liana

It’s not what you expect.

His voice is lower than usual. Doesn’t sound careless or thrown out just to fill space.Its Measured.

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“I haven’t.”

He nods once, like he’s already thought that through.

“Earlier than before.”

There’s no accusation in it.No edge.Just quiet observation.

And the fact that he noticed at all lands heavier than it should.

You shift your weight slightly, eyes flickering away before settling back on him.

“I’ve always left like this.”

A small pause.

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention before.”It’s quiet.But it lands.

He doesn’t react the way he used to.No pushback.

Instead—his gaze drops briefly, like he’s considering it.

Like he knows it’s true.

“…Yeah,” he says after a moment.

It’s softer than you expect.

For some reason that unsettles you more than anything else.

The silence stretches again, but it’s not empty.

There’s something in it now. Something held too tightly, like it might slip if either of you moves too fast.

He shifts slightly, not stepping closer,but not giving you space either. Like he hasn’t decided which one he’s supposed to do.

“I—”

He stops.Your attention sharpens. Because him hesitating? Is new.

He tries again, slower this time.

“…I didn’t come last week.”

You nod once.

“I know.”

The words come out before you think about them. And the second they do,you feel it.That small slip.

His gaze lifts fully to yours.With no intent of searching or questioning, its just there.

“…You noticed.” It isn’t a question.

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should.

“I notice things.”

It’s controlled and Careful ,But it’s not nothing.

He exhales quietly, like something in him eases and tightens at the same time.

“I didn’t think you would.” There’s something off in that. Almost as if its uncertain.

You don’t answer immediately. Because that doesn’t match him,none of this does.

“You still came today,” you say instead.

It’s a small thing,It shouldn’t matter.But by now you know it does.

His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s holding something back.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Didn’t want to miss it again.”

The words sit between you. The words are simple but anything but casual or empty.

You stand there for a bit. Because you can hear what he didn’t say. Because it feels like something is trying to reach you,and stopping just short.

You look away first,Of course.

You step past him, keeping just enough distance, your shoulder brushing the air between you but not him.

Still—

you feel it.

The way his attention follows.

He doesn’t turn right away.He lets you go.That is in his control.

What isn’t—is everything else.

His chest feels tighter than it should. Not enough to hurt, or so he thinks,but its noticeable.

Because that wasn’t how he meant it to go. He had more.He just couldn’t get it out right.

His hand lifts briefly, dragging through his hair before dropping back down, like he’s trying to shake off something that won’t leave.

You noticed.That’s what stays. Not what you said or how you said it. But That you were paying attention at all. Even now.

And that changes something.

Because it means this isn’t one-sided, it means he didn’t lose it completely.

He exhales slowly, eyes shifting forward before he finally starts walking.

This isn’t enough.He knows that.Not even close to enough.

But it’s the first thing that hasn’t felt—empty.

Sukuna doesn’t just want to be near you.He wants to get it right.

He just doesn’t know how yet,but he’ll do what it takes to figure it out.

——

The library is quieter than usual.

Calm enough that every small sound feels sharper. Pages turning. Chairs shifting. The low hum of people trying not to disturb each other.

You’ve been here long enough to settle into it , to be focused.Almost.

You don’t notice him at first.

It’s only when the chair beside you pulls out, not across or behind—

beside.

That gets your attention. Just slightly.

You don’t look at him immediately. You don’t need to. You already know.

Your fingers still against the page for a second before you turn it. You continue writing. Like nothing changed.

Sukuna sits down slower than he means to. He’s careful with it. Like he’s aware of the space he’s stepping into.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

The silence stretches.And its different from before,tense.

He glances at you once.Then again.

You don’t look up.

Your focus stays on your notes, your posture steady, controlled,but your pen presses harder than it should.

He notices that.Of course he does.

“..You always sit here?”

It’s quiet but it’s not casual, like you’d expect from him.

You nod once.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You’ve seen me.”

It’s not a question. Your hand stops. Just for a second.

Then—

“…I’ve seen you everywhere,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Silence.

You feel it immediately ,What you just admitted.

Your gaze lifts, And he’s already looking at you. Closer this time. Too close to ignore.

Something shifts between you.And its feels so real.

His brows pull together slightly, not in confusion,something else. Something you can’t name yet.

“…I didn’t mean it.”

