certain that Sukuna would stop if you asked him to, but while you were adjusting, you wanted to be the person in the driving seat. 

“Oh.” He thought about that for a moment, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that makes sense. You wanna sit in my lap?” 

You nodded shyly, shuffling back on the bed as Sukuna sat with his back resting against the headboard, holding out his hand to you, helping you clamber into position on top of him, your knees planted on either side of his thighs as he gazed up at you. It felt a little odd to be looking down at him, but the way that he was staring up at you with such burning desire had your stomach flipping. 

Sukuna’s hand was wrapped around his cock, rubbing the tip against your folds as you hovered just above him, mustering up your confidence as he gathered up slick, more juices leaking from your pussy at the action, turned on at the feeling of his cock pressing against you. 

“Take your time. There ain’t a rush.” He whispered. 

You took a deep breath as you lowered yourself down, hissing at the feeling of the head trying to push into you, meeting similar resistance that Sukuna’s fingers had earlier in the evening. His maroon eyes were on you, monitoring your expression carefully. His hands were on your hips, guiding you downwards but being careful not to force you, just helping you keep your balance. 

“That’s it, baby. Doing so well.” He praised. 

Even if that was a lie, which it definitely was because you currently only had the tip in and you already really wanted to cry, the compliment still made you feel good. It gave you the will to keep trying at least, because who better to work this out with than someone who was so sweet and patient with you. 

Steeling yourself, you slid yourself further down his length, moving yourself down at a snail’s pace, each movement accompanied by an excruciating stretching feeling, which you were only managing thanks to Sukuna’s fingers rubbing comforting circles against your hips, his words of encouragement helping to subdue the pain. 

It felt like an eternity until he was fully inside of you. A couple of tears had dripped down your cheeks, and your chest was rising and falling far quicker than usual, your body entering panic mode at just how stretched out you felt with him bottomed out inside of you. 

“Good girl, just relax for me, yeah?” He whispered. 

Your forehead was pressed against his, with your nails digging hard into his shoulders as you tried your best to overcome the pain. The grip that you had on him was so tight that you were sure you’d drawn blood - but he didn’t seem to mind, all of his focus was on you. 

Gently, he kissed you, moving his hands to your face as he pulled you close, keeping you still in his lap as he pressed his tongue into your mouth, letting you get all caught up in him. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with one of his hands snaking down between your bodies to rub slow circles against your clit. 

And little by little, the unbearable fullness started to become a little less painful. The tension in your thighs started to release, your body no longer in crisis mode at the concept of the foreign object currently filling you. 

“Okay, baby?” Sukuna was breathless as he pulled back. It was apparent that he was currently engaging in an exercise of restraint, his tone a little clipped, his cock twitching with every tiny movement that you made. 

He’d been waiting for this for a while - he was probably in agony having you sit still on him like this, all tensed up and squeezing his cock like you were. 

You nodded shakily, before bracing your hands on his shoulders and raising your hips up once again. You couldn’t say that it didn’t hurt - that ache was still present, but it was at least bearable now, the drag of his cock along your walls almost familiar as you moved.

It was a slow process at first, dragging yourself up and down his length, thighs burning at the effort, heart fluttering as you looked at Sukuna beneath you. He seemed to be enjoying letting you take the reins, red eyes filled with lust as his gaze flickered between your face and body. He’d heap praise on you, fingers playing with your clit, face lighting up whenever pleasure would appear in your expression. 

And pleasure was definitely something that you found - the stretch fleeing to the back of your mind after a couple of thrusts that had you seeing stars. Your attention became fixed on replicating that feeling, on hitting that spot over and over again, desperate to feel that spike of pleasure that summoned itself in your gut. 

You sped up the movement of your hips, grinding yourself against him, moans and whimpers falling from you as you tried to seek out that pleasure. That was how you found out that your stamina for this sort of thing was limited, movement slowing as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Want my help, angel?” Sukuna’s voice was low and husky, as if he was barely restraining himself. 

You’d nodded weakly, letting out a yelp of surprise as he thrust up into you, holding your hips firmly as he took over. He’d clearly been waiting for this, laughing at the way that you were clinging to him now, falling forward so your chest was pressed against his, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as he moved you like you weighed nothing, pulling your hips up and dropping you back down on his length. 

And somehow, he was able to hit that pleasurable spot every single time. 

It was almost embarrassing, what a poor job you’d been doing of getting yourself off, when he clearly understood the task much better. 

You could feel your orgasm building up, pussy tightening around him as your release approached, only to have it snatched from you as Sukuna pulled you off him. You’d started to protest, to whine about how close you were, only for the words to be snatched from your mouth as he repositioned you so you were lying on the bed, climbing on top and sinking back into you. 

“You feel so fucking good.” He rasped, thrusting into you faster. It was clear that he had more freedom in this position, able to push deeper into you, unrestrained by your body on top of his. “Wanna do this every day- fuck- you’re so damn cute, you drive me crazy.” 

A whine of his name fell from his lips as you squirmed beneath him, gazing up at him with reverence. His hands were clasping yours tightly, pushing them down into the sheets. 

“You’re mine, huh? Gonna be my sweet little girlfriend?” 

You tried to respond, your words getting lost in a moan at the feeling of a particularly deep thrust. The coil in your gut was tightening dangerously, legs trembling with each movement of Sukuna’s cock inside you. It felt heavenly, like nothing you’d ever felt before. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckled, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a deep kiss, muffling your whine as you came around his cock, squeezing him desperately tight as you came undone, waves of pleasure washing over you, leaving your vision blurry and your body trembling. 

It didn’t take too long for Sukuna to follow suit, warmth filling you up as he released inside of you, a low groan of your name leaving his lips as he rode out his own orgasm, his hips only stilling when he was thoroughly spent. 

You’d expected him to pull out quickly after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he lay down on top of you, keeping himself nestled inside your warmth as he kissed you tenderly, his hands raking through your hair. 

“You feel so good.” He mumbled. “Want this all the time.” 

You let out a small hum of agreement, your mind still reeling from that third orgasm, the feeling of Sukuna’s softening cock still buried inside you preoccupying your thoughts. You’d never imagined that you could feel good from something like this. 

It was nice. 

Really fucking nice. 

“We can do that.” You whispered, feeling his body relax a little on top of you, warm breath brushing against your ear as he let out a contented sigh. 

“Thank god.” 

a/n: I really didn't intend to write 4k words of them fucking but here we are

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

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Did you think he was a bad kisser? 

No, that couldn’t be it, he was very confident of his skill on that front. 

But outside of that, what could it be? The way that you’d scurried out of his room looking all scared and anxious had his chest seizing uncomfortably. He didn’t want to be the reason that you were feeling that way, not when you already had so much going on. He really hoped that it wasn’t his fault. 

He gave you about ten minutes before he went searching. As much as he respected that you needed some space, he also didn’t like the idea of you wandering about the party alone and in a vulnerable state - that was just asking for some asshole to come and take advantage of you, and that was the last thing you needed. 

Pushing his way through dozens of bodies, he put in his best search effort, combing every room, the garden, and the porch before finally going to his friends to ask if they’d seen you anywhere. 

The gang were all sitting outside around a fire that Toji had built, seemingly having the time of their lives while Sukuna was undergoing a total crisis. That kind of pissed him off, because he should be having the time of his life too. And what pissed him off even more was the non-committal shrug given to him by Satoru and Suguru telling him that he shouldn’t worry about it because you’d show up somewhere.

Fortunately, your friend Shoko was sitting at Suguru’s side, and she was much more helpful than Sukuna’s useless friends, telling him that you’d texted her to tell her you were heading home because you were feeling ill. 

Sukuna knew that was a lie. It also made him feel just a little bit shit to know that you’d texted your friends to let them know you were leaving but hadn’t thought to text him. That had him really wondering if he’d done something to hurt you. 

“Fuck.” He hissed under his breath.

“Everything alright, man?” Toji asked, staring up at him from the camping chair he was currently lounging on, beer in hand without a care in the world. 

“Yeah.” Sukuna grunted, unwilling to get into the details of this evening’s events in front of the whole group. There was no doubt in his mind that as a collective, his drunken friends would have a field day at the revelation that Sukuna had a girl who he liked actually flee from him when he tried kissing her. 

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with that humiliation right now. 

Toji seemed to know that there was more to it than that, but he didn’t press, going back to staring aimlessly at the fire, listening to Satoru and Suguru bickering over which of them needed to do this dishes the next morning since they’d both be too hungover to want to do anything. 

Sukuna stepped away for a moment, heading back into the party and out of earshot of his friends, finding a quieter corner where he tried calling you. He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting, but his heart dropped a little when the call went through to voicemail, the sound of your lovely voice telling him to leave a message making him feel like a knife was being twisted into his chest. 

So he texted you instead, telling you that he was sorry, even though he didn’t really know what he was apologising for, and asking where you were. At least you replied quickly, but you didn’t really tell him anything that he didn’t already know, just confirming that you were on your way home and reinforcing the lie about feeling ill. 

Naturally, he offered to come over to see you, to look after you if you wanted to insist on keeping up the illusion of you not feeling well. The outright rejection to his offer stung. He just wanted to see you, wanted to hear from you exactly what had happened in his room earlier that evening. He just needed to understand what was going through your mind so that he could make an effort to fix things. 

As long as you left him in the dark there was nothing that he could do, and that fucking sucked. 

And what certainly didn’t help his mood as he stared down at his phone like it had personally offended him, was being approached by Yorozu, who had unfortunately managed to spot him in his quiet corner in the kitchen. 

She greeted him with that annoying squeal that she always did, hurrying over to him, arms wrapping around him in an embrace that he was quick to step back from. 

He wasn’t sure why this woman was so insistent on touching him. He’d slept with her once in his first year of university and it was probably up there as one of his greatest regrets. Not only had it ignited her never-ending obsession with him, but the sex hadn’t even been good. Pretty much every other girl he’d been with had managed to get the message that he wasn’t interested in them, why couldn’t she?

“Over here all alone?” She purred. “Not found a girl for the evening yet?” 

“Not looking.” He huffed, pushing past her. 

“Awww come on Suku, let me show you a good time again.” She reached out and gripped his bicep, rubbing her thumb over his arm in the way that made his skin crawl. 

“I’m good.” 

She pouted. “Bet that girl you were with earlier was disappointing, that’s probably why you’re in a bad mood, huh? Let me cheer you up.” 

“Fuck off.” He hissed, pulling his arm away as he glared down at her with vitriol. 

He wasn’t kind enough to deal with Yorozu on a good day, and he certainly wasn't about to stand there and let her insult you. There was no question that he’d be a thousand times happier with you in his bed than he’d ever be with Yorozu. 

“You’re so fucking annoying. Would rather eat shit than fuck you again.” 

She was clearly trying to say something as he turned his back to her, her face screwed up in rage as she processed his words. There was no point in waiting for her response, he couldn’t really care less about what she thought. He knew that no matter what he said to her she’d go back to clinging to him the next day anyway - she was just that particular breed of pathetic. 

Frustratingly, she’d probably direct her anger at you rather than him. She’d see the woman who had his interest as the root of all evil, deluding herself that he’d be into her if there wasn’t another woman in the way. 

How stupid.

For the first time that evening he was actually grateful that you had gone home, since that would ensure that Yorozu wouldn’t track you down. Having some foolish loser hurl vitriol at you just because you had his attention definitely wasn’t what you deserved. 

Leaving Yorozu sputtering in the corner of the kitchen, he made his way back outside to his friends. 

Yuki and Choso were making out, with the blonde sitting on his friend’s lap, both on a camping chair that looked like it was about to give out under their weight. Satoru, Suguru and Shoko seemed to be lost in some conversation that he wasn’t interested in contributing to, in which they were presenting arguments for which lecturer was objectively the most attractive at their university. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he’d even bothered coming out - he should’ve just headed back up to his room and drawn the curtains on this shitty evening. But somehow, that seemed like far too depressing a fate - he’d much rather pretend that nothing was happening and hang out with his friends, rather than lie on his bed and fantasise about just how close he’d come to having you there with him. 

The only person that really acknowledged his presence as he sat down was Toji, who instantly leaned forward with interest. “Rough night?” He asked, voice low. No one else was listening, but it was clear that his friend didn’t want to accidentally draw their attention. 

“Something like that.” 

“Where’s your girl?” Toji asked, voice dropping even lower, ensuring that his question was for Sukuna’s ears only. 

“You heard Shoko, she went home.” Sukuna said with a shrug and Toji scoffed. 

“Did you scare her off?” 

“No.” He lied. 

“Sure.” Toji fell silent for a moment, taking a long sip from his beer as he stared at the flickering flames of the fire before them. 

The party was starting to wind down a little, and their tight-knit group was the only one left in the garden now. Sukuna was grateful for that, because dealing with a bunch of strangers in his house when he felt like this was not ideal. 

“Did you fuck her?” Toji asked straightforwardly. “You guys were gone for a while.” 

“No.” Sukuna replied quickly, words coming out a little more defensive than they should’ve. “That was never what I- no, I didn’t fuck her.” 

“But something did happen?” 

Sukuna sighed, glancing around to double check that no one else was listening in on this conversation. Telling Toji was one thing, but he certainly wasn’t about to get vulnerable with everyone listening in. 

“We kissed.” He mumbled. “And then she ran away.” 

It sounded so pathetic to say it out loud. In his entire life he’d never had a girl flee from him like that, and it just had to happen with a girl he actually liked. 

“You kissed her?” 

“Yeah.”

“And then she…ran?” 

“Yeah.” Sukuna’s response was dry, not keen on drawing too much attention to that point, frustrated that Toji was essentially just repeating his words. 

“What the hell did you do to her, man?” Toji asked.

“Nothing.” Sukuna hissed. “I don’t understand what happened - we were kissing and then all of a sudden she was pushing me away, apologising and saying that she needed to go. She was super freaked out, like taking panicked breaths and everything. She said it wasn’t my fault but then she just went home without telling me and won’t pick up my calls.” 

Toji frowned, scratching his chin as he considered that. Sukuna was pretty sure that his experience was unique, and that Toji wouldn’t have any real insight to offer, but at this point he was at a loss, and more than happy to hear someone else out if there was any chance they could explain what the hell happened.

“I mean, she probably thinks you’re just tryna fuck her.” He said finally, and Sukuna glanced at him in confusion. 

“Huh?” 

“She’s a nice girl, right? Not the kind of person who would hook up with a random guy at a party.” 

“I’m not a random guy though, we’ve been hanging out for ages.” Sukuna responded, running his hands through his pink locks in exasperation. 

“Sure, but you have to see it from her point of view. You’re this popular guy with a reputation. She’s probably scared that you’re playing some sort of game with her. I mean, did you even talk to her about your feelings or did you just take her to your bedroom and kiss her?”

“The second one, but-” 

“Dude. She needs more than that.” 

“Like you’d know.” Sukuna bit back, but he knew that he was just lashing out because Toji was right. 

Considering everything that he knew about you he should’ve spoken to you first, should’ve made his intentions clear, even if in his eyes he’d been making it clear for weeks just what he thought of you. 

He hoped that the kiss hadn’t ruined his chance to do that. 

Toji shrugged at his words. “I ain’t got a girlfriend but if I wanted one I’d do it much better than you.”  

“Shut up.” Sukuna mumbled, the statement lacking any real malice and they both knew it. 

“Just go and talk to her tomorrow, man.” Toji said after a few moments of silence. “It's obvious that she likes you, I saw the way she was looking at you earlier. She’s probably just worried that you’re gonna break her heart - and she’s right to be cautious because you’ve done that to plenty of girls.”

Yeah, that was fair.

—

The next morning he forced himself out of bed at 10am, fighting off a mild hangover from all the drinking that he’d done last night, and trying his best not to let disappointment wash over him at the realisation that you hadn’t sent him a text like he’d been hoping. 

But he wasn’t too proud to text you. 

[Sukuna]: morning [Sukuna]: I’m coming over 

He stared at the messages for a while, deliberating over sending another, something along the lines of ‘I hope that’s okay’, but he ultimately decided against it. If you didn’t want to speak to him you could just refuse to answer the door. Although, he really hoped you didn’t do that. 

You still hadn’t opened his messages by the time he’d gotten dressed and headed downstairs, which was odd, because he knew that you would typically wake up earlier than he would. He liked to think that you were making the most of your day off and having a lie-in, but he couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling that you were actively avoiding him. 

No point in spending all his time speculating though, he’d find out soon enough. 

His house was an absolute mess, a fact that he idly observed as he picked his way towards the door, with plastic cups and cans strewn all over the floor. If he was lucky, Choso would wake up and clean it during the time that he was out and he wouldn’t have to lift a finger. 

“It’s too early.” 

Just as Sukuna was putting on his shoes, he was startled by movement and the sound of Satoru’s voice from a mess of blankets on the couch. There was a whole lot of rustling before his friend popped his head out, white hair in total disarray as he fixed Sukuna with an upset look. 

“Some of us are trying to sleep.” 

“What are you even doing here?” Sukuna asked, paying no mind to Satoru’s accusations of him being too loud - it was past 10am and this was his damn house. 

“Felt too sleepy to go home.” 

“Where’s Suguru?” Sukuna asked, half expecting his other friend to pop out of some hidden location, considering that the duo were rarely apart. 

“Dunno.” Satoru said with a shrug, stretching his arms out above his head. “He’ll show up somewhere.” 

“Right.” He said, losing interest in the conversation as he finished tying his shoes. 

“Where are you going?” Satoru asked. 

“Out.” 

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but where? Figured we could hang out since you so rudely woke me up.” 

“Going to the library.” 

“Liar.” Satoru said with a pout. He was sitting up properly now, wiping the sleep from his bright blue eyes. “I bet you’re going to that bakery aren’t you? Your girl said that you should bring me along one time, so let me come, stop hoarding all the good sweets for yourself.” 

“I’m not going to the bakery.” He said with a sigh, dragging a hand through his messy pink hair as he regarded his friend with exasperation. Satoru was quite possibly the worst of his friends to run into in this sort of situation because he was so damn insistent and nosy.

“Then where are you going?” 

“Her house.” He said gruffly, figuring that if he told the truth Satoru might lose interest and leave him alone. 

“She didn’t stay here? Thought I saw you take her up to your room last night.” 

Satoru must’ve been more drunk than Sukuna had realised last night if he didn’t even remember their group hanging out in front of the fire without you. He was somewhat grateful for that, because it guaranteed that Satoru hadn’t overheard or wouldn’t be able to remember any part of his conversation with Toji. 

“Nah, she headed out.” 

“What was the sex like?” 

“Not answering that.” Sukuna said with a warning glare, one that Satoru simply ignored in favour of poking his grumpiest friend. 

“So, bad then?” 

“No.” He scoffed. 

It was rare that Satoru ever really got to him, usually the man’s insults would roll off him like water off a duck’s back, but he was feeling particularly sensitive this morning. If the two of you had actually had sex last night, he was sure that it wouldn’t have been bad. The implication of that alone pissed him off. 

“Oh, so good then?” 

“We didn’t have sex.” He said through gritted teeth as he pulled on a hoodie, wishing more than anything that Satoru had slept in his own house last night. 

“Oof. Bad luck man. I feel like she’s the type who would be more into pretty boys - maybe you should send her my way instead if you’re not going for it?” 

Sukuna took a deep breath and tried to ignore Satoru’s prodding as he made for the door without another word. If he stayed any longer he’d probably be forced to bash his friend’s head in, and he had enough problems to deal with without a murder charge on his hands.

—

He almost thought that you weren’t going to come to the door as he stood outside your little house, hand tightly gripping a paper bag filled with pastries that he’d grabbed from a nearby cafe. He’d realised that despite all the time he’d spent with you at the bakery, he wasn’t really sure what your favourite was. 

You’d had Hokkaido cheesecake that one time that he’d bought you a cake from the shop, but he wasn’t sure if that was your favourite or just what you felt like on the day. 

The thought crossed his mind that you might not even like sweet treats that much, considering you worked with them everyday, but at this point he was already here with pastries in hand so he might as well give them to you either way. 

It was strange how anxious he felt as he stared at the door. He felt a little bit like he was going to throw up, his stomach churning uncomfortably, heart beating faster with every passing second as he waited for you to appear. 

Exhaustion was written all over your face when you finally opened the door. It looked like he’d awoken you from sleep, dark circles present beneath your eyes, your hair all ruffled in disarray. Despite the anxious expression you were wearing, you looked adorable, adorned in an oversized sweater, a pair of shorts peaking out from below the hem. 

“Hey.” You mumbled, glancing at him for a moment before averting your gaze nervously, playing with the sleeve of your hoodie. 

“I brought you something.” He said, holding up the bag. “Can I come in?” 

You shrugged, taking a step back which he took as an invitation. He pressed the bag of pastries into your hands as he moved through the door, closing it behind him and taking off his shoes, opting to take the initiative as he walked into your living room, sitting down on that comfy sofa that he’d slept on just weeks ago. 

Shuffling in behind him, you kept your distance, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he made himself comfortable on the couch. You were listless in your behaviour, your demeanour unlike anything that he was used to seeing from you. Whatever had transpired last night had clearly impacted you significantly. 

“I got a few things.” He said, gesturing to the bag in your hands. “Didn’t know what you’d want, so I got some pastries and muffins and stuff.” 

You were looking at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head, completely bewildered and out of place. It was evident that you couldn’t understand why he was acting like nothing happened, the guilt of yesterday’s events evident in all of your body language. 

But Sukuna didn’t want to make things feel weird or awkward. He was here to work things out and him acting like something was wrong was not going to help the two of you in achieving that goal. 

“Thanks.” You said finally, your voice coming out a little raspier than usual. You stayed frozen in the doorway, eyeing him cautiously.

“You can sit, you know. I don’t bite - unless you want me-” 

The joke died on his tongue at the panic stricken look on your face, and he quickly remembered what he was here to discuss, clearing his throat awkwardly. But you did as he asked anyway, perching yourself on the edge of the sofa, not too close, but not miles away either. 

You weren’t looking at him, your form tense as you took a shaky breath, waiting for him to take the lead. Even though he’d had this big plan to come here and work things out, now that he was actually sitting here with you he found that he didn’t really know where to start. 

Should he be apologising? Or should he just straight up ask you what the hell happened last night? He didn’t want to talk about anything that might upset you, eager to avoid forcing you to withdraw further, but at the same time, he needed to get to the root of this issue or you’d never overcome it. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, figuring that was a fairly safe question to ask. 

“Uhh- y-yeah.” You mumbled, but he heard the way that your voice cracked a little bit. 

“Doesn’t sound like it.” He mused aloud. “Did I- was it something I did?” 

“No.” You responded quickly. “Not really.” 

“No or not really?” He asked, looking at you carefully. Those meant two very different things in his mind. 

“No…I’m the problem, I guess. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me.” Sukuna said earnestly, wishing that you’d look at him instead of staring down at your lap. “I’m just confused, I thought that things were going well and that you wanted me too, and then you sort of just…ran away.” 

You tensed a little at his words. “I- I just couldn’t cope with it, I’m sorry.” 

“Couldn’t cope?” 

You shook your head, brow creasing as you stared down at your clasped hands. “I wanted to, I- I really did, it’s just- as soon as you kissed me I was reminded of a lot of things and I couldn’t deal with it.”

He tilted his head as he considered that. Following his conversation with Toji he’d been almost certain that your reaction was a result of not trusting him. It made sense that you’d believe that he was just leading you on, or kissing you only for the sake of having sex. But your response made it seem like the issue was something else entirely. 

“Reminded of…?” 

“Hiromi.” 

Ohhh. 

Here he’d been thinking that it was all his fault, that he’d done something that had you fleeing for the hills, when it really the everlasting effects of your ex. Even though you’d spoken about your relationship with Hiromi as if it was just some nightmare that you’d already overcome, he hadn’t considered that the trauma of that relationship would follow you into the next one. 

He really wanted to kill that guy. 

Although, the fact that the kiss reminded you of Hiromi made him feel a little on edge - had he done something to make you uncomfortable that led you to think he was just like your past boyfriend? Or was it just a side effect of kissing in general for you? 

“Sorry, it's stupid.” You mumbled. “I don’t know why, I just kept having visions of him kissing me and I was scared. I felt this sudden horrible fear that things would play out in the same way. Couldn’t stop thinking about how everything fell apart with him and I don’t want to be hurt like that again.” 

“It wouldn’t play out the same way.” He said quickly. 

He believed that with his whole heart. Even if he wasn’t experienced when it came to relationships, he was always so gentle and careful when it came to you. He’d make an active effort to ensure that he did things right, that you’d never have to suffer what your ex put you through again. 

But it was clear from the wary look in your eyes as you finally glanced at him that you weren’t so convinced by his words. He could understand why - when you’d last spoken to him about Hiromi it seemed pretty clear that the man had abused you extensively, both mentally and physically, considering that he had coerced you into having sex. 

No wonder you couldn’t quite believe that it wouldn’t happen to you again. The trauma of that relationship was probably greater than anything he could imagine. 

“Won’t it?” You asked softly. “Hiromi didn’t start off acting like that, it only came later, after I already trusted him.” 

Sukuna wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t going to make you do anything you didn’t want to do, wasn’t going to systematically destroy your confidence like your ex had. But you had a point - Hiromi probably didn’t seem like the type of guy to do that either, so what was he meant to say to make you believe that he was being genuine? 

“I- I don’t even know what last night was.” You continued. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t run away?” 

You were shaking a little as you looked up at him, big eyes gazing up at him, expression filled with fear. He hated seeing you like that, hated the fact that you’d even vaguely believe that he’d act anything like Hiromi. 

“Whatever you wanted.” He said quietly. 

That was the truth. 

Sukuna hadn’t brought you up to his room with the intent of sleeping with you, he’d done it with the intent of telling you how he felt. But with you sitting there on his floor looking so pretty he’d ended up jumping the gun and kissing you before he could find the words that he wanted to say. 

That was foolish in hindsight. He’d assumed that his actions in the moment had adequately expressed how he felt - he should’ve done better. 

But he’d never had the intention of taking things any further than kissing. He didn’t expect you to be the type of person who would want to jump into his bed right away, and that was fine. He’d already been plenty patient with you, he wasn’t going to stop just because you’d kissed. 

You were looking up at him with wide eyes, clearly at a loss for what to say next.

“Fuck, just- listen angel, I like you. I brought you up to my room to tell you that I like you a lot. That’s all that would’ve happened if you stayed. I get how things looked and I get that you haven’t had a good experience with relationships before this but I just- I like you, you know?” 

That speech was not as moving as he’d intended it to be. He wasn’t the type of person to rehearse conversations in his head before he had them, generally confident enough in any social situation to just wing it knowing that he’d be fine. 

But in this instance he really wished he’d prepared some sort of speech beforehand. 

He thought it would feel good to get it out in the open, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but in reality he just felt even more like he wanted to throw up, especially with every second that the silence stretched on, your eyes wide with shock as you seemed to process what he’d just said. 

“You…you like me?” 

“Obviously?” 

“It's not obvious.” You said with a cute little pout, body language relaxing ever so slightly. Sukuna took that opening to shuffle a little closer to you.

“Been giving you signals for weeks, angel.” 

“Oh.” You frowned, clearly giving that a little bit of thought. “I don’t think so.” 

He stared at you in disbelief, because you were an intelligent person, and he was really struggling with the idea that you’d be so unaware of just how besotted he’d been with you for a long time now. He’d been going out of his way to see you, had been texting you non-stop, hell, he’d even held you while you were crying your eyes out in the library. 

Did you think that it was just friendship? 

And if so, did that mean that he’d been misreading signs from you? What if you thought that you were just being friendly this whole time and that was part of why you freaked out when he kissed you? What if it reminded you of Hiromi because once again a man you weren’t interested in was kissing you? 

Fuck.

“I- I mean, I thought I was.” He stumbled over his words a little, thoroughly caught off guard. 

“I thought you were just being nice because my dad made you look out for me.” You said, letting out an awkward little laugh. 

“What? He never asked me to do that.” 

This whole time had you been thinking that Sukuna was being forced to hang out with you? No wonder you were so cautious of everything. It made him a little sad that you’d even think such a thing - that you genuinely believed that you weren’t good enough for him to be interested in you without external prompting. 

He really wished that he could get a peak inside your brain, he’d love to unravel whatever it was that had your self worth so desperately low. He imagined that was probably the work of Hiromi too. 

Fuck that guy. 

“Oh.” You fell silent, staring down at your hands once more as you let all of that information settle in. 

Sukuna was positively buzzing with nervous energy, because he’d essentially just confessed to you, and you weren’t really giving him anything back but disbelief in his words, which stung a little, because this was easily the most genuine that he’d ever been about anything in his life. 

“So, you like me.” You repeated, tone filled with uncertainty. 

“I do.” 

“Like, you want to date me or something?” You asked, looking up at him now, eyes darting around his face nervously, as if you thought you were being pranked and were trying your best to detect any hint of insincerity in his expression. 

“Well, yeah, that would be ideal.” He hadn’t really thought about the specifics of what would happen after he’d told you how he felt, but he supposed that would be the natural next step. 

“Oh…” 

You were silent as you sat with that information, chewing on your lip anxiously as you returned your focus back to the ground. Uncertainty was stewing in Sukuna’s stomach at your response, not sure what to make of your odd behaviour. 

Had he misread you? 

“I just- I don’t know. I think I just need some time to figure everything out, because right now I’m just- I can’t. I feel like my mind is caving in half the time and yesterday I had a whole panic attack and I just don’t think I-” 

“Don’t worry, angel. I can give you some time.” He said with a shrug, relieved that it wasn’t an outright no that you were giving him. The panic in your tone had his heart swelling a little, understanding the internal conflict that seemed to be waging war in your head. 

You wanted him, but right now you couldn’t cope with it. That’s what you were trying to say. 

“Sorry, I’m not asking you to wait or anything…that wouldn’t be fair.” You said with a sad smile, quickly going back to fiddling with the hem of your sweater. 

Now that was a little more reassuring, because it implied that there was something worth waiting for. He had to actively stop himself from jumping for joy at your words, because what he wanted to do was grab your shoulders and tell you that he would wait literally forever if it meant he could have you. 

“No, I can wait.” He replied casually, and you were once again glancing up at him in surprise, evidently not expecting that response.

It made him feel a little bit wounded that you clearly didn’t think he’d be willing to do that for you, but obviously you still hadn’t comprehended just how much he liked you. That was fine, he’d have plenty of time to show you once you’d sorted your head out. 

“You don’t have to- I mean, I know that you’re a guy with…needs.” 

Sukuna scoffed. His needs could easily be met with the help of his own hand and the mere thought of you. 

“I haven’t slept with anyone in months actually.” 

“O-oh?” You responded, face reddening at his flippant wording, and he liked that a lot. 

“Look. Like I said before, I’m not doing all this just because I want to fuck you, as nice as that would be, I’m doing this because I like you. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a while now.” He said with a shrug, hoping that would be enough to ease your anxious mind. 

Though he wondered if it’d had the opposite effect at the sight of your desperately wide eyes, shock written all over your pretty face. He adored that expression, so he continued. 

“And if you also like me, which I think you do, then I don’t mind waiting a while for you to figure things out. Besides, whenever you do decide that you’re ready we can take things as slowly or as quickly as you like - I’m not going to pressure you into anything, because I’m not an asshole.” 

Not an asshole to you at least, he certainly couldn’t speak for his reputation with others. 

“I do like you.” You mumbled.

His heart felt like it was going to burst, but he did a good job of acting nonchalant about it all. A smug grin spread across his face as he stared down at you, a furious blush blooming across your cheeks. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I just can’t right now- the kissing and stuff I’m not-” 

“I told you it's fine.” He interrupted. “We’ll just go on as we were for a while, and then when you feel ready we can do whatever you wanna do.” 

Sure, he wasn’t thrilled that he couldn’t touch you already, desperate to kiss you again, or at least hold you close to him like he did a few weeks ago when you were having your breakdown in the library. But for now he was happy to take the victories that he was given, and hearing that you were also interested in him was enough. 

He just needed to be patient with you. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, letting the conversation sink in before you finally spoke.

“I don’t get you.” You said quietly, and he tilted his head in confusion. “I’ve seen the type of girls that are all over you, and I mean, look at you.” You gestured in his general direction, eyes anxiously scanning his form, a compliment that had his ego swelling because he was pretty sure you were insinuating he was hot and you’d never said that to him before. 

“Hmmm. What’s your point?” He asked, shuffling closer again now, his thigh pressed against yours, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa, not quite touching you but close enough that you’d be able to feel the ghost of his presence against the back of your neck. 

He’d move away if you asked him to. He understood that you weren’t really together yet, but now that he’d laid out how he felt he was going to take every opportunity he could to be close to you unless you asked him to stop. 

“Uhh- I guess I just don’t understand why you’d like me at all.” You said with a nervous laugh. “I kinda thought that you might be playing a joke on me the whole time - a part of me still thinks that.” 

That was fair. Toji had pointed that out very clearly last night. It wasn’t like the rumors about him were false, he’d been with a lot of girls and cast the same number aside. He wasn’t typically the type of person to care about others, let alone date. You had every right to be cautious with him. 

He couldn’t really explain to himself why this was different, he just knew that it was. There was something about you that always sent his heart racing, and for the first time in his entire life he’d found himself wanting to get to know someone better. His priority on being with you rather than trying to usher you into his bed. 

It was completely untreaded territory to him, and he wasn’t sure how to explain to you that inexplicably he just did like you. He liked absolutely everything about you. All of his time spent with you was enjoyable and he respected how clever you were, how determined and tough you were to overcome everything you were dealing with. He adored the way that you’d always find time for him despite all the bad things going on in your life. 

He just liked you. And that was even without going into the more obvious reasons like the fact that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. 

“I don’t know why you’d think I wouldn’t. I mean, look at you.” 

He felt exceedingly smug, using your own words back at you. It definitely had an effect considering how red your face was growing. 

“Oh- I’m not- I mean- thanks.” You mumbled with a nervous giggle before continuing. “I just feel like I’m nothing compared to those pretty cheerleaders that go after you. As poor as their personalities are.” The last part of your sentence came out a little bitter, and that had Sukuna’s brow furrowing. 

“Did something happen?” He asked, thinking back on the comment that Yorozu had made about you when she’d cornered him last night. 

You shrugged. “Its not a big deal, just some girl telling me to stay away from you, saying that you were way out of my league and stuff.” 

That was definitely Yorozu. There wasn’t anyone else who would be so bold, no other girl was so obsessed with him as to try and drive off anyone who they perceived as being competition. He should’ve been harsher with her last night - he was certainly going to put her in her rightful place the next time she came trying to hang around with him. 

God, she was a bitch. He hated that she’d manage to catch you in a moment when you were at your lowest.

“And you believed her?” He asked. Wishing that you’d understand that everything that came out of that woman’s mouth was useless drivel. 

“Yeah. I guess so…” You mumbled.

“We’d literally just kissed.” He reminded you, and you gave him a sheepish look. “Don’t listen to that shit, yeah? You’re the person I want. I’d rather tear out my own eyes than go anywhere near Yorozu.” 

That brought a shy smile to your lips and you huddled up a little closer to him, your arm brushing up against his side in a way that had warmth spreading through his body. He wondered if he could bring his arm down to rest around you rather than leaving it on the back of the sofa, but he was reluctant to push anything, afraid you might shut down if he took things too far. 

Patience was important. 

For a few moments the two of you just sat there, basking in the warmth of the other. Sukuna’s eyes were on you, red irises flickering over your form. You were so fucking cute, how could you ever believe that you’d be less attractive to him than someone like Yorozu? For someone so smart, you sure could be dense. 

“Do you wanna watch a movie together?” He asked, breaking the silence. He didn’t want you to usher him off home now that you were done airing everything out, eager to spend more time with you. He could accept that you weren’t in the right mental headspace to be properly together yet, but he was definitely going to do everything that he could to win you over in the meantime.

“Yeah, okay.” You hummed. He relaxed a little, glad that you were going along with his attempts to return things to some semblance of normal after your charged conversation. 

It took the two of you a while to pick a movie, crowding close together as you went through your letterboxd watchlist, which mainly consisted of movies that Sukuna had suggested that you see. You finally settled on watching I, Tonya, a biopic about Tonya Harding that you’d been meaning to watch for a while. 

Sukuna had already seen it, but he didn’t really mind, it meant that he could pay closer attention to you while the movie was playing. Because, to be honest, even if it wasn’t a movie he’d seen before, there was no way he’d be able to focus with you sitting so close beside him. 

You’d perked up a little now that you’d moved back onto normal conversation, despair no longer written all over your face like it had been when he’d arrived, unease thoroughly lifted from your shoulders. And as the movie started to play he found you settling against his arm as you dug into the pastries he’d bought, sitting close enough to enjoy the warmth of your body pressed against his. 

He wanted to pull you into his lap, to kiss you until you were both breathless. 

Patience. With all this waiting it would just feel even more deserved once you finally figured things out. 

Although, he was a little curious to know what figuring things out would entail, because if it was trauma that you needed to overcome, he had little idea where you would even start with flushing that anxiety from your head. 

“If I went and beat the hell out of Hiromi, would that help?” He asked, clearly catching you off guard. You’d been totally engrossed in the movie. 

“Huh?” 

“All the panic that you felt when we kissed, would it go away if I did something about Hiromi?” 

Despite yourself, you giggled. It was a sweet sound that had his heart racing, eager to hear you do it again. “What, like defeating some boss in a video game and allowing the world to go back to how it was before?” 

“Sure.” 

“I don’t think so.” You hummed, glancing up at the ceiling. “I hadn’t really thought about being with anyone before you showed up. The thought always kind of repulsed me ever since Hiromi, so I just never considered it. And then when I was starting to like you I didn’t think it would be an issue, but my body just went into panic mode when we were actually kissing.” 

Sukuna nodded. He could understand that, it was sort of like a PTSD response he supposed. Understandable considering how Hiromi had treated you. 

“I kinda just moved on with my life after Hiromi and shut out everything that had happened. I think us kissing brought back all those memories I’d repressed? I guess I just need to sit with them for a bit? Maybe ease into…stuff?” Your voice turned a little shy at the end of the sentence, and he smiled down at you as he got the gist. 

“Mmm. I get it.” 

The two of you stayed silent after that, your eyes trained on the TV as Sukuna watched you from the corner of his eye, contemplating his next move. Slowly, so as to give you time to shuffle away if you wanted to, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to his side.

He felt you tense up for a moment before relaxing, letting him pull you close, cautiously resting your head on his shoulder. Sukuna’s heart felt like it was going a mile a minute, which was a little humiliating because he’d been with so many girls in his life and had never felt this way - especially not at something as simple as light touching. 

“I can help with that.” His voice was low, and he felt a shiver run through you. “Just tell me if anything is too much, we’ll go as slow as you like.” 

You nodded against his shoulder, and Sukuna gave your figure a light squeeze, mentally rejoicing at the amount of progress he’d made with you today. Considering that he woke up thinking that he’d ruined everything and somehow chased you off, there really couldn’t have been a better outcome than this. 

There was still a sense of unease in his gut at everything you’d said about Hiromi though. He’d known it was bad, but not ruin being touched by anyone else levels of bad. Even though you’d dismissed his suggestion, he kind of did want to hunt the guy down in retribution for what he’d done to you. 

But if he was going to do anything, it could wait. 

There was nowhere he’d rather be right now than with you on your sofa, your smaller form curled up against his side. 

Even if you couldn’t be his fully right now, he’d take whatever he could get from you. 

He just needed to be patient. 

a/n: they're getting there (slowly)!!!!!!!

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

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He wasn’t sure though, because as much as you seemed to enjoy your time with him you were relatively hard to read, leaving him never quite sure if you actually liked him or if it was just in your nature to be polite and friendly. 

There was a small part of him that felt a little anxious about your friendship with Nanami. A nagging worry in the back of his mind that if your friend was adamantly against Sukuna, you might eventually end up believing the rumors and stop hanging out with him - even if you had made it clear that you wanted to form your own opinion. 

He supposed that his anxiety about Nanami wasn’t just about the blonde spreading rumors, but also out of a fear that you and Nanami might be interested in one another. You’d said that the two of you had been childhood friends but he had no idea how close you were to that wet blanket, and he really didn’t like the way that Nanami was looking at you the other day. 

Not that it was any of his business. He’d asked you to be friends after all. You’d given him all the opportunity to tell you if he was interested, and instead he’d said that he wanted to be your friend. 

Because that was what he wanted, right? 

He didn’t want to sleep with you - not like he slept with other girls at least. He just wanted to hang out with you, be in your general presence. Wanted to see you smile and hear you talk about all the things that you found interesting. 

And yet, the thought of being your friend didn’t really feel right to him, and he certainly didn’t like the slightly broken look that had appeared on your face when he’d said he just wanted to be friends. 

It wasn’t something that he could give too much thought to though, the churning feeling in his stomach was far too unpleasant whenever he considered that he might want something more from you. 

That just wasn’t the type of guy he was. 

He was the sort of guy who went out partying constantly and only saw sex as something that you’d do for pleasure, not an act that he’d ever particularly involved his feelings in. He wasn’t the type of person to be in a relationship, finding the concept wholly unappealing after watching his parents turn on each other and go through the messiest divorce known to man. 

If everyone inevitably fell out of love, surely it just wasn’t worth it in the first place? Better just to live for pleasure. 

That had been his mantra throughout university, never letting any girl get near to him, no interest in a deep romantic connection. He was better off free and alone. That was the general attitude shared within his friends group - all of them far more interested in fucking girls than they were with stupid things like falling in love. 

Choso was the only one of them who’d ever really displayed an interest in a long term relationship before, he was a romantic at heart and genuinely believed in falling in love. It was something that they’d all mocked him for, asking why he’d be interested in only having sex with one person for the rest of his life when there was so much variety available. 

He’d just told them to fuck off, claiming that they’d all grow up one day and then they’d understand exactly what it was that he valued about love. 

It was because of the prevailing anti-romance views of his friends group that Sukuna’s pleasant Sunday afternoon was currently being ruined. 

