(..◜ᴗ◝..)

bonus:

"Sukuna, it’s late," you insist, reaching for his elbow this time. "Let's go to bed.”

“Don’t ‘Sukuna’ me,” he barks, his face flushing a deep red that creeps up to his ears. His scowl deepens, and his eyebrows knit together as he bats your hand away with a clumsy, heavy swat that carries more weight than accuracy. “I don’t know what kind of guy you think I am or what game you’re playing, but I’m not interested. I’m married. I’ve got a wife—a real one—she’s around here somewhere. So back the fuck up.”

He’s truly upset, his chest heaving with a drunken outrage that would be endearing if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen, he desperately searches for a way out of this very dangerous situation, but all the boys except Gojo are already slumped in various states of decay, scattered around the house.

"Kuna, I am your wife," you say, trying not to laugh at how fiercely he’s defending himself against you.

“Nice try.” He turns back, squinting at you, barely able to keep his eyelids from drooping. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know my own girl? I got her right here. I’ll show you, and then you’re gonna apologize for trying to… to tempt me or whatever.”

He starts frantically digging through his pockets, his movements aggressive and uncoordinated as he’s very close to falling out of the chair. Finally, he yanks his phone out, almost dropping it before he catches it with a trembling grip. He thrusts the blank, smudged screen toward your face.

“Look at that,” he demands, nodding firmly toward the black, unlit glass. “That’s my girl—my wife. Look at how she looks. You’re wasting your time. I’m a loyal man.”

"The phone isn't even on, you big idiot," you sigh, reaching for the device to help him show you a wallpaper of you.

Letting out a sharp, frustrated growl, he pulls the phone away, tucking it against his chest before flipping it over and stabbing the screen until it lights up. His brow furrows as he battles his own nervous system to enter his passcode—tap, tap, tap-tap—but his fingers are too clumsy, constantly hitting two numbers at once.

iPhone Unavailable, try again in 1 minute.

“God damn it,” he mutters, his jaw clenching.

He waits out the minute in tense, grumpy silence, glaring at you every few seconds to make sure you’re not getting any closer. As soon as the message disappears, he goes at it again, breathing hard, determined to prove he’s taken that he’s practically vibrating with effort. His frustration peaks as he misses the zero and hits eight instead. He deletes it with a hiss and tries again.

iPhone Unavailable, try again in 5 minutes.

Sukuna stares at the disabled screen, genuinely insulted by his own device. He looks up at you, his eyes narrowed and cold, his chest puffing out with a surge of renewed, drunken grumpiness.

"It doesn't matter," he rasps, his voice dropping to a low, protective snarl. "I don't need the photos to know I’m taken. I'm not going anywhere with you. I’m staying right in this chair until my wife finds me, so stop trying to hook up with me and move along."

“Look at my face, Sukuna. Just look at me,” you say firmly, reaching down to grab both of his heavy hands and pull him up.

He stops mid-protest, dangerously swaying as he finally meets your gaze. He squints and leans in until his nose almost touches yours, inhaling your scent in a deep, lingering and very shaky breath. Recognition finally hits him like a freight train. The offended wall crumbles instantly, giving way to a hazy, mushy warmth.

"Oh," he breathes, his voice suddenly a soft, vibrating rumble. "It is you."

Not waiting another second, he collapses against you with his full, crushing weight, wrapping a massive arm around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair as you guide him toward the stairs. Every few steps, he stumbles, but keeps his nose pressed to your temple, breathing in your scent like he’s trying to memorize it all over again.

“I have to tell you something,” he mumbles against your skin, a smug, sleepy pride in his voice as you finally reach the guest bedroom. “Some girl… she tried to hit on me. Right—right there in the chair. I told her off—told her I had a wife.”

You finally haul him onto the mattress, exhaling heavily as his weight leaves your shoulders. "You did a great job, Kuna. Truly," you murmur.

Sukuna doesn't even let you pull the covers up before he hooks a leg over yours and pulls you into his chest, pinning you there with a heavy, protective grip.

"Stay right here," he grunts, his eyes already drifting shut. "Don't let that other girl in."