The words come out before he can adjust them. Your expression changes.

“Mean what?”

He exhales slowly, looking away for a second before forcing himself back.

“The way I said it.” It’s not a full apology. But it’s not nothing.

Your chest tightens.

this is different.

You don’t respond immediately.

“You said what you meant.” Your voice is steady but softer than before.

He shakes his head slightly.

“No.” A beat.

“I said it like it didn’t matter.”

His words hit. Because it did.

You don’t look away this time. And for a second…neither does he.

The space between you feels smaller. Not physically ,just…closer.

Like something is about to shift into something neither of you knows how to handle.

His hand moves slightly on the table, they’re not reaching but they’re closer.

Then stops.

“…It did,” he adds, quieter. that’s the closest he’s come.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Because a part of you,wants to believe him. And that’s exactly what you don’t trust.

You close your notebook.

“I should go.”

He nods immediately.Too quickly.Like he expected it. Like he knows you wouldn’t want tostay.

“Yeah.”

You stand.He doesn’t stop you or reach for you,doesn’t even say another word. Doesn’t say anything else.

But when you walk past, you feel it again.That same thing.

Stronger this time , and you know this time that its not just awareness but something stronger pulling, something which is unfinished.

He doesn’t move for a long moment after you leave.

Because …..that was close. Closer than he’s been. Closer than he’s comfortable with. And still its not enough.

His jaw tightens slightly as he looks down at the table.He meant it. Not the words but what he tried to say. And it still came out wrong.

He exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair.

This isn’t something he can force like before ,something he can win by pushing harder. If he does,he loses you again. And,that’s not something he’s willing to risk anymore.

He just wants to keep this from slipping through his hands again. And maybe that’s why he starts paying attention to details he would’ve ignored before.

The crease between your brows when you reread a line too quickly. The way your fingers pause against the page whenever your concentration drifts. The quiet habit you have of tapping your pen twice before continuing your notes.

Tiny things.

The kind of things that settle into him before he realizes he’s memorizing them.

The distance between you changes slowly after that.

He starts sitting closer during lectures, close enough that your shoulder brushes his line of sight whenever you shift in your seat. Somewhere along the way, it stops feeling strange to find him there.

You stop reacting to his presence immediately. Your body no longer stiffens every time he sits beside you, and your gaze doesn’t dart away as quickly when you catch him looking.

The tension remains.It simply changes shape.

One afternoon, you miss part of a lecture while searching through your bag for a pen you swore you packed. By the time you look back up, his notebook is angled slightly toward you.

The missing lines are already there.

Your eyes linger on the page for a second before you copy them down quietly.

When you finish, he pulls the notebook back without comment and continues writing like nothing happened.

Something about that stays with you longer than it should.

Not the gesture itself. The ease of it. The fact that he noticed at all.

You begin expecting him in small ways after that.

A seat occupied before class starts. A familiar presence beside you in the library. The low sound of pages turning a few minutes before the lecture begins.

The awareness settles carefully, slowly enough that you almost miss it happening. Almost. Sukuna notices the shift immediately.

Your guard still exists. He can see it every time your attention catches itself lingering too long. Every time you seem to remember, halfway through a moment, that you should probably pull back.

But you stay. And for him, that changes everything. Because every second you allow him near you feels painfully earned. And every second makes him want to keep earning more.

Somewhere along the line, the space between you changes as well, without either of you acknowledging it.

It shows up in small ways first.

His shoulder ending up close enough to yours during lectures that you become aware of the warmth before you realize why your focus slipped.

You notice it. You stop reacting to it. That’s the dangerous part.

you’re reaching into your bag for a pen when your fingers brush against his by accident.

The contact lasts less than a second,your hand stills immediately after. So does his.

Neither of you says anything.

You pull your hand back first, finding the pen a moment later than you should have.

When you finally look up again, his attention is already on the front of the room.

But the grip he has on his own pen has tightened slightly. And for some reason,it came to your notice.

Another time, the lecture hall empties too quickly around you.

You stand at the same moment he does, both of you stepping into the narrow aisle at once. Too close. Your shoulder brushes his chest lightly before either of you can stop it.

The contact is brief.Its barely there.

Still, something in Sukuna’s posture changes instantly, his body going still in a way you’ve never seen before.