The five of them were hanging out at his house, sitting in the living room and smoking weed while they played Mario Party on Choso’s Switch. Funnily enough, Choso was the only one not currently playing - they only had four controllers so someone had to sit out and he’d happened to draw the short straw. He didn’t seem to mind though, blowing smoke out the window as he texted someone with a big dumb smile on his face. 

Sukuna had figured that Choso might’ve started dating someone lately. He was out of the house more regularly than he used to be and was always hiding his phone from them, clearly not wanting his friends to see his phone and make fun of whatever texts he was receiving. 

It was fair enough, they’d mocked him enough in the past for him to learn not to tell them about any girls he was seeing unless it got really serious. 

It just wasn't worth the mockery. 

Unfortunately, Sukuna in his infinite wisdom hadn’t considered that he should be careful with his interactions with you lest he face the same fate that Choso had encountered many a time. It wasn’t like he was dating you so he hadn’t even considered that your hang outs would draw any amount of attention. 

Evidently he was wrong, because as Sukuna used his go on Mario Party to steal a star from Satoru, laughing cruelly as he did it, the white man turned to him with a scowl. “What’s your problem?” He whined. “Fucking me over in the game and going on a date with Nanami’s cute nerdy friend without telling us? You’re such a traitor.” 

Sukuna froze up momentarily at Satoru’s words, at a loss for how to respond. 

Sure, he would’ve had you come over for a party to meet his friends at some point, but that would’ve been on his own terms, after he’d had a chance to preface to his buddies how cool you really were and also that you were just his friend. 

He wasn’t expecting to be ambushed by them asking questions about you now. It left him scrambling for a satisfactory response that wouldn’t leave him open to further questions or mocking. 

“She ain’t a nerd.” Sukuna mumbled, for some reason deciding that nitpicking over the details was the most important matter right now. 

Toji snorted as he looked over at him. “Did you fuck her?” 

“No way.” Satoru cut in. “She’s more of a stick-in-the-mud than Nanami is, basically a shut-in from what I’ve heard.” 

Sukuna’s fingers tightened around the controller, not liking the way that Satoru was describing you, despite the fact that the two of you had likely never even interacted before. He didn’t think that you were a stick-in-the-mud, on the contrary, you seemed entertained by the stories that he’d told you, more than willing to entertain the things he’d say. 

“Well, it would be all the more impressive then.” Toji shot back as he looked up at his pink-haired friend, waiting for an answer.

“Nah. It wasn’t a date.” Sukuna said sharply, his eyes fixed on the screen, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of his friends staring over at him curiously. They all knew that he wasn’t generally the type to hang out with girls without the intention of having sex. 

“What was it then?” Suguru asked as he rolled the dice on Mario Party. 

What was it? 

Sukuna didn’t really have an answer to that question. It wasn’t really a study session, even if that’s what he’d framed it as in the first place - the two of you didn’t end up doing any studying in the end. But attempting to put into words what he’d wanted from you was far beyond his capabilities. 

He shrugged. “She’s tutoring me.” 

“The fuck do you need a tutor for?” Toji asked suspiciously, fully aware that Sukuna had the best grades out of all of them. 

“Linguistics.” 

The room was silent as they let that sink in, nobody fully convinced by Sukuna’s words but clearly unwilling to poke at him too much in the way that they would if it was Choso. Sukuna was the type of man who had no problem backing up any threats that he made, and no one was particularly keen to get on his bad side. 

No one except Satoru, at least. 

“Sure, tutoring.” Satoru teased, not even flinching beneath Sukuna’s gaze. “Bet you’re just trying to pull her but it's turning out to be a harder task than you thought it’d be.” 

“If I wanted to fuck her, I could.” Sukuna hissed, easily rising to the bait. 

“Oh? Wanna bet?” Satoru asked. 

“Fuck no.” Sukuna said quickly, uncharacteristically so. Toji was frowning at him now, evidently confused because Sukuna was the last person to turn down a bet, especially when Satoru was the one taunting him. 

“Don’t tell me you actually like her?” Toji pondered aloud. “Wait, were you waitin’ for her to text you the other day at the club? Were you in a bad mood because she was ignoring you?”

Sukuna felt a little sick at this line of questioning. He was never the one to come under the line of fire, always nonchalant, the one who’d make fun of others. He didn’t like being the recipient and couldn’t understand why Choso even put up with them if this was how he felt all the time.

“What does it matter if he does?” Choso asked, looking up from his phone, interrupting before Sukuna could formulate an answer. 

Suguru snorted. “Come on Cho. He’s not gonna date some nerd of all people.” 

“She’s not a nerd, and I don’t want to date her. She’s just my friend.” Sukuna said firmly, hoping that would bring an end to the conversation as he focussed on the screen once again, spamming the sticker button to give his hands something to do while he waited for his turn. 

But as was always the case with Satoru, the white-haired man loved to drag things out longer than necessary. 

“If you don’t want her, can I take a shot?” 

Sukuna’s red eyes glared down at him incredulously, trying to process the words that had come out of his friend’s mouth. Even if he didn’t want to date you, the thought of Satoru having his grimy hands all over you made him feel deeply uncomfortable. He liked having your attention all to himself, he didn’t want one of his buddies to steal you away just because they considered you a prospect now. 

“She’s definitely not gonna fuck you, dude.” Toji said as he smacked Satoru’s arm, green eyes flicking up to Sukuna for a moment before loudly yelling at Satoru to get on with his turn so that they could finish the game sometime today. 

It was clear that Toji’s actions had been an intentional effort to move the heat off Sukuna, and he appreciated that. As much as Toji was no doubt going to ask him about it later, he was a good enough friend to keep Sukuna from facing the scrutiny of the whole group. 

And it seemed to work, because the rest of the evening went by without a hitch. They moved on from playing Mario Party to playing Mortal Kombat for a little while, where Sukuna jumped at the opportunity to take out his frustration on Satoru, before settling down with ordered pizzas to watch a movie. 

The film that they’d chosen wasn’t really to his taste. Generally they rotated who got to choose which movie they watched, and today happened to be Satoru’s pick. Sukuna was something of a film snob whilst Satoru’s taste in films consisted exclusively of slapstick comedy and marvel movies - a niche that he was absolutely unwilling to stray away from. 

He always dreaded the days where Satoru got to put something on, knowing that he was certainly in for two hours of something that would likely lower his IQ by the end of it. Today seemed to be no different, with Satoru selecting an older Adam Sandler movie called Little Nicky, which had a completely incoherent plot and jokes that fell flat on their face. 

Satoru seemed to be loving it though, laughing out loud at half the scenes even though the jokes sucked. Sukuna hoped that it was just because he was really high after smoking all afternoon. He couldn’t quite cope with the concept of this being funny to Satoru on a normal day. 

Not wanting to suffer alone, about halfway through the movie he decided to drop you a text. 

[Sukuna]: you ever seen a movie called little nicky?  [Sukuna]: its dogshit [Sukuna]: worst thing I’ve ever seen

Putting his phone down on the arm of the sofa he figured that you wouldn’t respond for a while. You were generally quite slow with texting unless it was really late at night and considering that you were so busy that didn’t particularly come as a surprise to him. Checking your phone probably wasn’t your priority. 

But you must’ve been free tonight because a response came through fairly quickly. 

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: omg little nicky? I love that movie [strawberry shortcake 🍰]: you don’t like it? :(

Sukuna blinked at the messages, staring down at the notifications lighting up his screen, feeling majorly guilty that he’d just trash talked something that you clearly enjoyed. Although, there was a part of him that was majorly concerned for your taste if that was a movie that you liked. He hated the idea that you and Satoru were birds of a feather. 

Scrambling, he tried to quickly repair the damage. 

[Sukuna]: oh [Sukuna]: well I guess there are worse movies out there  [Sukuna]: it's just not for me

You responded even quicker this time, and your words had Sukuna’s heart fluttering in his chest. 

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: I’m just messing with you  [strawberry shortcake 🍰]: idk what that movie is lol [strawberry shortcake 🍰]: but I’ll take your word for it that it sucks 

He couldn’t help but smile down at his phone, thinking about you giggling as you typed out that message. You fucking with him had a warm feeling spreading through his chest, liking that he’d clearly gone from an acquaintance at the bakery that you were polite with, to an actual friend who you liked to joke around with. 

It was nice to see you open up a little.

“Hey.” Toji called out, watching Sukuna from the other sofa, eyes flicking between the stupid grin on Sukuna’s face and the illuminated phone in his hand. “Come help me with something a sec.” 

With Satoru fully engrossed in the film, and Suguru and Choso both dozing off on the sofa, no one took any notice as he followed Toji into the kitchen. His raven haired friend leaned up against the kitchen counter and appraised him carefully before speaking. 

“Gonna tell me what’s going on with that girl?” Toji asked finally. 

“Nothing to tell.” Sukuna said with a shrug. In his mind there really wasn’t anything to say, and he wasn’t sure why Toji was making things difficult for no reason. 

“Okay, well I’ve never seen you smile at your phone like that before. Actually, I barely see you smile at all unless you’re causing someone misfortune.” Toji was tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter, waiting to see if Sukuna would provide more information on his own, letting out a sigh and continuing at his silence. “It's okay if you like her, I ain’t gonna make fun of you.” 

Sukuna’s brows were furrowed as he stared back at his friend, not quite sure if he trusted those words fully considering the amount of torment that he and Toji had put each other through over the last through years. 

“I don’t know.” Sukuna said honestly.

“Huh?” 

“I don’t know if I like her.” 

Confusion was written all over Toji’s face, evidently expecting Sukuna to keep denying and tell him that his feelings were none of Toji’s business, caught off by this rare display of vulnerability. Sukuna wasn’t really expecting it either, the words had just slipped out without his permission, because you’d been really fucking with his mind lately. 

“The hell does that mean?” 

He sighed, dragging a hand through his pink locks as he tried to organise his thoughts. It wasn’t really something that he could easily explain. He hadn’t figured things out in his own mind yet, so putting words to the way that he felt about you felt like an impossible task. 

“I don’t know. It's weird. I enjoy being around her and stuff, and she’s really fucking pretty, but I know that I don’t want to take her to bed for one night like I do for other girls, which is weird because she’s definitely attractive. I just feel so confused when I’m around her and it makes me feel like shit, but for some reason I can’t stop seeking her out?” 

Toji hummed as he seemed to mull over Sukuna’s words for a few moments. “Have you considered that you might have a crush?” 

“What?” 

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care about a girl before - usually their opinion means nothing to you and you just do whatever you want to seek out your own pleasure. But this girl you obviously actually like being around and you respect her enough that if you were gonna sleep with her it wouldn’t be just a one time thing.” 

Toji was able to sum up Sukuna’s thoughts with much greater clarity than he’d been capable of. Everything was such a tangled mess in his head, but the way that Toji phrased it made everything seem so straight forward. Because as much as the thought scared him, that was the case. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of fucking you, he just hated the idea of only doing it once. 

“Sounds like a crush to me.” Toji said as he fumbled for his lighter on the kitchen top and sauntered over to the window, lighting up a cigarette as he watched Sukuna carefully. 

Sukuna was currently in the midst of intense inner turmoil, because he had never in his life had a crush, and all of a sudden his desire to hear your voice and spend time with you all made sense to him. And as much as it was nice to have someone put a word to the way he was feeling, it was a word that he was certainly not comfortable with. 

He couldn’t have a crush, he wasn’t like that. 

And even if he was to accept that maybe he did like you in that way, the amount of issues that would present would be insurmountable. Because there was absolutely no way that you’d share the same feelings. You were so sweet and clever and innocent, and there was no way that you’d want someone like him corrupting you. 

No, as much as you seemed willing to be his friend, there was no doubt in his mind that he wasn’t what you’d want in a partner. You probably wanted someone safe like Nanami, someone who’d get some high-paying corporate job and offer you a nice stable life. Not someone with face tattoos who’d been arrested several times as a teenager. 

So even if Toji was right and he did have a little crush on you, he needed to bury it deep within him before he got his heart broken.  

“Why don’t you ask her out?” Toji asked after taking a long drag of his cigarette, evidently well aware of Sukuna’s internal conflict. 

“She’s got a lot going on. I don’t think I’m her type anyway.” 

Sukuna felt a little bit humiliated uttering those words. Ever since he’d started sleeping with women he’d always prided himself on being able to pull anyone, accepting many a bet from Satoru and always winning when the white-haired man claimed that Sukuna wouldn’t be able to fuck a certain girl. 

And yet here he was confiding in his friend that he wasn’t sure that he could get you. 

Fuck, you really had messed with his head. Something like this wouldn’t have even crossed his mind two months ago, it was like the thought of you completely stripped away his confidence, and even though he hated it, there was a small part of him that wondered if seeing your smile was worth the loss of that part of his identity. 

“Mmm, I think she was datin’ that Higuruma guy in first year.” 

Sukuna looked at Toji with surprise, not really expecting his friend to know anything about you at all. 

“Higuruma?” He asked with a frown, the name completely unfamiliar to him. 

“You don’t remember him?” Toji asked as he scratched his chin, thinking of the best way to describe the man. “He was Nanami’s buddy, we ran into him a fair bit at Satoru’s dorm. He had a very distinctive nose.” 

Sukuna wracked his brain for any memories but they didn’t come. He’d spent the majority of his first year at university high, drunk or both, so there were a lot of gaps in his memory where that time period was concerned. Besides, Nanami always seemed to have nerdy little friends over, there was no way that one particular one would’ve caught Sukuna’s attention. 

“Don’t know him.” Sukuna said with a shrug. “How do you know they were dating?” 

“I remember talking to him at one of Satoru’s parties and he was showing me pictures of her, talking about how hot she was and stuff. He was bragging about how he was the only guy that she’d been with, and I remember thinking that it would be funny if I could pull his girlfriend since he was so smug about it.” 

Toji’s tone was a little sheepish as Sukuna glared at him, really hating the thought of his friend taking an opportunity to flirt with you and entice you into his bed. 

“Never ended up meeting her in the end though. Ran into Higuruma early last year at another party and he was spreading all kinds of rumors about his ex, so I guess they broke up.” 

That was something that he’d have to ask you a bit more about when he got the chance, a little saddened at the thought of you putting up with a guy who would treat you like that. Sukuna wouldn’t treat you that way. Sure, he’d done plenty of bad stuff and he wasn’t really a good guy from most people’s perspectives, but he’d never do anything to hurt you.

“Sounds like an asshole.” Sukuna muttered and Toji nodded, blowing more smoke out the window before leveling his gaze on his friend. 

“Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that she dated that jerk, and I know that you’re way better than him - so get out of your damn head.” 

Perhaps he had a point. 

—

A few days had passed the next time Sukuna ran into you, your meeting a complete coincidence this time around. 

He’d been in the library, which was a rare occurrence for him, but he had a paper due the next day for his lifecycles of languages module and he needed to dig out a few references to use in his assignment. 

It didn’t turn out to be a particularly difficult essay to write, but he was always amazed by just how long this kind of work took, not regretting for a moment that his major was in engineering and not something like literature - he’d probably rip his hair out if he had to write more than three essays a year. 

He wasn’t sure how you coped with it. You must enjoy writing much more than he did. 

By the time he was done with his work it was just past midnight, and the library had pretty much emptied out. It was that weird period of the semester where most students were done with their coursework, but exams were still a few weeks off, meaning that very few people were taking advantage of their 24-hour library access. 

They were probably out doing something much more fun with their time. 

However, it seemed that the majority of students didn’t include you. Because as Sukuna was heading down from the top floor, already dreaming about collapsing into his bed, he was stopped in his tracks at the sight of a familiar figure nestled in the corner of the first floor. 

Your eyes were blown wide as you stared at the laptop in front of you, one hand massaging your temple as the other desperately scribbled down notes. Your hair was a little messier than usual, the dark shadows beneath your eyes more prominent than ever. It was clear that you hadn’t put much thought into your outfit, wearing an oversized white t-shirt with cinnamoroll on the front, accompanied by a pair of black sweats. 

Despite your disheveled appearance, the sight of you still sent his heart racing, Toji’s words from the other day running through his head as he considered that he really might have a crush on you. 

“You’re up late.” He said softly as he approached you, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way that you practically jumped out of your skin at his sudden appearance. You clearly hadn’t expected to encounter anyone you knew at this time of night. 

“You scared me.” You mumbled with a sweet little pout, looking up at him with big eyes. 

Now that he was up close he could see that your cheeks were red and tear-stained, as if you’d only recently stopped crying. His brow furrowed with concern as he took in your working space, which had three empty coffee cups and a half drunk red bull lined up beside your laptop. 

It was clear that you’d been here for a while. 

“You alright, angel?” He asked. “You seem frazzled.” 

“Gotta do these assignments before the end of the week.” You explained, gesturing half-heartedly towards your screen. “I’ve still got two 5000 word pieces left to go and I have to work at the bakery all day tomorrow so if I don’t get them done tonight…” You waved your arms in frustration as you trailed off, letting him fill in the gaps for himself. 

“Mmm. How long have you been here?” 

You gave that some thought, eyes fixed on the ceiling as you seemed to do some maths in your head. “It's twelve now right? So I guess around ten hours?” 

Sukuna balked at that, he’d never worked for that long in his life, there was absolutely no way that his attention span would allow for such a thing, not if he wasn’t extremely interested in the topic. To be honest, he doubted that you were even still focussing properly at this point - no one should be working for ten hours straight. 

“You need a break.” He said, and you shook your head, fingers going back to your keyboard as you began to type something out. 

“Can’t.” You mumbled. 

“Nothing you write in this condition is gonna be good.” He reasoned, hoping that didn’t just make you feel worse. It definitely had some effect because your fingers stilled on the keyboard for a moment. “Just come outside with me for a minute and get some fresh air, your stupid paper is still gonna be there when you get back.” 

You bit down on your lip, nibbling it anxiously for a second as your eyes lingered on the screen, before taking a deep breath and nodding, closing the lid of your laptop and allowing Sukuna to lead you up to the roof. 

Despite summer being just around the corner, the night air was still a little chilly as the two of you stepped out onto the roof, which Sukuna was grateful for. He wasn’t sure why the library had to be so hot and stuffy all the time - it was like the whole place was engineered to make it impossible for people to stay awake. 

There were a few benches scattered across the roof, it was a frequent place for people to hang out during campus hours, but right now it was completely deserted save for the two of you. He selected a bench that had a good view over campus, and encouraged you to take a seat next to him as he enjoyed breathing in the night air. 

You seemed a little out of it as you sat down on the bench, pulling your knees up to your chest as you stared listlessly out over campus, your mind still clearly focused on your upcoming deadlines and how much work was between you and going to sleep. 

“I always like being up on a roof.” Sukuna said, wanting to fill the silence with something that wasn’t discussing just how much work you had to get done right now. He felt stupid as soon as he said it though, surely he could come up with something better than that. 

But you giggled softly at the awkward statement, clearly finding it amusing that he currently seemed to be a little tongue-tied, quickly falling back into what he hoped was comfortable silence. 

Sukuna was instantly wracking his brain for something else to say, trying to make normal conversation with you like he would with any other person, but for some reason that felt impossible at the moment, because the only thought that came to mind when he looked at you right now was how cute he thought you were. 

Damn Toji and his words making him even more confused than before. 

“What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t think you liked the library.” Your quiet question had him rejoicing, because I like being on a roof was the only conversation starter that he apparently had in the tank right now. 

“Got a linguistics assignment due tomorrow.” 

“The language profile one?” You asked as you peered at him. He’d never stop being impressed by the way you could recall things like which assignments you’d done in the past. He couldn’t even remember what modules he’d done last year, let alone what work he’d had to do for them. 

“Yeah.” 

“Which language did you pick?” 

“Ainu.” The lecturer had given them a long list of dying or extinct languages that they could’ve chosen to do their research on. He hadn’t given the assignment any thought at all until today and didn’t want to waste time reading through the list so he’d just picked the first language on there alphabetically.

And he was kind of glad that he did considering how intertwined Ainu and Japanese history were, it was way more interesting to find out information relatively close to home than if he’d picked a random language from Europe. 

“Oh that’s an interesting one. Doesn’t paint Japan in the best light though.” You said thoughtfully. 

“Did you do Ainu for your paper?” He asked, imagining that it was unlikely that you’d just picked the first item on the list like he had. 

“No, I did Sami for mine.” He regarded you with a blank look, and you gave him a small smile before continuing. “It's a language spoken by an indigenous group in the north of Finland.” 

He supposed if he did the recommended reading each week he’d probably know that, but he didn’t like to do much beyond the bare minimum to pass his classes. He liked reading fiction, but the idea of reading research was something that he’d never be interested in. It was just too boring most of the time. 

“I’m not keeping you from finishing your paper, right?” You asked, looking up at him in a panic at the realisation that he was sitting out here and not working on the assignment that needed to be submitted tomorrow. 

“Nah, I’m done. I was just heading home when I saw you.” 

“Oh, don’t let me keep you!” You exclaimed, peering up at him with concern, clearly desperate not to waste too much of his time since it was so late. 

The worry in your eyes was cute, especially because he’d much rather spend time with you than go home anyway. He was right where he wanted to be. 

“You aren’t.” He said softly, and you blinked at him a couple of times as if considering protesting, before deciding against it, averting your gaze from him and staring out over the campus once more. 

His gaze lingered on you for a little longer, noticing the way that goosebumps were starting to manifest on your arms in the cold chill of the evening. 

Without thinking about it too much, he pulled off the grey hoodie he was wearing and held it out to you, relishing in the way that a blush blossomed across your cheeks. “Here.” 

“It's okay!” You held up your hands to try and reject his offer, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer with the way that you were shivering. 

“I run hot anyway, don’t want you to catch a cold when you’ve got so much going on.” 

He knew you’d accept it if he framed it that way. He wasn’t sure why you were so unwilling to go along with someone offering you kindness and aid, but it seemed like it was hardwired into you to not be a burden to anyone. Using a logical argument with you seemed to be the best way to get you to begrudgingly accept. 

You reached out tentatively, taking the soft fabric from his hands, brushing your fingers against his momentarily as he handed it over to you. His heart practically leapt into his throat at the feeling of your skin against his, and he couldn’t help but internally mock himself for getting all flustered over the lightest of touches. 

It was like he was some stupid teenager with his first ever crush. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, pulling the hoodie over your head and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and warm yourself up. As nonchalantly as he could, Sukuna came to rest his hands in his lap, keen to hide the growing bulge in his jeans at the sight of you wearing his clothes. 

You looked so sweet, practically drowning in his hoodie with the fabric falling all the way down to your knees. He wondered if it would smell like you once you returned it to him. He really liked the idea that it would. 

“You should really go home and get some sleep.” Sukuna said quietly as you let out a yawn, eyelids fluttering like you were struggling to keep them open. 

He didn’t like the condition that you seemed to be in right now. How cute you looked in his hoodie aside, you also looked like a mess. It was clear that you’d been getting even less sleep than the last time that he saw you, and your hair was a little greasy, like you hadn’t found the time to shower in a while. 

It was clear to him that you were overworking yourself to an extreme extent, and he hated it. That wasn’t how life should be, you should be free to watch stupid movies with your friends and play video games and just enjoy life. You shouldn’t be walking around in a zombie-like state desperately trying to finish an infinitely long ticklist of responsibilities. 

All he wanted was to see you smiling, to get that version of you that would appear through the cracks sometimes when you were alone, where you’d seem so happy and carefree. He hated seeing your face lined with worry like it was right now, clearly lost in your anxious thoughts as you chewed on your lip. 

“I said I can’t. I’ve got so much work to do.” 

“You’ll make yourself ill by acting like this.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” You mumbled. “I can’t afford sleep right now, my dad has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and if I’m not there to look after the bakery they’ll have to close for the day and we can barely keep the lights on there as it is. One day of no customers could be what puts us in the red and then my dad will have no income and he won’t be able to afford his treatments.” 

Your breathing had picked up significantly, chest heaving as you outlined the chain of events that you sleeping right now would cause, tears springing to the corners of your eyes as you considered the situation. Sukuna watched you with wide eyes, heart wrenching uncomfortably at the sight of your distress. 

“But if I focus on only working at the cafe and stop doing well at my classes, my dad will be disappointed in me, because he never wanted me to work there in the first place, and if I fail at university it’ll be my only option, and isn’t that fucking despressing? And my dad could die any day now and I can’t cope with that as it is but it would be even worse if he died thinking I was a failure. So no, I can’t go home and get some sleep.” 

As you hissed out that last line the tears started to spill down your cheeks, voice getting caught in your throat as you shakily gasped for breath. Sukuna hadn’t expected this. Even though you’d cried on the phone to him the other day, you seemed quite accustomed to holding it together, not keen on having others see you vulnerable. 

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders without a second thought, pulling you against his side and gently rubbing circles into your arm as you openly sobbed, your hands coming up to cover your face as you cried. 

“It's okay, you’re okay.” He murmured, heart racing at the feeling of your warm body against his. He was at a little bit of a loss, not used to dealing with anyone crying in front of him. His brother Jin had cried a lot when they were kids, and Sukuna had usually mocked him and called him names until he stopped. 

He was pretty certain that wasn’t the appropriate solution here. 

Wanting to offer you a bit more comfort than he currently was, he shifted a little so he was facing you, wrapping both his arms around you now and pulling you in against his chest, letting you sob into his t-shirt. 

Both of his hands were stoking your back as he whispered words of encouragement, reminding you that he was there, that things were going to be okay even if you couldn’t see it right now. 

Although he really wasn’t sure that was the case. He wasn’t a person who’d experienced much loss in his life, and he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be counting down the days until the death of someone that you loved deeply. Especially not when you had to deal with a load of other bullshit on top of that. 

Who knew if it would really be okay. But he needed you to believe that it would be.

He let you cry in his arms for a while, holding you against him comfortingly until the sobbing stopped and your breathing started to slow. “Let me take you home.” He whispered, really not wanting to leave you here working at the library after this. 

“I can’t-” 

“What if I work your shift at the bakery tomorrow? Then you can do your assignments and everything will be fine.” 

He surprised himself by bringing out that offer, because he did have lectures and basketball practice tomorrow, but he couldn’t care less about blowing all of that off if it meant that you’d finally get some sleep and a little bit of peace for once. 

You looked up at him now, eyes red and puffy from crying. “I can’t ask you to do that.” Your voice was shaky, and you fumbled around in the pocket of your sweats to find a tissue, dabbing your wet face with the material as you pulled away from him. 

The loss of your warmth against him kind of sucked, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. 

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” he pointed out, growing accustomed to how important wording was with you when it came to giving you anything. 

“Have you even worked in a cafe or store before?” You asked with a sniffle. 

“Sure, I worked at a hardware store for a bit when I was eighteen. Look, as long as you come in with me and show me the ropes I’ll be fine. Hell, if you don’t trust me to do a good job you could sit in the bakery and do your work there to keep an eye on me.” 

He actually really liked that idea, because the two of you had never spent the whole day together before, and he’d definitely enjoy being able to look over at you whenever he wanted. Not to mention, that way he could make sure that you were actually eating something on an average day, because it felt like you were growing more gaunt every time he’d see you. 

The reluctance on your face was evident, but he was quick to speak before you could turn him down completely. “Please let me help. I know that your dad wouldn’t want to see you suffering like this, I feel like he’d be mad at me if I didn't help.” 

“Okay.” You agreed, the exhaustion on your face evident now. Sukuna supposed that one positive thing about your current condition was that you didn’t have enough energy to fight him too hard. 

“Good.” Sukuna stood up. “Come on, let's pack up your stuff in the library and get you home.” 

He held out his hand to you, electricity tingling beneath his skin as you let him help you to your feet, your fingers warm against his palm. But you were quick to pull away, wiping your face once more with your hand, clearly trying to look presentable to head back into the library. 

Now that you were standing he couldn’t help his heart from fluttering once more at just how cute you looked in his hoodie. Like you were his. 

But he knew that now wasn’t the time to think about that. You were distressed and you needed a friend, and he was going to make sure that he was that for you. The last thing you wanted was him making his confusing feelings known to you and likely adding to your list of current stresses. 

The two of you made your way back inside, and you took a bit of time packing your belongings up into your backpack, making sure that you returned all of the library books to their rightful places, insisting that you didn’t want to create more work for the library staff by leaving them out on the table. 

Which he found very endearing, but also, it was approaching 1am and he really wanted to get you home as soon as possible. You certainly didn’t make that easy. 

But once everything had been put away he ushered you out of the library and walked you back to your house. Frustratingly, his house was in the opposite direction from campus, which meant that he had a long walk home ahead of him, but it didn’t really matter as long as it meant you were safe and not having a complete breakdown. 

He mostly talked at you on the way home, understanding that you weren’t in a talkative mood but unwilling to let you stew in negative emotions. 

He mainly went into detail about all the trouble he’d gotten into as a kid - stories about spending the night locked up in jail for trespassing and vandalism, the many lunches he’d spent in detention for fighting with other kids, and how mad Wasuke had been when he’d come home at eighteen covered in tattoos. 

While your mind didn't seem exactly eased, you were smiling at some of his stories, asking questions and making comments about how crazy it is that he’s even semi-normal now. He’d laughed at that, asking what you meant by semi-normal, only for you to remind him about how he’d willingly let himself get hit by that drunk guy that day he came to your rescue in the alleyway. 

He supposed you had a point. But he’d certainly calmed down significantly since his teenage years. Wasuke probably deserved an apology one of these days. 

As you approached your house the conversation died down as the two of you stood outside your door. You were frowning a little as you played with your keys in your hands, as if you were formulating something in your brain that you couldn’t quite put words to. 

“What time do you need me to show up at the bakery tomorrow?” He asked gently. 

“We open at nine, so around half eight? It's really okay if you don’t want to help, I’ll figure something out.” 

He shook his head, frustrated by yet another one of your attempts to avoid accepting assistance. “Nah, it's all good angel. I’ll be there. You’re gonna get some sleep now, right?” 

A soft red blush coloured your cheeks, and you gave him a little nod before glancing down at the house keys in your hand, and taking a deep breath. 

“Its a long walk home for you, isn’t it?” 

He looked at you with interest, your shy demeanour a little uncharacteristic. It was sweet, the way that you were balling up the oversized arms of his hoodie into your hands for comfort. He wasn’t sure if you were just feeling guilty about dragging him over to your place, but he hoped you weren’t because it was completely his own choice. 

“It’ll only take about an hour.” He said dismissively, not wanting to worry you but wishing he’d brought his motorbike to the library today. He really wanted to fall into bed as soon as possible, especially if he needed to make it over to Shinjuku by 8.30 tomorrow morning. 

“That’s ages.” You said, brows burrowed cutely. 

“I’ll be alright.”

But you didn’t seem to agree with that sentiment. “You can’t force me to get sleep and then not get any yourself, that’s not fair.” 

He shrugged. “Not much of a choice, angel.” 

“Just sleep on my couch.” He blinked at you, completely caught off guard by that offer, heart thudding in his chest at the idea of sleeping in your house, in a place that smelled like you. And as soon as that thought popped into his head he pushed it away because that was weird and he really needed to get a grip. 

“I don’t wanna intrude, angel.” 

“It's the least I can do.” You were looking up at him with tired eyes, and he didn’t want to waste any more time keeping you up. So, as you unlocked the front door to your house, waiting to see what he would do, he didn’t hesitate to follow you into the hallway.

Letting you lead him into the living room, it was a little too dark and he was a bit too tired to take in his surroundings, figuring that he’d have a good look around when he woke up in the morning. A warm feeling started to blossom in his chest as he watched you hurry around, grabbing him some pillows and a blanket, explaining to him where the bathroom was, and apologising that you didn’t have a spare toothbrush for him to use. 

He insisted it was fine, liking how flustered you seemed by having him in your house. As if suddenly remembering that you were wearing his hoodie, you let out a little exclaimed apology and pulled the item of clothing over your head, holding it out to him and thanking him for lending it to you. 

Honestly, that was a little disappointing because he’d wanted you to keep hold of it for longer, but he supposed he'd have another chance in the future. You and your constant need to be polite and do the right thing could be so frustrating sometimes. 

“Do you have everything you need?” You asked kindly, and he felt immediately guilty that you were treating him with all the politeness of a host when you looked like you hadn’t slept in three days. Sukuna was the type of guy who could sleep in any conditions, and although he liked you fussing over him, he certainly didn’t need it. 

“All good.” He said, exhaustion seeping into his tone. “You just go and get some sleep, yeah?” 

“Night, Sukuna.” You whispered.

“Night, angel.” He shot back, once again noticing the soft blush painted across your pretty features. 

He laid awake for a while after that, thoughts lingering on you, wondering if you’d ever slept all wrapped up in the blanket that was covering him right now. His feelings were all over the place with everything going on with you, concern stirring in his soul at the thought of your suffering, desperate to help but unsure if any of his actions might make things worse. 

It was tricky. 

But for now he needed to consider the small victories - you’d let him in enough that you were willing to let him sleep on your couch. You were even willing to accept help from him. That was a lot of progress as far as he was concerned. 

As he stared up at the ceiling of your living room, the main thought that was on his mind was his conversation with Toji. He hadn’t been sure back then but after the events of this evening he was absolutely certain. 

He had a crush on you. 

a/n: get ready for this man to yearn like you've never seen before

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

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In the Heian era, where fate wove itself into the fabric of existence, every soul was born with a mark—a silent promise etched into their skin. These marks, unique in shape and placement, remained dormant until the moment destiny called. When soulmates met, the mark would burn, igniting a bond deeper than mere mortal understanding. To find one’s soulmate was considered a divine blessing, a path to prosperity and harmony. To reject them was to defy the gods themselves.

But fate was never kind. And as Ryomen Sukuna stood amidst the ruins of a village he had torn apart, he never expected his own mark to sear with pain—nor to hear a scream that was not born of fear, but of something far worse. 

Recognition.

Clawed hands carelessly tossed the limp body aside, a dull thud swallowed by the crackling remains of the village. Blood still lingered on his tongue, warm and metallic, but it was not the taste that made Ryomen Sukuna freeze. It was the searing, agonizing burn on his ribs—the jagged, ink-black mark that had sat dormant for centuries now alight with a fire unlike anything he had ever known. This could not be happening. He was a curse. Yes, he bore a mark like all beings did, but soulmates were chosen by the heavens. The gods, in all their cruelty, had long abandoned him. Cursed beings were not meant to be loved. They were meant to wander, to ruin, to destroy. That was the law of the world. And yet—

Sukuna grunted, his four crimson eyes narrowing as the sensation pulled at him, an invisible thread winding tighter, dragging him forward. It was not a conscious choice—his body moved of its own accord, muscles tensing as something deep, something ancient, willed him to go toward. The ground beneath his feet was littered with the remnants of what had once been a village, the stench of charred flesh thick in the air. A smoldering hut collapsed somewhere in the distance, its wooden beams snapping like brittle bones. Sukuna barely noticed. The burn along his ribs was growing worse, hotter than the flames he had set upon the village, hotter than hell itself.

Through the smoke and ruin, he saw it. A figure, small against the backdrop of devastation, hunched over as though in pain. Her breathing was ragged, unsteady—alive, but barely. Sukuna’s lip curled.

Impossible.

And yet, even as he sneered, even as his rational mind screamed at him to turn away, his feet carried him forward.  It was as if the moment his eyes fell upon her, the searing pain along his ribs dulled—replaced not by relief, but by something far more unsettling. That strange, unseen force that had yanked him through the ruins, that had commanded his body to move without his consent, now seemed to settle, coiling around him like a vice. The angry burn of his soulmate mark, a fire that had threatened to consume him whole, now smoldered into a dull throb the closer he stood to her.

Ten feet. That was all that separated them. Emotions stirred within him, a chaotic maelstrom that he could not name—because why should he feel anything at all? He was Ryomen Sukuna. He had scorched entire villages to the ground without a second thought, torn through flesh and bone with the same carelessness one might crush an insect beneath their heel. And yet, standing before this fragile, insignificant thing, something twisted inside of him.

Anger. That such a thing as soulmates dared to bind him, to claim him. That fate itself had the audacity to force this upon him.

Confusion. Because this should not be possible. Because curses were forsaken, meant to walk the earth unloved, untethered. Because he was Sukuna, and he had been told his existence was an affront to the heavens themselves.

Intrigue. Because she was not screaming anymore.

Her sobs had quieted into something softer now, though she had not stopped crying. Her breath hitched as she clutched the fabric of her plain kosode, the thin material trembling in her grip. A common woman. A villager. Someone who had been caught in the destruction he had wrought, and yet—the sound she had made when she first saw him had not been one of horror. It had been the same strangled, pained recognition that had burned through him as well. Sukuna’s lips curled, a sneer threatening to form, but for once, he did not speak. Because in her trembling hands, in the way her tear-streaked face tilted toward him with something that could only be described as hatred, she looked nothing like the weak, simpering humans he was so used to crushing beneath him. And that should not have made his pulse quicken.

"You— you— why—"

The words barely scrape past your throat, hoarse and trembling, but even then, they feel too small to contain the sheer, unrelenting horror crashing down upon you. You push yourself up from where you’re slumped on the ashen ground, legs shaking beneath you, bloodied palms pressing into the dirt for support. Your chest still heaves from the sobs you had not yet finished crying, but the moment your wide, tear-streaked eyes land on him—on Ryomen Sukuna—something inside you lurches. That unbearable pain, that fire-hot agony that had torn through your ribs like you were being branded by the gods themselves, had suddenly—cooled. It was as if the very presence of the monster before you had soothed it, like the cruelest, most ironic balm, settling into a dull ache rather than an all-consuming blaze. And you wish—you wish—the fire had burned you alive instead. Because now, with every beat of your heart, the truth sinks deeper, deeper, deeper.

No.

No, this cannot be happening.

You know who he is. The King of Curses. The monster whispered about in fearful hushes between travelers, the name mothers uttered in the dark to keep their children from wandering too far. He was the thing that nightmares clawed themselves from, the merciless demon whose very existence was an offense to heaven itself. You had heard the stories. You had seen the carnage. And now, you stood in the middle of it—the shattered remnants of your village lying smoldering around you, nothing but ruin left behind. But even then—even then—there had been no one left to mourn. Your mother had died years ago, though the village had long considered her gone before that. A whore’s child, that’s what they called you. A reminder of a woman who sold her body for coin, who had left behind nothing but a girl with no name worth speaking. No father to claim you, no family to shield you. The villagers had never cared—not truly. They had never gone out of their way to harm you, but kindness had been a currency you could never afford. And yet, despite it all, you had lived. You had carved a place for yourself in the cracks of this village, had found hands to grasp in the dark, voices to laugh with beneath the sun. Over time, you had made connections—not always strong, not always deep, but enough to remind you that you existed. That you were here.

But now—

Now, they were gone. And he was here. Standing there, four crimson eyes gleaming with something you cannot name, claws still slick with the blood of the people who once walked these streets. Your breath is ragged, your chest rising and falling too quickly, your mind screaming at you to move, to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there—because the moment the realization sinks in, the moment your trembling fingers brush against the mark that no longer burns, you feel yourself shatter. Because the monster who had torn your world apart was the same man fate had chained you to. "How pathetic." The words roll off his tongue, slow and venomous, each syllable laced with undisguised revulsion. "A human—you—as my soulmate." Sukuna’s lip curls, his sneer carved deep with something that balances between disgust and amusement, as if the mere thought of such a bond is an insult to his very existence. His upper set of arms fold across the broad expanse of his chest, muscles taut beneath the intricate markings of his cursed flesh, while his lower arms slip behind his back, fingers threading together in a deliberate show of indifference. But his gaze—four piercing, hellish eyes—bears down upon you with something that is anything but indifferent. Contempt, dark and seething, simmers beneath his gaze as he drinks in the sight of you—ragged, trembling, barely standing amid the ruin of your home. He watches the way your breath stutters, the way realisation has stolen the very air from your lungs, drowning you in something far worse than fear. And yet, even as you tremble beneath his scrutiny, you do not bow. Perhaps that is what makes his sneer deepen, sharp teeth glinting under the flickering light of the fires still smoldering around you.

"This can't be happening—please, it can’t!"

The scream tears from your throat, raw and desperate, flung into the heavens with all the force of a soul unraveling at the seams. But there is no one to hear it. No one to answer. The village lies in ruin around you, smoldering embers swallowing the last remnants of a life that no longer exists. You do not know who you are pleading to—whether it is the gods above, the spirits who have long since turned their backs, or the cruel hand of fate itself. You only know that you are begging. That you want the weight of this revelation to be undone, unraveled, erased. That you would rather be struck down where you stand, your body reduced to the same ash that coats the ground beneath you, than bear the mark that now binds you to the very thing that has destroyed everything. Your heart pounds, erratic and unsteady, as if it too is trying to escape the confines of your ribcage, trying to flee before it is tethered to something monstrous. You want your scream to reach—to pierce through the fabric of the world, to shatter the gates of heaven itself, to demand retribution or mercy or even death if that is what it takes to escape the cruel design woven into your flesh. But the heavens remain silent. And Sukuna is still standing there, watching you. A low chuckle rumbles through the air, deep and laced with amusement, like the distant growl of an impending storm. Sukuna tilts his head, four crimson eyes gleaming with something darkly indulgent as he watches your anguish unfold before him. The sight of you—shattered, trembling, yet still upright—is almost entertaining. Humans had always been pathetic creatures, simpering and frail, but there was something particularly amusing about how you struggled against what had already been decided.

“Done screaming yet?” His voice is smooth, mocking, each syllable drawn out as if savoring the weight of your despair. “Or should I give you more reason to weep?”

The sneer never leaves his lips, but there is something calculating in the way he watches you, waiting—expecting—for you to crumble completely. He has seen it before, in the eyes of warriors who had fought until their last breath, in the pleading faces of those who had begged for mercy before he split them apart.

But you—

You do not fall to your knees. Your breath is unsteady, your chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic motions, but your legs remain locked beneath you. Your fingers twitch at your sides, curling into the tattered fabric of your kosode as if to anchor yourself to something, anything—but not once do you look away from him. Hatred, hot and seething, bubbles beneath your grief. And Sukuna sees it. The realization settles in the pit of your stomach like a stone, heavy and suffocating. This—this—is the man you are bound to. The monster who carved through your village with all the ease of a blade through silk, who reduced your world to cinders without a second thought. The being who should not have a soulmate, who should not be capable of something as human as fate. And yet, the burning has ceased. The pain that had once threatened to consume you has dulled to a mere whisper, an unspoken confirmation that no matter how much you deny it, how much you wish it away—

This bond is real. Your lips part, your voice hoarse from your screams, but when you finally speak, it is not with a plea. It is not with desperation. It is with loathing.