Like he felt all of it.

You murmur a quiet apology and try to move past him.

His hand lifts instinctively. Not grabbing or holding. Just settling lightly against your waist for half a second to steady you before letting go again.

The touch burns long after it’s gone. You feel it all the way back to your seat. Sukuna feels it longer. Because you didn’t pull away immediately.

You looked at him first. And for one dangerous second neither of you moved.

After that, he becomes more careful with himself.

Ironically, it only makes everything worse. Because now every accidental touch feels deliberate in the moments after.

Every brush of your hand. Every shift of your knee beneath the desk. Every second you remain close instead of creating distance.

And you let it happen. Slowly, reluctant. But enough that the tension between you begins settling into something warmer. Something softer around the edges. Something that almost feels safe.

That’s what ruins him.

The way he starts getting used to it. The way he starts waiting for those tiny moments like they mean more than they should. Like they’re proof that maybe, slowly, you’re letting him back in.

——-

The café was loud in the comfortable way it always was around them.

Gojo’s voice carried over half the room effortlessly, something animated and exaggerated spilling out of him while Geto sat across the table looking deeply regrettable about ever responding in the first place. Shoko was barely participating, curled into her chair with a drink in one hand and the expression of someone enduring a long-term inconvenience.

It felt normal. Easy.

The kind of scene you hadn’t realized you missed until you were standing in front of it again.

“There she is,” Gojo announced the second he noticed you. “Thought you died.”

“I was in class.”

“Exactly. Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes softly, shifting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you stepped closer to the table.

Geto gave you a small nod in greeting. Shoko lifted two fingers lazily without looking up from her drink.

And despite yourself,you relaxed.Just a little.

“Sit down before he starts crying,” Shoko muttered.

“I cry beautifully,” Gojo said immediately.

“You cry loudly.”

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Gojo pointed at you triumphantly. “See? She likes me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It basically was.”

You shook your head, still smiling faintly as you moved around the table,then stopped. Because Sukuna was walking toward the group.

Your attention caught instantly. Not intentionally, It just did.

He slowed slightly when he reached the table, gaze flickering toward you first before anyone else. The look lasted maybe a second. Still enough that something low in your chest shifted unexpectedly.

“Move,” he muttered toward Gojo, nudging the empty chair beside you lightly with his foot.

Gojo’s grin appeared immediately.Dangerous.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

Sukuna ignored him completely. Which somehow made it worse.

The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out and sat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not across from you. Beside you.

You became suddenly, painfully aware of how close he was.

The warmth of him settled near your shoulder almost immediately, familiar enough to make your chest tighten before you could stop it.

Gojo looked delighted.

Geto looked like he’s fighting a smirk.

Even Shoko glanced up briefly over the rim of her drink before looking away again like she’d expected this already. And that unsettled you more than anything else.

Because suddenly it didn’t feel contained anymore. Whatever had been happening between you and Sukuna over the past few weeks had stopped existing only in quiet moments and lingering eye contact, Other people could see it now.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.

Instinctively, your gaze shifted sideways, And found Sukuna already looking at you. Not intensely , not carelessly either its,

Just….there. Aware.

Like his attention kept settling on you before he realized he was doing it. Like it happened naturally now.

Your breath caught softly.You looked away first.

Conversation drifted around you again after that, easy and overlapping, but your awareness stayed split strangely in two.

Half listening to Gojo argue dramatically about something meaningless. Half aware of Sukuna beside you. Every small movement registered.

The brush of his sleeve near your arm when he reached for a drink. The quiet shift of his posture whenever you spoke. The way his attention flickered toward you before anyone else whenever the group laughed about something.

None of it was obvious. That was the problem.It felt unconscious. And somehow that made it harder to dismiss.

“You’re quiet,” Gojo said suddenly, looking between the two of you with immediate suspicion.

“She’s always quiet,” Sukuna answered before you could.

Your eyes lifted immediately.So did Gojo’s brows.

There was something strange about hearing him say it. Not teasing but…familiar. Like he’d spent enough time paying attention to know.

The realization hit harder than it should have.Because he had.

Sukuna seemed to realize it a second later too.

A faint tension pulled briefly through his shoulders before he leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze shifting away.

Gojo looked moments away from losing his mind.

“This is insane,” he muttered dramatically into his drink.