"I would rather die than be bound to you."

Sukuna’s smirk deepens. “Should I kill you, then?” Sukuna muses, voice lilting with something dangerously close to amusement. His footsteps are unhurried as he advances, the embers at his feet hissing with each deliberate step. “If you so desperately wish not to be bound to me, you’d prefer death at my hands, hm?” The flickering firelight carves jagged shadows across his form, glinting off the sharp curve of his fangs as he grins, head tilting in mock curiosity. There is something deliberate about the way he watches you—like a beast toying with prey it does not yet wish to devour. Your breath is sharp, uneven, but you do not move.

You refuse to. Even as he draws closer, the stifling weight of his presence bearing down upon you, you lift your chin—whether in defiance or simply out of sheer hatred, you do not know. “With pleasure,” you manage, voice hoarse from the screams that had torn from your throat moments ago, raw from the grief that still threatens to drown you whole. "Because I would rather have my existence wiped from this earth, than have fate intertwine me to you.” Sukuna chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “Ah,” he hums, and you hate the way his voice slithers through the smoke-filled air, curling around you like something tangible. “But that’s where you're mistaken.” The distance between you is barely anything now, the suffocating heat of the burning village pressing against your back, the sheer force of him suffocating from the front. The scent of blood clings to him, thick and heavy, mingling with the scent of charred wood and death. You swallow against the nausea clawing at your throat, hands trembling against the fabric of your tattered kosode, but you do not look away. “You can’t die at my hands,” Sukuna continues, tilting his head slightly, as if observing a particularly fascinating anomaly. “A little rule of the universe, I suppose. Soulmates cannot kill one another. No matter how much they might wish to.” Your blood runs cold. The weight of his words sinks deep into your bones, lodging itself somewhere beneath the searing mark on your skin.

No escape. Not even death could sever this bond. A shaky breath escapes you, but the panic does not rise the way it had before. Instead, something else—something equally ugly and consuming—begins to take root. Loathing. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find another way,” you say, voice steady despite the fire in your lungs, despite the unrelenting weight of his gaze. "Because I refuse to be tethered to you." Sukuna’s smile widens. There is something darkly pleased in the way he regards you, like a man who has stumbled upon a challenge he had not anticipated but welcomes all the same. “You'll come to regret that,” he murmurs, though there is no malice in his tone—only something inevitable. And then, before you can take another breath, before you can think to run, something shifts. The air twists around you, a sickening lurch in your stomach pulling you forward as space itself seems to bend. Your surroundings blur, the smoldering ruins of your village vanishing in an instant, the weight of the destruction replaced by something colder, heavier. When the world rights itself, you are no longer standing among the dead. Marble floors stretch beneath you, gleaming faintly in the dim torchlight. Towering walls loom on either side, draped in deep crimson banners, intricate symbols etched into their silk. The air is thick with incense, cloying and unfamiliar, and the oppressive silence tells you all you need to know. This is his domain.

His shrine. A hand clenches around your wrist before you can stumble, the grip unyielding, calloused fingers pressing into your pulse. You twist violently, wrenching yourself free as if his touch burns more than the mark itself, stepping back as your heart hammers in your chest. Sukuna merely watches, four crimson eyes glinting beneath the flickering torchlight. "You'll learn," he says simply, voice almost bored. Your nails dig into your palms. "Learn what?" His smirk deepens.

"That fighting fate is useless." 

Your breath barely has a chance to steady before you’re shoved to the ground, the impact jolting through your already-weakened limbs. The cool marble floor bites at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of your ruined village only moments ago. Disoriented, your body lags behind your mind, still struggling to catch up with the impossible reality of where you now find yourself. Then—movement. Figures descend upon you at once, their presence as immediate as it is overwhelming. Hands grasp at your arms, your shoulders, your waist—urgent but impersonal, as though handling something fragile yet wholly insignificant. Murmured words, unfamiliar voices, the rustling of silk and hurried footsteps. You flinch, instinct screaming at you to resist, to fight, but your body remains frozen beneath the weight of it all.

Servants. You barely register them. Barely make sense of the way they flit around you, their touches neither cruel nor gentle—simply efficient. They are ghosts in the periphery of your vision, moving with the mechanical precision of those well-accustomed to obeying. And above them all, the presence of him. Sukuna looms, his four crimson eyes sweeping over the scene, cold and unreadable. He watches, impassive, as the servants move to peel away the soot-stained fabric clinging to your skin, as they work swiftly to assess and cleanse, as if you are just another thing to be handled. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turns on his heel. And the moment he strides away, the moment you are no longer within his direct sight, something within him snaps. This—this—is not where he was supposed to be.

He did not bring her here. He did not will this to happen. The realization only fuels his fury. His steps are heavy, echoing down the halls of his shrine as his irritation twists into something far more volatile. The teleportation—it was not his doing. The thought alone unsettles him, a sensation foreign and unwelcome. He is Ryomen Sukuna. The undisputed King of Curses. No force, no law of nature should have the power to drag him anywhere against his will, and yet—yet, here they are.

Him.

And her.

His so-called soulmate. His upper lip curls in disgust at the mere thought.

A human.

The very notion is laughable, offensive, and yet the searing mark on his ribs serves as an undeniable reminder of the cruel joke the heavens have played upon him. A curse should not—cannot—be bound by something as insipid as fate, and yet here he stands, the weight of inevitability pressing against his skin like a brand. The doors to his study are thrown open with little regard for subtlety. He does not sit. Instead, he paces, his mind a storm of questions and irritation, his fury barely leashed beneath the surface. And when his voice rings out—sharp, demanding—it is not a request but a summons.

“Uraume.”

The air shifts. A moment later, the pale-haired figure appears before him, their expression as neutral as ever, as though this was merely another of his many outbursts rather than something far more unnatural.

“My Lord,” Uraume greets, head bowing slightly. Sukuna wastes no time. “This soulmate nonsense,” he growls, turning to face them fully. “Explain it. Now.” Uraume’s gaze flickers, lingering on the tense set of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, as if itching to tear something apart. A brief pause, then—

“The marks burn upon meeting,” Uraume begins evenly. “A response to recognition, an ancient contract woven into the fabric of existence itself.” Sukuna scoffs, his sneer deepening. “As if that explains anything.”

“It is not something that can be ignored,” they continue, undeterred. “Nor can it be severed. Those who share the bond are connected in ways beyond their control.” A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw twitches. “Beyond control,” he echoes, voice laced with bitter amusement. “You mean to tell me I have been shackled to some miserable human girl, and there is nothing to be done about it?” Uraume does not answer immediately. They merely incline their head slightly before continuing. “The bond manifests in many ways. The burning of the mark is the first sign. But there is more.” Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose. “More?”

“The bond pulls.” His irritation flares anew. “Speak plainly.”

“You may find yourself drawn to her,” Uraume says, their voice carrying the careful weight of someone delivering news they know will not be well-received. “Unintentionally. Unwillingly. At times, the universe may see fit to force proximity.” Sukuna stills.

The teleportation.

The way space itself had twisted, wrenching them both from the smoldering remains of her village, spitting them out into his domain. The way the burning in his ribs had soothed the moment he had stood before her, as if merely being near her had tempered the fire beneath his skin. His fingers flex, an unbearable itch beneath his ribs. “You’re telling me this is why I was dragged here against my will?” His voice is venomous, each word spit with unfiltered disdain. “Because of some pathetic, celestial game?” Uraume’s face remains unreadable. “It is not a game, my Lord. It is law.”

Sukuna snarls. “Then why?” His patience is all but nonexistent now. “Why would I—a cursed being—have a soulmate?” The air is heavy with the weight of the question. Uraume meets his gaze evenly. “You may be cursed, yes– but there is no denying that the womb from which you came from was of a human.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Sukuna’s lips curl back, something ugly twisting in his gut, a resentment he cannot quite name. He scoffs, shaking his head as if the very idea is beneath him. As if none of this should even concern him. And yet, the mark still lingers. Still binds. His fingers twitch at his sides, the urge to tear at the skin beneath his ribs almost unbearable. Uraume merely watches. No more words need to be said. The truth is already clear. The bond is real. Unchangeable. Permanent.  Sukuna has never wanted to destroy something more. Instead, he forces himself to stay still. Or perhaps—no, certainly—this is the cruel intervention of divine will. For the first time in his wretched existence, he feels helpless. Disgusted. That he, the King of Curses, is allowing his anger to simmer beneath his skin rather than tearing apart the source of his fury limb from limb. That he is controlling his rage instead of indulging in it.

It sickens him.

A low growl rumbles in his throat as he turns sharply on his heel, his strides long and forceful, carrying him away from the suffocating weight of his thoughts. He does not stop until he reaches the doors of his personal library—his sanctuary, a place untouched by the triviality of men, where knowledge as old as time itself slumbers beneath layers of dust and parchment. The great doors creak as he pushes them open, revealing towering shelves carved from dark, lacquered wood, lined with scrolls and tomes that have endured centuries. The scent of aged paper, dried ink, and something almost metallic lingers in the air—a fragrance of history, of secrets forgotten by all but him. These books are not mere collections of words; they are artifacts, hoarded through conquest, stolen from burned temples, pried from the hands of dying sorcerers who thought themselves too wise to fall before him. He has never been a scholar, nor has he ever sought wisdom from words rather than war. But tonight, tonight—he finds himself tearing through his vast collection with uncharacteristic fervor, seeking answers in the very knowledge he once scorned. His fingers, lined with claws that could eviscerate flesh with ease, now trace along the brittle pages of ancient texts. Scrolls bound with silk and inked with the knowledge of men long dead whisper their truths to him. Soulmates. Bonds. The consequences of divine intervention. He reads with a scowl carved into his face, the dim candlelight casting jagged shadows against the angular planes of his features.

And then—a passage catches his eye.

"The bond does not merely burn at first meeting—it pulls.”

His grip on the fragile parchment tightens.

"The mark exists beyond flesh; it exists within the very essence of one’s soul. To be bound is to be drawn—without consent, without reason. Distance holds no power over fate’s decree. One may find themselves in the presence of their fated without warning, without cause. A moment of weakness, of longing, even of hatred, and the soul may seek out what the mind rejects.” Sukuna’s fingers twitch against the page. 

That was why. That was why space had twisted, why he had been dragged against his will, why she now lingers in his domain when he had never commanded it to be so. His own soul—a thing he once thought belonged only to him—had betrayed him. A snarl rips from his throat as he slams the tome shut, the parchment crinkling beneath the force of his grip. The candlelight flickers violently, as if recoiling from his ire. He exhales sharply, inhaling the dust-laden air of his sanctuary, forcing himself to keep reading, to tear apart every ounce of knowledge this library has on the wretched concept that has shackled him to some miserable human girl. He finds more. More damning truths, more absurdities woven into the tapestry of existence.

The bond is unbreakable. The connection can strengthen over time, deepening with exposure. One cannot die at the hands of their soulmate. His jaw clenches at the last revelation. That means—

He had known this already, but it was settling in, that even if he wanted to carve her apart, to rend her flesh into ribbons, to rip the very life from her bones—he could not. He could not even hurt her. The idea festers within him, curdling like spoiled sake in his gut. He was Ryomen Sukuna. The one feared even in whispered legends. The monster who razed temples, devoured men whole, and defied the heavens themselves. And now, those same heavens had bound him to her. His teeth grind together, sharp as the swords he has broken in battle, his fingers twitching with the phantom urge to destroy something, anything. But as he keeps reading, his rage begins to shift to something more unsettling—confusion. The more he uncovers, the more it becomes apparent that the bond between soulmates is far more complex than he could have imagined. The books speak of intricate nuances—how the bond can act in a multitude of ways. How, for example, the physical or emotional pain of one soulmate can cause the other to feel an echo of that suffering, as if their very bodies were intertwined. A soul could writhe in agony while the other feels nothing but the pull of the bond, even when miles apart. Sukuna feels his blood run cold at the implications of this. Could the connection be why he was drawn to her so suddenly, as if by some unseen force? Why he could feel her presence even before he laid eyes on her? Why he had chosen to decimate that specific village? He reads further—of the various side effects of the bond. Sometimes the connection grows stronger over time, feeding off proximity, lingering gazes, the exchange of emotions. Sometimes it strengthens through shared experiences, pain, or even moments of vulnerability. He slams the book shut again, unable to stomach the idea of nurturing something as vile as this connection. His hands tremble slightly. He was Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna. And now, his very soul is bound to this insignificant human. His mind races as he processes the truths laid out before him, seething with confusion and a boiling rage he cannot yet unleash. No, this cannot be. A heavy silence fills the library as he leans back in his chair, contemplating the absurdity of it all. How could this bond—this wretched, divine decree—have chosen him? The King of Curses, born to destroy and devastate, tied to a human who could never comprehend the complexities of his existence. This was the cruel joke fate had dealt him. And yet, as he sits in the vast, ancient library, surrounded by centuries-old knowledge, there’s a strange and undeniable weight pressing on him—one he cannot simply ignore.

–

Meanwhile, back in the unfamiliar halls of his shrine, you sit motionless, your mind an unsteady blur of thought and emptiness. The weight of the servants’ attention has lessened, though their presence remains in the edges of your vision. You barely register them anymore. You are here. Not in your village. Not among the ruins of everything you have ever known. Here. In the home of the man who has taken everything from you. Your fingers drift to your chest, pressing over the place where the pain had once burned so fiercely. Now, there is only a phantom ache. Your throat feels dry, but no sobs come. Nothing comes. The reality of it all settles like a stone in your stomach. You have no choice but to persevere, to live with this awful knowledge.  The days blur together in a haze of strange routines and restless moments. In the cold, oppressive silence in the plain, stone room of Sukuna’s shrine, you sit motionless, your mind no longer capable of processing the weight of your situation.  The servants, dressed in plain attire that blends seamlessly with the shadowed walls, come and go as if this were an ordinary home, though nothing about it feels even remotely familiar. They tend to you with an unsettling sort of politeness, ensuring your every need is met without a word. Simple, plain food is brought to you—meals that you have no appetite for—and yet, you are expected to eat, expected to comply, expected to endure this existence, this punishment. Majority of the time you stare aimlessly at the portion of rice, a small serving of fish and the pickled daikon, too busy being a slave to delusional plans that involve being far, far away from this place. And so, you try to resist. The impulse to fight back, to scream, to tear through the shrine’s stone walls, courses through you, but it’s quickly smothered by the cruel knowledge of your futility. You cannot escape. The very air here seems to hum with some invisible force, a force that drags you back to this cold place whenever you attempt to leave. The first time you tried to flee, you had barely stepped outside the threshold before the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. A sharp, unbearable sensation shot through your chest, and before you could even cry out, you were standing once more in the exact spot you had fled from—back in the center of the shrine, as if the land itself had rejected your presence, casting you back into its prison. And so you try again, this time walking with purpose, more determined, though dread tightens in your chest at the thought of failing once more. Every step away from the oppressive walls of the shrine feels like a small victory, but it’s hollow—soon enough, you feel the familiar pull, the tug at the very core of your being, and then–A sharp crack like thunder. The world shifts, distorting in an instant. You find yourself standing once again inside the shrine, the heavy stone walls closing in on you with a finality that shatters what little resolve you have left. The servants don’t look at you with pity—they don’t look at you at all, as if they have long since grown accustomed to your resistance. They simply watch, emotionless, as you return, a failed attempt at freedom.

The days continue to drag on in this strange, suffocating monotony. You have become accustomed to the silence of the shrine, to the steady rhythm of servants coming and going, to the subtle way they watch you when they think you’re not looking. You know your place here. You know the walls that confine you, the barriers that exist between you and the world you once knew. Your every attempt to escape is met with the same crushing failure, a reminder that freedom is not something you are allowed. It is on one of these restless days, as you sit on the tatami mats, adorned with a simple futon in your room staring at the floor, that the silence is broken. The door to your room creaks open slowly, the soft scrape of wood against stone pulling you from your thoughts. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. The presence fills the room before his figure even steps inside, as though the air itself shifts with his arrival. 

Sukuna. He doesn’t speak at first. You can hear the faint rustling of something heavy in his hands—the distinct sound of pages shifting, the weight of a book, perhaps more than one. He doesn’t make a sound as he approaches, his footsteps quiet and deliberate. But when he finally speaks, his voice is cold, emotionless, as if he is addressing something beneath his notice. You raise your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, but you don’t speak. The words catch in your throat, buried beneath the weight of your exhaustion, your anger, your resignation. Instead, you simply watch as Sukuna strides into the center of the room, holding a stack of books in his hands. His expression is unreadable, his eyes darker than ever, but you can see the irritation simmering beneath the surface.

He places the stack of books on the low table in front of you with an almost dismissive motion, his sharp gaze flicking briefly to the spines before returning to you. “Learn something useful for once,” he growls, the words laced with something between annoyance and disdain. “I don’t care what you do, but this incessant running is growing tiresome. You will stay here. You will live by my rules, whether you like it or not.” He stands there for a moment longer, upper set of arms crossed over his chest, four eyes narrowing as if waiting for something from you—perhaps a rebuttal, perhaps defiance—but when nothing comes, he exhales sharply, as if your silence only serves to aggravate him further. Without another word, Sukuna turns and strides toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stillness of the room. Just before he exits, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorframe as he glances back at you one final time.

“I don’t have the patience for this,” he says, the words tinged with irritation. “Accept your place, human.” And with that, he’s gone. The door swings shut behind him with a finality that makes your chest tighten. The books lie in front of you, their spines worn and ancient. Their pages hold the answers you are desperate for—answers that Sukuna refuses to give, answers that you must seek for yourself. You glance at them, the fire of defiance still burning somewhere deep within you, but you are too tired now. Too drained. So, with a heavy sigh, you reach for the first book, the weight of your situation pressing down on you like an unrelenting storm. You begin to read, not because you want to, but because there is nothing else left to do. You open the first book with a heavy heart, the ancient parchment creaking as you turn its pages. The dim light from the candle flickers, casting long shadows across the room as you begin to read. The words blur at first, your mind too clouded with confusion and anger to focus on anything other than the weight of your situation. But as you read on, the words start to make sense. The more you read, the more you realize the true nature of this bond. The pages speak of soulmates, but not in the way you imagined. They describe the deep, divine connection between two beings whose fates are tied together by forces beyond their understanding. These bonds are not a mere product of human will or desire—they are a force of nature, ordained by the heavens, irrevocable and absolute. You pause, your fingers trembling as you turn the page, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. There, on the next page, it speaks of the consequences of these bonds. The pain, the torment, the agony that comes with being tethered to someone whose very essence is a contradiction to your own. Soulmates cannot escape each other, not by choice or force. They are bound together, whether they like it or not. The burning of the mark, the unnatural pull, the sensation of being drawn to one another—it’s not a curse. It’s not a domain of power or manipulation. It’s divine will.

Divine will.

Your stomach churns violently, and you feel the world around you tilt, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The words on the page blur once again, but this time it’s not because you can’t understand them. No, this time it’s because the realization is too much to bear. A sickening knot forms in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but recoil at the thought. The King of Curses, the monster who destroyed your village and slaughtered your people—this wretched creature, this abomination of nature—he too was bound by divine will. The gods, the very forces that govern the universe, had deemed him worthy of a soulmate. But not just anyone. You. The words strike you like a physical blow, and you close the book with trembling hands, your mind spinning. The pain in your chest—the phantom ache where the mark once burned—flares up once more, but it feels different now. It no longer feels like the weight of a curse. It feels like something far worse.

A divine decree.

You try to steady your breath, but it’s impossible. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you, and for the first time since you were brought here, you truly understand the scope of your fate. This isn’t something that can be easily escaped. This isn’t just a cruel twist of fate, or Sukuna’s twisted will. This is divine authority. The gods have tied you to him, just as they’ve tied him to you. And there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You feel your hands shaking as you drop the book back onto the table, your eyes wide with disbelief. It’s not just Sukuna’s cursed power you’re bound to. It’s the will of something greater—something far more terrifying. And that realization fills you with disgust.  You hate him. You hate everything he’s done. You hate the fact that the gods would curse you like this, tie you to a monster like him. Yet, you cannot deny the pull. You cannot deny the bond that tugs at you, drawing you closer to him with every passing day. It’s not because of his power. It’s not because of his curse. It’s because the heavens have deemed you his. And that thought, that nauseating, repulsive thought, makes you want to scream. You want to tear the mark from your skin, to break this bond, to make it all stop. The days pass in a haze of helplessness, one bleeding into the next like ink spreading through water. You lose track of time, of the hours spent in silence, curled up in the same corner of the room Sukuna has forced you to call yours. The once-blazing fire in your chest has long since reduced to embers, but the weight of the mark—of what it means—presses down on you with an unbearable force. The books remain scattered across the small table, their brittle pages whispering of things you cannot change. Divine decree. A bond that cannot be broken. An eternity bound to him. The knowledge festers in your mind like a wound left to rot. At first, you rage against it, against the cruel injustice of it all. But rage is exhausting.

Over time, it dulls into something quieter, something heavier. An unbearable listlessness settles in your bones, sapping you of any desire to move, to eat, to even breathe with purpose. You drift in and out of awareness, the servants tending to you with quiet efficiency. They bring you meals that you barely touch, garments that remain folded and untouched. You hear their whispers when they think you’re too far gone to notice. Pitying murmurs about the broken thing that their master has dragged into his domain. And though you tell yourself you do not care, you do. You despise the way they look at you, like you are something fragile, something doomed. Yet, you cannot bring yourself to move. Because what is the point? You are trapped here. There is no escape. You have tried, more times than you can count. You have slipped past the servants, darted down empty corridors, even clawed your way up the thick walls that enclose the shrine. Each time, the mark sears, and within the blink of an eye, you find yourself back in this same room. Fate is a prison, and you are its prisoner. 

—

It starts as an irritation. At first, Sukuna barely acknowledges the gnawing sense of unease, chalking it up to the exhaustion of battle, the mind-numbing monotony of slaughter. The northern tribes had proven persistent, and though none could stand against him, their resistance had dragged on long enough to be an inconvenience. But then, it follows him back to the shrine. It lingers in the quiet moments, coiling around his mind like a vice, pressing into his chest like an ache he cannot place. There is no reason for him to feel this way. No reason for the air to taste heavier, for his thoughts to drag sluggishly in his mind. Until one evening, as he sits within his chambers, idly flipping through one of the ancient texts that now feel like a mockery, it dawns on him.

It is her.

The bond is acting upon him. He scowls, slamming the book shut as realization slithers through his veins like poison. That useless girl, the one who barely speaks, the one who sits in his shrine like a lifeless doll, is feeling something so profoundly that it is bleeding into him. How utterly pathetic. And yet—he cannot stand it.

—

The door to your chambers is flung open with enough force to rattle the walls. You barely have time to flinch before his towering figure fills the space, his presence swallowing the room whole. “You,” he growls, stepping inside with slow, measured steps. For the first time in days, you stir from where you sit, your fingers gripping the fabric of your robe tightly. You do not meet his eyes, but you can feel his glare burning into you, seething, livid. “Enough of this pathetic display.” Your chest tightens, but you do not speak. Sukuna’s lip curls, baring sharp fangs. “Do you think you are the only one suffering? That I am unaffected by this wretched bond? Tch. Even from across the land, I felt your self-pitying misery clawing at my mind like a parasite.” He steps closer, looming over you. “And I have had enough of it.” Your nails dig into your palms. The rage that had dulled into nothingness over the past days flickers, threatening to return. “Then kill me,” you whisper, voice hoarse from disuse. “If I disgust you so much, if I am such a burden, then why not rid yourself of me?”

Sukuna sneers. “Foolish girl. Has it not gone through your thick skull? One cannot die at the hands of their soulmate.”

“The bond ensures that much,” he continues, voice dripping with disdain. “So stop this insipid self-destruction. You are not a tragic martyr, no matter how much you wish to be.” Something inside you snaps. Your head jerks up, anger flashing in your weary eyes. “You destroyed my village. You took everything from me, and now you tell me I have to live like this? To simply accept it? To accept you?” A low, mocking chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Finally found your voice, did you?” He tilts his head, four crimson eyes gleaming. “Tch. It was unbearable enough when you were silent, but listening to you whine is somehow worse.”  Your body trembles, with fury, with exhaustion, with the weight of something far greater than yourself. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The tension coils thick in the air, suffocating, unbearable. And then—Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, as if tiring of this entire exchange. “Enough of this,” he mutters. His gaze hardens. “You will eat. You will stop moping around this shrine like a ghost.” He leans down slightly, voice dropping to something more dangerous. “And you will stop letting your misery bleed into me.”

Your teeth clench. “And if I don’t?” Sukuna’s smirk is sharp, vicious. “Try me.” You glare at him, defiant. But in your heart, you know he is right. There is no escape. Not from this shrine. Not from him. Not from the gods who have bound you together. So, with no other choice, you swallow the bitter taste of defeat and let out a slow breath.

“Fine.” 

Sukuna watches you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you do not collapse into weakness the moment he turns away. Then, with a final sneer, he steps back and strides towards the door. “Good,” he mutters. “At least you’re not entirely spineless.” The door slams behind him, leaving you alone once more. But this time, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you move.  Small steps. At first, they are barely noticeable. Small bites of the simple food left on the lacquered trays beside your bed, the quiet scrape of wooden chopsticks against ceramic. Small brushes through the tangled knots in your hair, each stroke steadying trembling hands. Small steps across the cold floors of the shrine, guiding yourself to the stone bath where you sink into the water, letting the steam wrap around you like a veil. It is not much. It is barely anything. But it is something. Sometimes, in the silence, your mind drifts back to the village. You remember gathering firewood, splinters lodging into your fingers as you carried it back home to stave off the bitter chill of winter. You remember lining up in the early morning before the sun had fully risen, waiting for the butcher’s best cuts before the wealthier families claimed them all. You remember the fleeting warmth of small interactions—the women in the marketplace who knew of your mother’s shame, your supposed inherited stain, yet still exchanged quiet, idle words with you. There was no kindness, not truly, but there had been moments of something softer, something human. And now, they are all dead. The realization is a sharp knife twisting deep inside you. The mothers clutching their children’s hands. The butcher with his heavy cleaver. The old men who sat outside their homes, watching the world pass them by. All gone. Reduced to charred flesh, torn limbs, bloodstained streets. And him—your soulmate, the cursed thing that the gods saw fit to bind you to—was the one who had done it. The one who had laughed as he crushed their bones beneath his heel. Perhaps he had even devoured them afterward, the thought a sickening weight in your gut. A shudder rakes through your body. You sink lower into the water, letting the heat prickle against your skin, focusing on the slow, hypnotic swirls of steam curling through the air. You try to lose yourself in them, to let them pull you away from the thoughts clawing at your mind. But somewhere far from this room, far from the confines of this shrine, Sukuna feels it. It unsettles him. He tells himself it is nothing, just some lingering irritation from the bond—some nuisance to be ignored like the buzzing of a gnat. And yet, the more time passes, the harder it becomes to dismiss. There is something changing. The weight of the soul-link no longer drags at him like it once did. It does not claw at the edges of his mind with that insipid despair that had seeped from you in waves. No. It is different now. It is quieter. Steadier. Something within you is shifting, solidifying. And for reasons he cannot explain, Sukuna feels it too. The sensation does not fill him with rage, as it once had. Nor does it disgust him. If anything, it is… tolerable. Almost grounding. And that is what disturbs him the most.

Because why? Why should it feel right? Why should the dull hum of the bond settle something deep in his marrow instead of igniting his fury? He loathes the thought. It claws at him, festering like an infection he cannot carve out. And worse still—if he is feeling this, then surely she is, too. The mere idea sends a sharp pulse of irritation down the bond, but it does not vanish as quickly as he expects. Instead, it lingers, stretching between them like a thread neither of them can sever.

—

You do not know when it begins. When the suffocating numbness ebbs into something else—something not quite peace, but not entirely hopelessness, either. There is no moment of revelation, no dramatic shift. Only the slow, creeping realization that the weight on your chest is not as heavy as it was before. That your limbs do not feel as though they are bound by lead. That your mind, though still a battlefield of grief and fury and disbelief, is no longer wholly consumed by it. You feel… steadier. And though you do not want to acknowledge it, though the very thought makes you recoil in disgust, you know where this newfound strength is coming from. It is the bond. The very thing you have spent days resenting, loathing, cursing the heavens for. Somehow, impossibly, it has begun to shift the tide inside you, pulling you from the abyss you had resigned yourself to. You hate it.

And yet—

You take another bite of food. You brush through your hair a little longer. You walk beyond the walls of your room, even if only to feel the air shift around you. You exist, even if begrudgingly so. And across the shrine, Sukuna feels it all.

—

You tell yourself you are only wandering to know your prison, that this is merely another fruitless attempt at escape—if not through the doors, then perhaps through knowledge. But in truth, you know. You have known for some time now. There is no leaving. Not by foot. Not by force. And so, you resign yourself to these corridors, to the vast emptiness of the shrine-palace that cages you. It is beautiful. You resent the thought the moment it forms, but denying it would be foolish. The architecture is unlike anything you have ever seen, a stark contrast to the wooden homes of your village. Here, stone forms the bones of the shrine, intricately carved with sigils you cannot decipher, the markings worn down by time yet still humming with unseen power. The halls stretch high, ceilings adorned with coiling dragons, their eyes inlaid with gleaming gemstones that catch the flickering candlelight. The floors, too, are cold stone, though you begin to learn where the softer woven mats are placed, offering relief from the bite of the chill. The corridors twist and wind like a labyrinth, grand staircases spiraling to multiple levels. You do not know how many floors there are, but you suspect the shrine is larger than you had imagined—perhaps even larger than the village Sukuna had razed to the ground. Your footsteps become quieter with time, learning to move as the servants do—graceful, measured, unnoticed. The evenings are the safest; you have observed the rhythms of the shrine, the times when the halls are busiest and when they are nearly deserted. The evenings are when the servants seem most preoccupied, bustling about with the preparation of Sukuna’s meals. You use these moments to explore, to test the limits of your captivity. It is on one of these silent excursions that you first stumble upon the gardens.

It is breathtaking. The shrine’s cold, imposing stone should not allow for something so alive, and yet—here it is. A vast, sprawling garden enclosed within the palace grounds, untouched by the destruction that Sukuna so often brings upon the world. The air is thick with the scent of blooming flowers, of deep earth and fresh water. Trees stretch their ancient limbs toward the sky, their blossoms fluttering to the ground like drifting snow. Pathways of smooth, polished stone wind through the greenery, leading to pavilions with ornate wooden beams, their roofs curved like the wings of a bird. Lanterns hang from the eaves, swaying gently in the evening breeze. And then there is the pond. A deep, still pool of water, its surface glass-like, reflecting the moon’s pale glow. Koi fish drift lazily beneath, their scales shimmering like molten gold. A small bridge arches over it, leading to an island in the center—a lone cherry tree standing there, its branches heavy with delicate pink petals. It is, impossibly, peaceful. You linger longer than you should, your breath quiet, your mind torn. You do not want to find beauty here. You do not want to acknowledge that anything in this place could be worth admiring. And yet, as the wind stirs the petals, as they dance across the water’s surface, you cannot help but think—

This is the first thing that has felt soft since the night your world burned.  You return to the gardens the next evening. And the next. At first, it is with the same cautious hesitance that carried you beyond your room. You expect, perhaps, to be dragged back, for some unseen force to wrench you from this small solace. But nothing happens. The servants do not stop you, do not so much as glance in your direction. So you keep going. Each evening, when the shrine quiets, you find your way back. You move slower now, no longer pressing yourself against the walls or skirting around corners. You take your time. You run your fingers over the rough bark of the cherry trees, kneel by the pond to watch the koi as they move in slow, lazy circles. You walk the stone paths, memorize their turns, where they lead. There is a strange comfort in the ritual of it. Not peace—never peace. But something adjacent to it. The weight of your captivity still sits heavy in your chest, but out here, surrounded by life rather than cold stone and flickering candlelight, you can pretend—for a moment—that you are not trapped. That you are simply wandering as you once did in your village, lingering too long in the markets, or pausing by the river just to feel the water brush against your fingertips. For the first time since being brought here, you do not feel entirely choked by your existence. But you are not the only one who notices. High above, Sukuna watches. From his chambers—the highest level of the shrine-palace, where the walls are etched with ancient script and the air hums with residual power—he sees you. At first, it is only in passing. His eyes, sharp and restless, flicker downward when movement catches his attention. He expects a servant, perhaps Uraume, but instead, it is you. He nearly disregards you. It is in his nature to take little interest in the weak, in those who are of no consequence to him. And yet—his gaze lingers. It does so again the next night. And the next. Something in him itches at the sight of you. Not in anger, not in fury—those are familiar things, comfortable things, and yet what this is… he cannot place it. You are not trying to escape. Not now. He would feel it if you were. No, this is something else. Something deliberate. His arms rest against the wooden railing, fingers curling against the carved grooves of the stone. His upper set of arms remain folded against his chest, lips pressing into a thin line as he watches you move through his gardens, as if they belong to you, as if this is anything less than a prison. You seem… settled. Not content, no—he can feel the weight of your thoughts, the heavy thrum of resentment in your body—but you no longer seem consumed by them. The pathetic, broken thing he first brought here has started to breathe again. That unsettles him. Because he should not care. He should not feel the shift in your presence as if it is tethered to him. Should not feel the quiet, subtle difference in the way you carry yourself and have it reverberate through his own body like an echo. Sukuna is a god among men, a force that has torn through kingdoms, devoured all in his path. His domain is absolute. His power, unparalleled. And yet, despite all of that—

He cannot ignore the way his body knows when you step into the garden below. 

—

Over time, the walls of your confinement grow wider. The slow, reluctant walks through the garden stretch longer. Your hands become familiar with the texture of leaves, with the way the koi in the pond move lazily beneath the water’s surface. You wander beyond the paths you first stuck to, toward quiet courtyards and winding stone staircases that lead to new corners of the shrine-palace. The more you walk, the more you see. It is a cruel thing, how beautiful this place is. A place owned by a monster. You come to know the servants not by name, but by presence—some who seem more human, others who seem barely of this world. They move around you, neither avoiding you nor acknowledging you beyond what is necessary. There is no kindness, no cruelty. You are simply there, and that is all. And then, one evening, in the midst of your quiet roaming, you find the library. It is not like the grand, open libraries of noble houses, nor the small, humble book collections of monks. It is something else entirely.

The entrance is guarded by two enormous doors of blackened wood, carvings of creatures you do not recognize etched into their surface. The handles are cool beneath your touch, and when they give way, the doors creak softly, revealing the vast space beyond.

It is unlike anything you have ever seen. Towering shelves stretch high into the dim, flickering light, filled with books and scrolls of every imaginable kind. The scent of old parchment and ink lingers thick in the air, mingling with something faintly metallic. Ancient tomes bound in worn leather rest beside delicate silk scrolls, their characters barely visible under layers of dust. Some books seem human—histories of dynasties, accounts of emperors and wars. Others are clearly not. The symbols, the markings, are foreign, twisted in ways that make your stomach tighten. This is a place of knowledge. A place of secrets. And so, just as you return to the gardens each day, you begin returning here too. One evening, you find yourself lost in the pages of an ancient text, its ink smudged but still legible. It speaks of the early days of sorcery, of curses and divine punishments, of men who wielded power beyond their mortal means. Your fingers trace the characters absently as you read, absorbed by the details.

You do not hear the approaching footsteps.

But you feel him. A shift in the air. A presence so immense it presses against your skin like an unseen force. When you look up, Sukuna is there. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, four eyes watching you with unreadable intent. He says nothing at first, only observing you as if trying to decide whether you are worth the effort of addressing. You force yourself to meet his gaze, pulse steady despite the instinct screaming at you to lower your eyes.

Then—

“Why,” his voice is slow, deliberate, irritated, “is a human wandering so freely in my shrine?” You should be afraid. A part of you still is. But something else has settled in the space between you—something no longer dictated by pure terror, but by something stranger. You do not look away. “You’ve made it clear I cannot leave,” you say, voice measured. “What else am I supposed to do? Rot in my room?”

His upper lip curls, but his eyes—his lower set—flick to the book in your hands. “Hm.” His gaze lingers before he strides further in, slow and deliberate. “That book is full of half-truths. The author was a fool.”

You glance down at the pages. “Seems well-researched.” 

He snorts, plucking a scroll from a shelf as he passes. “And yet he does not understand the difference between innate cursed energy and cultivated energy.” He flicks the scroll open briefly before shutting it again, gaze returning to you. “A human should not be so interested in these things.” You set the book down carefully. “And yet you have hundreds of them.” A silence stretches.

He smirks. “Fair.” He crosses the room, scanning the shelves with absent familiarity. For a moment, you wonder if he will leave, if this conversation is already over. Instead, he pulls another book from a high shelf and tosses it onto the table before you. “This one,” he says, tone indifferent. “Less stupid than the one you were reading.” You stare at the book, then at him. “You’re recommending me something?” “I’m correcting your ignorance,” he corrects smoothly. “It is an insult to allow a creature bound to me to remain unlearned.” Something in your stomach twists at the word bound.

You exhale slowly, fingers skimming the book’s edge. “And what is it you read, then?”

For a moment, he does not respond. Then, almost carelessly, he plucks a small, tattered volume from a lower shelf and tosses it onto the table beside yours. The cover is unassuming, the pages slightly yellowed from age. “Wars,” he says idly. “Bloodshed. Things more useful than philosophy and fables.”

You glance at him. “You have philosophy books?” A pause. Then, to your genuine surprise—

A low chuckle. 

“Even the strongest must have something to mock,” he muses. Your fingers graze over the book he has given you. It is not an act of kindness. You know this. And yet, as you sit there, the weight of his presence lingering, there is something in the air between you. Not peace. Not understanding.

But something.

Despite the revulsion that coils deep in your gut, despite the ever-present whisper of grief that lingers in the hollow of your chest, you cannot deny the way your curiosity festers. It is a quiet, creeping thing, burrowing into the spaces left vacant by sorrow. You should not want to know more of him. And yet, as the days stretch on, as the seasons shift imperceptibly beyond the shrine’s towering walls, you find yourself drawn back to the library—again and again. It is not intentional. Or at least, that is what you tell yourself. At first, it is the books. You lose yourself in the scent of old parchment, the weight of knowledge pressing in from all sides. There is power in words, in understanding—an anchor in a world that has left you unmoored. But the books are not the only constant in that dim-lit chamber.

He is there, too. Not always. But often enough. Sometimes he simply exists in the periphery of your vision, draped lazily over a chair with a scroll in hand, the soft flick of turning pages the only sound between you. Other times, his presence is more direct—irritated glances when you linger too long on a passage he finds idiotic, scoffs of disdain when you reference a text he has long since dismissed as foolish. And then there are the rare moments when he speaks. Not much, never more than necessary. But his voice threads through the silence, rough and edged with indifference as he critiques the material in your hands, as he tosses another book onto your table without looking up from his own.

That one is less idiotic.

If you insist on wasting your time with philosophy, at least read something with merit.

Hmph. Misinterpretation of strategy is a common human failing. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

You do not argue. Not often, anyway. But you listen. You always listen. And in turn, despite his reluctance, despite whatever internal war he fights beneath the surface, so does he. Neither of you realize it at first. The way the bond, ever silent and insidious, begins to settle. Not in warmth, not in anything so gentle—but in recognition. It does not ease your hatred. It does not erase the blood on his hands, nor soften the jagged edges of your grief. But the weight of it, the sheer force of something inevitable, lingers between you both. Like an echo in your bones. Like a thread neither of you can sever.

—

So, your life at the shrine begins. There’s nothing you can do here, really, except roam. But ever since these impromptu, silent meetings with Sukuna, you realize that his presence in your life is becoming pronounced in more ways than one. It starts off with new tatami mats. You wake up as you usually do, only to realize that the rough, straw-like weave beneath you has been replaced. The scent of fresh rush grass lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of old stone. Your futon is different too—no longer the stiff, worn-out bedding you had grown accustomed to but something cushier, the fabric smoother beneath your fingers. The discomfort that had once made sleep elusive is softened, made… bearable. You stare at it for a long moment before calling for one of the servants, asking why.

The answer is simple. “Master Sukuna’s orders.”

Days pass, and it does not stop. Your baths, once nothing more than warm water and plain wooden pails, take on a strange transformation. Small satchels of herbs begin appearing at the bath’s edge, their contents filling the air with faint floral and medicinal scents. Lavender, chamomile, yuzu peel—scents that soothe, scents that linger even after you leave the steaming water behind. Then, your meals. The trays brought to you, once simple—rice, miso, a small cut of fish—become… thoughtful. More side dishes begin appearing: simmered vegetables, slices of fruit, a bowl of soup richer in flavor. It’s nothing extravagant, nothing overly indulgent, but it is clear enough that it is tailored for you. The portions are small, balanced. The nutrients, something even your village had often lacked, are deliberate.

The realization unsettles you. It is not indulgence. Not luxury. Not the gilded treatment of a beloved consort or an esteemed guest. No, it is something else entirely. It is simply… care. But that word is difficult to grasp when it is him. When it is the same man who razed your home to the ground, the same man whose very existence is a contradiction to humanity itself.

And then the clothes arrive.

The garments left for you are finer than the rough, unadorned kosode you have been wearing since arriving. They are still modest, still plain in comparison to the silken layers of nobility, but they are yours. The fabric is softer, dyed in delicate shades that feel strangely out of place against the cold stone walls of the shrine—muted hues of lavender, deep blue, pale pink, as if he had given you the sky at dusk and bottled it into cloth. Subtle patterns are embroidered into the edges—nothing ostentatious, but thoughtful nonetheless. A motif of wisteria trailing down the sleeves of one of the garments. The faintest traces of plum blossoms scattered along another. You run your fingers along the stitching, lingering on the unfamiliar softness. Again, you ask the servants who brought them.

Again, the response is the same.

“Master Sukuna’s orders.”

And yet, he never mentions it. Not once. Not in the quiet moments you share in the library, where he only spares you a glance before returning to whatever text is in his hands. Not in the wordless passing of time, where the only thing exchanged between you is the occasional book he sets near your seat. Nothing is said. But the truth lingers, unspoken yet inescapable. It happens one evening, when the weight of silence is broken by the rustle of a turning page. You are reading. Some old philosophical text, one that debates the nature of the soul—the way bonds form and fracture, the ever-complicated relationship between fate and free will. You hate it. It’s wordy, pompous. It speaks in circles, never quite reaching an answer. Sukuna, sitting across from you, scoffs. “That book is stupid.”

You glance up, raising a brow. “You’ve read it?” He leans back against his seat, expression unreadable. “Years ago.” A beat of silence. Then, almost begrudgingly, he reaches beside him and tosses a different text onto the table between you. It slides to a stop near your fingers. Another book. You eye it, hesitant. The cover is worn, but the script is meticulous, the binding careful. It is not new, not something tossed aside. It has been kept. “What is this?” you ask. He does not look at you. “Something better.” And despite yourself, despite the wariness that never quite leaves your bones, you open it. The hours pass in something almost… comfortable. For the first time, you speak of books—not of war, not of hatred, not of the bond that chains you together. He critiques, and you respond. You disagree, and he scoffs. It is not friendly, not warm, but it is something. And then, out of nowhere—

“Do you like them?”

You blink. “What?”

“The things you’ve been given,” he says, voice flat, almost disinterested. “The clothing. The food. The rest.” You hesitate, thrown off by the bluntness. Your fingers curl around the edge of the book in your lap. “Why does it matter?” He does not answer immediately. Then, voice quieter, he mutters, “It doesn’t.”

A lie.

You swallow. A part of you still hates it. Hates that you are here, that you have no choice but to accept it. But another part—the rational one, the one that understands that survival is often unfair—forces you to speak. “…The bath infusions,” you say stiffly. “The lavender is nice.” That is all you give him. He only grunts in response, unimpressed. The conversation dies there.

Or so you think. 

The next morning, you wake to find a small woven basket left beside your room’s entrance.

It is filled to the brim with bundles of dried lavender.

—

The changes are slow, almost imperceptible at first. The meals grow more elaborate, not in extravagance but in precision—flavors that suit your palate, dishes you recognize from your village, though executed with the refinement only a palace like this could provide. The clothing becomes finer still, the fabrics layered more deliberately, the patterns more intricate—subtle, but undeniably intentional. Even the bath infusions are no longer just lavender. You find rose, jasmine, crushed camellia petals. A mix of scents and herbs you have never encountered before, each carefully selected. And yet, through all of this, he never says a word about it. He does not ask if you enjoy them. He does not acknowledge the way you hesitate when you notice something new. The gifts simply arrive, seamlessly woven into your days, as if they had always been there. Until one morning, when the servants do not merely arrive with trays or bundles of fabric. They arrive with a quiet bow and a simple statement.

“Your room is being moved.” You stare at them, uncomprehending.

“What?”

They do not falter. “Master Sukuna has ordered it.”

—

The new room is beautiful. It is spacious, lined with thick tatami mats and warmed by the soft glow of paper lanterns. The walls, carved stone and lacquered wood, are adorned with delicate paintings—scenes of nature, of rolling hills and quiet rivers. And the view– You step forward, drawn to the open shoji doors leading to a balcony. From here, you can see the gardens in full. The winding stone paths, the koi pond reflecting the sky, the sakura trees that have begun to bloom despite the lateness of the season. It is breathtaking, so much so that for a moment, you forget yourself. You let your fingers brush against the wooden railing. The faintest breeze carries the scent of the garden into your lungs, and something in your chest—

A flicker. A feeling so foreign, so small, you almost do not register it. But the mark does. It reacts. A slow warmth, a pulse of something eerily close to pleasure, unfurls beneath your skin. It is not overpowering, not painful like before. It is something gentler, something that sinks into your bones and lingers. The new quarters are beautiful, but it is the bathroom that surprises you the most. Carved stone and polished tile, the space is far grander than anything you could have imagined for yourself. The bathing area is deep, nearly a small pool rather than a tub, built into the floor and lined with dark slate. The walls are decorated with intricate motifs—delicate carvings of twisting vines and blooming flowers, almost too elegant for a place like this.

And then there is the cabinet. It stands against the farthest wall, lacquered wood polished to a rich, dark gleam. When you slide it open, the scent of herbs and oils wafts out, so many that you nearly stagger back. Small glass vials, ceramic jars, and silk-wrapped bundles of dried petals are arranged in perfect rows. Lavender, rose, jasmine, crushed camellia—scents you had noticed before. But now there are new ones. Richer blends, exotic spices, deep, warm fragrances you cannot name. Your fingers hesitate over one of the jars. The craftsmanship is exquisite, the lid inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Everything here is deliberate. And that unsettles you. Because this was not merely placed here for anyone. This was made for you.

And once again, just as before—

The mark pulses. A slow, creeping warmth unfurls beneath your ribs, not painful, not harsh. Just… there. Lurking. Reacting. Far above, Sukuna exhales sharply, fingers curling against the armrest of his seat. The bond is responding again. He does not understand why this is happening, why every small shift in her acceptance of this place sends something insufferably warm through him. But as he watches from his chambers, sees her linger by the open shoji doors, sees her take in the beauty of what has now become hers—

He realizes with great irritation that this feeling will not be leaving him anytime soon.

—

He is watching her again. Not intentionally. Not because he wants to. It just… happens. She is there, standing by the balcony of her new quarters, her fingers ghosting over the wood as if the very idea of having something her own is too much to comprehend. It is a strange sight. She does not look like the girl he found in the ruins of her village, curled in on herself, too broken to even summon tears. No, this woman is different. Still fragile, still guarded, but… something is shifting. He should not care. And yet, when he had given the order to move her, he had ensured that the room overlooked the gardens. That it was closer to the library, that the private bath was stocked with the things she preferred. He had not thought about it in the moment. It had simply been done. But now, watching her stand there, he feels it again—that unnerving sensation deep in his chest, the strange, almost unbearable warmth that rises beneath the surface of his skin.

It is the mark.

It is responding.

To her pleasure.

The realization is infuriating. Because now, he knows—each time she enjoys something, each time a part of her accepts this place, no matter how begrudgingly, it is felt. The bond does not let him ignore it. And worse still, he does not know if it is the bond itself that compels him to act, or if—

No. The thought does not finish. He will not let it. He exhales, slow, measured. This is not something he will dwell on. He has no reason to. But as he turns away, retreating into the dim glow of his chambers, the warmth beneath his ribs does not fade.

–

You don’t even realize when it happens. The teleportation. One moment, the futon in your new room is gently pressing into your back in the most comfortable manner, cotton tunic soft and short, providing extra comfort as you soundlessly sleep on the bed. The next moment, in your sleep-induced haze, the futon is… much softer? As if made of clouds, sprung with feathers. There’s warmth, thick and inescapable, curling around you, sinking into your very skin. The room feels different. More enclosed, the air heavier with a mixture of something clean yet darkly spiced, and there’s the quiet hum of breath that does not belong to you. Your fingers shift against the bedding, feeling silks far richer than anything in your quarters, and then—

Heat. A weight at your back. A warmth so solid it could only belong to something alive. Your eyes fly open at the exact same moment as his.

Sukuna.

He is right there, his larger form looming, the faint gleam of his four eyes now slightly narrowed, assessing. You lurch away instantly, scrambling, but so does he. The space between you expands as you both shift back in sync, staring. His top pair of eyes regard you in that usual sharp scrutiny, but the lower pair flick briefly downward—

To the loose collar of your tunic, where sleep had disheveled it slightly, the smallest bit of cleavage exposed. Just a second too long, too brief to be purposeful, but enough for your breath to hitch, for your skin to prickle with the awareness of it. And then it’s gone. He blinks, gaze leveling again, unreadable. Perhaps you imagined it. There’s a moment where neither of you speak. The room is quiet, the outside world still swallowed in the deep black of midnight, the flickering lanterns outside casting uneven shadows against the walls of his chambers. You need to leave. You push up slightly, but before you can move further, his voice cuts through the silence—low, slightly rough from fatigue.

“Stay.”

You freeze, watching him, wary. His posture is lax, one of his four arms folded behind his head as he leans into the plush pillows, but his expression holds a flicker of something serious. “Why?” you finally manage, voice quieter than you’d like. Sukuna exhales slowly, as if the explanation bores him. “Because a normal human wouldn’t be able to leave my chambers.” You blink. What? He stretches, the movement languid, unconcerned. “Ancient protections. Wards. I don’t care to dispel them right now.” You eye the dark wooden doors leading out of the room, unsure whether he’s bluffing. His expression suggests he isn’t. Still, the thought of staying here, in his room, is unbearable.

“I can sleep on the floor.”

He doesn’t even look at you. “Stay put.” 

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, unwilling, but he doesn’t give you any further attention. His head tilts slightly, eyes slipping shut again as if your presence is already inconsequential to him. Slowly, stiffly, you lower yourself back down, turned away from him, as if that will make it less real. The silence stretches. You should sleep. But you can’t. The question escapes before you can stop it.

“Why did you kill them?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer immediately. The silence that follows is so long that you think he might ignore you entirely. But then, his voice comes, quieter than before, but no less firm. “I am a vengeful cursed being,” he says. “Born of the hatred humans have cultivated for centuries.”

You swallow, fingers curling into the bedding. “That’s not an answer.” 

Sukuna finally opens his eyes again, all four glinting in the dim light. He watches you, assessing. “It is the only answer that matters.” You exhale slowly, pulse steady but heavy. “Do you ever think like a human?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “No.” Your throat tightens. His answer is so blunt, so void of doubt. And yet… Something about it doesn’t feel entirely right. “Then why are you explaining yourself to me?” you ask, voice soft, almost careful. For the first time, he pauses. A slow breath leaves him, and his eyes shift, gaze flickering somewhere above you, to the ceiling, as if the answer could be written there. Then, so casually, so simply, he says:

“I can’t understand human emotions.”

You frown slightly, but he continues, voice quiet, deliberate. “I don’t feel remorse. I don’t regret.” A brief beat. And then—

“But I acknowledge what I have done.”

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t say less. And you realize… This is the closest he has come to apologizing. You stare at him, searching, trying to make sense of it. It doesn’t erase the blood spilled. It doesn’t make up for anything. But it is something earnest, and it lingers between you both in the dark, stretching into the silence of the room. You close your eyes. The bond hums. Unbeknownst to either of you, it deepens. As you lie there, tension curling your body tight, you realize something unsettling. The King of Curses, Sukuna, has no reason to explain himself. He’s ruthless, merciless, and in his eyes, human lives mean little. Yet, here he is, acknowledging his actions in a way you’ve never expected from a being like him. It's not an apology—not really. But in some strange way, it feels like the closest thing to one he’s capable of giving. You roll the thought over in your mind, slowly, carefully. He could have dismissed your question, ignored you, or even mocked you for your naive human emotions. But instead, he explained his nature as if it were something that mattered to him—an acknowledgment, a bare minimum of recognition for what he’s done.

It’s not a redemption, far from it. It doesn’t change who he is, and it doesn’t make the blood on his hands any less damning. But it’s a shift, a slight crack in the wall that shields him. And for a moment, you wonder if that’s as much as he’s capable of. The air feels heavier now, less tense but somehow more oppressive, the weight of the night wrapping around you both like a thick blanket. You don’t realize when your breathing slows, when your body relaxes against the comfort of the bedding. The warmth from his presence is steady, and the soft murmurs of his breath become the backdrop to your thoughts. It’s strange how something so unsettling can become… calming. Ironically, sleeping next to the beast turned out to be the best sleep you’d had since your arrival at this shrine. The next morning, you wake up, groggy and confused, only to realize, haphazardly, that you’re back in your own room. The futon beneath you feels familiar, your body entwined in the soft sheets, though not as soft as the ones in Sukuna’s chambers. For a moment, you wonder if it was all just a dream—whether you had somehow imagined meeting Sukuna, conjured him up in your sleep. But then, as you shift, a scent clings to your sleeping tunic—a dark, spiced aroma. It’s unmistakable, the same one you’d inhaled when you’d been teleported to his room last night.

Oh.

—

The gardens of Sukuna’s shrine were a paradox—a place of serene beauty nestled within the cold, unyielding stone of his domain. The koi pond you had grown so fond of shimmered under the fading light, its surface rippling as the fish darted beneath. It was a place of quiet, a place where the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a moment. You had come here often since your arrival, drawn to the tranquility it offered. Tonight was no different. The air was cool against your skin, the scent of blooming flowers filling your lungs as you wandered the stone paths. Your fingers brushed against the petals of a wisteria vine, its delicate purple clusters hanging like jewels.  You turned a corner, and there he was. Sukuna stood at the edge of the pond, his imposing figure silhouetted against the fading light. His upper set of arms were crossed over his chest, while the lower pair rested at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if itching to grasp something. His crimson eyes were fixed on the water, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you considered turning back, retreating to the safety of your room. But something held you in place—a curiosity, perhaps, or the faint hum of the bond that seemed to pull you toward him. He noticed you almost immediately, his gaze flicking in your direction. There was no surprise in his expression, only a faint irritation that seemed to linger beneath the surface. “Wandering again,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. More like… exasperation. You hesitated, then stepped forward, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady.

Sukuna’s lip curled slightly, a hint of a sneer forming. “It’s my shrine,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I go where I please.” You nodded, unsure of how to respond. The silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward. You glanced at the pond, watching as a koi fish broke the surface, its scales glinting in the fading light. The sight was calming, grounding. It gave you the courage to speak. “I used to live near a river,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “In my village. It wasn’t as grand as this, but… it was peaceful. I would go there sometimes, when things got too much.” Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the water, but you could feel his attention shift toward you. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection between you.

“A river,” he repeated, his tone flat. “How quaint.” 

You ignored the jab, focusing instead on the memory. “My mother used to take me there,” you continued, your voice growing stronger. “She wasn’t… well, she wasn’t like the other mothers in the village. She was… different.” Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward you, a faint glimmer of interest breaking through his usual indifference. “Different how?” You hesitated, your fingers tightening around each other. It wasn’t something you talked about often—not even to yourself. But something about the quiet of the garden, the way the bond seemed to hum softly between you, made it easier to speak. “She was a courtesan,” you said finally, the words heavy on your tongue. “A… a whore, as the villagers called her. She wasn’t married, and she didn’t know who my father was. So, I was… well, I was a whore’s child. That’s what they called me.” Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his energy—a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. His gaze remained on you, sharp and assessing, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle.

“And?” he prompted, his voice low. “What of it?” You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “What of it?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief. “It… it wasn’t easy. The other children wouldn’t play with me. The adults looked at me like I was… like I was something dirty. Something to be ashamed of.” Sukuna’s lip curled again, but this time, it wasn’t a sneer. It was something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “Humans,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Always so quick to judge. To ostracise. Pathetic.” You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. His words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… understanding. It was fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp it, but it was there. “My mother tried to protect me,” you continued, your voice softer now. “She did her best. But… It wasn't enough. She died when I was young. After that, I was alone.” Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. “And yet you survived,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re here. Still standing. Still breathing.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to the ground. “I survived,” you agreed. “But it wasn’t easy. I had to fight for everything. For respect. For a place in the village. For… for a life.” The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions. You could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you, his presence pressing against you like a physical force. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet reminder of the connection between you. “And now?” Sukuna asked finally, his voice low. “What do you fight for now?” You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no judgment in his eyes, no pity. Only a cold, calculating curiosity. It was unsettling, but it also gave you the courage to answer. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore. My village is gone. My life… it’s not my own. I’m bound to you, and I don’t even know what that means.” Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his energy—a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. He turned his gaze back to the pond, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “You’re bound to me,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost everything. You’re still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.” You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. His words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… encouragement. It was fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp it, but it was there. “I don’t know if I can keep fighting,” you admitted, your voice soft. “Not like this. Not when everything I’ve ever known is gone.” Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then find something else to fight for,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Something worth surviving for.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Like what?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. Sukuna’s lip curled slightly, a hint of a smirk forming. “That’s for you to decide,” he said, his voice low. “But if you’re waiting for me to give you a reason, you’ll be waiting a long time.” The words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… a challenge. It was unsettling, but it also sparked something deep within you. A flicker of defiance, of determination. You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to the ground. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the water, but you could feel his attention shift toward you. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection between you.

“Do that,” he said finally, his voice low. “And don’t waste my time with your self-pity.”

The words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… concern. It was fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp it, but it was there. You nodded again, your fingers tightening around each other. “I won’t,” you said, your voice firm. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions. You could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you, his presence pressing against you like a physical force. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet reminder of the connection between you. And for the first time since your arrival at the shrine, you felt something shift—something deep within you. It wasn’t peace, not exactly. But it was something. Something worth holding onto. The days in the shrine began to blur together, a quiet rhythm of wandering the gardens, reading in the library, and the occasional, awkward encounters with Sukuna. The tension between you hadn’t vanished—it still lingered, a heavy undercurrent beneath every interaction—but it had shifted. There was less hostility, less of the sharp-edged animosity that had defined your early days. Instead, there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t warmth, not exactly, but it wasn’t cold either. It was… something in between.

One evening, as you sat in your room, the thought struck you. You missed cooking. It was a strange realisation, one that caught you off guard. Back in your village, cooking had been a necessity, a way to survive. But it had also been a comfort, a small act of control in a life that often felt chaotic. Here, in the shrine, your meals were prepared for you, brought to your room on lacquered trays by silent servants. It was efficient, but it left you feeling… detached. You found yourself standing in the doorway of Sukuna’s library before you could fully think it through. He was seated at his desk, a scroll unfurled in front of him, his lower set of arms resting on the table while the upper pair were crossed over his chest. He looked up as you entered, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “What is it?” he asked, his tone flat but not unkind. You hesitated, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your garment. “I was… wondering if I could use the kitchens,” you said finally. Sukuna’s brow furrowed, his expression one of mild confusion. “Why would you need to do that?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. “Your meals are prepared for you.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I know,” you said. “But… I used to cook. Back in my village. It’s… something I miss.” Sukuna stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a shrug, he leaned back in his chair. “It’s my shrine,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “So, of course, you can use the kitchens, woman. Do as you please.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Oh,” you said, your voice tinged with surprise. “Thank you.” He waved a hand dismissively, his attention already returning to the scroll in front of him. “Don’t waste my time with trivialities,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. You nodded again, then turned and left the room, your mind already racing with possibilities. The kitchens were vast, far grander than anything you had ever worked in before. The servants watched you with quiet curiosity as you moved through the space, gathering ingredients and tools. You settled on making bread—a simple, hearty loaf that had been a staple in your village. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was familiar, comforting. As you worked, kneading the dough with practiced hands, you became aware of a presence behind you. You turned, your heart skipping a beat as you saw Sukuna leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. You briefly noticed how the servants were no longer in the kitchen. Perhaps he had told them to command privacy when the two of you were present in a shared space? His expression was one of mild curiosity, his crimson eyes fixed on the dough in your hands.

“What are you making?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. “Bread,” you replied, your voice soft but steady. “It’s… something I used to make back home.” Sukuna’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking from the dough to your face. “Bread,” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. “Why?” You hesitated, your fingers stilling in the dough. “It’s… comforting,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “It reminds me of… before.” Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on you, sharp and assessing. Then, with a shrug, he pushed off the doorway and stepped further into the kitchen.

“Do as you please,” he said, his tone indifferent. “But don’t expect me to partake in your… human fare.” You nodded, your fingers returning to the dough. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. As you worked, you became aware of Sukuna’s presence lingering in the background, his gaze occasionally flicking toward you. It was… strange, but not entirely unwelcome. When the bread was finally done, golden and fragrant, you hesitated. Your fingers hovered over the loaf, unsure of what to do next. Then, almost without thinking, you turned to Sukuna, who was still leaning against the counter, his expression unreadable.

“Um… do you want to try it?” you asked hesitantly. Sukuna’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking from the bread to your face. “Why would I?” he asked, his tone laced with intrigue. You hesitated. “I just… thought you might want to,” you said finally. “I mean… you probably don’t eat things like this, do you? I’ve heard… well, I’ve heard—seen— you prefer… other things.” Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his energy—a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. “Human flesh,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Yes, I’ve consumed it. But… things have changed since you arrived.” You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Changed?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. “The bond,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s… altered my tastes. I no longer crave what I once did.” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. The idea that the bond could affect him in such a way was… unsettling, but also strangely comforting. It was a reminder that, despite everything, you were connected—bound together in ways neither of you fully understood. Finally, you nodded, your fingers reaching for the bread. You broke off a small piece and held it out to him, your hand trembling slightly.

“Here,” you said. “Try it.” Sukuna hesitated, his gaze flicking from the bread to your face. Then, with a shrug, he reached out and took the piece from your hand. He examined it for a moment, his expression one of mild curiosity, before popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached for another piece. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any praise or criticism, but the fact that he took another piece was enough. It was a small victory, a tiny step forward in the strange, uneasy dance that had become your relationship. As you stood there, the scent of fresh bread filling the air, you realized something. Despite everything—despite the bond, the shrine, the blood on his hands—you were beginning to enjoy his presence. And, though he would never admit it, you had a feeling he was beginning to enjoy yours too.

–

You don’t understand how it had happened, or why it happened, but the servants had randomly told you that Master Sukuna would like to have dinner with you in the large and unused… dining room, could you call it? You couldn’t recall ever seeing a table in there before, but it seemed like it had randomly appeared. When you step inside, you realize how much effort has been put into the space. The long wooden table, dark and aged, stretches beneath the golden light of the paper lanterns strung along the ceiling. Cushions have been placed on either side, meant for sitting, and at the very head of the table—Sukuna. He is already seated, elbow propped against the wood, his dual eyes scanning you lazily as you hesitate at the entrance. The scent of the meal reaches you before anything else, rich and layered—grilled fish with hints of charcoal, freshly steamed rice, something simmering in miso. An array of small dishes is spread across the table, each meticulously plated—pickled vegetables in delicate porcelain bowls, slices of tamagoyaki, bowls of miso soup steaming gently, and even a small dish of simmered daikon. It is undeniably a feast, far more elaborate than the simpler meals you’ve been having alone in your chambers. 

“You’re standing there like a fool,” Sukuna remarks, though there’s no real bite to his tone. He gestures vaguely to the cushion placed a few seats down from him. “Sit.” 

You do, lowering yourself onto the cushion as a servant quietly pours tea into your cup. The warmth of the cup is grounding as you stare at the food before you, realizing you haven’t eaten with another person since before your village was burned to the ground. A strange feeling prickles at the back of your mind, something close to unease but not quite. “Is this an interrogation?” you ask finally, glancing at him over the rim of your cup. Sukuna huffs out a short laugh. “If it were, you’d already know.” There’s an ease to the way he picks up his chopsticks, spearing a piece of grilled fish with practiced nonchalance. The sight of it surprises you—before, you had only seen him tear into raw meat with an almost animalistic detachment, caring little for the formality of eating. You recall, vaguely, what he had said days prior—that his tastes had changed because of the bond. That his body had begun to shift in ways he didn’t fully understand. He eats cooked food now. It unsettles you in a way you can’t describe. You reach for the rice, taking a small bite before speaking again. “You’re eating properly.”

His gaze flickers toward you before he shrugs. “It’s tolerable.”

“That’s a change from before.”

“Hn.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead reaching for the simmered daikon, plucking a piece between his chopsticks before lazily gesturing toward your untouched soup. “It’ll get cold.” You hesitate before taking a sip, the umami of the miso washing over your tongue. The warmth seeps through you, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. It’s good. Everything here is good. And for the first time in a long while, you eat without rushing, without the shadow of your grief looming so heavily over your head. Sukuna, despite his usual abrasiveness, eats with a methodical slowness, his movements lacking the usual aggression you’ve come to expect from him. Occasionally, he comments—sometimes about the food, sometimes a passing remark about the shrine’s cook. Once, when you reach for the pickled plums, he gives you a sideways glance. “You like those?”

You pause, chopsticks hovering over the dish. “I do.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who enjoys sour things.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who enjoys cooked food.”

His lips quirk slightly, though it isn’t quite a smile. “Fair.” The conversation remains sparse, neither of you attempting to fill the silence for the sake of it. But as the minutes pass, the quiet begins to feel less stifling. You eat, and he eats, and the room, for all its strangeness, feels less foreign than it did before. After a while, you set your chopsticks down, the meal sitting comfortably in your stomach. You exhale, pressing a hand against your mark instinctively, feeling the faintest hum beneath your skin. Sukuna, too, stills slightly, as if something within him reacts to your contentment. But neither of you acknowledge it. Instead, he simply leans back, exhaling through his nose. “Not bad.” You look at him. For a moment, just a moment, you think about saying thank you. But the words don’t quite form, so instead, you simply nod.  The servants clear the table. The next night, the invitation comes again. The first meal had been an unusual affair, mostly spent in silence, though the weight of his presence was less suffocating than you had anticipated. Today, the food had also been exquisite—simmered beef with miso glaze, bowls of rice topped with pickled plums and seaweed, accompanied by miso soup with tofu and green onions. There were seasonal vegetables as well, prepared in ways you had never tasted before—burdock root, daikon radish steeped in broth, and delicate eggplant halves grilled to perfection. The sake had been poured into ceramic cups, unspoken yet offered.

What continues to unsettle you most, however, was how he ate. Sukuna, whose brutality and savagery had been seared into your memory, now sat across from you, a bit closer than last time, where he was seated on the cushions at the head of the table, picking apart his food with an unexpected level of restraint. The way he held his chopsticks—precise and poised—was so at odds with the image of him you carried that it left you staring before you could catch yourself. He noticed, of course. “You look surprised.” His voice was its usual deep, measured cadence, though there was an edge of something else lurking beneath it. You blinked, feeling caught. “You… eat like a noble.”

His smirk was slow, almost lazy. “Disappointed?” You didn’t know how to answer that. Instead, you glanced down at your own bowl and focused on your meal, determined to ignore the way his amusement lingered in the air between you. The next invitation came two nights later. This time, you found yourself more aware of the ritual of it all—the quiet clink of dishes, the warm glow of candlelight, the faint aroma of cedar and incense hanging in the air. The meal was different yet just as rich—grilled fish with shoyu glaze, stewed vegetables, miso soup infused with fragrant yuzu peel. Again, he ate in silence at first, though his presence, as daunting as it was, no longer felt entirely suffocating. It was only after the first few bites that he finally spoke.

“You didn’t eat all of your rice last time.” You blinked at him, unsure of why he had noticed such a detail. “…I wasn’t that hungry.”

 He hummed, idly picking at a piece of fish with his chopsticks. “Hm. Wasteful.” You bristled slightly, even as you took another bite. “Not all of us eat enough to feed an entire village.” 

He let out something between a chuckle and a scoff. “You say that as if you didn’t just devour that piece of eggplant.” Heat crawled up your neck, but you stubbornly kept eating.

 “It was good.”

 He lifted a brow, studying you with an unreadable expression before he returned his attention to his meal. “Hmph.” The conversation that night was less tense than the first, though not entirely comfortable. You spoke in brief exchanges, nothing significant, nothing particularly meaningful, but it was… something. And then, it simply became routine. The invitations continued, and with each meal, something between you and Sukuna shifted—subtle, unspoken, but undeniable. The meals themselves changed with the seasons—rich broths for the colder nights, light and refreshing dishes for the warmer evenings. The air between you, though still lined with tension, became something you could withstand, something you could exist in without feeling entirely suffocated. You still didn’t know what it all meant, nor did you particularly want to dwell on it. But as you sat across from him, the candlelight casting sharp shadows over his striking features, you couldn’t ignore the strange sense of equilibrium settling between you. And neither, it seemed, could he.

—

The shrine was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. You were in your room, seated by the open shoji doors that led to the balcony, watching the moonlight spill over the gardens below. The bond between you and Sukuna had been… different lately. Less strained, less hostile. The dinners together, with the occasional quiet exchanging of books in his library, maybe they attested to the familiarity you felt each time the bond ignited a warm, fluttery feeling within you. There was still tension, of course—there always would be—but it had shifted into something softer, something almost… comfortable. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. The knock at your door startled you. It was late, far too late for any of the servants to be bothering you. You stood, smoothing the fabric of your kimono, and opened the door to find Uraume standing there, their pale face illuminated by the flickering light of the lantern they held. Their expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in their posture that made your stomach twist.

“He needs you,” they said, their voice low and urgent. You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “Sukuna? What happened?” Uraume’s gaze didn’t waver. “He’s been injured. A curse user attacked him. He’s… not healing as quickly as he should.” Your breath caught in your throat. Sukuna? Injured? The idea was almost laughable. He was the King of Curses, a being of unparalleled strength and resilience. He’d torn through armies, devoured curses, and walked away unscathed. The thought of him being vulnerable, of him needing help, was… unsettling. “What kind of curse user could hurt him?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. Uraume’s expression darkened. “This one was… different. Their technique was unlike anything we’ve encountered before. They wielded a cursed energy that disrupted Sukuna’s natural regeneration. It’s not permanent—he’ll likely be immune to it next time—but for now, he’s weakened.” You nodded, though your mind was racing. Without another word, you followed Uraume through the winding corridors of the shrine, your footsteps echoing in the silence. The bond between you and Sukuna hummed faintly, a quiet, insistent pull that grew stronger with every step. By the time you reached his chambers, your heart was pounding in your chest. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of blood and incense. Sukuna was seated on the edge of his futon, his upper set of arms braced against his knees, his lower pair hanging limply at his sides. His chest was bare, revealing a deep, jagged wound that ran from his shoulder to his ribs. The sight of it made your stomach churn. He looked up as you entered, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” he growled, his voice rough but lacking its usual bite. 

“Uraume said you were hurt,” you replied. “I… I came to help.” Sukuna scoffed, though the sound was weaker than usual. “Help? What can you do, human?” You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The truth was, you didn’t know. But the bond between you was humming louder now, a steady, insistent pull that you couldn’t ignore. Without thinking, you stepped forward, your fingers brushing against his arm. The moment your skin touched his, something shifted. The bond flared to life, a warm, golden light spreading from the point of contact. Sukuna’s eyes widened, his body tensing as the wound on his chest began to knit itself together, the jagged edges smoothing out as if time itself were being reversed. You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. “What… what’s happening?” Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on the wound, his expression one of mild disbelief. Then, slowly, he turned to look at you, his crimson eyes sharp and assessing. “You’re healing me,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. You shook your head, your fingers still pressed against his arm. “I… I don’t know how. I didn’t do anything.” Uraume, who had been standing silently in the doorway, stepped forward, their expression one of quiet astonishment. “It’s the bond,” they said, their voice soft but steady. “I’ve read about this before, though I thought it was a myth. Soulmates… their connection can amplify each other’s abilities. In this case, it seems your presence is accelerating his healing.”

You blinked, your mind struggling to process the information. “But… why now? Why hasn’t this happened before?” Uraume’s gaze flicked to Sukuna, then back to you. “The bond has been deepening,” they said simply. “It’s likely that his injury, combined with your proximity, triggered this… reaction.” Sukuna’s lip curled slightly, though there was no real malice in the expression. “Of course,” he muttered, his tone laced with irritation. You didn’t respond. Your fingers were still pressed against his arm, the bond humming faintly between you. The wound on his chest was almost completely healed now, the skin smooth and unbroken. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled beneath your touch. It was… intimate, in a way you hadn’t expected. Uraume cleared their throat, drawing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it,” they said, their tone neutral. “Call if you need anything.” You nodded, though your mind was still reeling. As Uraume left the room, the silence stretched between you and Sukuna, heavy and unspoken. His gaze was fixed on you, his crimson eyes sharp and assessing. You could feel the weight of his presence, the way it pressed against you like a physical force. “You can let go now,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. You blinked, your fingers twitching against his arm. “Oh. Right.” You pulled your hand away, though the bond between you continued to hum faintly, a quiet reminder of the connection you shared. Sukuna exhaled sharply, his upper set of arms uncrossing as he leaned back slightly. “This is… inconvenient,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. You hesitated, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your robes. “Are you… okay?” you asked, assessing his large form.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to you, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “This is nothing.” You nodded, though you weren’t entirely convinced. The bond between you was still humming faintly, a quiet, insistent pull that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel his energy, the way it pulsed beneath the surface of his skin. It was… strange, but not entirely unwelcome. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You shifted slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I should… go,” you said finally. Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on you, sharp and assessing. Then, with a shrug, he leaned back against the futon, his upper set of arms crossing over his chest. “Do as you please,” he said, his tone indifferent. You nodded again, though you didn’t move. The bond between you was still humming faintly, a quiet, insistent pull that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel his energy, the way it pulsed beneath the surface of his skin. It was… strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You finally turned and walked out of the room, your thoughts swirling. The bond between you and Sukuna had grown stronger, leaving you uncertain of how to feel. It was unsettling, yet strangely comforting. You were no longer alone in this—whether you wanted it or not.

–

A few days had passed since the mark between you and Sukuna flared up and healed the jagged wound he had acquired as a result of , and though the bond had only grown more undeniable, you hadn’t seen him since. He had kept to his usual routinely dinners and library sessions, coupled with his intimidating presence, and though you tried to push your thoughts of him aside, the connection between you still lingered. It was late one evening when he finally appeared in the doorway of your room. He stood there, as composed as ever, his gaze unreadable as always. But there was something different about him—something subtle. In his hand, he held a small, delicate object wrapped in dark cloth, its edges slightly frayed from travel. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped into the room and placed it down on the table between you. “Take it,” he said flatly, as though the whole thing was beneath him, but there was a slight hesitation in his posture, something that hinted at… uncertainty? You eyed the object curiously and carefully unwrapped it. A small, intricately carved hairpin caught the light—a simple yet elegant piece made from polished ivory, decorated with a delicate cherry blossom motif, its petals painted a soft pink. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and the intricate detail made it clear it wasn’t something easily found in the markets. It was clear he’d brought it with great thought.

“Is this… for me?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and curiosity. Sukuna gave you a sideways glance, his tone nonchalant. “It’s a hairpin. Nothing special.” He turned away, his back to you now, but you could feel his presence still lingering. You held the pin in your hands, feeling the cool smoothness of the ivory beneath your fingers. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” you said softly, your gaze lingering on the gift. He paused, his back still turned. “Don’t mention it,” he replied, almost too casually. “It’s just something I thought you might like.” But there was something in the way he spoke—something almost… kind.  You hesitated for a moment before standing up, walking toward him. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to care that you were near, but as you gently placed the hairpin on his palm, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” you murmured, your voice tender. “But I appreciate it.” Sukuna’s eyes flickered toward your hand, then back to your face. There was no teasing, no mocking—just the barest flicker of something softer, like a fleeting moment of vulnerability that he quickly masked with indifference. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, though his voice wasn’t as sharp as usual. “I don’t do this for just anyone.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words, but also something else in his presence—something more than just the usual fear and tension. The following days were marked by small, unexpected moments. Another gift arrived a week later—a hand-carved fan with delicate plum blossoms painted on the silk, an elegant thing that would have been far too extravagant for anyone else. Sukuna dropped it onto your desk with the same nonchalant air, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned away, just a fraction longer than usual.

“Take care of it,” he muttered. “You humans are clumsy as shit”.

“I will,” you answered, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the fan. “Thank you.” From then on, small offerings became a part of your days. A piece of hand-forged jewelry, a box of rare incense, a fine brush for calligraphy. Each item, though simple, seemed to carry a depth of meaning you hadn’t expected. Sukuna didn’t speak of them much, never explaining his actions, but his gestures were slowly becoming harder to ignore. It wasn’t the gifts themselves, but the fact that he—someone so distant, so removed—was doing this for you. There was an intimacy in it, a vulnerability that you didn’t expect from someone like him. It wasn’t grand or overt, but in the quiet moments when he handed you another token, something in his gaze shifted ever so slightly. You were starting to understand the kind of bond this was becoming. And though he never admitted it aloud, his actions spoke louder than words—Sukuna was beginning to care.

—

A few days had passed since the last time you’d seen Sukuna, and tonight, there was an unfamiliar shift in the usual atmosphere between the two of you. The tension in the air was still present, but it wasn’t the same sharp, defensive energy. It was quieter. It almost felt… comfortable. As you sat down at the table, Sukuna arrived, a small bag in his hand. You eyed it curiously, but said nothing as he placed it down in front of you. Without a word, he unwrapped it slowly, revealing a loaf of bread. It wasn’t just any bread—it was a loaf of melon pan, the sweet Japanese bread with its signature sugar crust, golden and slightly cracked, the bread soft and pillowy beneath it. (a/n; I know melonpan didn’t exist in the heian era but pls spare me) 

You stared at it for a moment, unsure if it was real, but Sukuna wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were focused elsewhere, as if the bread in front of you didn’t matter all that much. But there was a tension to his posture, an awkwardness you’d never seen before. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice low and almost cautious. “I wasn’t sure what to get you. But I remembered that night in the kitchen when you said you like bread.” You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t realized he’d been paying that much attention. “You remembered that?” you asked, your voice softer than usual. “Not hard to remember,” he muttered, still not meeting your gaze. “You kept going on about it like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.” You chuckled lightly, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or touched. You’d mentioned it in passing, hardly thinking it would make an impact. “I wasn’t going on about it,” you said, picking up the loaf. “I just—well, I do like bread. And I really also like sweets. A lot.” You took a tentative bite of the bread, the sweet, buttery flavor melting in your mouth, and you couldn’t help but smile. “This is actually really good. I’ve never had melon pan before.”

Sukuna seemed to stiffen, watching you for a long moment, his gaze still unreadable. “I didn’t know if you’d like it or not,” he said quietly. “But I thought it might be a safe bet.” You continued eating, savoring the soft, sweet taste of the bread, and for a moment, the room fell into a rare quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It felt… natural. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time since he’d placed the bread on the table. There was something in his eyes—maybe it was reluctance, or maybe something else—but it wasn’t the usual mockery or cold indifference. “It’s really thoughtful of you,” you said after a beat, your voice sincere. “I don’t think anyone’s ever paid attention to that before.” Sukuna looked away quickly, his expression closing off again. “It’s just bread. Don’t make it into something it’s not.” You nodded, sensing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this exchange. But still, there was a warmth behind the gesture. “I know,” you said, your voice gentle. “But still, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he replied gruffly, though the edge in his voice was less biting than usual. “I just… remembered. Thought you might like it. That’s all.” There was something about the simplicity of it—the quiet, almost tender moment—that made it feel like more than just bread. It was an offering, in his own way, a way for him to show that he’d thought about you. Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was clear that he cared more than he let on. The conversation drifted into comfortable silence as you finished the loaf, savoring each bite. Sukuna remained mostly quiet, though he didn’t leave. His presence, usually imposing, seemed less heavy tonight, more grounded. “Don’t expect anything else,” he muttered after a while, but there was no harshness in his voice, no mocking edge. “I’m not in the habit of doing this.”

“I won’t,” you replied, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m glad you did.” He gave a slight nod, his gaze flickering to you before looking away again, his usual stoic demeanor slowly returning. But for the first time in a while, there was a sense of quiet intimacy between the two of you—no teasing, no barriers, just the subtle understanding that this, in its own way, was something more. The melon pan incident, as you had come to think of it, lingered in your mind longer than you’d expected. There was something unexpected in Sukuna’s quiet thoughtfulness, something you couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just the bread—it was the way he had remembered something so small and insignificant. And then, as if to prove that it wasn’t a fluke, the following evening, there was another small gesture waiting for you. This time, it was a small tray of delicate Japanese daifuku—soft, chewy rice cakes stuffed with sweet red bean paste (a/n: i doubt these existed in the heian era either bro sorry). You hadn’t even said anything about them before, but when you looked up from the table, there it was, sitting between you and Sukuna. He placed it down with the same air of indifference, but there was a subtle tension in the way he watched you, like he was waiting for something. “You like these, too,” he said, not making eye contact. You blinked, surprised again. “How did you know?”

He shrugged, eyes cold. “You should see the way your face makes this odd face everytime you take a bite out of this… delicacy” You smiled, feeling the warmth of the gesture, and helped yourself to another piece of the daifuku. “This is amazing,” you said, looking at him. “Thank you.” Sukuna glanced at you, his face impassive, but there was a slight shift in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t start getting sentimental on me, woman.” That night, as you finished the last of the daifuku, you found yourself oddly comfortable in the quiet. This—whatever this was between you—wasn’t the sharp, tense and uncomfortable back-and-forth that used to dominate your conversations. There was something easier about it, something less strained. It was as if the awkwardness had slowly begun to dissipate, and though neither of you had openly acknowledged it, the small moments of care were starting to feel more natural. Each evening, it became a little ritual. One night, there were delicate kashiwa mochi wrapped in oak leaves, another night, small matcha-flavored pastries. Every time, Sukuna’s voice was a little less sharp, a little less gruff. Sometimes, he’d even engage in actual conversation—about trivial things at first, like the taste of the matcha or the weather, but soon it evolved into more. Subtle, important things.

“What was your childhood like? Did you have one, or were you born a curse?” you asked one night, breaking the quiet. It wasn’t a question you ever thought you’d ask Sukuna, but something about the evening, the slow rhythm of the conversation, made it feel like a natural thing to say. Sukuna didn’t flinch at your question, but the brief shift in his gaze told you he wasn’t expecting it. He didn’t respond immediately, taking his time to set down his cup before glancing at you with that usual, nonchalant air that had become so familiar. “Yeah, you could say I had the tendencies of a human once,” he said, as though it were a minor detail. “But I was unwanted. Doesn’t matter much now.” His voice didn’t carry the weight of pain or nostalgia—just bluntness, a dismissive edge that almost made it sound like the whole subject bored him. You blinked, surprised at the casual tone in his voice. “Unwanted?” you echoed, unsure what he meant.