“Please shut up,” Shoko sighed.

You tried focusing on the conversation again. It didn’t really work. Because every few seconds, your attention drifted sideways again without permission.

And every time—

you found Sukuna already there.

Then Gojo spoke again.

“So,” he said lazily, stretching back in his chair, “we’re all still alive enough for tomorrow night, right?”

Shoko groaned immediately. “No.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because every time I mean it.”

Geto glanced toward you. “You coming?”

You blinked once. “Coming where?”

“The party.”

The word settled strangely in your chest. Your gaze shifted toward Sukuna automatically. His expression flattened almost immediately, like he already disliked where the conversation was heading.

Gojo noticed. Which meant everyone noticed.

“The frat’s finally doing something tomorrow,” Gojo said.

“And our Frat king here actually agreed to show up.” Gojo continued, far too entertained by this entire situation.

“Historic moment, honestly.”

The thought caught uncomfortably against everything else that had been building these past few weeks.

The carefulness.The lingering looks. The quiet touches that never seemed intentional until they were over.

And then—a party.

Crowds. Music. Girls draped across him like before. Like nothing had changed at all. Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Because you suddenly couldn’t tell which version of him was real.

The one beside you now,or the one you’d spent so long trying to forget.

“I’m only showing up because you people wouldn’t shut up about it.” Sukuna’s voice cut through the table quietly.

“You don’t have to come.” He said to you, carefully.

You looked at him immediately. He was already watching you again. And there was something restrained in his expression now. Almost wary, like he was trying to spare you from something before it happened. The look settled somewhere dangerous beneath your ribs. Because it felt sincere.

And that,that was becoming harder to protect yourself from.

———

The conversation happens later, after the noise of the café has faded and everyone drifts off in different directions.

You end up outside one of the campus buildings with Shoko almost by accident, the evening air cooler now, carrying that faint tiredness that settles over campus after sunset. She’s leaning against the railing near the vending machines, tapping the bottom of a cigarette pack against her palm while you stand beside her with your bag hanging loosely from your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s comfortable enough that the silence doesn’t need fixing.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Shoko says eventually.

You glance at her immediately. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m always weird. Yours is recent.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, looking away toward the dim lights scattered across campus.

“I’m fine.”

Shoko hums softly like she doesn’t believe you for even a second. The image from earlier keeps circling quietly in your head despite yourself.

Sukuna beside you at the café.The way his attention kept drifting toward you without meaning to. The way he sounded when Gojo brought up the party.

Flat.Detached.Different. Dangerously easy to believe.

“You’re thinking about him again,” Shoko says observing you.

Your shoulders tense slightly.

“That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

You stare ahead quietly for a moment.

The worst part is that you don’t even know what exactly you’re thinking anymore. Not clearly. Not in a way that makes sense. Because things have changed. You know they have.

You feel it every time he sits beside you without hesitation now. Every time his hand brushes yours and neither of you pulls away quickly enough. Every time his gaze settles on you like it’s become instinct.

And somehow,that’s exactly what scares you.

“I don’t know what he wants,” you admit finally, quieter this time.

Shoko glances sideways at you.

“Neither does he.”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Tired. Brief. Then the silence settles again.

Not awkward. Just thoughtful.

“You going tomorrow?” Shoko asks after a while.

You already know what she means.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Shoko finally pulls a cigarette free but doesn’t light it yet, rolling it slowly between her fingers instead.

“You should.”

You blink once. “Why?”

She shrugs lightly.

“Because you’ve been orbiting this thing with him for weeks.”

The words land more directly than you expect. Your brows pull together slightly.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Still calm. Still matter-of-fact. Shoko tilts her head back slightly, looking out across campus.

“And honestly? Whether he’s miserable or having some identity crisis over you isn’t really the point.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly at the word miserable. You hate that she notices. Because of course she does.

“The point,” Shoko continues, “is that you’re allowed to exist outside of whatever’s happening with Sukuna.”

You stay quiet.

“You don’t have to avoid places because he might be there,” she says. “And you definitely don’t have to sit around wondering whether every look means something.”

That one hits a little too accurately. A faint smile pulls at the corner of Shoko’s mouth when she notices your expression.

“Go to the party. Have fun. Ignore him if you want to. Talk to other people. Remember your life doesn’t stop every time Ryomen Sukuna starts acting emotionally constipated.”