“Didn’t fit the mold,” he muttered. “Not good enough for the world I was born into. My power was too much, too early, and they couldn’t control me. On top of that I was born… Well. Visible deformities, as humans would put it. So I was discarded. That’s how it works for people like me.” There was no bitterness in his tone, just a matter-of-factness, as though he was recounting something trivial. You leaned forward, intrigued despite his indifferent stance. “So, how did you… become like this?”

Sukuna’s lips curled up into a small, humorless smirk. “The same way anything like me happens. The jujutsu world is full of people who think they can control power, manipulate it, bend it to their will. But sometimes, power doesn’t stay in the box they want to put it in. You either control it, or it controls you. And me? I didn’t let anyone control me.” His voice didn’t waver, but there was a sharpness to it that you hadn’t expected. Sukuna wasn’t someone who spoke about his past often, let alone with any kind of sentiment. He was always the feared sorcerer—the one who brought destruction—but this… this was different. For a moment, he didn’t seem like the invincible, untouchable figure everyone feared. He seemed like a product of a world that had cast him aside, and his voice betrayed just a hint of something that was more than arrogance or cruelty.

“So, you just… became like this?” you asked, still trying to piece together what he meant, unsure of whether he was talking about his rise to power or something else entirely. Sukuna gave a short, dismissive shrug. “It’s not like that. I wasn’t made this way by choice. Power like mine doesn’t belong quietly in anyone. Eventually, it changes how people look at you. How you look at yourself. You either let them define you, or you define yourself. And I did.” His gaze darkened for a moment, a flicker of something hidden behind his usually aloof demeanor. “And in this world? If you’re not feared, you’re nothing.” The words hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying. The vulnerability buried beneath the harsh, bitter exterior. For the first time, Sukuna wasn’t the untouchable king of curses—you could see the cracks in his mask, the faintest glimpse of a person who had been abandoned, who had been forced to adapt to a world that only wanted to use him. You felt the desire to ask more, to understand him better, but you also knew pushing too far would only make him retreat further into himself. So, instead, you simply nodded, taking in his words. “That sounds… rough,” you said quietly, your voice soft. Sukuna’s gaze softened just a fraction, a barely perceptible shift. But he quickly turned his attention away, hiding the brief crack in his demeanor behind his usual smirk. “It is what it is,” he muttered, as if to brush off the conversation. Your smile grew, and for the first time, you felt something shift in the room. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t anything to speak of, but it felt like a breakthrough—however small. A moment where he let down just a little of the wall he’d spent so much time building.

That night, after finishing another small dessert—this time a bowl of mizu yokan—he lingered longer than usual, sitting quietly, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across his face. “Alright, that’s enough with the questions,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “But I’ll say this: don’t go wasting time feeling pity for me, woman. I’m content as I am.”

“I never said I was,” you replied, offering him a small, pout.  Well, maybe you were a little touched by his little walk down memory lane. Sukuna’s lips twitched, a rare, almost imperceptible smile ghosting across his face before it was gone. “Yeah, well… You’re a really bad fuckin’ liar.” You didn’t press him further, huffing at his quip. Instead, you simply reached for another sweet treat. “I guess I’ll just enjoy the desserts then.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he shot back, but this time, the edge of his voice was softer, warmer, less biting. As the days passed, it became routine. Dessert after dessert, each one a little more thoughtful than the last, each conversation a little more open, a little less guarded. Sukuna’s snark was still there, of course, always ready to rise to the surface. But behind it, there was a quiet understanding beginning to form. Neither of you acknowledged it outright, but the subtle warmth that had started to develop between you—the kind that wasn’t just from the desserts, but from the time spent together—began to feel undeniable. The bond between you, unspoken and yet so palpable, was shifting things between the two of you. And while neither of you could put a name to it, it was becoming something neither of you could ignore. The subtle way Sukuna softened when you laughed, the rare moments when his sharp words were followed by a quieter, more genuine response—it was clear that whatever this was, it was changing you both, one sweet gesture at a time.

–

Sukuna had been gone for three days. He didn’t tell you where he was going, not exactly. Just muttered something about “sorcerer scum in the north” and vanished before you could ask further. You didn’t know when he’d be back, or what kind of shape he’d return in—but strangely, you cared. Not just because his absence had disrupted your strange new rhythm of shared silence and desserts, but because… it felt empty without him. You’d never admit it aloud. Not even to yourself in clearer terms. But the lack of his presence left the shrine quieter. Colder. And so, in a rare burst of curiosity—or perhaps boredom—you wandered. The shrine was massive, stretching well beyond the main quarters and ceremonial halls you’d grown accustomed to. You drifted past familiar corridors into one you hadn’t noticed before—one darker, older, but clearly still tended to. You expected to find storage rooms. Maybe empty quarters. What you didn’t expect was to push open a delicate, lacquered door and step into another world entirely. The room was filled with light. Pale silks hung from the ceilings like drifting clouds, the scent of rare incense curling softly in the air. Ornate screens divided lounging areas, where cushions of every texture and color lay untouched. And there—moving gracefully among the furnishings—were women. Several of them. All breathtaking. They weren’t speaking. Just moving quietly, their presence somehow both ethereal and heavy. Their clothing was elegant, hair brushed smooth and glossy, faces serene.

They didn’t notice you. Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care. You stood frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to step forward or back out entirely. But a faint shift of one of the women’s heads—just enough to glance at you with a vaguely curious expression—pushed you to move again. You left before you could say a word.

—

The kitchen was warm. Familiar. It grounded you, especially now, as the strange image of that room still lingered in your mind. You found yourself poking around for something—anything—to make, hands moving on autopilot. And then came Uraume. They stepped into the kitchen as they always did, quiet and gliding, like they’d been summoned by the stillness. Their eyes passed over you like they were checking for something, as usual. You didn’t say anything at first. But it tugged at you.

“Hey,” you said finally, stirring a pot that didn’t need stirring.

A pause. “Yes?”

You kept your gaze down. “Those women… in the southern wing.” Another pause. “What women?” You looked up then. “The ones in that big hall, past the tapestry with the dragon motif.” Uraume was still. They blinked once, slow. “Ah. The concubine quarters.” It was said plainly. No hesitation. No discomfort. You blinked. “Concubines.”

They nodded, moving toward the storage shelves. “Yes. Sukuna-sama’s, from before.”

You stared. “Before what?” They tilted their head slightly, as if the question was strange. “Before he stopped entertaining the idea of them.”

“…So they’re still here?”

“They serve the shrine now. Maintain parts of it. They’re loyal.” They said it like it was obvious. “They’ve remained since he conquered this region. Some… longer.” You didn’t know why it sat strangely in your stomach. It wasn’t a new idea, not really. Of course someone like Sukuna would have had concubines. Dozens, probably. Hundreds. He was worshipped like a god. Revered, feared. Power like that drew people like moths. And yet… you turned back to your pot, brow furrowed.

“You seem bothered,” Uraume said flatly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You frowned. “Why would I care if he had concubines?”

Uraume gave the smallest shrug. “You tell me.”

There was no mockery in their voice. Just the same blank politeness they always used. You didn’t answer. But that night, in your room, wrapped in plain sheets and half-watching the flicker of the oil lamp, your thoughts drifted to the quiet grace of those women. The elegance, the way they’d moved like they belonged in a place Sukuna had once given them. You wondered what kind of man he’d been with them. Cruel? Detached? Charming, even? And you hated that you wondered. Because whatever it was that was forming between the two of you now—tentative, strange, steady—it was yours. Singular. Built one cautious conversation, one dessert, one half-smile at a time. But still. The image lingered. And you told yourself it didn’t mean anything, even as something unspoken twisted quietly in your chest. Dinner that night was different. The kitchen had been filled with the scent of seared meat for the past hour—savory and sharp, a heavy warmth that clung to the air like steam after rain. When the meal was finally placed between the two of you, the lacquered tray held perfectly grilled cuts of wagyu beef, marbled fat rendered to the point of melting. They glistened with a thin lacquer of sesame oil and tare glaze, smoky sweet and just slightly charred on the edges. A side of pickled daikon and wild mountain greens sat untouched as the silence stretched on. You were unusually quiet. Sukuna chewed slowly, watching you with the lazy attention of a predator that’s already eaten but still enjoys the scent of blood. After a few moments, he grunted. “You’re quiet today,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “You usually annoy me a little more than this.” You blinked, forcing out a small laugh, not really feeling it. “Sorry to disappoint.” He gave you a long look, one brow raised. For a moment, you thought he’d leave it alone. But then, casually, like swatting a fly, he said, “Let me guess. You wandered where you shouldn’t have.”

You paused, chopsticks hovering above the beef. “…I didn’t know you had concubines.” The corner of his mouth lifted. Not in surprise—he’d known this would come up eventually. His grin was slow and unapologetic, almost boyish if not for the glint of something sharper behind it. “What, just ‘cause I look like this—” he rolled his broad shoulders, letting his robe shift with calculated ease, revealing the ripple of muscle beneath and the unmistakable twitch of his four arms beneath the sleeves. His lower pair flexed beneath the fabric like it was second nature. Then one lifted and casually parted the dip in his robe, pointing to the maw on his stomach. “—you think I don’t have sexual needs?”

Your entire body recoiled in visible disgust. “Ew—! Don’t say it like that, oh my god.”

Sukuna snorted. “What? You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for that visual,” you snapped, flustered, face heating fast. “Gods, you’re disgusting.”

He chuckled, low and mean, lips parting just enough to flash the glint of a fang. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” Your heart jumped. “I am not—!”

But then it hit. A sharp, unmistakable flare on your skin—your soulmate mark, a searing heat blooming against your ribs. Your breath caught. Across from you, Sukuna froze for only a split second, his grin curving wider with dark delight as his own mark lit up in answer. “Well,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table, all four eyes trained on you. “That didn’t sting a little for no reason, did it?” You scowled, dragging your hand across your ribs, as if to hide the mark you knew he couldn’t see from this angle. “It’s not what you think.”

His grin sharpened. “You sure?”

“Maybe the bond’s just defective,” you muttered, flushing. “Nothing else explains why I’d be tethered to someone who talks about his sex life over dinner.” Sukuna barked out a laugh, actually amused now. “You're the one who brought up the concubines, brat. I was just answering your question.”

“Poorly!”

“You say that, but you’re the one blushing like a handmaiden.”

You gaped at him. “I am not! I’m just—hot from the food.” He leaned back, arms spreading like a smug deity lounging in the aftermath of a battle. “Sure you are. Should I open a window for you? Or are you gonna sit there steaming for another ten minutes?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know. Yet here you are. Eating dinner with me like you have a choice.” The banter kept going, quick and barbed and strangely easy, like the rhythm of a sparring match neither of you intended to win. And somewhere between your second helping and his offhand insults, you realized something quietly terrifying: 

He was joking with you. Not in the cruel, sharp way he used to. Not as a power play. But real joking. The kind laced with just enough truth to make you squirm, softened by something that felt suspiciously close to amusement. The mask he always wore—of bored superiority and distant menace—was slipping in tiny pieces. Sukuna was still sprawled on his side of the room, a cup of sake now in hand, the folds of his dark silk robe parted slightly from how carelessly he’d settled. The fabric clung loose around his waist, pooling around his legs, but tight across his shoulders—broad, muscled, the lines of his body impossible to ignore.

You hated that you were staring.

But how could you not?

He was massive. Not just tall, but built, the kind of strong that wasn’t sculpted by discipline but born from chaos. His four arms only added to the overwhelming size of him—two folded behind his head in a display of easy arrogance, the other two cradling the sake and resting against his thigh. And the tattoos—black, inked like ropes and waves and ancient rites—curved along his chest and arms in harsh, precise lines, each one seeming to pulse when the firelight hit them. He looked like a walking shrine to something dangerous and unholy. “You're starin',” he said, low and rough, the edge of a smirk in his voice. You blinked fast. “No, I wasn’t.” Sukuna shifted slightly, the way a large predator might stretch just to remind you of its size. “Sure you weren’t.”

You scowled and tore your gaze away, pretending to adjust the tray between you both.  A grunt. “You always get this twitchy when something’s on your mind.” You stiffened. He noticed. And then, like he could smell the thoughts dancing at the tip of your tongue, he grinned—slow, amused, a little too satisfied with himself.

“What is it?” he drawled. “Something about me distracting you? Got more of those pesky questions?”

You hesitated, heat rising uninvited to your cheeks. His grin widened. You hated him. Not really. You cleared your throat, not meeting his gaze. “I just… was wondering something.” Another grunt. “Go on then.”

You regretted it immediately. “Since you’re, um. Built like that. How do you even—”

Sukuna raised a brow. “How do I even what?” You inhaled sharply, your entire soul shriveling. “…Have sex.”

For one second, there was silence. And then Sukuna barked out a laugh—a full, body-shaking laugh, low and wicked, as his top hands dropped behind him for support and his lower ones set down his cup. Your face was on fire.

“You’ve been thinking about what my dick looks like?” he said, positively leering at you now, all sharp teeth and gleaming eyes.

“I—No! That’s not what I—shut up!” You turned away so fast your hair caught on your collar. “It’s a logical question!”

He was still grinning like a wolf. “Sure it is. Must’ve really been looking, huh? Taking in all the details.”

“I hate you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You're awfully curious for someone so offended.” You made the mistake of glancing back at him—and regretted it. His robe had slipped further down one shoulder, baring more inked skin, the thick curve of his bicep beneath. His claws glinted faintly in the firelight. His lower arms remained still, resting along his thighs like they had no business being that large.

“I was just thinking—mechanically, it must be hard, that’s all!”

He laughed again. “So clinical. You want a diagram next time?”

“Maybe I will draw one!”

He leaned in a fraction. “You'd be surprised to know I have two.”

You choked.

“What—”

Sukuna just smirked and raised his cup again, taking a slow, unbothered sip of sake like he hadn’t just destroyed the last functioning part of your brain. “You’re lying,” you said, eyes wide, voice cracking. He didn't answer. Just tilted his chin toward you and murmured, “Oh? You sound a little eager.” You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Nothing except heat, flushing up your neck and into your ears. You turned away again, practically sizzling. And then it hit you. Again. Traitorous fucking mark. That now-familiar burn—sharp and sudden, right under your ribs where your soulmate mark lived. It didn’t hurt, not exactly. But it tingled, warm and electric just like before, enough to draw your breath in through your teeth with a little more panic this time. Sukuna inhaled too, eyes narrowing slightly. He set the sake aside.

“…That didn’t feel like nothing,” he said, voice dipping just enough to make your spine tingle. You curled slightly in place, clutching your robes tighter. “It’s malfunctioning. Seriously. Second time it's done this. Maybe we should ask Uruame for more information–”

He gave a quiet, predatory chuckle, leaning in slowly, eyes half-lidded now. “You react that strongly every time someone tells you they have two dicks?”

“Stop saying it!”

He grinned again, all canines and danger, but it wasn’t cruel now. It was teasing. Touched with something warmer, something… curious.

“You wanna see or something?”

You gasped. “No!”

Sukuna looked unbothered. “It’d answer your mechanical concerns.”

Your mark flared again.

His did too. And for a moment, both of you sat there in the stillness, the fire crackling between you, the bond humming like a pulled string. You clutched your knees, glaring at the floor, and Sukuna just watched you—grin easing into something less cutting, more thoughtful. Almost fond.

Almost.

“…Do not speak,” you muttered. He didn’t. Just took another drink, eyes on you the whole time, as if watching the bond itself smolder beneath your skin. And for once, you didn’t run from it.

–

The days that followed passed with a new, unspoken rhythm. You found yourself in the kitchen more often, drawn there not out of duty but something else—restlessness, maybe. Or habit. Or perhaps the strange, simmering calm that had started to settle in your chest whenever Sukuna wasn’t storming the halls or barking orders. You didn't always cook; sometimes you simply sat by the coals and watched the steam rise from clay pots, fingers trailing idly through the condensation on the lacquered counters. Sometimes, when Sukuna returned from his travels—bloodied or bone-weary, the heavy scent of the outside clinging to his robes—he would step into the kitchen without a word. You’d glance up, startled, only for him to give you a flat look and then wordlessly pluck a small plate from the tray beside you. He’d take a bite. Chew. And then:

“This is disgusting.”

You’d scowl, snatch the plate from his hand—and he’d pluck another bite before you could move it out of reach. Always with that same neutral face, as if his own reaction annoyed him. Sometimes he ate in silence. Sometimes he insulted the seasoning. But every time, he kept eating. And the next time you cooked, you made extra. He never asked you to join him in his private quarters again after the teleportation incident—but the library became the new middle ground. One of his attendants, pale-faced and jittery, would shuffle into the kitchen or your quarters, head bowed low.

“Sukuna-sama requests your presence.”

The first time, you didn’t know what to expect. But when you arrived, he simply waved a hand toward a lacquered cushion and returned to the scroll he was reading. You sat across from him, unsure, your knees tucked neatly beneath you, eyes flicking over the endless shelves of bound manuscripts and jade-carved seals. And so it became routine. No words were needed. You read. He read. Sometimes you fell asleep in the corner, waking hours later to find a soft throw draped over your shoulders and Sukuna still cross-legged beside the brazier, eyes lowered, lips barely moving as he mouthed the words on an aged scroll.

And the gifts—

They started subtle. A new hairpin placed near your basin. A comb carved from cherry wood, the lacquer catching the light like a drop of garnet. You never saw who left them, but you didn’t need to.

Then, one evening, you slid open the long wooden closet that lined one side of your room—and stopped short. Silks. Dozens of them. Folded with impossible precision, stacked one atop another in a perfect gradient of color and detail. From simple kosode dyed with indigo and inkbrush plum blossoms to intricate junihitoe, layered with brocade patterns of cranes, chrysanthemums, and cresting waves. Obi belts in soft gold and crimson were coiled like sleeping serpents beside them, and a pair of zōri—simple sandals of silk and lacquered wood—rested on the tatami at the bottom.

You stared. Touched one—just to be sure it wasn’t a hallucination. The fabric whispered beneath your fingers. You said nothing about it. Not that night, not the next morning. But when you descended for dinner, dressed in one of the simpler garments—a dusky lavender kosode with a cloud-dappled sash—you caught the way Sukuna looked up. And stopped. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked. Eyes dragging slowly over the lines of the garment, the way it fell over your frame, the sleeves trailing delicately at your wrists. His gaze wasn’t hungry, not like you feared. It was something stranger.

Pleased.

He let his eyes linger for a beat longer, then turned his attention to his cup, muttering something about your sleeves being too long for eating properly. You rolled your eyes—but you wore another the next night. A soft blue one, patterned with falling wisteria. And again, his gaze found you and stayed a moment too long. He never commented directly. Never told you he liked seeing you in the clothes he’d chosen. But he sent more. With each passing week, the collection in your closet grew—seasonal silks, embroidered linings, even warm padded kosode for the colder nights. You never thanked him out loud. He never asked you to. But in that growing silence—filled with slow glances, quiet shared spaces, warm sake and glimmering sleeves—something was softening.

Not just in you.

In him.

Even if he would die before admitting it.

–

You weren’t used to needing help. The layered silk hung open over your shoulders, the inner robe already clinging lightly to your skin after your bath. The occasion—a seasonal shrine offering—was something you hadn’t asked to attend, but Sukuna had simply told Uraume, and Uraume had simply informed you. Refusing hadn’t felt like an option. The robe he had sent for the ritual was finer than anything he’d gifted before. Deep black, like wet ink under moonlight, lined with subtle patterns of pale camellias along the hem and sleeve. A wide crimson obi sat folded on the tatami, stiff and elegant, almost ceremonial. You were halfway through awkwardly wrapping it around your waist when you heard the door slide open.

You turned your head sharply. “Uraume, I told you I don’t—”

But it wasn’t Uraume. It was Sukuna. He filled the doorway like a shadow, his robes loose, hair unbound, his expression unreadable as he looked you over from head to toe. He didn’t speak. Just stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him. Your hands paused on the obi.

“…What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said finally, voice rough and casual. “You’ll look like a crumpled scroll.”

You scowled. “I can manage.”

“No,” he said simply, already moving toward you. “You can’t.” You tensed as he stepped behind you—close, too close—his broad presence almost suffocating. His lower arms moved first, brushing your hands away with a firm but wordless ease, fingers brushing your waist. You stiffened. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“Shut up and hold still.” You huffed but obeyed, fists tightening slightly as he took the crimson sash and began to move. His hands were slow, confident—like he’d done this a hundred times, maybe for a hundred other women. But it didn’t feel mechanical. It felt deliberate. Every shift of fabric around your waist, every pull of the knot, felt heavier than it should. His knuckles grazed your hips, the calloused pads of his fingers tugging and smoothing, warm through the thin fabric. Your throat felt dry. The silence wrapped tighter than the obi. And then his top right hand—larger, warmer—rose without warning, brushing against your collarbone where the inner layer had slipped. He tugged it gently into place, fingers lingering a second too long against your neck. You felt his breath at the nape of your neck, slow and steady. 

You shivered.

“…You’re touchy tonight,” you murmured, trying for casual, but your voice came out thin, breathier than you meant. Sukuna hummed, low in his throat. “You're dressed like a priestess about to walk into a war camp. You should at least look the part.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, but your voice faltered as his hands pressed briefly against your lower back, adjusting the final tie. “You’re squirming,” he said. “That mean you’re nervous?”

“I’m not squirming.”

“You’re blushing, too.”

You jerked away slightly, just enough to turn and look up at him. “You’re imagining things.” His face was close—too close now. His top pair of eyes watching you with that cool, sharp stare, but the lower set were lazier, half-lidded, like he was halfway through a thought he hadn’t decided whether to speak aloud yet.

“You keep looking at my hands,” he said.

You looked away. “They’re everywhere. Hard not to.” He chuckled—deep and amused, like you were something he’d found under a temple stone. His fingers brushed against your waist one more time before finally letting go. The obi was perfectly tied. Of course it was. You stepped away, putting a little distance between you, heart ticking too loud in your ears.

“You’re ready,” Sukuna said, turning toward the door again. But as his hand touched the frame, he paused. Looked back at you. His gaze dragged down and up again, slow, assessing. “You look like something worth worshipping,” he said simply, and then slid the door open, disappearing into the hall like he hadn’t just set your entire chest on fire.

–

You shed the layers slowly. The shrine offering had lasted hours, filled with incense smoke, ceremonial chants, and the unnerving stillness of being watched—by shrine maidens, by spirits, and most of all, by him. The moment you returned to your quarters, you began pulling the robes off one by one. The outer layer first, then the weighty under-layers, until only the thinnest white silk clung to your skin, clinging slightly with the sweat from the firelit ritual. Your hair was pinned loosely, and you tugged the ornament free, letting it tumble over your shoulders as you moved toward your futon, bones aching from kneeling too long. The mattress was already rolled out, blankets fluffed. You collapsed into it face-first with a low sigh, the scent of camellia oil still clinging faintly to your sleeves.

It was warm.

Warmer than usual. You rolled onto your side, drowsy. The softness of the futon reminded you—uncomfortably—of another night. The one where you woke to silk sheets, to the scent of spice and cedar, to—

You touched your ribs absentmindedly. The soulmate mark was warm again. Not burning, but humming, gentle and strange, like a hand pressed lightly against your skin. You closed your eyes. Your breath slowed. He really was... something. Too tall. Too broad. Too much. And yet—when he looked at you from over his sake cup, smirking like he knew too much, your stomach had flipped. It wasn’t affection. Not quite. But something else, just as dangerous. You hated how aware you were of him now—the way his sleeves slipped off his shoulders, how the lines of his tattoos looked inked straight into muscle and heat. The way his voice dipped when he said your name. You curled under the blankets, sighing. The air around you smelled different tonight. Not your usual incense.

It smelled like—

Something shifted. A soft, wet sound broke the quiet. Your brows furrowed.

shlick shlick schlick

Another. Rhythmic. Faint, but unmistakable. You blinked into the dark, pulse skipping. The futon was still soft beneath you—too soft—and the scent now felt overwhelming. Clean and spiced, a little iron in the air, like—

Your eyes flew open. This wasn’t your room. It was darker. The shadows deeper. Lanterns flickering faintly against high lacquered walls. The futon was larger, draped in sheets too fine for a servant, and the air was warm from a brazier still glowing in the corner. Your heart seized. You turned your head.

And—

There he was. Sukuna. Sprawled beside you, bare from the waist up, the sheets rumpled around his hips. One hand braced against the floor beside him, the other between his thighs.

Moving.

You froze. His chest rose and fell steadily, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly parted. His hair fell loose around his shoulders, messier than usual, and there was a look on his face—relaxed, almost. Tension curling at the corners of his mouth with every movement of his wrist. You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t speak. He wasn’t wrong. He really did have two of them. They stood large and proud, stacked on top of one another, with a tattooed ring around the base on each of them, the tips both flushed red. His lower right hand was lazily working the one on the top, the head leaking with each tug of his wrist. The sound continued, slow and slick and maddeningly soft. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Couldn’t even process how you were here again—how you’d been pulled into his chambers without a single sensation of movement. Your mark throbbed faintly under your fingers. Tingling.

You didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare. But something must have given you away—a shift in your breathing, a twitch of your fingers—because Sukuna’s hand slowed. His head turned just slightly. And then his eyes slid open. All four of them. The top pair blinked lazily. The lower ones found you instantly, glowing faintly red in the low lantern light. Still, his hand didn’t stop. “Well,” he drawled, voice deep and amused, “look who’s awake. I noticed a while ago when you teleported.” Your entire body tensed. Heat exploded across your face like fire, your limbs frozen under the silken blanket. You tried to speak. Nothing came out. His mouth curved into a grin—slow, wicked. The kind that always came before trouble. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to realise you were here,” he said, thumb dragging lazily along the underside of his length as if this conversation were normal, as if you weren’t half-curled on your side beside him, wide-eyed and paralyzed.

“I—I didn’t—” you stammered, throat bone-dry.

“You didn’t what?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Mean to end up in my bed again? Or mean to stare?”

“I wasn’t—staring!” You yanked the blanket higher, half wanting to vanish beneath it. “I didn’t choose to be here!”

“That’s the thing about fate,” he murmured, finally slowing his hand until it stilled at his lower stomach. “Doesn’t ask for permission.” Your soulmate mark throbbed again, stronger this time—like it was reacting to the charge in the room, the way his eyes hadn’t left your face, the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re really… doing that right next to me?” you whispered, horrified. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, amused. “I was doing it before you got here. You’re the one who dropped in uninvited.” You swallowed hard, eyes flicking away from his chest. “You could’ve stopped.” He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, voice lowering.

“But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see that look on your face.”

You scowled—but your heart was beating so fast it hurt. And just like that, he leaned back again, fingers ghosting down his abdomen once more. The heat between you was unbearable. His voice dipped, softer now, more dangerous.

“You gonna watch… or join me?” You meant to look away. You really did. But you couldn’t. Your eyes were glued to him—his shoulders loose, posture lazy, that monstrous body somehow more inviting than terrifying in the warm flicker of firelight. His hand was still moving slowly between his legs, the wet sounds far too loud in the silence, and your gaze—against your will—dropped lower. You genuinely couldn’t believe there weren really... two. Just like he’d said. And now you couldn’t stop seeing it. The thick twin ridges of arousal, curved and flushed and gripped firmly in his rough palm. It was obscene. It was unreal. And worst of all—

You were aroused. Not just flustered. Not just flushed. Aroused. Your thighs squeezed together under the blanket without meaning to. You could feel the heat between them, hot and growing slick, pulsing right under your skin. And the mark on your ribs—your soulmate mark—was burning. Not painful, but molten. Like it had its own heartbeat. A steady throb that matched the sharp, quickening rhythm of your breath. Across the bed, Sukuna smirked without looking up. Your stomach twisted. He finally glanced at you, his lower pair of eyes heavy-lidded, the top ones lazily narrowed. All four of them glowed faintly with the same heat you felt crawling across your skin. “I can see the way you’re squirming,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “The way you’re breathing. You’re trying so hard not to move.” You swallowed hard, throat dry as bone.

“I—” you started, but your voice caught. He tilted his head, smug. “Scared you’ll make it worse?” Your hands fisted the blanket. You were. Because if you moved even an inch, you might not stop.  You’d never felt this before. Not like this. Not so fast, not so deep. In the village, you were nothing. Taught shame before anything else. The daughter of a woman who never married. No one touched you. No one wanted to. And you'd told yourself that was fine. Whenever need stirred, you took care of it alone. Quiet. Controlled. Always with the door locked. Always without mess. This wasn’t that. This was raw. Loud. Him. Your breath hitched again, and before you could stop yourself, the words escaped in a whisper:

“I’m a virgin.”

The moment they left your mouth, you froze. Horror overtook your expression. Sukuna’s movements stilled. His eyes glinted. Then—slowly—his mouth stretched into a grin. A vicious, satisfied grin. Canines bared. “I know,” he said. Your entire face went up in flames. “What—how would you—?”

“You think I can’t smell it?” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Smells like purity and frustration.” You made a strangled noise and curled in on yourself, panic flaring under the blanket. But you didn’t get far. In an instant—less than a blink—he moved. Not like a man. Not like anything human. You gasped, head whipping up, because suddenly he was in front of you—kneeling, looming, knees parted—and his claws were digging gently into your right thigh. Not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. His skin was hot where it touched yours, and with one slow, effortless pull, he dragged you closer—straight between his legs. You braced yourself on your elbows, wide-eyed. One of his hands still stroked lazily at himself, unbothered by the way you stared, and his voice dropped, rich and deliberate.

“I can teach you.”

Your breath caught.

“But only if you want to learn.”

He leaned in, one of his lower hands rising to cup the side of your face—not rough, not cruel, but firm, his thumb tracing just beneath your cheekbone.

“I don’t take what isn’t offered,” he said, gaze locked on yours, unblinking. “Even if fate drags you to my bed.”

The burn in your mark pulsed again. You could feel his against your skin now, somewhere near his hip—scalding, and perfectly in sync.

His mouth was just inches from yours. His voice, a murmur.

“So. What do you want?” 

You didn't say the words. You didn’t need to. Your body said it for you—held still beneath his touch, not in fear, but in breathless anticipation. The blush rising to your cheeks. The way your legs tensed under his hold, yet didn’t pull away. The way your eyes didn’t leave his. The way your head inclined– a little too eagerly. Sukuna watched you, waiting. And then—he grinned. Not mocking. Not cruel. Smug, yes. But softer, in a way you hadn't seen before. Something hungry… but careful. “Tch,” he muttered, loosening his grip on himself with one last lazy stroke. “Didn’t think your first time saying yes would be without words.” Your lips parted, ready to protest, but he was already shifting—reaching lazily for the dark robe he’d discarded earlier. With a low rustle of silk, he draped it loosely over his lap, letting the heavy fabric veil both lengths of arousal from your line of sight. He caught your flicker of visible relief and gave a low chuckle. “Didn’t want to scare you,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, almost crooning. “You’ll see them again when you’re ready.”

Then his eyes found yours again—all four of them. Red. Gleaming. Lidded and sultry, tracking every inch of your expression like he was trying to memorize it. And beneath your ribs, your soulmate mark tingled. You gasped softly, feeling it pulse, and across from you, Sukuna inhaled just as sharply. “…There it is again,” he muttered, more to himself this time. “Always when you’re about to do something brave.”

Then, slowly, he leaned down. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His hand slid beneath the back of your neck, the other still braced on your thigh as he eased you down into the pillows. Not like prey. Like something precious. He hovered above you—close enough to breathe the same air. His mouth was a whisper from your cheek. “You’ve never kissed anyone before,” he said. It wasn’t a question. You shook your head, just barely. Sukuna made a sound deep in his throat. Something between a laugh and a groan. “Of course not,” he said, and the edge of his mouth tilted again, predatory and amused. “You’ve never been seen before, have you?” You couldn’t answer. Your throat was tight. “Good,” he muttered, more to himself. “I’ll make sure you’re never forgotten after this.” Then he kissed your neck. Not soft.

Slow.

His lips were rough—chapped from too much sake and wind—but warm, dragging slowly up the column of your throat. His tongue traced the edge of your jaw, and his fangs grazed the underside of your chin as he moved, careful not to pierce. Your breath stuttered. He pressed another kiss. Then another. Up, up, until his mouth hovered just over yours.

“Don’t think,” he said. “Just feel.” And then—

He kissed you. It wasn’t delicate. It was confident. Firm. Guiding. His lips moved over yours with ease, coaxing your mouth to follow his rhythm. His lower hand slid behind your back, arching you up slightly so your bodies aligned, and you let out a tiny, helpless sound against his mouth that only made him smile into the kiss. “That’s it,” he murmured, pulling back for half a breath. “You're getting it. Try it again.” You did. This time, you kissed him back—shy and unsure, but willing—and he groaned low in his throat as if that was what unraveled him. “You’re so warm,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “So fucking soft.” His hands didn’t stray—just held you. Steady. Safe. The mark under your ribs flared again, and he felt it, too. His eyes flickered, all four glowing brighter in the dark. "Feels like fate's watching," he muttered. Then, with a grin:

"Let’s give it something worth remembering." He pressed his lips to yours again—rougher this time. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, warm and insistent, and though your heart nearly leapt into your throat, you parted your mouth in response. A soft gasp escaped you as his tongue slipped in, slick and slow, winding with yours. The wet glide of it, firm and teasing, made your head spin. You hadn’t known a kiss could feel like this. Hadn’t known the simple joining of mouths could send heat pooling so deeply between your legs. And yet—this was Sukuna. You could taste him now. Warm sake and something darker. Spiced. He grinned against your lips, as if he could feel the way your body trembled beneath him. His lower hands gripped your hips, holding you gently but firm, keeping you beneath him while the upper pair slid across your shoulders—rough, but not unkind. His thumbs brushed over your collarbones through the thin fabric, and goosebumps rippled down your skin. He pulled back after a particularly wet kiss, strings of saliva clinging to both your mouths. All four of his crimson eyes locked on you, half-lidded, glowing with hunger.

“Take this off.” His voice was low, the command rasped more than spoken. One thick finger hooked lazily into the neckline of your undershirt, tugging at the fabric. The candlelight behind him threw warm gold across his bare chest, shadows dancing over the carved lines of his body. His tattoos shifted faintly as he moved, alive under his skin. The glint of his fangs showed when he smirked down at you. You swallowed thickly. Your hands hesitated at the hem. Sukuna caught that. His upper left hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a rare flicker of gentleness crossing his expression.

“Don’t look so scared,” he murmured. “I said I’d teach you.” His voice dipped lower. “And I don’t break what’s mine.” Your breath hitched at that, the soulmate mark under your ribs pulsing sharply in response. He felt it too—you could tell by the way his eyes narrowed slightly, pupils dilating, his chest rising with a slow inhale like he was drinking you in. Then—one of his hands slid down, fingers curling around yours at the edge of your shirt. He helped you lift it, slow, patient. His eyes never left your face. When the fabric finally peeled away from your skin, he hissed under his breath. Not in mockery. But in something else entirely.

Desire.

“You’re soft everywhere,” he muttered, the pad of one thumb dragging across the dip of your waist. “Figures.” You flushed, squirming instinctively—but his lower hands pinned you again, gently grounding you as his gaze dragged over your newly bared skin.  All four of his eyes were focused on the rise and fall of your breasts, watching the soft mounds sway up and down, a grin tugging on his mouth. His upper pair of arms caressed them– not softly but not roughly either, but rather, with the intent of bringing you pleasure.  A gasp left you when his thumb flicked over the stiff buds on your chest, and his fanged grin grew wider, a mix of amusement, lust and the slight mockery he always implemented when he was around you. “Feels good?” He drawled lazily, working your breasts until you felt blood rush down to the place between your legs once more. Gasps and moans left you at each caress, each twist and tug, your hands gripping his silken sheets. You hadn’t known something like this could feel so erotic.

“Sukuna… please–” You gasped, hips bucking up, feeling an embarrassingly warm patch of arousal seeping at the front of your cotton underwear.  “Please what, woman? Use your words, hm? I know you can– you were a mouthy little brat when we first met.” He said smugly, his crimson eyes gleaming as he gave a rough squeeze to your tits, snickering when he felt your back arch. You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to remember that he wanted this too– that this wasn’t scary. He had wanted to teach you, after all. “Please… touch me.” You surprised yourself with a bold move, grabbing one of his lower hands and placing it right between your legs. You stiffened at what you had just done– cheeks flushing pink, heartbeat quickening. But before you could utter out a single word, Sukuna’s mouth left a soft sigh, all four of his eyes dimming as his fingers felt the dampness between your legs. “You’re so fucking wet. Didn’t know a defiant woman like you had it in you,” he muttered, a low rasp catching in his throat as his fingers slid slowly, deliberately, through the slick heat between your thighs. You gasped again—he hadn’t even really done anything yet, but the sheer presence of him between your legs, his touch, his voice—your body was already trembling with need. The pads of his fingers circled over your clit, slow and cruel, making you shiver.

“Look at you,” he sneered softly, lips brushing your ear as he leaned closer, his breath hot. “So eager now. Bet you’d beg real sweet if I stopped.” Your hips twitched instinctively at the threat. “Don’t—” you breathed, your voice cracking. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through your body like a tremor. “That’s what I thought.” 

He worked his fingers up and down your slit, until you were shaking– his thick fingers never stopping their rough advance on your clit, occasionally slipping down to your entrance to circle it, lightly dipping the pad of his finger in, assessing your reaction. Once he had made sure you were wet enough, he circled your entrance with two fingers, leaning down to press an uncharacteristically soft kiss to your forehead, that didn’t contrast with his mocking words from before. With a slow, almost reverent motion, he slipped two thick fingers inside you. You clenched down around them instinctively, your head falling back into the futon as a broken moan escaped your lips. “Fuck,” he hissed, watching the way your body responded to him—eyes heavy, your thighs shaking slightly around his hand. “Tight little virgin cunt. You were made for this.”

You whimpered, squirming under him, overwhelmed—but not afraid. His touch was rough, yes, but not cruel. His claws didn’t scratch. His strength never bruised. He could’ve split you in two if he wanted, but he was holding back. All for you. One of his upper hands pushed hair from your face while the other remained at your side, possessive and warm. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice a little hoarser now. “The way your mark’s burning? Means you like this. Means your body wants mine.” You nodded—barely able to breathe. “It’s– it’s not just the mark.” That caught him. He stilled for a moment, four crimson eyes narrowing slightly—then he grinned, slow and dangerous. “Oh?” You bit your lip, unsure if you should’ve said it—but your hips gave a needy roll into his palm, your body betraying your answer. “Thought so,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again—sloppier this time, tasting your moans as he curled his fingers just right, dragging them against a spot that made your entire body jolt.  “Don’t worry,” Sukuna growled against your mouth, voice like molten honey, low and rumbling. “I’ll take my time with you.” He meant it, too—because he didn’t just slam into you like the beast you feared he’d be. No—he eased you into it. The two fingers working inside you curved again, and you gasped, thighs twitching. He grinned, watching your reaction with the satisfaction of a god unwrapping an offering.

“Feels good?” he asked, even though the answer was clear in your fluttering lashes, your parted lips, the needy way your hips chased his hand. You nodded, a shy, breathless, “Yeah…” 

“Use your words, girl,” he said, nipping your lower lip. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want more,” you managed. He hummed, pleased. “Good girl.” Then he drew back, slowly removing his fingers with a slick sound that had heat crawling up your face. “Relax,” he murmured as he tugged your thighs further apart with his lower hands, settling between them like a predator preparing to feast. “You’re going to take me now.” You swallowed, your eyes drifting down—and your heart nearly stopped. He was… huge. You’d already seen glimpses of him earlier, but up close, looming over you with both of his cocks heavy and dark against his lower abdomen, it became real. They were long, thick, veined—and terrifying. You weren’t sure how it was even possible. Your breath caught. “Sukuna, I don’t know if I can—”

“Shhh,” he said, and leaned down, pressing a softer kiss to your collarbone. “I told you I’d teach you. You trust me, don’t you?” You hesitated. But when you looked up into his four crimson eyes—gleaming with something almost close to reverence—you found yourself nodding. “Yes.” He exhaled, pleased, and brushed your hair back. “Good. Then relax.” He guided one of himself—the lower one— to your entrance, rubbing against your folds to coat himself in your slick. His upper arms cradled your head gently while the lower ones steadied your hips. He didn’t push in—not yet—just traced his tip through your arousal until you were squirming, your body aching for it. “You’re shaking,” he said, almost fondly. “I haven’t even put it in yet.”

“Sukuna,” you whined, embarrassed. His grin widened, fangs flashing. “You’ll be crying my name properly in a moment.” Then—slowly, so slowly—he began to push in. You gasped, hands fisting into the futon beneath you as the stretch hit you all at once. He was thick—your walls fought to accommodate him, and still he went gently, inch by agonizing inch. “Breathe,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your jaw. “You’re doing good. Look at you, taking me so well.” You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. It wasn’t pain, not really—it was just overwhelming. The size, the heat, the intimacy. Halfway in, he paused. “Want me to stop?” You shook your head, nails digging into his shoulders. “No—keep going.”

His eyes darkened. “As you wish.”

And he did. He bottomed out with a low, guttural groan, his body pressing against yours. You clung to him, eyes wide, breath shallow, stunned by the feeling of being so full. “There,” he whispered, hips grinding slowly. “You feel that? That stretch? That heat? Fuck, you’re doing so good f’me.” You moaned when he rolled his hips again—slow, careful, his lower hands gripping your thighs to keep you still. He set a pace, not fast, but deep. Every thrust dragged a gasp from your lips. His upper hands never stopped roaming—stroking your ribs, your breast, your throat like he was memorising you.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured again, voice nearly reverent. “So soft, so tight… fuck.” One of his hands slid between your bodies again, grabbing his hardened upper length, and guiding it to your clit with maddening precision. You jerked beneath him, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensation. He let out a pleased noise, rubbing the cockhead insistently against your clit while shallowly thrusting into you. You felt a tightening in your belly– a sign you were teetering on the edge.

“Sukuna—!”

“I know, I know. Let go, girl. I’ve got you.” You did. Your body arched, trembling, the mark on your ribs flaring with white-hot warmth as you came hard around him, whimpering into his mouth as he kissed you through it. And only when your walls stopped pulsing around him, only when your body went limp with exhaustion—did he start to fuck you in earnest. His rhythm changed—deeper, rougher, one of his other cocks grinding against your oversensitive bundle of nerves as he chased his own release. The sounds were obscene—your slick, your soft moans, his grunts of pleasure—but none of it felt wrong. It felt like something sacred. Something inevitable. He pushed himself up higher, grabbing your hips and folding your lower body in half, pounding you into the mattress, all while he parted his robe, letting the large tongue out to lap at your tits, the dual sensations making you cry and writhe for him. He came with a deep growl, hips stuttering, his arms curling around you tightly as he buried himself to the hilt. You felt warmth bloom inside you, and he didn't move, only held you there—chest heaving, breath hot against your throat. Your soulmate mark pulsed one final time—warm, pulsing, satisfied. He finally stilled, panting, his breath warm and ragged against your ear. For a moment, the only sounds were the wind brushing faintly against the outer paper walls and the rush of your shallow breathing beneath him. Then, with a low grunt, he slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered softly at the sensation, your entire body oversensitive, flushed, and warm all over. You didn’t dare look down—not when you felt the hot trail of his release trickle from you onto your inner thigh. Sukuna sat back on his heels, all four of his crimson eyes lazily dragging over your boneless form. His grin stretched across his face, fanged and smug. “Look at you,” he said, voice deep with satisfaction. “Fucked dumb already? One round and you’re ruined.”

You flushed furiously, trying to cover your face with your hands, but he easily batted them away, laughing. “No hiding now. I like this view,” he added, rough fingers gripping your thigh to spread you a little more, watching his own mess leak out of you. “Bet you never imagined this when you were yelling at me in the shrine.”

“Sukuna,” you groaned, mortified.

“‘Sukuna,’” he mocked sweetly, then snorted. “What, worried you’ll get pregnant already?” You hesitated. “…Will I?” He blinked at you, then barked out a laugh. “No. Idiot.” Your brows pinched, still nervous. “But—how do you know?” He wiped a streak of come from your thigh with his thumb, still chuckling. “Your human body can’t carry a cursed being’s spawn unless I mark you for it. It’s not something that just happens. It has to be deliberate.” Your eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” He leaned in, licking his thumb clean right in front of you. “Worried I’ll knock you up already, soulmate? Didn’t know you were so desperate to carry my brats.” You buried your face in the futon with a noise of protest, and Sukuna snickered. But after a pause, he grew quiet. Then, with an uncharacteristic gentleness, he reached to grab a soft cloth from a folded stack beside the bed. You jumped slightly when he pressed it between your legs, but he hushed you. “Relax,” he muttered, voice gruff. “Let me clean you.” He wiped you carefully—almost methodically—though he still made a few comments under his breath.

“Messy girl,” he murmured. “Took it all, though. Good job.” You felt warmth bloom in your chest at the praise, even if his tone was teasing. By the time he finished, your body felt like jelly—heavy and sore, but sated. Safe. He sat back again, clearly ready to move off the bed when your voice broke softly through the quiet:

“…Can you stay?” He paused. Your eyes stayed on the futon, your fingers curling lightly in the sheets. “Just for a bit. I… I don’t want to be alone tonight. Besides, you told me last time I can’t really leave because of those ancient wards and protections.” He let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. “Giving me orders in my own bedchamber. You’re going to make this a habit, aren’t you?”

“I—sorry, forget it—”

“Tch.” He was already lying down beside you. You blinked as he rolled you gently into his chest, one of his lower arms slinging around your waist, the upper resting behind your head. “Don’t make me say it,” he muttered, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when you look like that.”

“…Like what?”

“Don’t ask so many questions.” You didn’t respond—not with words. You curled closer to him, and let the warmth of his body settle over you like a second blanket. For a few moments, there was nothing but slow breathing. Then his voice again, softer this time, yet carrying that familiar Sukuna roughness: “No more fuckin’ complaining about ever staying in this shrine again. Let me make it clear you belong to me now. And not just because of the soulmate bullshit.” You smiled faintly against his chest. “Yours, huh?” He snorted. “Don’t get cocky. It’s not a compliment.” But when you closed your eyes, he pulled you a little closer—one hand stroking down your spine, lazily soothing you into sleep. And just before you drifted off, you swore you felt his lips brush your forehead, light as air.

–

The morning sun slipped lazily through the slats of the wooden screens, casting golden lines across the futon. You stirred first, your limbs still sore, nestled in warmth that didn’t belong to the blankets. For a moment, you just laid there—head tucked beneath a sharp chin, chest pressed against solid muscle, his heartbeat slow and heavy under your ear. You tilted your head slightly and looked up. Sukuna was already awake. All four of his crimson eyes stared down at you beneath lidded lashes, unreadable and half-lazy. One of his hands was still curved around your waist, another resting behind his head like he hadn’t moved all night. “You drooled on me,” he said flatly. You blinked. “... Huh?” He smirked, sharp and satisfied. “Right here,” he said, tapping his bare chest. “Gross.” You shoved his shoulder weakly, but your face burned. “You’re the one who stayed.” 

“You begged me to,” he said smugly, stretching with a slow ripple of muscle. “Clung to me like a baby monkey.”

“I did not!”

“Mm. You kind of did.” You buried your face in the blanket. It was all overwhelming in the soft glow of morning, like the night before had actually happened. Like he’d touched you, kissed you, held you. He was still here. You gave him a glance, a coy smile on your lips. “So like…, am I special now?” He turned, shifting until he was above you, strands of loose hair falling around his face. His grin was slow, teeth glinting.

“I didn’t say that.” You made an annoyed noise and started sitting up, dragging the blanket with you. But one of his hands caught your wrist.

“…Don’t go yet.”

You froze. He didn’t say it again—but he didn’t let go either. His thumb traced slow circles into your skin like he didn’t realize he was doing it. You looked at him quietly. “Okay.” He scoffed and dropped your hand. “Don’t speak.” Still… when you started getting dressed, he didn’t mock you for wincing from the soreness. He just watched you in that quiet, unreadable way again. And when you stepped out of the room, his voice followed you—dry and smug:

“Make sure to walk like you’ve been ruined. I have an image to uphold.” You flushed, scowled, and slammed the door shut. But your mark still throbbed warm and pleasant on your ribs the whole walk back to your room.

–

Everything changed after that night. Not in the obvious, world-shifting way. Sukuna still insulted your cooking, still barked orders at his underlings, still scoffed whenever you were “too emotional” or “soft.” But in the quiet spaces—between battles, between banter, between breath—he became something else. Yours. He never said it aloud like he did after that night. Of course he didn’t. But his hands said it when he returned from his blood-soaked travels and immediately sought you out, dirt still clinging to his robes. When he hauled you against his chest with a grunt and kissed you like the separation had physically offended him. When he bit your lip and then kissed the ache better. When he pressed his forehead against yours without a single word. “You’re late,” you’d murmur. He’d snort. “You’re clingy.” But he’d hold you anyway. And over time, his affections grew more brazen. Lavish, even. Your closet couldn’t contain all the silk kosodes, brocade uchikake, and embroidered under-robes he had sent in for you—each one more beautiful and extravagant than the last. Sometimes, you’d find his gifts hidden in odd places. A carved comb tucked beneath your pillow. Earrings glittering inside a lacquered bowl. Once, a dagger with your name etched into the hilt. “You spoil me,” you said once, trying to hide your flustered grin as you stepped into his chambers wearing a deep crimson robe embroidered with pale chrysanthemums.

He looked up from his seat, eyes sliding down your figure—hungry, satisfied. “You look less like a ragged villager now,” he said coolly. “I can tolerate it.” But the way his fingers curled around your waist to tug you down into his lap during dinner told a different story. He made a habit of it—pulling you into his lap, letting you feed him from your chopsticks with a sly grin. He’d mutter something about your hands shaking and then run his claws up your thigh beneath the table, just to watch your face. You'd squeak. He'd smirk. And later that night, he’d make good on the promises in his eyes—again and again, until your body trembled from being ruined in the best way possible.

You’d gotten used to the rhythm of it: the way he’d disappear for days or weeks, and how your chest would ache with longing without him near. But somehow, it was never a question anymore—never a maybe. When Sukuna returned, you’d find him. And when you did, you’d walk into his chamber without knocking, and he’d kiss you mid-step like he was claiming you all over again.

“You always find me first now,” he murmured once against your mouth. “I always know where you are,” you replied, breathless. “…Creepy,” he muttered. But his arms didn’t let you go. And it wasn’t just lust anymore—not really. There were nights when he let you curl into his side as he read, one arm around you idly while the other turned pages. He’d grumble when your hair got in his face, but he never moved away. Sometimes you’d catch him staring at your mark, glowing faintly when you touched him. Sometimes he kissed it. Sometimes you kissed his. And more often than not, it would end with you sprawled beneath him again, chanting his name like a prayer while he whispered filth and worship in equal measure. 

He began to teach you—truly teach you, as if he’d silently decided your body was worth protecting, worth strengthening, simply because it belonged to him. “You ride like a peasant,” he sneered one morning, watching you awkwardly guide a restless horse in the training yard. But instead of walking away, he swung up behind you, his massive frame caging yours in the saddle. His hands rested over yours on the reins, his breath grazing your ear. “Keep your back straight. The horse can sense you’re pathetic.” You’d flushed, of course—half from his words, half from the heat of his body behind you. But under his sharp tutelage, you grew steadier, stronger. He pushed you in archery next, correcting your grip, adjusting your stance with hands that lingered a little too long on your hips.

You’re not bad,” he admitted once, after you landed three clean shots in a row. “For someone so insufferably loud.” But his praise was real—rare and gleaming like a gem—and it warmed something buried deep within your chest. It became your rhythm. Days of training, evenings of teasing meals, nights tangled together in breathless heat. The bond between you bloomed steadily, thickly, until it curled around everything. You shared more now—books, opinions, idle strolls, the occasional sarcastic bickering in front of stunned retainers who wisely kept their heads bowed. He never said the word love. But he looked for you before anyone else. Let you speak when others dared not. Let you touch him, freely, even when others feared to look. So when one morning you awoke, tangled beneath your silks, and found him standing in your doorway—arms folded, dressed for the day—you weren’t entirely surprised. You blinked sleepily, brushing hair from your eyes. “...Did something happen?”

“No,” he said simply. His gaze swept across your room, unimpressed, before settling back on you. “This space is small. Your things are cluttered. The bedding is thin.” You sat up, brows furrowing. “Are you... redecorating for me or something?” He gave you a look. “You’re to sleep in my chambers from now on.” Your heart skipped. He said it like it was a decree. A natural fact. As if the moon had always belonged in the sky and you had always belonged in his bed. In his room. His space. His orbit. You stared at him, mouth opening, but he cut you off with a lazy flick of his hand. “I don’t like looking for you. And it’s bothersome when you’re not already there.”

“But—”

“You snore,” he added flatly, turning as if the conversation was done. “I’ve accounted for that.”

You flushed. “I don’t—!” But he was already striding back down the hall. And yet—later that night, when you entered his massive chamber, your things had already been moved. His imposing form stood at the doorway, his face impassive, but eyes eager. “Well? Don’t make me drag you in.” And when he wrapped himself around you, your mark pulsing softly against his ribs, you realized what he’d really meant. You were his. And now, so was this—this quiet, nightly nearness. No longer borrowed. It was yours.

Over the months that bled gently into a year, something shifted—imperceptibly at first, like the tide tugging at the shore. But it was there. You felt it in the way Sukuna’s fingers brushed your lower back absentmindedly during meetings. In the way his lips found your temple in the morning, still half-asleep and grumbling, but always touching you, always reaching. He had become unmistakably yours. And you—somehow, unbelievably—had become his tether to something dangerously close to peace. He still ruled with an iron hand. Still made men tremble, still took what he wanted without blinking. But now, there were nights where he let the world burn a little less.

One such night, after a gathering of trembling vassals, you caught him in the hallway, irritation still clinging to his expression. “You didn’t kill anyone,” you said, surprised. He gave you a long look. “They didn’t deserve it.” You tilted your head. “Since when has that mattered?” He stepped in close, crowding your space like always. “Since I’ve had to start hearing your voice in my head, nagging like some scolding little sparrow.” You blinked up at him. “That’s not flattering.” He grinned—slow, sharp. “Didn’t say it was.” But his hand rose to cup your cheek, thumb brushing idly against your skin. And then, like a secret just for you, he murmured:

“...It helps. Sometimes.” You touched his hand. And over time, things like that happened more and more. Sometimes he'd come back from battle, blood-drenched and scowling, and you would be waiting. You always were, now. You had learned how to clean him up wordlessly, how to thread your fingers through his hair while he sat on the floor between your knees, letting your warmth soothe away the monster in his bones. He taught you things others would never dare offer a woman. Strategy, swordplay, ancient languages. Let you argue with him. He didn’t always listen—but he always heard. And sometimes, on quiet evenings, you would both sprawl out in the library. Books open, limbs tangled, one of his arms wrapped lazily around your middle. “I’m still not a good man,” he told you once, his voice low as dusk fell. You looked over at him, brushing a strand of his hair aside. “No. You’re not.” His eyes gleamed with something hungry. “And you still stay.” You leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

“Every time.”

He didn’t say it. He never would. But in the way his arms crushed you to him, the way his mark pulsed warmly against yours—he didn’t have to. You were home.

–

The sakura trees outside his estate were beginning to bloom. Spring in this part of the province always came late — stubborn, slow to thaw — but when it did, the hills glowed pale pink for weeks. Petals scattered over the rooftops, slipped through the open shoji, caught in your sleeves when you passed through the inner courtyards. You had spent the day reading beneath one of them. By now it was late, and your limbs were heavy with warmth, your skin kissed golden from the sun. When you made your way back inside, the halls were quiet save for the flicker of lanterns and the familiar rustle of his presence. He was already seated in the library when you found him. One of his upper hands rested on a low table, a cup of sake untouched. His other arms were folded, two of them across his chest, the last propped on the armrest where he twirled a cherry blossom absently between his fingers. The petals looked absurdly delicate against claws that had once torn men in half. “You’re late,” Sukuna grunted, not looking up. “I wasn’t aware I was expected.”

“You always are.” You rolled your eyes fondly and stepped inside, slipping down onto the floor opposite him. The silence between you had long stopped being awkward. These days, it felt like comfort. You picked up the second cup he’d set out for you — always — and took a sip, your gaze flicking to the folded scrolls beside him. “War reports?”

“Boring ones.” You leaned forward, reaching to pluck the blossom from his fingers. “Is that why you’re being weird?” His eyes slid to yours. All four of them. Slow and assessing. And then, to your surprise, a grin curled over his mouth — too sharp, too knowing. “‘Weird’?” he echoed, clearly amused. “You keep sighing. And you're drinking sake without complaining. You’re practically domestic.” He snorted and downed his own cup in one go. “Tch. You're so full of yourself.” You giggled and sat back. “Admit it. You’re soft for me.” He growled in faux annoyance — and then sighed, tipping his head back until the corded column of his throat was bare, his hair brushing the floor. The candlelight cast shadows over his jaw, his mouth. “You know what your problem is?” he asked at last.

You raised a brow. “I have many.” He turned his gaze to you fully now — all four eyes narrowed, intent. Something different lingered there. Heavy. Not dangerous, but… weighted. “You made me want things I didn’t even remember I wanted,” he said. Low. Gruff. Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You never do. You just exist. And I...” His jaw flexed. “I’ve been thinking. That maybe we should bind officially.” You blinked. “Bind?” He looked annoyed — with himself more than anything. “Marriage,” he snapped. “A ritual bond. Ceremony. Vows. Whatever name you want to slap on it.” Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You—what?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You’ve lived in my chambers half the year already. You sleep in my bed, wear my gifts, eat at my table.” His voice was sharp, but not unkind. “You’ve wormed your way into everything. Might as well seal it.” You stared at him. Genuinely speechless. And then, finally, you found your voice. “Sukuna. Marriage isn’t… casual. It’s sacred. It’s—”

“I know what it is,” he cut in. His tone softened after a pause. “It’s a bond. Not just soulmates, not just fate. A choice.” He leaned forward, his arms bracing on his knees. “You said once you were always treated like you weren’t good enough. That no one ever chose you.” You stared at him, lips parting, your heart stuttering hard in your chest. “Well,” he said, his grin a little mean but his voice entirely sure, “I’m choosing you now.” You swallowed.

“And if I say no?” you whispered. He shrugged. “Then you’ll still sleep in my bed, still wear my robes, still squabble with me over my brutality. You’ll still be mine, mark or no.” But something in his voice… sounded almost hopeful. You sat still for a long time, looking at him. Your Sukuna. With his four eyes, and two hearts (though he’d only admit to one). His jagged smile and hands that held you gentler than anyone else ever had. You reached across the space between you, threading your fingers through his. “...What kind of ceremony?” you asked, barely a murmur. He grinned—beamed, really. It was downright sinful how smug he looked. “The kind where you wear something pretty and I carry you over the threshold like a war prize,” he said, already pleased with himself. You groaned and dropped your forehead against his arm. “Unbelievable,” you mumbled. But your fingers stayed tangled in his.

–

The day of the ceremony arrives with no announcement. There is no festival, no preparation from the villagers, no procession of nobles. Not even the servants in the compound seem to know what’s going on — which is entirely intentional. You suspect Sukuna would’ve hated the idea of fanfare almost as much as he hated the idea of people seeing him do something so profoundly human. So it is just the three of you. You, him, and Uraume. Uraume is the one who gathers the ceremonial offerings. Silent, precise, pale as frost, they move with reverence. Despite their usual loyalty to Sukuna above all else, today they look at you with something softer in their expression — a kind of subtle approval. Perhaps it’s because they’ve seen what he is like with you. Or perhaps they’ve been waiting for this even longer than you have. It takes place in the inner shrine, the one no one is allowed into. The sacred room where the oldest incense urns rest and moonlight spills through the open roof onto the stone floor. A shallow basin of water is set between you and Sukuna, scattered with cherry blossoms that drift lazily across the surface. You’re dressed simply.  No lacquered ornaments or jewels. Just the kimono Uraume had left out for you earlier that morning — silk, pale cream, embroidered with subtle gold thread along the sleeves. Sukuna is similarly understated, though he wears the finer version of his ceremonial robes — the one with the black sash and deeper crimson tones that match his eyes. He looks regal, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome. And somehow… nervous. Which is absurd. Because he’s Sukuna. Sorcerer King. Four-armed demon god feared by all—Yet here he is. Standing before you. His eyes flicking to your hands, then away, like he can’t decide if he wants to snatch them or keep pretending he doesn’t care. Uraume kneels beside the basin, offering both of you a small flame each — not from a match, but from a sacred wick. You watch as Sukuna takes it without a word and holds it above the water. You do the same. Together, you let the flames fall. They extinguish with a soft hiss. And as the smoke curls up and fades, Uraume murmurs something you don’t quite catch — old words. Words from before your time. And then they bow and slip out silently, leaving you alone with him. You feel your heart in your throat. It’s quiet now. Still. Sukuna looks at you, all four eyes lidded and unreadable. His jaw ticks, like he’s forcing himself to say something. “…That’s it,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. Your brows raise. “That’s it?”

“You said you didn’t want a crowd. So you get this. You, me, and the fucking moon.” You blink at him. And then… you laugh. Soft and stunned and full of something warm. He frowns. “You laughing at me, brat?”

“No,” you smile. “I’m just… happy.” Something shifts in his expression at that. He reaches for your hand. Not to pull you close, not to start something wicked like he usually would — just to hold it. His palm is warm and rough. The way his claws curl gently over your knuckles always makes your chest ache. “You’re mine,” he says, voice low and husky. “I’ve been yours,” you whisper back. “No. I mean now you’re mine. Not just fate, or soulmarks, or some stupid prophecy.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “You chose this. You chose me.” You nod. He pulls you to him then — sudden but slow, careful. His upper arms wrap around your waist, his lower pair pressing between your shoulder blades, caging you in so close that all you can breathe is him. His scent, his warmth, the familiar steady beat of his heart against your chest. He leans his head down, until your foreheads touch.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he says, so softly it’s a vow. “Not divine will. Not time. Not death.” And for once… there’s no teasing in his voice. No wicked edge. Just love. You tilt your face up and kiss him. Tender. Lingering. A soft press of lips that seals something older than words. One of his hands lifts to cup your jaw, tilting it just so, deepening the kiss — but not with hunger. With reverence. When you part, you stay there. Foreheads pressed. His breath on your lips. “…So what now?” you murmur. He hums. “Now you’re mine. So you’ll sleep in my bed every night. You’ll wear my ring.” He produces something from within his sleeve — a carved bone band, smooth and warm from his touch. He slides it onto your finger with the same care he’d show a sacred blade. “You’ll eat beside me. Ride with me. Bathe with me. And if I leave to destroy something, you’ll be the one I come back to.” You look down at the ring on your hand. Then up at him. “And if someone else wants to marry me?” you tease. His eyes gleam. His grin is sharp. “I’ll kill them.” You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. And he lets you hold him. Lets you stay like that as long as you need. Eventually, he murmurs, “I’ll have Uraume prepare the chamber.”

“What chamber?”

“Our bedroom.”

“…That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“Tch. Don’t push it, wife.” You grin into his chest. His heart thumps beneath your ear — steady, strong, his. A beat passes. Then another. And then, in a voice so low you nearly miss it, rough as gravel and thick with something he refuses to name, he adds:

“…I love you, you annoying little thing.” You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is carefully blank — but his ears are red. Your smile turns radiant. “Say it again.” He scoffs and grabs your chin, thumb pressing to your lips in warning. “Don’t get greedy.” But he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t take it back. And for the rest of the night, neither of you let go.

——

I can’t lie, whenever I watch Igris in action my heart thuds in my chest, hard. It’s just the way he carries himself that makes him seem…so human. But he’s a beast, and he became Jinwoo’s shadow by a split hair. 

It’s no secret that they’re both equally as powerful. 

Sometimes I let myself fantasize for a while. Let myself think that when he looks at me, he’s feeling the same way. That his heart is slamming into his ribs, just like mine—if he even has one. I can’t help but wonder, what’s under that mask? Or rather, 

Who’s under that mask? 

Jinwoo catapults across my field of vision, slamming into the wall of the training arena. Igris stalks towards him, sword at his side and cape flowing behind him. I watch his every move, his every strut. He glances over to me, staring down at me with a predatory gaze, checking on me. Well, that’s what I allow myself to believe, only for a second. I know where his loyalty lies. 

Regardless, my heart’s about to fly out of my fucking chest. 

Within seconds, Jinwoo regains his strength, getting back up to rejoin this… ‘spar’. His aggression is palpable, I can sense it from all the way over here in these four walls tucked behind this safety glass. Only Igris can bring out this side of him—it’s always a fair fight, after all. 

Well, almost. 

I always look away at this point. It always gets bad for Igris. But for some reason, I can’t today. I watch, eyes fixed to the scene unfolding before me. 

Jinwoo slams Igris into the ground, sending a rumble through the earth beneath me. The chair I’m seated in shakes, and I grip the table in front of me. Igris fades into black smoke under Jinwoo’s fist, and his glowing eyes snap up to meet mine, piercing into me with a threatening glare. 

Fuck. 

My core spasms. Suddenly I’m empty, and yearning for Jinwoo to make it better. He stands and walks through the residual mist that was once Igris, toward me. I swallow hard and reign in the ball of muscle trying to break through my ribcage.

His stare never falters, his eyes are anchored to me. I stand as I urge myself to hold it, to dominate it. But it’s too intimidating—he’s too intimidating. I look down, just for a brief second, showing my submission. And when I look back up…

He’s gone. 

I feel a gust of wind and Jinwoo’s voice growls my name behind me, his hot breath misting against my shoulder. I break out into a shiver, and I stumble back into him. He catches me, steadying me with his iron grip on my waist. 

“Jin—” 

“Igris has taken quite an interest in you.”

He cuts me short with a hint of aggression in his voice. My stomach drops. His fingers wander down my hips, to my thighs—under the hem of my skirt. He presses his lips against the shell of my ear. 

“I’m not quite sure if I like that.” 

“Wh-what do you mean?” I whisper, obviously unnerved. I feel his hard bulge press into me, and my pussy floods with heat. 

“I'm his master.” Jinwoo speaks a little too calmly, subtly tugging my skirt up, little by little. “I know his thoughts, his feelings. He takes a particular liking to your—hah, well, everything.” He yanks my skirt the rest of the way up in one swift, harsh move. “I mean, I do know the feeling.” 

What is he even saying? That Igris…feels something for me? I can barely think, much less focus on the words he’s speaking. Not when he’s thumbing at my soaked panty. 

“I didn’t know he could feel anything. He’s a shadow.” I say, breathless. 

“Yes, he is. But he still has his own…urges. Instincts.” He whispers quietly as he tugs my panties down my hips, letting them drop to my ankles. 

“Desires.” 

“R-Right.” I gasp and hold my breath in anticipation and my body tenses. 

He’s going to bend me over this table and fuck me. 

I swear I feel a gush between my legs, and suddenly my face is flush against the wooden table and his feet are kicking apart mine. My panty stretches between my ankles and he snakes his fingers around my throat. 

“Igris.” He summons his best shadow in a thick, dark voice, and Igris fabricates from a black mist in front of me, as if he didn’t just disappear. “Isn’t that right?” 

I look up from the table, only to be met by a suit of armor and his piercing gaze spearing down through me. Shit. He can see me…like this. With my panties at my ankles, bent over a piece of furniture. 

How embarrassing. 

I feel Jinwoo fiddle single handedly with the buckle of his belt, and then the button on his pants. His other hand maintains its searing grip on my throat and jaw, forcing me to meet Igris’s quiet gaze. I struggle to breathe and my eyes threaten to leak. 

My heart is going to explode. 

“See? He didn’t even respond. He has total control over himself.” His voice lowers into a whisper next to my face and I hear his zipper. “He actually wants to fuck you.” 

What? He—what? My eyes bulge wider, if it’s even possible, and I feel his cock notch at my slick opening.

So what, he’s forcing him to watch us? To teach him some sick lesson? 

Jinwoo must sense my unease, and he loosens his grip on my jaw and my head slumps back down to the table. But I’m still staring into the void of Igris’s eyes. He remains unmoving, eerily still in his stance with his sword sheathed on his back. 

“Caalm.” He draws out the word, letting his fingers just barely skate along the length of my spine.

My back arches and I roll onto the tips of my toes to present my pussy to him. Pathetic. I almost hate how wet and ripe I am for him. He hasn’t even looked me in the eye yet. 

“We’re not doing anything you don’t want.” Jin-woo’s hand trails up to grip my throat once more, and he hunches over me until his lips are next to my ear again. 

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

Jin-woo breaches me with exigency, in one hard thrust of his hips. I let out a whimper and try to stay on my toes as I frantically adjust to his thick cock inside me. 

“I see the way you look at him.” He growls as he presses a harsh kiss onto my jaw. 

He knows. And he’s teaching me a lesson, too. 

“I…I don’t.” I can’t find my voice to tell my lie, especially when I’m doing it now—staring at Igris while his master is inside me. 

Jin-woo lets out a low, wicked chuckle, and his hand tightens on my throat. Igris moves just a millimeter, as if he were about to let himself react to his master's slender fingers wrapped around my neck. 

But he holds himself firm, head ever so slightly tilted down as he takes in the sight beneath him. The sight of my quivering, glossy eyes peering up at him, and my flushed, swollen lips glistening with a layer of spit. 

“Careful, Igris.” Jinwoo warns his subordinate. “We’re not in the arena anymore. You might hurt her if you retaliate here.” He unleashes me from his grip, allowing me to take an unobstructed breath. 

“He’s not a fan of my hand around your throat.” Jin-woo whispers into my ear, and pulls out of me suddenly, leaving me empty and aching. 

“I won’t hurt her. She’s mine, remember?” Jinwoo speaks nonchalantly, as if he were stating a fact. Reassuring Igris, yet at the same time reminding him that I’m his. I can sense Igris tense—he feels like a ball of kinetic energy, ready to burst. 

Jinwoo’s cock prods at me again, and I ready myself for the impact of his thrust. I know it’s going to be brutal. He slams into me with a ruthless smack, making the table beneath me topple onto two legs. My fingers grip onto its corners as I bite my cheek to stifle the moan threatening to rip from my throat. 

“Mine to fuck.” Jin-woo growls, and there’s a possessive tone to his voice. He wraps my hair around his fist and yanks my head back. Now I’m forced to stare directly at him. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

That damn question again. He wants me to say it to his face. To make it clear that he owns me and my pussy.

“Yes.” I just barely whisper and feel him ram into me again. “Fuck!” 

Igris takes a step toward me, his stare trained down on me. He’s so close to me now, and I’m eye level with his armored crotch. Blood rushes to my face and Jinwoo hisses behind me. 

“Soon.” Jinwoo snaps, using the grip he has on my hair to hold me firm as he immediately sets a relentless pace, fucking into me with a vengeance.

“Soon? W-what’s ha-ppening soon?” My voice bounces from his incessant thrusts, and I’m so fucking overwhelmed. 

“Igris wants his turn.” Jinwoo growls. 

His…turn?

My heart lunges out my chest, and I’m pushed closer towards the edge. The image of Igris actually fucking me is almost too much to handle. If he were to fuck me…oh god. I’m going to cum from just the thought. 

“Jinwoo, wait. I—” I moan softly as my legs tremble and my pussy grips his cock. Fuck, I’m going to come already. And Igris is going to watch it happen. “Please, s-slower—or, or, I’m going to—haah—gonna!” 

“Yeah? Already?” He huffs, letting his hips snap into me repeatedly, fucking me like he’s angry with me. “Just from the mere thought of my shadow fucking your needy little pussy?”

“N-No!” I deny the truth through a tiny, pathetic cry, fixating on the sight directly in front of me.

The armor guarding Igris’s most prized possession looks tight. 

“Show her your face.” Jin-woo orders quickly, huffing and puffing as he ruts into me. 

Igris obeys, taking off his helmet and letting it fall to the ground with a clank. I crane my neck to look up at him and I’m met with glowing red eyes.

Hungry, scarred, red eyes, staring down at me like he wants to wreck me.

His hair flows down past his shoulders, a stark white with silver highlights. Christ, he’s more gorgeous than I ever imagined. 

And I'm coming…to his face. 

“Fu-uck.” I whine shakily and watch Igris’s eyes widen and his angular jaw tense. 

“Oh fuck, she’s cumming on my cock, Igris.” Jinwoo grunts and fucks me through every spasm that ripples through me. I writhe and squirm underneath his grip and my eyes fill to the brim with hot tears. “Don’t you wanna feel that?” 

Igris’s gaze snaps to Jinwoo’s, and the answer to that question is written all over his beautiful face. 

“Shadow exchange.” Jinwoo growls under his breath. 

Within moments, Igris fades to black and before me stands the menace himself—the shadow monarch—huge cock in hand with his ominous, glowing eyes shooting freshly sharpened daggers into me. 

Then I feel it. A delicious stretch. My still throbbing cunt desperately tries to adjust to Igris’s fat cock. He’s inside me. He’s really fucking inside me. Fuck, it’s so thick and big that I could cry. I really might fucking cry. 

I let out a wobbly whimper and force myself to keep still, if I move I think I’ll split open. All I can do is peer up into the luminous eyes that look back down at me with contempt, as I beg him to do something. 

“Oh my god. J-Jin. Jinwoo.” I chitter through my teeth and my tears of disbelief finally stain my cheeks. “Jin-woo, he’s really i-inside me.”

“Impressive, mm?” He grunts, breathing heavily. He cups my chin, pads of his fingers sinking into my damp cheeks. He tsks, and a slight smirk tugs at his lips. “I want to be inside you too, darling.” 

Jinwoo drives his thumb and pointer finger into my jaw bone, forcing my mouth open. He gives himself a few sloppy strokes before swiping his swollen tip on my lips as if it were lipstick, coating them in my own cum. 

“Tongue.” He demands through a breathless groan, and my tongue instinctively darts out, tasting myself on him. 

I’m sweet. 

“That’s my good girl.” Jin-woo grins, his thumb rubbing my cheek tenderly like some sort of twisted praise.

His attention turns to his second in command, and he takes in the sight of him mounted to me. His cock twitches against my tongue, and my mouth reflexively closes around his mushroomy head. 

“Hnng—she’s incredible, isn’t she?” Jinwoo sounds so smug, and for the first time, I hear Igris grunt. “Fuck her good, Igris.” 

The force of his first thrust litters my vision with stars, and it pushes me further down onto Jinwoo’s cock all at once. Jinwoo takes an intentional breath to stifle a groan and begins balling my hair into his fist. 

My clit definitely has its own fucking heartbeat. 

Igris begins thrusting in and out of me like a starved man, shoving himself as deep as my tiny body will allow him. His movements are incessant, laced with desperation. Like he’s been waiting—wanting to do this for a long, long time. He’s fucking into me like he’s never fucked a pussy in his life and the thought of that likely being the truth is making this even hotter. 

“Shit, I don’t even need to fuck your throat.” Jinwoo huffs with a smile and stands still, proving his point. “He’s fucking you so hard that your throat is riding my cock.”

Tears stream down my face and my head feels like it’s full of cotton. Am I even breathing? I test it out and hear a gurgling noise that I can only assume came from  me. Jinwoo pulls out of me, holding my head in the air and I hear myself heave a loud breath. 

“Don’t pass out on us, sweetheart.” Jinwoo’s dark voice echoes and I feel him tap my cheek a few times with his cock. “Come on, you can take us both. Right?”

He slowly sinks his cock down my throat again, inch by inch. I gag and my eyes water, because while he’s doing that, Igris is ramming him into the back of my throat repeatedly. 

It’s all too much. 

I shake my head and tap Jin’s thigh, and he yanks out of me and I gasp for air. He strokes himself fast, with his hips thrusted into the air and his core flexed. He groans low and long, watching me. Watching us.

“Make her cum.” He speaks quickly, stroking himself harder. Igris pounds into me at a frightening rate and I feel the coil in my core suddenly snap. I let out a filthy moan, loud and languid, from the back of my fucked out throat. “She’s gonna come, Igris.” 

I am. I fucking am. 

“I’m—I’m cummi—”

Jinwoo stuffs his cock back down my throat with an urgency, hunching over me and fucking my throat like it’s a pussy. His hand snakes down my belly, and his finger barely swipes my pulsing clit. His ghost touch sends me over the edge and I cum so. fucking. hard. My pussy throbs so bad that Igris groans like a dying man and ruts me harder. 

“Oh fuck, baby. Yes.” Jinwoo moans, giving me one brutal thrust before emptying himself down my throat.

He grunts from the bottom of his stomach and he holds me for what feels like an eternity on his pulsating cock before tugging me off of him. I cough and sputter, swallowing between sorry attempts at taking a breath. 

“Granted.” Jinwoo catches his own breath, and I can’t even speak to ask him what he’s allowing Igris to do to me now. He leans down, caressing my face and brushing my sweaty hair away from my pleading eyes. He plants a tender kiss on my ear and as he pulls away he whispers to me.

“Igris wants permission to breed you. That’s okay, right darling?”

Jin-woo takes a step back and I call for him with my hoarse voice. But he only grins and uses his stealth to fade into thin air, seemingly leaving me alone with the knight commander Igris—the blood red. I feel his metal arm wrap over my chest and his hand grip my shoulder to gain purchase. 

“I-Igris.” I nervously and directly acknowledge him for the first time in this entire interaction. “Ple-ase…” 

He growls and pulls me off the table and into his hard exterior. My toes cramp from trying to stay on my feet but he’s way too big and I feel myself lifting off the ground. He wraps his other hand around my waist and supports me with ease, fucking me mid-air. I claw at his armour and my legs kick and cross but I’m trapped in his undying grasp. 

“Holy shit…Igris!” I cry out, frantic. “Hold on!”  

Igris’s rhythm goes sloppy, and he’s trying to force as much of himself inside me as he possibly can. He’s trying to kill me, not breed me. A high pitched squeal splits my quivering lips and I kick a little harder—entirely too overwhelmed and overstimulated. 

“T-Too deep! You’re too deep!” My tears stream down my cheeks yet my pummeled pussy weeps for more. 

“You’re okay, my princess.” Igris’s deep voice hurls me into my third orgasm and I go limp in his grip, completely dissolving into the pleasure of his cock filling every possible part of me.

He cums with a gruff shout, tightening his arms around me as he stays inside me, stuffing me with cum until I’m queasy. 

My vision splits and fades to black and his grip on me fades with it. I hear a hushed sound and feel myself falling. I’m about to slam into the floor. I brace for impact in my fizzled brain yet I don’t feel the hard, cold tile. Rather, a warmth envelopes me, cradling me as I blubber and fail to set any breathing pattern, much less a steady one.

"Yes sweetie I suggest prenatal and an ultrasound, hmm?" The nurse says so sweetly, as you feel sick to your stomach, which your hand goes down to touch.

Pregnant. With rich, notorious fuckboy Satoru Gojo’s baby- now you would have to tell him!?

Shit.

You take the results in a shaky hand, mind swirling as the doctor goes on and on, some crazy distant humming in your head, there’s no way, it can’t be. You’re literally starting your journalism career, thinking you’d maybe gained a few pounds from stress and ramen, the interning was absolutely brutal, you’re never regular on your periods, hence the birth control in the first place.

Running coffees here and there, grabbing this and that for everyone above you, but you were now officially hired, and you were making good money for once, finally able to pay down some of your pesky student loans and get a nice car. You worked hard for it, for everything, despite many thinking leading a sorority meant you came from money, you were a scholarship girl.

That’s a huge reason you and Satoru always clashed, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, easily acing every test that you busted your ass for, things came easy to him, you worked for it. Achieving the highest you could in your graduating class, the little shit that came to school hungover grinned right next to you, like a goddamn plague, and you hoped that finally he was gone for good.

What bonded two people like you now?

Well…

“Do you need to go over your options, hunny?” One of the nurses says, touching your shoulder with a gentle smile, you shake your head then, clearing your throat.

“I just need to… think.”

You’re pacing back and forth in your apartment, feet padding gently along the hardwood floor, cell phone in your hand, staring at the phone number that just got sent to you by Shoko. She was Satoru’s friend and yours, which was rare given the ongoing student warfare zone you all created. You’d texted her a simple- hey do you have Gojo’s number- not going into details.

How do you even tell him?

What do you say!?

You psych yourself up, finally dialing it, when he picks up the phone after the second ring, murmuring - “Hello.” God, even him answering what he assumes is a stranger is snarky.

“Um, hey.” Gojo pauses at the sound of your voice, faltering just for a moment, as his friends bounce a basketball around a court outside, he sits down on the bench, vivid images filling his head. “It’s-”

“Think I don’t know your annoying voice by heart, sweetheart?” You roll your eyes, sighing and plopping down on your couch.

“Yeah, well… I got your number from Shoko.”

“Need a second round? Should have guessed.” He’s gesturing to Suguru and Sukuna, who roll their eyes at him, and he puts his voice down an octave. “I could be convinced.”

“Jesus christ, Gojo.” You almost hang up, feeling your tummy tighten then, almost nauseous, realizing you had to talk to him. “Are you, I don’t know, um… free for lunch or anything?” You despise the words falling from your lips.

“Asking me on a date, huh? So bold, I like it.” Satoru winks now at his friend’s shocked expressions, muting for a moment, telling them it was you.

“No fucking way.” Sukuna says, Suguru snorts in laughter and Satoru just grins, unmuting you again.

“I guess I could be convinced.” He purrs out those words, chuckling. “Hmm, we could go to that nice place on Hollywood ave hmm? Perfect Sushi.”

Your tummy growls, but then you frown, remembering that Sushi is on your damn list not to eat, you curse internally, peering at this list of everything you should never do or consume, and it specifically says raw fish right there. “Do they have cooked Sushi there?”

“Pshh, you’re such a prissy ass, can’t eat raw huh? Didn’t mind it raw from what I remember.” You hate this man.

“You know what never-”

“Shit, I was just kidding.” He panics, thinking you hung up, hearing your irritated sigh then. “Yeah I think they do. Why do you even wanna hang out, ya wanna nag me in person?” He spins his basketball effortlessly on his finger, acting all calm, as if he wasn’t dying to be buried in your perfect pussy again. “Miss being bitchy to me so bad?”

God he wanted to have you on his face, have you sucking him, he wanted for so much more than you all got to do, drunken fingers and your muted cries as he’d had a big hand tight over your mouth. His cock twitches under his basketball shorts just remembering how slick and hot you were, god how you fucking felt gripping him so damn tight.

Satoru had felt you pulsing around him as he reached his arm around you, pressing his fingertips to your clit in circles, as you’re crying out against his palm, practically drooling against him. ‘There you go, cumming so easy f’me huh?’ he taunts, as his own eyes roll back, feeling your pussy drool against his hand.

‘Mnh!’ was all you managed to murmur against his hand, as he feels your gummy walls spasm around his cock, his blue eyes roll back at how perfect you feel, how long he’s dreamed of this.

‘F-finally got you to shut up, hmm?’ He taunts you, normally you’d have something smart to say, but not as he’s overstimulating your little clit, pulling it away as you damn near collapse on the mattress, your thighs shaking, he wants to kiss you so bad, but you’re burying your face, arching your ass.

‘F-fuck you, Gojo- ah!’

The memories are so vivid Satoru can barely calm his thoughts, hearing you say his name in that irritated little voice, the one that drove him insane from day fucking one, the moment he’d met you. Prissy little thing with so much to prove, he thinks you still feel that way, which the biggest secret Satoru had for you had almost spilled on that last drunken night, the night he was inside you was…

He's always wanted you, not that he'd ever admit that however.

Ever.

“Is like three okay?” You're interrupting his thoughts now, as he clears his throat.

“Three rounds?”

You’re scowling at the phone as you question your life’s choices at this very moment. “Three o'clock, my god, for lunch.”

“Sounds good, it gives us time later, to… you know.” You glare at the phone, unbelievable, he’s ridiculous! 

“Time for what?” Satoru chuckles at your high pitched question.