You laugh despite yourself. A real one this time. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you stare ahead quietly. Maybe she’s right.

Maybe you’ve spent too much time reading into every glance, every careful touch, every almost-word like they carried more meaning than they should. Maybe going would finally settle it one way or another.

“I guess I could go for a little while,” you murmur eventually.

Shoko snorts softly beside you.

“That’s the closest thing to recklessness I’ve ever heard from you.”

You roll your eyes lightly, but a small smile stays on your face this time.

And somewhere deep down,beneath all the hesitation and caution and doubt a quieter thought lingers.

You want to see him there.

——-

The party swallows you in pieces.

First the music. Then the heat. Then the blur of bodies moving through colored light like the whole house is breathing around you.

For a moment, you linger near the entrance beside Shoko, fingers curled around a drink you haven’t touched yet while people brush past your shoulders laughing too loudly, already drunk enough to lean into each other without caring.

Rain taps steadily against the windows outside, soft beneath the bass vibrating through the walls.

You tell yourself to relax. To stop thinking so much.

“You look like you’re preparing for war,” Shoko says beside you.

“I’m standing.”

“You’re standing aggressively.”

You glare weakly at her over the rim of your cup.

Shoko only snorts softly before glancing around the room.

“You know, normal people usually come to parties to enjoy themselves.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“You’ve looked at the door six times.”

Heat crawls unpleasantly into your chest.

Because the worst part is, you hadn’t realized you were doing it. Not consciously.

Your attention just keeps shifting every few minutes before you can stop it. Toward the hallway. Toward the stairs. Toward every flicker of pink hair moving through crowded rooms before disappointment settles quietly afterward.

You hate it.The automaticness of it. The way some part of you keeps waiting anyway. You came here for yourself. You remind yourself that immediately.

Because Shoko was right.

Your life shouldn’t tighten around Sukuna every time he enters it. You shouldn’t still be carrying him around inside your head this heavily after everything.

Tonight was supposed to prove that. That you could still exist somewhere he existed too and remain untouched by it.

And maybe, if you were being honest, some quieter part of you wanted to know if he’d look for you too.

The thought settles heavily enough that you immediately shove it away.

Gojo appears before you can spiral further. Naturally.

“There she is!” he announces dramatically, nearly sloshing his drink onto both of you as he throws an arm around your shoulder. “I knew you secretly wanted to come”

“You invited me three hours ago.”

“And yet you still came. Beautiful character development.”

A laugh escapes you despite yourself. Real enough that it surprises even you.

Geto appears behind Gojo looking deeply exhausted already.

“She’s been here five minutes and you’re yelling.”

“I’m creating atmosphere.”

“You’re creating public disturbance.”

The night gets easier after that slowly.

You let yourself get pulled into conversations instead of standing quietly at the edges of them. You argue with Gojo about something stupid enough that halfway through neither of you even remembers what side you were defending anymore. Someone drags you into a blurry group photo you definitely didn’t agree to.

And somewhere along the way, the tightness inside your chest starts loosening. Not completely, Never completely. Because Sukuna still exists in every corner of your awareness whether you want him there or not.

Every low laugh behind you makes your attention shift instinctively before your brain catches up. Every tall figure moving through crowds pulls at your focus for half a second first.

You keep wondering if he’s seen you yet. You hate that you keep wondering.

But eventually even that begins softening beneath the warmth of the night around you.

Shoko disappears somewhere upstairs. Gojo gets distracted by literally everything at once. Rain crashes harder outside now, silver streaks racing down dark windows while thunder rumbles faintly overhead.

And for the first time in weeks,you breathe. Actually breathe.

Maybe this is what you needed. Maybe Shoko was right, whatever has been. happening between you and Sukuna lately doesn’t have to consume every part of you. You can exist around him without unraveling,perhaps.

And beneath all those thoughts—another one slips in quietly.

You want to see him tonight. Not for closure or for any answers. Just to know if he’ll look at you the same way he has lately. Like something in him shifts every time you enter a room. Like he feels this too.

Your chest tightens around the realization.

Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being afraid of wanting him.

And started being afraid he might not want you back in the same devastating way.

The thought is still sitting low beneath your ribs when your attention shifts suddenly. No reason.Just instinct.