“Don't be shy, sweets, no need to pretend. I remember it all in vivid detail, every little bit.” Your cheeks heat up, hand clutching the phone tightly, trying to calm yourself and focus.

“Just lunch, that’s all I’m asking you for. Sounds good?”

“Want me to pick you up in my-”

“No, I'll meet you. Okay um…. Bye.” You hang up, breath coming quickly, you couldn't just tell him on the damn phone, this needed to be in person.

The thought of his pretty yet annoying ass presence damn near makes your head spin… would he think it's all a joke? Some scam to get with him or get money?

You're fucking terrified, standing and staring in the mirror, rubbing your tummy and frowning as you do. A damn baby… Likely raising it alone, knowing Satoru all these years, partying, insane and so immature. Even on the phone, he’s so damn cocky and self sure, that this must absolutely be what you want, to have him, as if you are over here pining away.

The sex was amazing to put it lightly, and sure if he was a decent guy, and not a fucking ass of a man, you’d have done it again, but the walk of shame that morning had been the most embarrassing day of your life. His little smirk after you woke up, plump lips too damn glossy for his own good, yawning and stretching half naked, cock already hard as he’d tapped his lap.

‘Another round, sweets? Come to daddy.’

You scoff even at the memory, at the audacity of fuckboi Satoru Gojo, you had run out so quickly he hadn’t had a moment to speak, and you swore to yourself never, ever again. Who cared if his cock was so big it hit places you didn’t know existed, and who cared if you’ve never felt that way, fuck you wish he actually wasn’t as good at it as he was.

Perfect at everything, infuriatingly, even fucking.

You get a text from the guy you were currently at least flirting with a bit here and there, the one you suggested going on a date, and then it all starts to hit, you’re pregnant and quite likely going to be some single mom. You couldn’t just go on dates, everything is completely different, maybe forever truly.

“Twenty Two year old single mom.” You grumble, sighing a bit as you text him you’re busy.

Busy.

*****

Satoru waits nervously at the restaurant, he doesn’t really do dates, he usually spends his time in the bedroom with a girl then runs right off. Shit, he’s never even gone without a condom before you, but when you’d said hurry up and put it in, who the fuck was he to tell you no? Not only had it felt superb, he never wanted to leave that perfect pussy.

Of course you would have the most perfect pussy.

You had to be the best at everything, all the time, didn’t you? Always competing for that top spot, but Satoru always just barely got past you, that .01% of that GPA, winning every contest over you always by just a tiny bit. From the moment you glared up at him and crossed your arms, he knew it, he had to do everything he could to win against your cute little ass.

Here’s the thing… Satoru never hated you, but he loves to say he does, you both say you do, or… well, said. Considering you slept with him and didn’t say a single word after, it’s not like he’s hard to find, but each of you actively refused to add each other on socials, though Satoru will admit he stalks your IG, you’re too fucking pretty not to do so, not that he’d ever like a post.

Once he accidentally did, god he wanted to be like those pathetic simps in your comments, but he’s not that, he’s Satoru Gojo. Women come to him, women come easy too, you of course were never one to come near him in that way, no you’d look at him getting smacked in the face on campus with a grin, vowing to your friends that you’d never be one of his conquests.

That night, though, it was like he lost himself, the most stupid, corny shit Satoru could think of, that last night of his freedom before being forced to take over his family’s business. You and everyone probably thought he wanted to, but of course he fucking didn’t, he didn’t want a part of the Gojo corporation in any way, shape or form.

Satoru felt lost, honestly.

Self sure, confident, conceited clearly, talking far too much shit and laughing, picking on you every chance he got, showing up to all your sorority parties in various stages of undress to lure your friends to him. He’ll never forget him, Sukuna and Suguru crashing your ABC party, wearing nothing but cut open beer boxes, and you so happened to have some white claw box made bikini.

God you’d been sexy, but when he stole all the attention? Oh he’s never seen you more mad.

Well no, he has.

Gojo loved to make you mad, because you’re so damn cute when your nose scrunches up, when your pretty eyes narrow, there was nothing like your huffs as you would cross your arms and shift your hips just so. And if there was anything Gojo was absolutely perfect at, amongst well damn near everything, it was making you absolutely furious.

Finally Satoru sees you, dressed in this pretty blue summer dress that juts out just a bit at the waist, making his heart race for just a moment at how pretty you are. It’s not like he forgot… but god. Are your tits bigger he wonders, or is he just obsessed with them, as always, looking too hard. Your cheeks are this beautiful color, your eyes so bright, like… some damn glow about you.

How corny is he lately.

He puts on a smirk as he leans back, waving with his fingers to gesture you over, and you look at him so damn seriously, sitting across from him, hands entwined together in front of you on the table for a moment, as you eye him carefully. “Gojo, um… how are you?’

Who the fuck is this girl in your body!?

You don’t nervously ask shit, you tell Gojo to fuck off, you glare or scowl while he smirks, what’s this… shy ass shit? He frowns a bit now, you exhale and slide off your purse, letting it sit on the seat next to you, he can’t stop staring at your lips, clearly bitten to fucking hell.

He tries to feign that he’s fine, that he hasn’t missed you, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He missed your daily arguments on campus, he missed you being a total brat. He misses your scent, god that vanilla sugar body spray was haunting his very dream.

He acts as if he hadn’t died to hit you up, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t go that far, not with you, not with what you did to him, how you’ve damn near destroyed any game for himself any longer. That one night with you had sunk into him so deeply, he wishes it was just good pussy, and not whatever this was.

He’s jerked it off to you every fucking night since, to the point is damn dick doesn’t even work, he sure also wouldn’t admit that he can’t even fuck a girl because you were so good. Some evil witch that did something, it must be, he has at this point just given up trying, until whatever curse you gave him falls the fuck off.

But god you look good in front of him.

He should tell you, but instead he swipes a hand through his silky white locks and smirks right at you. “Missed me so badly, sweets?”

You roll your pretty eyes as the menu comes, smiling and thanking the hostess, a smile reserved for anyone in the world but him, even when he’d had you cumming all over him, you weren’t smiling. No, but you were drooling then.

‘Ah, look at you, so fuckin pathetic f’me, huh? Thought you hated me, sorority brat’ Satoru had huffed, as he’d fingered your cunt, curling inside of your slick walls, watching your pretty fucked out face. ‘Just from fingers?’

‘I do h-hate you- mnh!’ Your sparkly manicured nails dug into his broad shoulders as your tight walls convulsed around him, as he hit that spot that no man had ever found in a moment.

Perfect at everything, stupid Satoru.

‘Feel her, god she’s so desperate, huh?’

“Fuck you I- there, shit!’ you’d rolled your hips, grinding right on his hand, pussy drooling as you came from his fingers before he’d even put his cock inside you, and Satoru’s cock was leaking against his boxers, twitching as he pictures how perfect you’d felt around him. ‘Fuck you for being so g-good at that!’

‘Oh, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.’ He’d turned you then, whispering a ‘bend over, just like that, gonna be a big stretch, hmm?’

Satoru struggles to calm his memory, focusing on that sexy mouth of yours moving, realizing words are coming out of them, blinking to focus.

“How are you doing, Gojo?” You ask softly, always Gojo, you never called him Satoru, and he always called you sweets, short stuff, your last name, also never your first.

But he wanted to call you a lot of things, one of them being-

Stop that Satoru.

“I’m doing great, of course, miss me so much?” He teases, winking at you and sipping on the sickeningly sweet Shirley temple he’d had them buy, you just grab a water, hand flitting to your tummy for a moment. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No, not sick just… yeah we needed to talk. Is that okay?”

Satoru leans forward, raising a thin white brow. “You seem weird, everything okay?”

“Well… shit. I guess I’ll just say this. Um…” You tuck your hair behind your ear, looking out the window at the bustling city for a moment, before looking back at him. “Remember that night?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do all this to have a repeat.” His hand comes to your thigh, and that’s when you curse this pregnancy, because your nipples tighten, your cunt gets hot and wet from that.

Fuck hormones.

You take a breath, glaring as you always do at Satoru, the only time you never had was when he’s had your face with a slutty O for your mouth, your eyes rolled back, nails gripping those sheets. You shove his hand off, hoping he couldn’t feel your heat that quickly, as your body responds stupidly in a damn sushi restaurant.

“It’s not that, it’s important. Can you ever be serious in your life!?” You say quietly, and it’s his turn to glare, taking his hand back, sipping his drink again.

“Well just spit it out. What is all this, then?”

“It’s… I… You…” Shit, if ever you needed a drink it was now, and you damn sure wouldn’t have one for a good six months or more.

“It’s… I…. You…” He mocks, and you stand then, so furious your heart is racing, snatching up your purse.

“Never mind, I should have known you’re-”

“Shit, just sit. Sorry. Okay?” He grips your delicate wrist in his big hand, and even that is wrecking you, against your better judgement and everything you feel. “I’m sorry, it seems… serious. Just sit down and spit it out.”

You sit back down now, shifting as you both make your orders, a thankful distraction. As the waitress leaves, you sigh. “I don’t want anything from you, first off, so don’t think that.”

“What?” He blinks in confusion.

“I don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“Do what!?”

“But you have to know… it’s the right thing to do, to tell you.” You look up at the ceiling, gathering your thoughts.

“Is this… are you in love with me, because of how good it was? Shit, that’s okay baby, everyone-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What!?” You just sit there, seriously staring, as he blinks, looking at fuller breasts, your damn glow, thinking of every dumb thing he’s heard. “You’re… by who?” He whispers, and you flush then, shifting in your seat, sipping more of your water, condensation cool on your hot palm, your skin is burning, heart is racing.

“I was on the pill, religiously, I swear, I never missed one. Shit, until I found out I never missed… I… never would have done it like we did if I knew.” You feel sick as he gapes at you, his pretty blue eyes bulging out damn near, his mouth dropped open. “I expect no help, no involvement, we’re young. I just-”

“This a joke, right?” You take another breath, hand gripping the glass, eyeing those around you all, engulfed in conversations.

“It’s not a joke.” He’s laughing now, smacking his thigh, and your jaw tenses as he does.

“It’s you and your damn friends, someone recording!? Hah-”

“It’s not a joke.” You clear your throat now, leaning in your purse and pulling out the papers, with your name, the results, watching his expression shift, brows drawing low, his jaw tense. “It’s only been you, no one else for an entire year.”

“A whole year?” He eyes you again, and you flush under his gaze, as his hands shake, hands you’ve never seen shake, hands that dribble basketballs, that tossed footballs, all with ease.

Hands that…

Fuck, don’t think of it.

“I’m not… I was too busy.” Besting Gojo, competing with Gojo, you had no time for shit with him, your anger at him shone so brightly it was hard to think about men. “As I said, you don’t need to pay for anything, this isn’t that conversation, this is just me letting you know. I’m keeping it.”

Satoru continues to blink at you, staring open mouthed, at your face, then your body, then back to your face, over and over, while the waitress brings out the food, smiling curiously at the two of you. Satoru doesn’t make a move to touch his food, running his hand through his now messy white locks again, as his mind spins.

“I know you’re wealthy, I don’t want you thinking I want some piece of it. I’ll take care of them alone, please don’t worry.” You touch your tummy, the motion making Satoru fucking feral in some way he can’t put together, just continuing to stare at you in utter shock as the sushi sits in front of the two of you. “I can leave, now, we don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He murmurs finally, voice hoarse.

“Act like we are civil, act like we’re anything but college enemies, fucking rivals, not even friends. God I know you hate me, I know this was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” He whispers.

“Yes, for both of us. You don’t deserve your life uprooted, sure I can’t stand you, but this is my fuck up. I said those words…”

‘Cum in me, f-fucking cum in me, mnh…’ you’d arched your back, as his long fingers wrapped your throat, god he’d never felt anything like you.

‘Want me to fill your pussy s’good, huh lil brat?’ you just whine, muscles clenching on his cock, and he’d groaned in your ear then, shoving deep inside your drooly cunt. ‘Beg for it, then’

Oh, you had.

You hated him for it.

“It’s my fault, so don’t worry. But I wanted to be transparent, but I am… indeed, pregnant.”

“Pregnant, like, with a baby?” Satoru whispers, and You giggle then, for the first time since you found out, covering your mouth just a bit as he just stares.

“Yeah, a baby.”

“Mine…” His words send something through the both of you.

“Yours, but only if you want to be involved. I know it was a hate fuck, we’re young, we have lives-”

“You got a… like that scan shit set up?”

“Ultrasound?” He nods, nervously, hands clenching the table so hard you see the veins popping up through his thin skin. “I do, next week. I mean it is a couple months already, so I will see something, not like… the sex but…”

“Can I go?”

You blink in shock now. “You want to?”

“Yeah. I mean… why wouldn’t I?” He rubs the back of his neck, as the life he thought, the mundane one of following his damn family, of being a pawn in a bigger scheme, everything flashes.

It changes.

He’s scared shitless, but…

“I want to be involved. If you want me to be.” You blink back tears, but you fail, and if it’s one thing, Satoru Gojo has never seen his preppy ass Sorority rival cry, not fucking once.

He falters as those tears run down your cheeks, he leans over, hesitantly, the only physical contact aside from that fateful night was him shoving at you teasingly, or you smacking at him. Shit you all hadn’t hugged, you never even kissed aside from that night, sloppy and messy. But he doesn’t stop, until his thumb brushes your cheek, and you gasp.

“Shit I’m crying. Stupid hormones.” You huff now, swiping at your own eyes with shaky little hands. “You really wanna go?”

“Yeah if it’s cool?”

Satoru’s shocking you, the world tilts on its axis, like you’re having some insane dream. This can’t be real, can it? It’s fuckboi, frat boy Gojo, the man who goes through girls like they’re candy, the man who takes nothing serious, who has the world handed to him.

“Gojo, if you want to go of course you can, to any and all appointments, but you’re under no obligation, and please know I can cover the costs.”

“I know you’d never take my money, shit even if I offered, stubborn ass little brat that you are.” You manage a breathless giggle, the second one, realizing he is still brushing that thumb against your cheek, before he clears his throat. “So, tell me what day, I'll be there.”

“Yeah, are you sure? It will make it so… real, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now eat your cooked sushi, aren’t you like eating for two or some shit?”

You take your chopsticks with a shaky hand, exhaling. “I was reading, I think they are like the size of a pea maybe. But, this is yummy looking.”

“Gonna be a huge ass baby, shit.”

“Oh god!” You eye his lanky body, and he’s grinning, Satoru is grinning!? Shocking you further.

Maybe you don’t know him like you think?

“Tits are gonna get so big.”

Never mind.

*****

“An ultrasound!? A baby? Fuck…” Suguru Geto inhales the blunt, sucking the smoke into his lungs as Satoru nervously paces Sukuna and Suguru’s apartment, Satoru chose to live in his own place, closer to work. But he frequently gets shitfaced and crashes out at their place.

“Sounds fucking insane, shit.” Sukuna chuckles, as he’s hitting a bong, inhaling and exhaling, broad shoulders shaking as he coughs. “You look like you could use a hit or something.

“Before the ultrasound? Shit I need more than weed. I’m freaking the fuck out right now.”

“Imagine you as a dad though hah!” Sukuna smacks his thigh, as Satoru glares now, stopping his pacing while the music plays, the same music Satoru remembers doing keg stands and playing beer pong in togas to, only to now have the possibility of being responsible for a whole human being.

“Can’t even keep a plant alive, shit.” Suguru says in between laughs, and Satoru raises a white brow at the two of them on the couch.

“You two are so supportive.”

“Well shit, she said you don’t have to be involved, you can always just like… send money and shit? Do you really want a whole kid?” Sukuna asks, and Satoru takes a breath, pacing once more as he runs hands through disheveled hair over and over.

“Do I want a whole kid, no, I never even… I mean I figured eventually, as the Gojo heir, blah blah blah.” Satoru slumps in a nearby recliner, as Suguru hands him the blunt, frowning a bit now.

“You do need a hit. You’re young, it’s not time to give your family fuckin’ heirs yet, is it?”

“They’d probably be delighted.” Satoru rolls those cerulean eyes, inhaling the smoke into his lungs and leaning back, staring up at the ceiling, as the black fans above them swirl, moving the puffy clouds of smoke all around. His nostrils fill with the scent of the Sativa, wishing he could make sense of his thoughts. “Not delighted that it’s out of wedlock and unplanned.”

“Imagine her marrying you.” Sukuna and Suguru laugh loudly again, as Satoru hits the blunt again, not passing it.

“The fucks that mean?”

“She hates you. God I think more than anyone.” Suguru says, and Satoru smirks just a bit.

“She sure didn’t hate this dick.”

“Oh!” He’s slapping hands with his friends as Sukuna and Suguru start to make the most obscene gestures, while you call, and he shushes them quickly, trying to compose himself.

“Hello?”

“Gojo, hey. Um, ultrasound is in an hour, I’m heading out soon if you want to meet up?”

“Why don’t I have my driver pick you up?” He asks, and Suguru and Sukuna continue the gestures, making Satoru snort in laughter, the weed starting to enter his bloodstream.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just thought it would be more convenient in this traffic.” He shoots a wink at his friends.

“I mean… sure?” Satoru mouths yes, pumping his fist, clearing his throat now.

“It’ll be easier this way, alright send me your addy I’ll head out.”

“All right.” You just hang up, such a rude little thing. Satoru has changed your name to Sorority Brat in his phone for a good reason.

“What are you gonna do though, man?” Suguru murmurs thoughtfully, his dark violet eyes narrowed, clearly blitzed. “Gonna like… be with her?”

“Could cum in her whenever now.” Sukuna bursts out in laughter as Satoru glares at the two of them.

“Grow up…” They blink at him, then Satoru grins wide. “Nah, that would be a perk, because her pussy my god.”

They both scooch up, elbows on their thighs, avidly staring at Satoru now. “Details, man, it’s like the one girl you never told us about?” Sukuna asks.

“Because you’re in love.”

“Pshh, in love!?”

“Haven’t seen you with anyone since.” Suguru earns Satoru’s middle finger, as he puts out the blunt, stretching and earning their pouts.

“Bet she’s so good, though, all angry and shit, bet she’s a freak.” Satoru doesn’t even know if you’re a freak necessarily, but as Suguru agrees, he glares at them both, crossing his arms.

“This has been the worst pep talk in fucking history.”

“Shit, what’s your decision?” Suguru asks, and Satoru’s mind races, peeking at his watch now.

“I think I’ll make it when I like… see it?”

“Alright big Daddy, then if you decide to be involved we’ll be like… their uncles and shit.” Suguru says, and Satoru grimaces.

“God no, you’ll ruin my kid.”

“Fuck off now.” Sukuna starts hitting his blunt again, Satoru walks out away from them and spritzes cologne all along himself, he knows your prissy self never smoked weed, no you were a little goodie goodie. He thinks the only time he saw you drink was a little at parties, but never like that last night.

He remembers just looking at you asleep when he’d woken up, and the tenderness he felt when he had brushed your hair off your pretty face, and you’d stirred a bit. For a moment he felt his heart hammer in his chest, stone cold sober, seeing the bite marks he’d left on your delicate skin, feeling affection like he couldn’t describe, Satoru never felt that way.

He didn’t cuddle, he didn’t linger.

He ran out before they could wake up, he ran out like you did to him, perhaps he was a little nicer about it, though, you’d given no fucks when you darted out the damn door in a hurry. He had acted cocky though, full on hard just by the damn thought of your slick sticking to his cock, but instead of perhaps kissing you, he’d patted his lap and been a little shit.

He hated the recognition on your face, like he’d been a mistake, so he decided to shove you out of his brain, though he clearly failed.

Jogging down the stairs, he has his driver sent in your direction, and you get the text he’s there, stepping out in front of your little house, cute Satoru thinks, it’s small but it’s immaculate from the exterior. You have pink flowers and succulents all over the front of it when he steps out, eyeing your pretty dress, nerves starting to eat at him, but he puts on an easy smile.

“Ready to go see this little parasyte?’

“A what!?”

“Technically, it sort of is. Right, you’re like its host.” Your mouth is wide open, as you touch your tummy, and he curses. “Shit…”

“A parasyte, you’re calling our… I mean I guess my… the baby a-”

“I’m sure it’s a cute parasyte? It has a pretty host.” Satoru tries to put on the charm, the smolder, as you stare at him in shock.

Was it shocking, this was Gojo.

“Dear God.”

How’d you end up pregnant with this idiot’s baby?!

You slide into the car as you shake your head, and he covers his face, grimacing as he realizes he just told his… god what even were you, a baby mama!? That his baby was a… parasyte. Well, it is, and Satoru would typically just argue with you and let you know he’s correct and you’re wrong, but he keeps quiet, feeling you seething.

“Fire signs.” He mumbles, you look at him again.

“What?”

“You’re a fire sign, it’s why you’re so feisty. I am too, you know.” You relax just a bit, curiously.

“You believe in astrology?” You ask in shock, for as long as you’ve known Satoru Gojo, the two of you don’t really know each other.

“Baby I’m the most Saggitarius man there is.” You giggle again, fuck that’s three giggles Satgoru has counted, and how it lights up your already glowing makes him ache for you, suddenly realizing one of his long legs is brushing against you. Your warmth alone makes him throb, the vanilla sugar filling the space in the car.

“You certainly are the epitome of a Saggitarius. Don’t call me feisty, yuck.” You shove at him playfully almost, pausing a bit when you realize his body feels far too good against yours.

You may or may not have masturbated last night, and he may or may not have popped in your head, over and over. But, don’t worry, because Satoru has spent months jerking his thick length to the thought of you, not that either of you would admit that it may or may not have happened.

“This baby would be a fire sign.” You murmur then, letting your hand fall, and nervously fidgeting, Gojo’s long limbs take over so much of the car, as big as it is, Gojo’s always taken over everything, even apparently your senses.

“Would it?” He asks quietly, for once just a little serious it seems.

“Yeah, an Aries if it comes when it should.”

“So it’ll be a brat like you.”

“Psh, like you.” You roll your eyes, and the two of you fall into a bit of a silence, so much unspoken between you. “Do you know if…”

“That’s why I want to see. Make it real?”

You actually nod in understanding, surprising him then. “I get it.”

The ultrasound tech is rolling the wand over cold gel soon, as you’re embarrassingly propped up with your feet in stirrups, and Satoru stands to the side, glaring at the man who’s inserting this wand in you. He gets angry that he’s getting such a view, he doesn’t even think he saw you that much.

What he remembers…

Your pussy is very pretty.

You wince a bit as the doctor smiles up at you. “Tight muscles, huh?”

Satoru snorts in laughter, and you glare. “What!?”

“You are so tight.”

“Gojo!” You glare, and even the doctor laughs, also earning your scowl, which makes them both sober up.

“Sorry, Miss. Alright… relax, would you?” How do you relax as a doctor is shoving a wand in your coochie and your enemy, who got you pregnant somehow, is turning red holding in his lewd thoughts!? “Look at the screen.”

You and Satoru both look over now, your breath catches then, as does his, when the doctor begins to tap keys on the keyboard, and you hear it for the first time, this little… heartbeat. It’s a heartbeat.

“There it is, congratulations you two. About… ten weeks?” You’re enamored as you stare at the screen, and he moves the wand inside you. “Look there, that’s the little baby.”

Baby.

A baby.

It’s all real.

Satoru’s completely silent as tears fill your eyes, a myriad of emotions, some that you’re so connected already to a little peanut inside you, some that you don’t know how you’ll do this, some of your life. How will it alter, how will it go, what will people think… and what does the man next to you think? What will he do!?

But overwhelmingly as you feel yourself begin to cry, and the screen turns off, you feel warmth spread, touching your tummy in wonder, there’s a damn baby in your body. Your baby. Something you never considered or thought of, you figured much, much later in life, not now.

And you’d likely be…

Alone in this.

“I’ll go get a picture printed for you two.” The doctor smiles kindly, as you’re left alone, with a for once silent Satoru Gojo.

You hesitate to look at him, a stunned expression on his face as you sit up, closing your legs and biting your lower lip, he finally looks at you and exhales, seeing your tear streaked cheeks. A girl he never knew to cry or giggle has done both, and a man you never thought to be serious or quiet… was.

“Satoru um…”

“Satoru?” He asks quietly, and you flush.

“Sorry…”

“No, I don’t mind, just… crazy. This is crazy. There’s a whole life inside you!? And we made it?” You sigh, nodding then, and he shocks you as he leans down, as you’re sitting in the bed, coming so close to you, eyes swirling storms of emotions.

“You can back out now, it’s okay. I won’t put this on you, keeping it is an insane idea but… it feels right to me?” He tilts your chin up, leaning closer, to where you can taste the sweetness of his breath, as your heart pounds right in your chest. “But if you’re backing out, do it now, it will hurt… fuck it will hurt more if you get too involved, okay? Do it now.”

“I’m not backing out of shit.” You gasp, and he exhales, wiping your tears away. “We both did this. I’ll not live in some world knowing my baby is raised with no help of mine in any way, fuck that.”

“But you-”

“I get it, we… aren’t… together. But in this I will be.”

“Satoru, I think I may have a cardiac arrest  before I get this baby out.” You sniffle and he smirks a bit.

“So unbelievable that I’d want to?”

“Yes. The Gojo I know…”

“You may not know me as well as you think. And maybe I don’t know you that much… aside from I agree about that tight-”

“I swear!” You shove at him, as he snorts in laughter, still a little shit, as they bring in two pictures, and Satoru takes one thoughtfully.

“That’s it, huh?” He tilts his head curiously. “Looks like me.”

“It looks like nothing yet, what?” You’re taking tissue and cleaning up a bit, as they give you privacy to pull back on your panties, but Satoru gives you no privacy, just looking. “You could turn?”

“Why, that’s one benefit you know.”

“What?”

“Could fuck any time, cum inside whenever.”

“Oh you wish.” You shove at his chest, and he’s grinning and wiggling his brows, grabbing your waist, pulling you against him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Shut it.” Yes.

“Sex is good for pregnancy.”

“You’re so full of shit! I can’t with you. Rizzing me up at a gyno?”

“Perfect place, see that doctor, he wants a piece.”

“You’re so dumb, I swear.” You look at the picture then, thumb brushing against the baby’s… maybe it’s a face?

“Are we gonna live together?”

“I mean… what?” You eye him in shock.

“When the baby’s here.”

“No, we don’t have to do all that, we live close. Can you imagine us living together, we’d kill each other.” He envisions it, the fights surely but… the sex, and seeing you in the morning?

“Or fuck. Alot.”

“That’s how this happened.” You mumble, and soon you’re back home, and trying to ignore your body’s insane responses while he stands on your porch, looking far too fucking sexy. “Thank you for being there.”

“You thanking me? the world is ending.”

“Hush. I appreciate this, you standing by me. You don’t have to.”

“I… want to. Um, what will we say?”

You bite your lip more, until he gently takes it out from under your top row of teeth, brushing against the indentations. “We could say we’re together, if you don’t mind, dating I guess? My parents would trip if they knew it’s like…”

“Same. My parents would be happy for a Gojo heir though.” You hear it, the surprising resentment in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know.

“Well, I can act like I like you for them if you want.” You tease, and he leans against your doorway, so fucking tall, just looming over you, and you have to clench your hands not to give in to the temptation of touching him.

“Act like you like me- you?”

“I could! If you could act like you like me, in front of my family.”

“How will we explain the whole not living together thing?”

“It’s new, it’s 2025 Gojo, not 1810. We’ll be okay. You're so old school huh, gonna marry me?”

“You’d leave me at the altar.” You both laugh again, as he straightens up now. “Alright, so when should we tell them?”

“When you want to. So work on those acting skills. I’ll set up brunch with mine, you set up dinner with yours?”

“Sounds good. Alright don’t miss Daddy too much.” You snort and roll your eyes, turning away now.

“Daddy? Whatever.”

Satoru presses you against the door, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing a hand gently on your tummy, splaying the expanse of it with long fingers, as your breath comes quicker and quicker. “Could swear you called me daddy when I beat up that pretty pussy hmm?”

You falter, whining softly, hating your body’s reaction, scowling right up at him, your hand on your doorknob, while this tall ass of a man makes your body light up. “Never called you daddy, no way.” Your voice is a pathetic whisper, why does he do this to you, you want to arch into his damn touch, press against his length, to the point you make yourself stiffen.

“Oh? Must have been the liquor.” He caresses your face, leaning so close you wildly think he’ll kiss you, and you know damn well you can’t handle that, not with your pussy soaking your damn panties just from this.

You hate Satoru Gojo, and he hates you.

This is… because you both are having a baby.

Right?

“It must have been.”

“Ah, I see. Good night, then sweetheart.” He leans his lips up, kissing the top of your head, a gesture so oddly sweet it doesn’t even fit him. “Text me the details, Sorority brat.”

“Sure will, Frat boy.” He sticks his tongue out as you do, walking in and leaning against the door, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands, the memories that surfaced. You slide down it slowly, burying your face in your hands, as your body trembles with this insane need.

Shit. A baby with your enemy?

A baby with Frat Boy Gojo?

Faking that you like him, would it really be that fake?

Satoru’s leaning against it too, for just a moment, trying to compose himself… finally he’s in the back of the car again, as his driver looks  in the rearview mirror curiously, tired eyes focusing as Satoru looks at the picture again. The little peanut that’s apparently a…

A baby.

With his enemy.

An enemy he really wants to be inside again.

“Everything alright, Mr. Gojo?” Kiyotaka asks, Satoru runs a hand through his hair now, leaning back in his seat as he peers out the dark tinted windows.

“I’m having… a baby with a girl who hates me.”

“Why does she hate you?” Kiyotaka asks, driving off, as Satoru chuckles just a bit, remembering bits and pieces of college, out of order, out of sync.

“Because honestly, I was kind of a complete dick to her?”

“That’s… oddly self observant.”

“You saying I’m a dick to you?”

“No Mr. Gojo!”

“I’m kidding, relax.” Kiyotaka’s tense shoulders relax when Satoru leans forward, hand on his shoulder through the little divider that’s opened. “Do you know shit about kids at all?”

“I have nephews, they’re pretty good kids. But babies, not really.”

“I could ask my parents but they basically had nannies raise me.”

“Many nannies, I heard.”

“Well, I was a menace to be honest. Where do I learn about these… things?”

“Babies?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I think there are books?”

“Hmm.” Satoru pulls out his phone then.

Fratboy Gojo🙄(yes that’s his name in your phone now, no you’re not sorry): Should I order us baby books?

Sorority Brat💦😻(of course that’s your name in his phone): Yes, if you want to? That would be good. Thank you… for today.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Two thank yous!? That baby is making you a mush.

Sorority Brat💦😻: Whatever!

Satoru snorts then, but when you’re in your bed later that night, nibbling on a bag of hot cheetos that have been screaming at you all day, how is that your first craving!? He writes to you again, and you pick your phone up with your clean hand, sans hot cheeto dust, rolling your eyes.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Need some nudes for your spank bank?

You’re gonna kill him.

Sorority Brat 💦😻: Good night, Gojo.

Satoru frowns, because his dick is already in his hand, but for a moment you think about it, and would it be so bad to-

No, no no.

You aggressively eat those hot cheetos, wondering just what you were in for with that damn boy in your life now, shit forever.

“Fuck.” You’ll never drink again.

I say four parts but I feel like this is gonna be long aha, bc god Gojo is a lil shithead hehe (as I like him) this just a teensy bit similar to the Knocked Up movie premise so expect a LOT of humor here! <3

Nerd!Sukuna, who towers over you with his backpack slung casually over his broad shoulders and his tattooed face cold and hard when he informs you that he expects you to work hard and not fuck up his grades, or he will make your life hell.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is fully convinced this will be a disaster when he sees you wring your hands nervously and promise him you will work your ass off for this assignment because you really need a good grade so you can pass.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is a control freak who plans everything ahead and, therefore, doesn't let you have a word on how often you meet or when or where. He doesn't like having people over at his place, but he invites you over anyway because his kitchen table is his favorite place to study.

Nerd!Sukuna, who fixes you with a stern look through his nerdy glasses as he shoves a huge stack of books across the table, informing you he expects you to read all the needed information, which he already marked for you with various color-coded sticky notes. "Because you probably don't even know what we need for this assignment."

Nerd!Sukuna, who is surprised by how thoroughly you work and by the questions you ask him, which let him know you aren't as dumb as he thought.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes how you hang on his lips when he explains stuff to you, clearly impressed by his detailed knowledge. And maybe, just maybe, he intentionally lowers his voice a bit more, just to see you get all nervous when he is talking in such a husky way, almost as if he isn't explaining political intrigues in the Heian era to you but rather telling you what he wants to do to you in his bed.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finds devilish joy in seeing how flustered you get around him and how clearly intimidated you are by his tall and broad body and his tattoos and arrogant attitude.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to admit (only to himself) that getting paired up with you isn't too bad because at least you give your best, and you are actually kind of cute. The kind of sweet, shy girl who usually doesn't cross paths with him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself watching you during study time in his kitchen or in the library. He tells himself he is just checking if you really do your work, but his gaze mostly lingers on your glossy lips, which wrap around your pen while you focus on something or on your nose, which looks super cute when you scrunch it up in confusion.

Nerd!Sukuna, who isn't one to brag because he thinks that is something for losers, but he can't help but mention casually some of the academic awards he already won just because he is getting addicted to the buzzing in his veins when he sees the way you gulp hard and get all shy and cute on him, muttering something about how you struggle to even stay in college.

Nerd!Sukuna, who usually loves to be a little sadist and make fun of people who have bad grades, but somehow, he can't bring himself to do that when it comes to you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who instead surprises himself by reaching out and ruffling your hair, telling you that he will help you with your studies.

Nerd!Sukuna, who forms a strange little companionship with you, almost looking forward to your meetings and even preparing an extra plate of snacks for you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who usually isn't someone people would refer to as nice, but who drops his arrogant and mocking attitude at least a little when he is in his kitchen with you and instead jokes around with you and feels his heart throb weirdly when you get his humor, and laugh about his even most sarcastic remarks.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes it when you come out of your shell more and more, joining in on his playful teasing or telling him about your favorite books and shows.

Nerd!Sukuna, who accidentally overhears you telling your classmate that you don't have time to go to the coffeeshop with her because you are already meeting your friend Sukuna after class, which leaves Sukuna standing in the middle of the hallway for a whole thirty seconds, with his mouth hanging open, completely stunned and looking like a brainless idiot as his mind tries to wrap around the fact that you see him as your friend when Sukuna never had a friend before.

Nerd!Sukuna, who makes sure to bake your favorite muffins and prepare your favorite type of tea before you come over that afternoon, wordlessly showing you that he values your companionship, or friendship, as you called it, too.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels a small smile tug at his usually smirking lips when he sees your big happy smile and hears your sweet "For me? Oh, thank you!" when you see the plate with muffins on your place at his kitchen table. And yes, he refers to it as your place, and the thought makes him feel strangely warm.

Nerd!Sukuna, who playfully teases you for your Hello Kitty pens and glittery pink notebooks, asking if you are in some "Little Princess Kindergarten Club" or something. Only for you to march up to him the next morning before class to press a Hello Kitty text marker set against his chest so he can join the club, too, causing Sukuna to sit in class with a stupid grin on his face for a whole hour.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes how easy things feel with you. How he can put all his hard work into your assignment and also see you working hard on it, but also have this light-hearted, playful banter with you, making him realize how boring and dry his afternoons used to be before you became his assignment partner.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to admit that you definitely aren't as bad of an assignment partner as he thought you would be. He even allows you to fill out a whole page all by yourself, which is the biggest compliment he can give you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself playfully flirting with you, smirking smugly when he catches you staring at him when he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "See something you like, princess? Aww, no need to be embarrassed. I know those glasses look sexy on me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves to tease you like that and who ducks just in time when you scream in embarrassment and throw a pen at him while looking so fucking cute that Sukuna just teases you even more.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is quite happy with how your assignment is going. Usually, he would do the whole presentation by himself because he trusts no one else to deliver it the way he wants to, but Sukuna knows how shy you are about talking in front of the class, and Sukuna wants to teach you how to lose that fear.

Nerd!Sukuna, who just smirks at you when you complain loudly, "I can't do that! I am so bad at presenting things. I get all nervous and flustered, and then I mess up. Please do it yourself, Sukuna! You are so much better at this!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you, "If you always run away from everything that scares you, you will never make it in life. So, nope. You will do your part. But aren't you such a lucky girl that you have me as your teacher?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who makes you stand in front of his fridge and practice your presentation over and over again while Sukuna sits on the kitchen chair, long muscular legs spread, tattooed arms crossed in front of his broad chest, occasionally pushing his glasses up as he watches you with an amused expression on his tattooed face, providing a brutal but honest opinion and actually helpful advice.

Nerd!Sukuna, who isn't just an overly critical and perfectionist asshole, but also someone who gives praise when he thinks it is deserved. And you, his cute little assignment partner, really deserve it. Sukuna walks over to you, stopping in front of you with a broad grin, "You did really well, princess. I'm proud of you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who wonders why your pupils look so blown out all of a sudden when you tilt your head to look up at him, stuttering in a slightly breathless voice, "Th... thank you. You were a really good teacher."

Nerd!Sukuna, who laughs and pets your hair as he smirks at you, saying something about how he could teach you lots of other things, too. Not sure anymore whether he is still just teasing you or if he really means it in a sexual way.

Nerd!Sukuna, who realizes he has a little big problem when he starts noticing the way your tits get pushed up and almost spill out of your shirt when you press a stack of books against them. Or when he loses his thread because you decided to wear a sexy little skirt, and now Sukuna can't stop thinking about how cute it would look if you were bouncing on his cock while still wearing that little skirt. Or when you suck on your stupid Hello Kitty pen, and Sukuna can't help but imagine how those sweet glossy lips of yours would feel wrapped around his cock instead.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to suppress those thoughts though, not wanting to mess this assignment up.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels like encountering a world boss in a computer game, when you have a breakdown at his kitchen table, the evening before your presentation, crying and sobbing because you are nervous and convinced you will fuck up. And suddenly, Sukuna finds himself comforting you, gently caressing your arms with his large hands while murmuring reassurance to you. "Hey, stop being a brat. I know you can do it. You learned from the best, after all, didn't you, princess? And you got me. Just look at me the whole time, ok? Nothing bad can happen when you just look at me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who is surprised by how protective he feels over you at that moment. You are sitting in front of him looking like a wet cat, with your eyes all red and swollen from crying and snot running out of your nose, but somehow you still look so fucking cute to him, and somehow you make him so much softer and less rational than he usually is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sighs and growls, "Oh, just come here." sounding annoyed but contradicting it by pulling you into his strong arms and holding you until you feel ok again. Sukuna still complains that you got his shirt wet with your tears, but his words lack the bite.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is genuinely proud of how much you improved when he watches your part of the presentation the next day. He even catches himself smiling a real smile at you when he congratulates you after class.

Nerd!Sukuna, who experiences a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach when you smile back at him and put your small hand on his tattooed biceps, "Thank you, Sukuna. It was really nice working with you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who manages a "same," but then just stands before you, opening his mouth and closing it again, not knowing what else to say because there are too many thoughts racing through his mind, and all of them seem to be too honest. And you do the same, shuffling around shyly, looking at him with wide eyes, parting your lips, but no words come out. And so both of you just lift a hand in an awkward farewell gesture and leave on opposite sides of the hallway.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to tell himself he is glad that your assignment is over and he can work in solitude again but then ends up staring longingly at the empty chair at his kitchen table, where you used to sit those last few weeks.

Aww Sukuna, do you miss us? ;)

I AM VERY ATTRACTED TO HIM AAAHHHH please, Kuna, tell me more about history and physics and every other subject that there is!!! You are so sexy!! 😘😘

Winn's fanart of Nerdkuna made me swoon so much and fall in love with him, and I always picture him as being at the top of classes anyway, so I think it was really time to finally write about him living his best nerdy life.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the headcanons! I will post Part 2 in a few days 💗 Will Kuna find a way to get us back onto his kitchen chair?

It made sense when he surprised you with Yomi’s very own room. He wasn’t sure what to get her for her birthday and decided it would’ve been perfect since she didn’t have one at his house in the first place. The room itself was the complete opposite from the rest of the house, filled with different shades of pink and soft textures– very cottage fairy vibes.

You avoided saying that though, only because he would’ve made fun of you for wording it that way. But it was beautiful, it became the one spot in Sukuna’s dark home that the sun had shone on.

He also revamped the room that was next to hers for you, just in case you didn’t feel completely comfortable with letting her spend the night there alone. He didn’t have to go that far, you would’ve stayed in any room or even the couch, but you appreciated the extra effort. Your room definitely wasn’t as fancy as Ms. Sayomi’s, but you could tell he had you in mind when decorating it. Soft white linen sheets, some art pieces hung up on the wall and a couple of plants laying around. It had a similar vibe to your home.

The party isn’t until Saturday, but you still wanted the day of her actual birthday to be special. You took the day off from work and Sukuna took the day off from practice. Some close family will be coming over a little later for an early dinner. It’ll be your parents, along with Jin, Yuji, his other brother Choso and Choso’s long time girlfriend, Yuki. 

You haven’t met Yuki yet, but you’re fine with having her around your daughter. She’s been with Choso since their freshman year of highschool. Just from what you’ve heard so far, you get the feeling that she won’t be someone temporary in Yomi’s life— something you won’t outwardly say to Sukuna, at least not in that same exact wording. The last thing you need is him getting offended that you still don’t want him to introduce her to Yorozu. 

They’ve been official for a little over three months now, you told yourself that you’ll allow it once they reach the one year mark. And no, you don’t think you’re being harsh on the timeframe, you hold yourself to the same standard as well. You want Sayomi to meet a future step-parent, not a girlfriend or boyfriend. 

You take one last look at your phone before heading downstairs. The closer you get to the staircase, the more your daughter’s laughter fills the air. She’s grown to be quite the daddy’s girl, Sukuna really doesn’t have to do much and she’s already smiling at him. 

“Mm!! Hi mama!” She excitedly greets you when you come into view, it’s the one sentence she can say just about perfectly.

Sukuna’s feeding her breakfast and you're pretty sure he was just eating her food as a “joke”, hence the laughter. 