Your eyes lift across the room, and find him immediately.

Your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.

Sukuna stands near the open patio doors, rain-heavy air curling into the house around him while dim gold light cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. His dark shirt clings slightly at the collar like he’s already stepped outside once tonight, pink hair damp near the edges from rainwater.

And even from here,he looks restless. He doesn’t seem drunk or entertained, like the Sukuna everyone else sees at parties.

His gaze moves distractedly through the crowd, shoulders tense beneath the flashing lights like he’s searching for something without fully realizing it.

And suddenly, your chest softens.

Because some horrible, hopeful part of you wonders if he’s been looking for you too.

The thought lands gently.Deeply.

Enough that your pulse stumbles around it.

Then someone stumbles into him. A girl.

At first, you barely react. People have been colliding into each other all night ,but she doesn’t move away after.

She grabs onto his arm laughing breathlessly, body swaying slightly from alcohol as she nearly slips near the wet patio entrance. Sukuna catches her automatically before she falls, one hand circling briefly around her waist while the other steadies her wrist.

Your stomach drops. The girl laughs again getting closer this time.

Her fingers slide upward slowly against the chain resting near his collarbone while she leans toward him, saying something near his ear with the kind of easy familiarity that makes your chest tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s brows pull together immediately. Not softened or amused.He looks Distracted. Like he barely even registers what she’s saying.

His hand stays at her waist only long enough to steady her before it loosens again, attention already shifting elsewhere through the crowded room.

But from where you’re standing that distinction barely matters. Because suddenly it all comes rushing back at once.

Every party you ever saw him at before this.

Girls draped across him effortlessly. Lipstick-stained glasses. Hands touching him like everyone already knew he’d let them.

The version of him that never belonged to anyone long enough to matter.

Your throat burns violently. And the worst part?

For weeks now,you let yourself forget. You let yourself believe in quieter things instead.

Library tables.Lingering eye contact. The warmth of his hand steadying your waist.

The way his gaze softened around you lately before he even realized it was happening.

The almost apology in the library.The carefulness.

God.

The carefulness ruined you most. Because you believed it. You actually, genuinely started believing he meant it.

Your eyes sting immediately.

Hot enough that you blink hard against it on instinct. Because standing here now, watching another girl lean into him while rain crashes outside the windows and music drowns the room around you—

you suddenly feel unbearably stupid.

Not angry.Not even jealous.

Humiliated.

Like every hopeful thing you carried carefully these past few weeks existed only because you wanted it to. Because you kept mistaking scraps of softness for something real.

The girl says something else, leaning closer into his space.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to answer when his gaze shifts absently over her shoulder instead, restless, searching—

Then stops,

On you.

Everything in him stops,like the world stopped. You see it happen in real time,the confusion first,then recognition.

Then absolute fucking horror crashing across his face so fast it almost doesn’t look real. His hand drops from the girl immediately like the contact burns him alive.

The color drains from his face. His entire body goes rigid. Because he knows.

He knows exactly what this looks like. Exactly what you’re thinking. Exactly what just shattered inside you.

“Wait—”

The word rips out of him rough enough that several people nearby actually turn. The desperation clear in his voice.

The girl beside him startles when Sukuna jerks completely away from her now, attention locked entirely onto you with something frantic breaking apart behind his eyes.

Like he’s watching a car crash happen in slow motion and can’t stop it. But it’s already too late. Because something inside you has broken open completely. And suddenly you can’t breathe in this room anymore. Can’t stand inside his world another second.

Not where you let yourself believe, even briefly, that maybe this time, maybe this time he was finally reaching for you the way you’d been reaching for him all along.

You turn before he can get to you.

Rain crashes violently outside as you shove through the crowd toward the front door, pulse hammering painfully beneath your skin while behind you-

you hear Sukuna calling your name.

And for the first time since you met him—

Ryomen Sukuna sounds terrified.

——

Sukuna doesn’t think.

The second you turn away from him, something primal tears through his chest so violently it almost knocks the breath out of him.

Pure panic.

He’s moving before the girl beside him even finishes reacting.

Her hand slips from his sleeve as he jerks away from her completely, eyes already locked on the space where you disappeared through the crowd.

“Wait, Sukuna, I was just—”

He doesn’t hear the rest.Doesn’t even register her voice.