“Good morning, birthday girl!” You lean down and give her several kisses on the cheek. “Are you eating breakfast with your dad?” 

She tilts her head when she looks at you and babbles some random sequence of words that are only known to her, then finishes it off strong by saying “dada”. 

“Sounds fun babe!” You enthusiastically say, it’s always better to just act like you know. Sukuna ends up laughing, having no idea what the hell she just said either but he likes the passion behind it. 

“Did you sleep good?” He asks in place of a normal greeting, continuing to feed Yomi the rest of her oatmeal. 

“I actually did.” You say, brushing some of the baby’s hair off of her forehead. You’re a little afraid to look anywhere else, Sukuna’s in nothing but a pair of short rugby shorts. You try to not think that everything’s about you, but you’re seriously having a hard time believing he didn’t do this on purpose. 

Whether it was on purpose or not, the one thing you know for sure is that this man is not above accusing others of lusting over him and trying to objectify him– all it takes is a glance while Sukuna’s in a silly goofy mood.

“What about you two? Did she wake up super early today?” 

“She woke up so fucking early,” he sighs and complains. “She got up at 5:00 am, so I gave her a bottle–”

“Did you measure it correctly?”

“Who knows, she’ll survive.” He waves off your concerns and continues. “Anyways, I gave her a bottle and took her back to my room. We both fell back asleep, then she woke me up at 8:00 am by picking my fuckin’ nose.” 

“That’s so gross Yomi, he has germs up there.” You squish her cheeks and tease her. 

“She would not be here right now if you thought I had germs.” He murmurs, feeding her the last spoonful of her food. 

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” 

The day goes by slowly. You end up having to go back to your house real quick to grab a couple things, like makeup since you forgot it for some reason. Other than you brief trip home, the three of you lounged around up until family members started showing up. 

The first to arrive was Sukuna’s side. As always, Yuji’s excited to see his baby cousin. No introductions were needed for Jin and Choso since you’ve already met them, so you introduce yourself to Yuki and spend some time getting to know her.

She was also nice enough to bring a smash cake for Sayomi, something that you and Sukuna slightly felt guilty about since you both completely forgot a cake and candles. 

You don’t even know how it slipped your mind– probably happened because her actual party is on a different day and this is literally your first time celebrating your child’s birthday. 

You quickly let it go after Sukuna told you a lot of kids in this world don’t get to have cake on their birthdays. In that moment you truly understood why he is the way he is.

Your parents arrive around an hour later. They don’t bother providing an explanation, even with Sukuna glaring at them as he patiently waited for one. Ever since they retired, they’ve started to run off of their own time, a.k.a it’s not 6:00 pm unless they say it is.

It’s kind of funny when you think about it, but you still feel bad for the people that have actual appointments with them. The only reason why your mom shows up to her workout classes on time is because they threatened to kick her out for constantly showing up late. 

Well deserved in your opinion, but you kept it to yourself. 

Even with how.. particular your parents can be, everyone gets along surprisingly well. As expected, they really liked Jin, but it was Choso that ended up capturing their hearts. They even made a comment about how they’d adopt him if they could.

Unfortunately Sukuna, who was already drinking, overheard that.

It’s one of those days where you’re not sure if he’s being serious or not. You were leaning towards him being serious since they gushed over all the guests, except him. He also started listing off reasons why he’s better than all of them, and since it’s Sukuna, he never ran out of reasons. 

It’s impressive how obsessed he is with himself.

“Do you guys want a refill?” Choso gestured at your parent’s empty glasses, interrupting Sukuna and giving him another reason in his head. 

“On top of that, I don’t interrupt others, especially when it comes to proving to others that I respect my elders.” Sukuna continues to ramble, he was also way more fucked up than he was when he first started. “Which is ageist, or however the fuck you pronounce it. Listen– mom, dad– I don’t care about how old someone is, there is no age limit to getting your ass beat.”

“Did you just call me an elder, Sukuna?” Your dad asks, deciding that getting called old was far more concerning than Sukuna basically saying his hands were rated E for everyone. 

“Me? Never!” He tries not to laugh as he begins to twist the narrative. “Choso said that shit, not me.”

“I never said that!” Choso defends himself. But it’s too late, Sukuna was going to win this argument by any means necessary. 

“You didn’t have to say it, you showed them that you thought they were old by offering to refill their drinks.” He turns away from your parents and smirks at his brother who was just trying to be nice. “They’re strong, independent people. Their arms aren’t go to break off by pouring themselves a well deserved drink for being the best grandparents in the world.” 

“Wow.” You turn to look at your parents who are floored by how he just doesn’t shut up when he’s drunk. “He holds you guys in such high regard yet you couldn’t even buy him his first pair of earrings.”

“Don’t you start with us now too.” Your dad says, you couldn’t tell if it was a warning or plea. 

“God forbid women have hobbies.” 

“Giving your father a headache is not a hobby.” He scolds you, he doesn’t get too far since you start laughing. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop, I’m done.” 

“Good ‘cause I was just getting started.” You already know who said this.

After chugging two massive glasses of water and listening to his daughter have a meltdown that he’s convinced was for fucking fun, Sukuna sobers up. You all decide it’s the perfect time to do a test run for the smash cake. She’s going to eat some of course, but everyone’s more interested in seeing how Sayomi would react to a group of people singing happy birthday to her. It might not be the most accurate result since there will be almost a hundred people at your house on Saturday, but it doesn’t hurt to try. 

So you guys give it a try. She’s slumped back in her high chair, staring at the cake like it’s more of an inconvenience than it is a delectable treat. Sukuna tries to tickle her neck and she just frowns and slaps his hand away.

But no tears. This is good. 

Her expression changes when you light the candle on top, making her a little more interested than before.

“Mama no?” She asks and you nod. 

“That’s right babe, no.” 

She points at the lit candle, “no?”

“No.” You say again, she seems to get it. Even if she didn’t and eventually tried to grab at it, you were close enough to stop her. “No touching, that’ll give you an ouchie.”

After fully explaining why fire was bad and doubting she understood or even listened, you moved on to the moment everyone’s been waiting for— the singing.

It’s kind of ridiculous how far you all would go to see what her emotional limit is, but you’re left with no other choice. On any other day, it’d be fine— cry your fucking heart out. But it’s her first birthday party, you’d rather not bring her to the point where she gets in one of her moods and then sleeps for the entirety of the day. If it’s something avoidable like not singing happy birthday or keeping balloons away from you, you’ll do it. 

It goes well at first, she doesn’t seem to care, but something bothers you. 

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“Can you sing along with everyone?”

“No.” He responds stubbornly, crossing his arms as if it’d prove a point. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t like singing.”

“You’re singing happy birthday,” you scoff at him. “You don’t have to hit Mariah Carey notes to properly sing it.” 

“I don’t care. I gave her a room that’s bigger than some peoples homes, the fuck does she need me to sing to her for?” 

…

Not only did Sukuna sing beautifully, but Sayomi also didn’t cry for all the 12 times you’ve rehearsed the song. She even smiled at one point, so you have high hopes for Saturday. Everyone was quick to go home after that, which is understandable. You all had lost track of time, it was already pushing 9:00 pm when you brought the cake out.

You were the last to leave since you had to pack up all the stuff you had brought for the overnight stay, but there was no rush. Yomi was already fast asleep in Sukuna’s arms, so you were able to take your time making sure you didn’t forget anything important.

“You sure you two can’t spend the night again?” He asks as you walk toward the driveway. 

“I can’t, my parents are staying with me for two nights.” You remind him once again, too tired to even get frustrated at having to repeat yourself. 

He most likely does remember and just thinks he can talk you into it.

“So?” He chuckles, genuinely not understanding why that’s an issue.

“They’re staying with me because they want to spend that time with her.” You hold back a smile from how you actually have to break it down for him. “They want to see her at night before she sleeps and they want to eat their breakfast with her in the mornings. I doubt they’d stay if the house was empty.”

“That’s dumb but alright.” He mutters, placing a kiss on Yomi’s head right after. “Gonna feel empty here.”

“Are you still tipsy?” You ask, looking at him with slight disbelief.

“Maybe.” He says in response, yet the long pause beforehand tells you yes. “I’ve said worse than saying my house feels empty while drunk.”

“I believe that.” You end up smiling when thinking about how he tried to turn your parents and Choso into enemies. “I’m surprised you’re saying that in the first place. I doubt it’ll feel empty here if you invited your girlfriend over.” 

The suggestion brings genuine laughter to the man, eventually having to cover his mouth for a moment because Yomi began fussing around in his arms. 

“Say her name.” 

“Why would you want me to do that?” You immediately shoot him an annoyed look.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say her name before.” The smile on his face is way too warm for someone that’s just realized something like that. “It’s always ‘your girlfriend’ or just her pronouns.” 

“I think you’re thinking too much into it.” You laugh with him. “I wouldn’t even know how to confirm or deny that, it’s never crossed my mind.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, not caring that much if it were true or not. “But yeah, I could invite her over.”

“You should.”

“Definitely should.” He easily agrees. “Probably won’t though.”

“Don’t complain about being lonely then.” You softly scold him. The way you said it makes him realize hasn’t felt this much warmth from you in years. 

Having her here wouldn’t fix that. 

He probably shouldn’t say that. 

It’s not the same as having you two here.

He probably shouldn’t say that either. 

It would never make a difference in the way you see him. 

“I know.” He ends up saying, then forces out a low laugh. “I probably just need sleep.”

“I think so too.” You end up taking Yomi into your arms and begin walking to your car, he follows right behind out of habit. “You’re not used to someone waking you up so much in the morning.”

“M’not– I’ll get used to it though.” He says, watching you put her into the car seat. 

His chest tightens a little more than usual this time around as he watches you gentle secure the rest of the straps.

“It’s fine if you don’t, I never did.” You let out a little sigh after stepping away from the backseat. “It’s just easy to get over it because she’s cute.” 

“She's the cutest,” he chuckles and shuts the backseat door. “I might be a little busy tomorrow, so if I don’t get the chance to visit then I’ll just see you Saturday morning.”

“Sounds good. Have a goodnight.” You offer him a little smile before getting in the car.

“You too.” He can’t find it in himself to smile back right now, but allows his eyes to linger on you a little longer. It’s the one thing you don’t get on him for and hopes you continue to just let him have it. 

As pathetic as it sounds, it’s all he has left.

—

“Nice of you to come out the night before your daughter's party.” It’s one of the first things Suguru says after you finally sit down and look at the menus. 

It was a new restaurant in the area that has quickly gained popularity from their food and laid back ambiance. It was still fancier than most, but one you could definitely relax and enjoy your dinner in. 

“You have no idea how much I needed this.” You admit, sounding more than relieved to be here with him. “It’s been such a long week trying to get ahead with work just so I could take some extra days off for Yomi.” 

“I bet.” He chuckles. “How’s work been for you?” 

“It’s doing good! I have 2 potential clients that reached out this month. I'm considering hiring an intern for extra help and to see what having an employee would be like.” 

“Why an intern? Just so you can say goodbye without feeling bad if you end up not liking it?” 

“That’s exactly why.” You laugh with him. “It’d be good for them too, they’d be getting the experience and a nice letter of recommendation for wherever they’d want to go next.” 

“That would be good for them.” He agrees and takes a sip of his drink. He’s a whiskey on the rocks kind of guy and you don’t know how he does it. “I remember getting so stressed out trying to land a good internship while I was in college, I never want to go through that again.” 

“Did you end up getting a decent one?” 

“More than decent, it was one of the top ten financial firms in the country.” He reveals, acting a little shy about it. “But my manager was such a fucking dick.” 

“That sucks, I'm sorry. I feel like it’s more common than not. I had 2 during college and 1 right after and they were all really rude. I just stuck through it to fluff up my resume.” 

“Yeah, same here—“

“Here you go, Sir.” A waitress ends up interrupting the conversation to drop off your plates. “And here’s yours Ma’am. Was there anything I could get you two before I step away?” 

“Yeah, a refill on this please.” He says, sliding his empty glass over to her. “Want more wine?” 

“Yeah sure.” You smile and slide the empty glass over to her. “Same as the last one please.” 

“Of course, I’ll be back with those shortly.” 

The rest of the dinner is kind of just that— small talk with some personal stories sprinkled into the mix.

You try not to talk about your daughter too much during dates. You make it known that she's your everything, but you’ve found that it’s nice to take a break from talking about things like milestones and teething.

Or the crippling anxiety you get whenever you think about how dangerous the world can be, and that you can try your best to protect her from it, but you’ll reach a time where you can’t and that terrifies you. 

But that’s a conversation that you save for your family and therapist. 

Suguru isn’t the first guy you’ve gone on dates with, but the one thing that’s made him stand out from the others is how he doesn’t seem to care that you’re a mom. 

He knows you’re busy a lot of the time and isn’t pushy when it comes to seeing you. He’s never made any backhanded comments about your life being ruined, like a couple of men have said in the past. You also like that he asks questions about her and seems genuinely curious, instead of asking just to be nice. 

Are you trying to find Sayomi a stepdad? Not really. You’re just having fun. Going out on dates and having girls nights for a couple hours, 3-4 times a month has helped you feel like yourself again in a short amount of time. 

It’s not like you bring people home to meet your daughter, so there was no harm in having some nights out. 

As you both begin to walk through the dining room, Suguru takes your hand in his and it’s oddly nice. You’ve slept with him a couple times before, but your internal reaction to something as innocent as having your hand held made you realize how touch starved you truly were. 

But the night is young, you’ll have time later to sulk about how lonely you feel sometimes. 

The cold air immediately hits you when you two step outside. Springs deceiving as always— you find yourself sweating at some parts of the day, then barely able to talk from how violent you shiver at night. 

Except the usual feeling of wanting to run into a car with a heater on full blast fades away when you get a glimpse of pink hair and mass walking up to you from the corner of your eye. 

This man couldn’t sneak up on anybody no matter how hard he tried. 

The moment you turn to face him, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. When he first saw you walking out of the restaurant, he wasn’t quite sure if it was you or not. 

He hasn’t seen you dressed up in almost 2 years. The times that he actually has shouldn’t even count since he’d rip the clothes right off of you, leaving you bare for him to enjoy. 

Then you got a little closer. Instead of your words, he was able to hear only the sound of your voice. You obviously don’t use it on him because you don’t like him anymore— for whatever fucking reason— but you used to use that same exact tone with him. 

He doesn’t even completely realize what he’s doing until Yorozu’s following behind him, asking where he’s going— and he suddenly realizes he’s walking straight over to you. 

There’s no plan in mind, there’s barely any thoughts except for what are you doing here and who did you leave his little girl with. 

“Oh, Sukuna!” is all you can fucking come up with right now. You two obviously aren’t together but you can’t help but feel like you got caught doing something bad, especially with the way he was looking at you. “Surprised to see you here, have you been here bef—“

“Where the fuck is Sayomi?” He cuts you off with a question that sounded more like an accusation. He didn’t even bother to introduce the woman he’s with or introduce himself to the man you’re with. 

He doesn't give a fuck about either right now, all he can see right now is you as he began to seethe.

“At home?” You let out a light laugh, mainly from how uncomfortable you’ve become in record fucking time. He makes it seem like she’s all alone at home or waiting in the car for you while you finish your date. “She’s spending time with her grandparents right now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He continues to question you, looking back at Suguru once before going back to glare at you. He takes a small step forward and Yorozu lightly wraps her hand around his arm, you’re not sure if it’s an attempt to calm him down or hold him back. “I thought you were with her this whole time.”

“I didn’t know I had to.” You begin to defend yourself, but he just starts laughing, it makes it hard to continue speaking but you do anyway. People are starting to look and you don’t need him to cause a scene. “Are you mad? She’s safe at home right now.”

“Of course I’m fucking mad!” He begins to raise his voice, taking another step closer. “You didn’t fucking tell me other people were watching her tonight!”

“What do you mean other people?! They’re my parents!”

“That’s not fucking point! I thought you were with her this entire time!” There’s a strain in his voice as he begins to fully unload on you, it causes Suguru to step forward and hold his arm out in front of you. He doesn’t know what Sukuna’s like, you haven’t given him too many details, but with the way Sukuna’s looking at you right now, he’s fully prepared to block him from getting to you.

Seeing that pisses off Sukuna even more. 

“I don’t see the fucking issue, Sukuna!” You throw your arms out in defeat, “I don’t even see why I should be telling you where I’m going.”

“Babe, it's okay.” Yorozu steps in and tries to get him to relax, he drank a little bit before coming here, he could do anything right now. “I’m sure Sayomi’s safe.”

“No, no— YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT!” He suddenly snaps at her, before pointing his finger at you. “Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t give a FUCK about what you do or where you go. What I care about is where MY DAUGHTER is and who she’s with. This whole fucking time I thought she was with her mother! I don’t care how simple it seems to you, I need to know that kind of shit!”

The whole street’s looking at this point and you swear you’ve never felt smaller. Sukuna continues to release years worth of anger on you, all while his girlfriend continues to try to soothe him while throwing little glares at you, and you just continue to shrink beside Suguru, who did not sign up for this shit tonight. 

“Jesus fucking christ– OKAY! I’m sorry, I’ll fucking tell you next time!” You yell back. “I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal.” 

“That’s his daughter, of course it’s a big deal.” Yorozu says, backing him up. Your eyes almost widen in surprise— you weren’t expecting her to say anything at all, now she’s trying to make you look worse than he already is. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Are you fucking serious right now?” You grimace and take a step forward, but you end up getting stopped by Suguru who still has his arm out in defense. 

He wasn’t planning on saying anything, letting the parents sort this through and all, but even he reached his breaking point after seeing that the girlfriend was ready to go at it with you. Sukuna didn’t look like he was going to do anything about it anytime soon either. 

“Listen man.” Suguru turns to him, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “We get where you’re coming from, we understand. I can promise you she didn’t have any bad intentions behind this.”

Sukuna laughs then stares him dead in the eye, clearly not really to settle down just yet. “Who the fuck is we? ‘Cause last time I checked, it was her that hid a child from me for almost an entire fucking year and I doubt anything like that’s ever fucking happened to you. So tell me, do you actually fucking understand? NO.” He then turns back to you, “And now you’re keeping shit from me again, is this just who you fucking are?!” 

“No it’s not! I already said it wouldn’t happen again!” You cut him off in frustration and your eyes slowly become glossier and glossier. “I apologized, Sukuna! I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“It sounds like you’re just trying to get him to shut up!” Yorozu says. “You were defensive from the start and don’t sound remorseful at all.” 

“How do you expect me to act when it was him that immediately started attacking me?! He could’ve talked to me about this in private but he chose to yell at me in public.” 

“He wasn’t attacking you, he was worried about where his daughter was since you never told him you were leaving her with other people.” She refutes. 

“Okay ms. Sukuna whisperer,” you mutter and laugh. She literally just repeated everything he said. “I’m sure he’s real worried from how he’s letting his fucking girlfriend fight in his place.” 

“I’m my own fuckin’ person, sweetheart.” He chuckles, “no one’s fighting in my place.” 

“Coming to your defense then.” You roll your eyes as you correct yourself. “Something a grown fucking man does not need, yet here we are.” 

“That’s what couples do.” He says bitterly. 

“Oh, I’m sure. Tell me, do couples also blow up every others fucking phones when they don’t get a text within 5 minutes?”

“Or how about that one time you wanted to spend the day with Yomi after she got her ears pierced and you couldn’t because someone else was demanding your attention?”

“You couldn’t even use your phone because of how many calls you were getting back to back!”

Crickets.

“Nothing? Okay! I’ll let you two go then, so you can enjoy being a normal couple.” The look you give Suguru immediately tells him that you’re ready to go and begins to step back, waiting for you to take the lead. 

“Back to your boyfriend's house then, huh?” Sukuna continues to throw jabs, showing you once again that he just likes to fight.

You tried so hard to get away from him, so hard to avoid being on the receiving end of his anger, yet here you are. He doesn’t even let you walk away.

You were fucked since the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

You take one big deep breath, trying to get it together because Suguru had already seen enough. Sukuna and Yorozu have also had the pleasure of watching you lose your temper. The small attempt to calm yourself does nothing to soothe the burn in your eyes, you eventually blink away the tears that have slowly built up within the last 10 minutes and they steadily flow down your cheeks.

Fuck. 

If only they knew this was all from frustration and not fear or remorse. You don’t regret a thing you said. 

“No.” You finally respond to his question. “My mood’s ruined and I don’t feel like staying out and making it everyone else's problem, I’m not like you.”

“So now it’s my fault?” He asks, getting defensive all over again. 

“No.” Your voice slightly raises and you sniffle right after. “It’s mine– I don’t communicate enough, I hide things from you, I have the fucking audacity to defend myself when it comes to you. How dare I try to do that after all I’ve done to you?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“No, I don’t know, but I felt it.” Your voice slightly trembles. “You take any chance you can get to remind me how much of a piece of shit I am. Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like had I never left you and I don’t think it’d be any different from this.”

You finally begin to walk away from the two, with Suguru following along. Sukuna tried to say some other things to you, but it was all muffled out. Maybe it was from some of the wine you drank, or maybe it was just the pent up frustration you’ve been having since he came back into your life. Whatever it was, you didn’t hear a word he said, nor did you care anymore at this point. 

Suguru was the one that picked you up, but you decided to take an uber back home. The last thing you wanted to do was unpack everything that just happened on the car ride back. You were also just plain embarrassed, Suguru never knew about the full story of you hiding Yomi away from her father. 

The birthday party was less than 24 hours away, you needed the time alone to relax and prepare yourself to deal with all the people that were attending it.

—

As expected, the morning was hectic. The planner and her assistants got to your house at 9:00 A.M sharp and got to work decorating the main areas of the house and backyard. You didn’t even know what to expect, you told her to do whatever she pleased, so you’re in for just as much of a surprise as everyone else. 

Your only job for today was getting Sayomi fed and dressed in her frilly little birthday dress. She seemed to love it with the way she kept grabbing at it and smiling, but she hated the matching headband. You didn’t even bother putting it back on after she ripped it off, you ended up tying half of her hair up and adding a little accessory. 

When you finally walk back down the stairs, everything’s pretty much done— the balloon decorations, flower arrangements, snack tables, different food stations. You momentarily interrupt your moms conversation with her to quickly thank her for everything, god knows you could never transform a space the way she could. 

You didn’t even have the time for that.

The guests started rolling in at noon, with each person that arrived, the more you dreaded her Sukuna’s arrival. The good thing about him is that he doesn’t seem to tell his family much about the tumultuous relationship you’ve have the past three months, so you’re sure it’ll be easier to act normal around him with his brothers and Yuki around. 

The entire family shows up around 30 minutes after the party officially started and of course, your child’s father manages to steal all the attention.

He’s tall and built to begin with, imagine all the looks he got when he stepped into your home with a white button up, rolled up at the sleeves and the top buttons undone to show off his chains. On top of that, his grey slacks were perfectly tailored and his hair was neatly styled. You’d think it would all clash, but it somehow worked with his ear piercings and eyebrow slits. 

You don’t look for too long though, he was already getting enough attention from everyone else. You hardly acknowledge him at all, actually. 

The first one to greet you was Yuji. The sweet boy was already bouncing off the walls, ready to go outside and play with the other kids. But he also had manners, making sure to give you and Yomi a hug and kiss on the cheek. Next were Jin, Choso, and Yuki, which you greeted and gave a hug to in that exact same order. 

By the time you reached Yuki, Sukuna was looking at you expectantly, but you ended up turning back around and leading the three to where all the food was.

Peace doesn’t exist though when you have a child, your sweet baby girl proved that to you within those 10 minutes.

“Dada,” Yomi says to you and points at him, as you’re walking into the kitchen. 

“You wanna go to Dada?” You ask, moving some hair out of her face, not bothering to look up at him. 

“Mm.” She lightly nods, looking at Sukuna excitedly. 

“Okay.” You smile before side eyeing the man. “Here.” 

Without protest, he takes her. He’s honestly been waiting for you to hand her over, not completely sure if you’d say yes if he asked. He wasn’t even sure if you were going to allow him to come after last night, but figured it was alright since you never texted him telling him to fuck off. 

Sukuna spent the rest of the day being pulled away by a bunch of relatives and family friends– out of sight and mainly out of your mind. A lot of those who approached him tried to use the birthday girl as an excuse to go up to him, but you knew they just wanted to finally meet the mystery man that fathered her. A part of you wondered how some of those conversations went. The topic about who Sayomi’s father was is a topic that everyone avoided, even just asking about it was a big no-no. So you can imagine it to be a lot of mental gymnastics trying to talk about it, you never even gave people an explanation as to how or why he’s in her life now. 

It’s not until you have to sing Happy Birthday when you have to interact with him. You almost want to laugh when he turns the corner and you see how blissfully unaware your daughter is of what she’s about to have to deal with. 

You were able to set aside your differences for a minute when he also acknowledged how much she was going to hate this. She may not have reacted much on her actual birthday, but now she’s essentially in a room filled with strangers.

“Should one of us hold her while they sing it?” He asks, lightly bouncing her in his arm as if getting her in the best mood would make her fall from grace less steep. 

You shake your head, “that’s never stopped her from having a meltdown.” 

“Right.” 

He cautiously set her down into the high chair, where there’s a purple princess cake in front of her that’s waiting to be lit. She’s fine at first, her attention’s on the cake, not the crowd in front of her. 

It’s after only a few seconds of singing where she slowly drops her happy demeanor, her face turns into one you’d make if you were all alone in a room and something randomly moves.

Complete terror of the unknown. 

The worst is when she looks at you or her dad, she thinks crying is going to get her out of this situation so her bottom lip starts to quiver the longer you two go without getting her the hell out of there. 

Too bad Sukuna was determined to keep her in that goddamn chair, so he takes a little frosting off the top of the cake and quickly swipes it over her lips. 

Usually she’d be offended by something like that happening, but her mood quickly turns around when stops pouting and actually tries it. She eventually starts kicking her feet around and pointing at the dessert, asking for more. 

Singing happy birthday was a success, it ended with Yomi clapping her hands along with everyone else while chewing on her newest favorite food.

You gave her all the time in the world to eat however much of it she wanted, you were taking pictures after and needed her to look as happy as possible. 

And it all went fine, at least up until the very end. You were so worried about Sayomi this entire time that you never considered what were some of the things that could’ve gotten on your nerves today, aside from looking at Sukuna’s face.

“Okay, now let’s get a picture with both mom and dad!” Your dad’s sister, who’s never once in her life been able to read a room, exclaims. 

You try to look at anywhere else but Sukuna’s direction after hearing that, it was so painfully obvious to him, only because he’s the only one that knew about what went down last night.

After everything, he still wanted to take a photo together as a family, even though he’s starting to accept that the three of you will probably never truly be one, especially after what happened last night.

But still, he puts his pride aside.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, holding his arm out for you. 

You obviously go up to him, not wanting to give away any signs that there were issues between you two, allowing him to pull you into his side and throw his free arm around you. 

“Hi mama!” Your daughter flashes you a dopey grin– doesn’t matter if she hasn’t seen you in 2 minutes or 2 hours, she’s been greeting you each time she sees you and it makes your heart melt.

She makes the picture taking a little better, she’s more giddy than usual because of the sugar content that was in her cake— she’s probably in outerspace right now. Hopefully her energy crash isn’t that bad at bedtime, but it’s her birthday. She’ll do it if she wants to. 

Her pathetic father had some hopes that you’d rest your hand on his chest or something for the photo— just seems kind of natural to do so, but you take your daughter's hand instead. 

At least it made a cute photo. Sayomi will look back and never know just how cold and distant you felt in his arms at that moment.

—

The last people to leave your house are your parents. They love staying over and seeing Sayomi, but miss the peace and quiet of their own home, so they decided tonight's the night they finally go back home. 

Is a two day stay a lot? 

For them it is.

It’s not something to take personally, if you absolutely needed them, they’d be here for you in a heartbeat. 

It’s not until you walk into the cluttered kitchen and realized you’re not alone. You find Sukuna standing over the kitchen island, quietly trying to open a bottle of wine.

“Didn’t know you were still here.” You mutter, taking his attention off the stubborn cork. 

“Probably because you spent the whole day ignoring me.” He says while finally opening the damn thing. The room’s quiet as he pours you a glass and slides it over to you. “Can’t blame you though.” 

“You sure? You don’t seem to mind blaming me for everything else.” You say, taking a seat in front of him and pulling the wine glass closer to you. You’re not even taking jabs at him anymore, you genuinely meant it, which makes him feel worse.

He doesn’t respond to that out of guilt and leans forward on the counter. He doesn’t even know where to start right now, he was an asshole to everyone last night. But if he were to be completely honest, he doesn’t care much about how he made Suguru and Yorozu feel last night. He was out for blood the moment he saw you stepping out of the restaurant, he would’ve snapped on anyone. 

And since he’s being honest with himself right now, he wanted to hurt you. Right now he’s just trying to figure out if last night's anger was how he truly felt or if that was just his final straw to an already bad day. 

He didn’t even want to go out last, his girlfriend just wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. He was tired and wanted to rest up since he had planned on being here the entire day. Lately, Yorozu’s been taking his “no’s” as suggestions and it’s so much easier just giving in sometimes. 

He glances at you and you’re already looking at him, raising your brows at him. He knows it’s your nonverbal way of saying “fucking get on with it”. 

“After missing all that time with Yomi…” He begins to explain himself, carefully choosing his words because he wants you to understand. Right now he’d rather you understand why he reacted that way he did, instead of forgiving him. “Not knowing what’s going on with her triggers the fuck out of me. I don’t know.. I– when I was getting ready to go out and on my way to the restaurant, I had this idea that you two were at home together and realizing I was wrong made me lose it. I trust your parents, but if you told me you were going out, I would’ve cancelled my plans and hung out with her.”

“Are you saying you got mad because you got fomo?” 

He lightly chuckles at the word choice. “It sounds so stupid when you break it down in your own words, but yeah, that’s kinda what happened.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” You assure him, it’s probably hard enough having to explain himself after the scene he caused. “I would’ve asked, but you usually have date nights with Yorozu on Fridays, so I never thought to ask.” 

“I’d never choose a date night over spending time with Sayomi.” His voice drops an octave as says those words in all seriousness. “I’m also really sorry for the way she tried to get into our business like that.”

“Can’t blame her, you made it her business the moment you decided you were going to call me out in front of her. Same with Suguru.” 

Fair enough.

“Still shouldn’t have let her talk to you like that.”

“Did you even try to say something to her after I left?” You murmur, twisting the glass around by its stem. “Or does she think she can start arguing with me whenever we fight, because that’s what couples do?”

“We fought over that after you left.” He reveals, his expression grew a little more stressed as he continued. “I told her if she ever pulls some shit like that again, it’s over.” 

You were aware of how heated their arguments could get, so when he tells you they’re bad, you don’t take it lightly. You fully believe him when he says they stayed up until 1:00 am fighting over the fact that he never wanted her to speak to you like that again and how she constantly countered it by saying she was just defending him.

It barely got resolved, she just barely stopped arguing with him when he threatened to break up with her. 

He was so fed up at the end that he even called her an uber home, all he wanted at that point was to be alone— his head hurt, voice all raspy from yelling too. Yet he stayed up for another hour or two just staring at the ceiling and listening to nothing but the faint breeze outside, wondering what the fuck was he even doing with his life.

You hum in response, you’re not sure if his threat is overkill or not, but it makes you feel slightly better. Enough to be okay with her meeting your daughter after a year? Nope. 

“Well thanks, I guess.” You say nonetheless. 

“Yeah…” He takes a deep breath. “I really am sorry. I can apologize to your date too if you want.” 

You almost laugh at the suggestion, he sounds so remorseful, it’s not very fitting of him. “No need— he ended things with me.”

His jaw might as well be on the floor from how shocked he is to hear that. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Mhm.” You say, letting how bad he fucked up sink in for him.

“Fuck.” He puts his head down and lets out a low curse. “I’m so sorry… what did he say?”

“He texted me when I got home, saying something along the lines of how my situation was a lot to handle, and that I deserved someone that didn’t feel that way.” You finish the rest of the wine in the glass after saying that. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned. Heavy lids, brows slightly furrowed, he looks guilty as hell.

“Honestly… yeah. We only dated for three months, I only saw him a couple times a month too. I feel like he would’ve seen something else anyways and backed out.” You’d obviously like for Sukuna to feel bad about it for a while, but it’s the truth. You and Suguru wouldn’t have worked out to begin with. When you two first started talking, he thought that Yomi’s dad was out of the picture— a lot has changed since then. 

Then you bring in one of Sukuna’s record breaking meltdowns, you understand the guy.

Which also leads you to another thing. 

“Listen… you’re always going to have some sort of resentment towards me and I understand that.” You say, breaking the silence. “But I don’t want to spend the next seventeen years having you throw that in my face whenever I do something wrong. I think it’s time that we start thinking about splitting custody with her.”

You obviously haven’t had enough time to think about it, but it’d be easy, especially with how she has her own room at his house now. It’s not like he was bad at taking care of her anyways. If you stop breastfeeding her now, she could probably spend her weekends with him and be perfectly fine.

“What? No, I don’t want that.” He immediately rejects the suggestion, slightly hurt over it. “I don’t want to take her away from you, I’d rather just visit when I can.” 

“And what if I don’t want that?” You argue back. “The last thing I want is for you to teach her that it’s okay to treat me like that. I’ll admit that what I did was a thousand times worse, but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like a punching bag whenever you get triggered over something.”

“I’ve never done any of that in front of her!” He tries to reason with you, but deep down he knows it’s not enough.  

“There’s always the possibility that you will. Look, I’m trying to make it easier on all of us. If me not being around you helps you heal from all of this, then I’m glad to do it.” You continue to explain, but it just falls on deaf ears. 

Yeah, you two have your bad moments, but when it’s good, it’s really good. You two are able to laugh together, easily make decisions over Yomi together. He enjoys being with you— the both of you. 

“You make it seem like I get pissed at the sight or thought of you, I don’t! Last night was just a bad day, I didn’t even want to go out in the first place–” 

You cut him off from going on a rant. “I obviously don’t want you to have bad days, but that’s not my problem, you can’t just use that as fuel to lose your shit on me.”

“I know that.” He murmurs and sighs. 

“And I know that you feel bad and mean it when you apologize, but you need to work on yourself— whether it’s therapy or making some other life change. I can’t keep listening to you apologizing.” 

Therapy? 

You see the weary look he gives you for bringing that up, but he can’t even deny that it’s probably a good option at this point. He already had his own problems to begin with, having a child just makes it all worse. It doesn’t matter how good he is to Sayomi either, she’ll grow up to see how mad he gets when things don’t go his way, you don’t want her learning from that.

“So if I get therapy, you’ll…” He waits for you to finish the sentence. 

“Do nothing. We can keep doing what we're doing. It works, I just can’t have you treating me the way you did last night.” You lean back in the seat and cross your arms. 

He apprehensively looks at you for a bit, not sure if you’re telling the truth. You’re oddly calm for someone that just threatened to remove herself from his life if he didn’t get help.

He’d think you’d be a little bit more emotional about this, but then remembers you’re mentally and emotionally capable of leaving someone without a word. 

“I did all my crying last night.” You say, he just realized he’d muttered that last sentence to himself. 

“M’sorry about that too.” He easily apologizes again. “About all of it, I feel like a fuckin’ asshole.”

You look down at the empty wine glass, which he quickly fills up for you as a part of his final apology, and can’t help but feel guilty at how much remorse he’s showing right now.  

What are you so afraid of? 

It’s not like I’d hide her away from you.

At least now.

But he doesn’t know that, hiding her from him is all that he knows. If only you could be a little more selfless, allow him to make you feel the same way you made him feel at one point. 

An eye for an eye. 

You doubt it’d stop there, there’d be no truce— you’d destroy each other completely.

“Try not to be so hard on yourself.” You take another sip of the freshly filled glass, it makes looking him in the eye a little easier. “I made you this way.”

You absolutely fucking did, he refrains from saying and instead just looks at you back. He’s recently come to realize that this is something you struggle with too, you don’t say it but he sees it whenever he’s having a good time with Yomi. You look happy one minute, then the next you wipe the smile off your face. It’s almost as if you don’t allow yourself to have that experience with them, like you don’t deserve it. 

“We just need to find a way to move on from it.” You say, wrapping up the last of the words you had for him. 

“You’re right.” He’s been holding his breath enough that it’s shaky when he finally exhales. “I’ll uh– I’ll reach out to someone on Monday.”

“Okay.” It comes out so light, it’s almost a whisper. It’s a hard conversation to have, you weren’t expecting him to make it so easy. “Can I ask you something?”

Hearing the answer would probably make you feel worse, but it’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to ask him. 

“Does it have something to do with when we were together?”

“Yeah.” 

“It’s better if you don’t ask, you’re hard enough on yourself as is.” He says, giving you back your own advice. You already know you caused enough pain by jumping to your own conclusions about him, hearing the truth from him was just unnecessary at this point. “How were you supposed to know how I felt about you when I never told you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

The only times he's texted you back then were to see when you’d be free for him, you looked like a booty call on paper. It was stupid of him to think you’d stick around just because he was nice to you. He should’ve taken you out more, called you when he had free time, let you know he missed you whenever you weren’t around. 

It’s not that he was scared, he was just stupid. He genuinely thought you’d just feel it, but you clearly don’t trust your gut. He’ll always wish he told you he loved you, he’d probably be getting ready to go to bed with you right now if he said it all that time ago. 

He looks at his phone to check the time and realizes he’s overstayed his welcome. Not that he’s complaining, you two got somewhere from it. A mutual understanding almost. Maybe he’ll finally be able to have his first decent night of sleep since he saw you at the park that day.

But who is he kidding? 

Mutual understandings don’t mean shit to a man that is unfortunately in love. 

“Do you wanna sleep in the guest bedroom that’s here downstairs?” You suddenly offer after seeing him check the time. He didn’t live far, but it’d probably be nice if he skipped the driving for tonight. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks, skimming through his missed texts. 

“No. I’m sure Yomi would like seeing you in the morning too.”

He chuckles and puts his phone away. “I’d hope so.” 

He tried so hard to hate you, but the love he’s always had for you has sadly grown since being back in your life again. 

And no, you don’t try to deliberately hurt the people you love, like how he did last night. But like what you said, you made him this way, and now he’s stuck having to fix that part of himself. 

What’s worse is he’s happy to do it if that means he gets to stay around you, because you will never be too much for him to handle. He chose the baby in a heartbeat, if only you knew he’d choose you just as fast too.

His phone buzzes again once he’s finally comfortable in the guest bedroom you offered him. For once, he’s not annoyed when he checks it. 

[7:05 p.m] Yor: How did the birthday party go? 

[8:45 p.m] Yor: Did she give you a hard time over what happened last night?

[8:50 p.m] Sukuna: No

[8:55 p.m] Yor: That’s good. Can I come over? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

[8:58 p.m] Sukuna: I wanna be alone rn. ill talk to you tomorrow

notes:

i just wanted to leave this here and the direct quote below for anyone that’s a little confused/needs clarification on what sukuna got mad about during this chapter. he went almost a full year of not knowing he had a child, he has trauma from that. he’s fine with reader going out and doing whatever, he just wants to know where the baby is and who she left the baby with ‼️

“After missing all that time with Yomi…Not knowing what’s going on with her triggers the fuck out of me. I don’t know.. I– when I was getting ready to go out and on my way to the restaurant, I had this idea that you two were at home together and realizing I was wrong made me lose it.“

and also, read the warnings!!! the angst and toxic relationship warnings are there for a reason. i understand that it’s not for everyone, but don’t make that my issue by coming up in my comments and announcing your departure 😭

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y/n group - the click🫰, rin group - why am i here

ep 1. - scared

ep 2. - embarrassing

ep 3. - tba

ep 4. - tba

“Oops, sorry!” Yuji starts to skip back. It’s almost insulting how unworried he is when it comes to Sukuna and his temper, but he’s used to it by now. He reaches out to hold his uncle’s hand– even having the audacity to swing it back and forth. Sukuna just lets him because he ends up feeling bad whenever he yells at Yuji while he’s happy. 

He guesses the one thing that’s gotten easier when it comes to watching the little crackhead is that he can now finally take him to the park. He’s able to run all that unnecessary excess energy off, making mid-afternoon to dinner time easier because he just eats and naps until Jin comes to pick him up. 

Yuji’s especially excited today, they're going to a new park that’s just down the street from Sukuna’s new house. It was a nice neighbourhood too, Sukuna already knew the place was going to be like Disneyland for the kid. 

“Uncle! Look!” Yuji yells out to him.

He’s been looking this entire fucking time, why are children like this? At least Yuji’s slightly better than most, immediately flipping under the monkey bars like a pro after receiving his Uncle’s nod of approval. 

“Good job, Yuj.” He says in return. Jin should really take him to a parkour gym one of these days… maybe get him checked for adhd too while he’s at it. 

He continues to watch the boy until he suddenly hears some baby’s laughter on the other side of the playground. It reminded him of when Yuji was a baby, always squealing over something, even if it was something as simple as ripping a piece of paper in half. It was cute. 

He tried to drown out the noise, but this kid was having the time of their life, so he eventually looked in the direction of where the laughter was coming from. He’s genuinely surprised when he sees a little baby girl with fluffy pink hair. It’s a rare hair color and outside of his family, he’s only seen less than a handful of people that naturally had it in his entire 27 years of life. 

She couldn’t be older than a year old. Her mother– or nanny, this neighborhood has a ton of them, is kneeling in front of her and gently pushing the swing back. Every time she pushes the swing back, the laughter gets louder.

The lady eventually picks the baby up and smothers her with kisses… the same way you used to smother him with kisses, almost 2 years ago. 

And the moment you turn around and place her back in her stroller, it becomes very apparent as to why you completely ghosted him 1 year and 7 months ago. 

Yes he’s kept track, you were the best fuck of his life.

“You fucking bitch.” He murmurs to himself as you begin to walk off with the child that is without a fucking doubt his. He quickly grabs his phone and calls a close friend, one that’s a little too good at finding people's personal information. 

“Hey what’s u–”

He immediately cuts Uraume off and cuts straight to the chase. “I need you to find someone’s address for me.”

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