Because all he saw, all he can still fucking see …is your face. The look in your eyes. It wasn’t anger. He could’ve handled anger, You yelling at him,Hating him,Slapping him across the face. Anything.

But that look—

Like something inside you had quietly given up. Like every fragile thing he’d spent weeks trying to rebuild between you collapsed in a single second.

Like you finally regretted believing him. Fear hits him so hard it borders on nausea.

People turn as he shoves through the crowded house, shoulders slamming hard enough into strangers to send drinks splashing onto the floor. Someone curses at him. Someone says his name.

Gojo maybe, maybe Toji, He doesn’t know.

Nothing matters except getting to you before that look settles permanently into your eyes.

Rain crashes against him violently the second he steps outside. Cold enough to sting. Heavy enough to soak through his clothes instantly.

His eyes search frantically down the street before he finds you halfway across the sidewalk, walking too fast through the storm with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you’re physically trying to hold your chest together.

And something inside him fucking caves in. Because you’re crying. Not loudly, or dramatically but,

Worse.

Silent.

Your shoulders shake once beneath the rain before you wipe harshly at your face, still moving like if you stop for even a second you’ll completely break apart.

And Sukuna,

Sukuna has never felt terror like this before. Because this is his fault.

Not the girl. Not the party.

This.

You hurting like this because he was too late. Too stupid. Too fucking blind to realize how fragile your trust in him still was.

“Hey—”

His voice comes out wrecked and its barely recognizable.

You don’t stop walking.Panic claws viciously through his chest. Sharp enough to hurt.

He catches up quickly, shoes splashing hard against flooded pavement before instinct takes over completely and his hand closes around your wrist.

His touch is Warm,desperate,shaking slightly.

You gasp softly as he pulls you back before you can slip against the slick pavement, your soaked body colliding lightly against his chest for half a second before you stumble back again.

But not before he feels it. How badly you’re trembling.

And God.

That nearly fucking destroys him on the spot.

Rain pours violently between both of you now, thunder cracking somewhere overhead while water streams endlessly down Sukuna’s face, his hair plastered against his forehead, his chest heaving unevenly beneath a shirt soaked through completely.

And for a second,he just stares at you. Because you look heartbroken. Painfully heartbroken. Your eyes are red beneath the rain. Your lashes clumped together with tears and water.

Your mouth trembling slightly every few seconds like you’re trying so hard to stay composed and failing anyway.

The sight tears something open inside him so violently he almost physically recoils from it.

Because he did this. He did this to you.

And suddenly Sukuna realizes with horrifying clarity that he would rather let someone carve him open alive than have you look at him like this again.

“It wasn’t—” His voice catches hard.

His voice catches hard.

Too many things trying to come out at once. He tries again immediately.

“It wasn’t like that.”

You laugh softly. And the sound absolutely fucking ruins him. Because it sounds exhausted. Humiliated.Like you’re trying not to completely fall apart in front of him.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

Rainwater drips endlessly from your lashes as you look away from him, jaw tightening hard enough to shake.

“I can’t do this right now.”

Sukuna’s chest caves inward so violently he physically steps closer without meaning to.

Because you sound done. Not angry. Done.

“No.”

The word leaves him instantly in such panic. Desperate,Almost pleading.

“No, don’t— don’t fucking say it like that.”

You finally look at him again. And, he’s losing you. He can feel it happening in real time. Like sand slipping violently through his hands no matter how hard he tries to hold on.

“She grabbed onto me,” he says immediately, voice uneven in a way he’s never heard from himself before. “I wasn’t even fucking paying attention to her.”

Rainwater drips from his jaw as he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair.

“I was looking for you.”

Your breath catches. Tiny.

And suddenly he’s talking too fast, panic ripping every sentence out before he can think.

“I’ve been looking for you all fucking night,” he says roughly. “That’s why I kept looking around. I didn’t even realize she was talking to me until—”

His voice breaks violently.

“Until you looked at me like that.”

Your throat moves sharply as you swallow. But your expression doesn’t soften and somehow that terrifies him more than if you screamed.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Okay. Thats all you say.

The word hits him like a knife straight through the chest. Because it doesn’t sound like belief. It sounds like surrender. Like you’re already trying to kill your feelings for him before they hurt you worse.

“No.”

He steps closer immediately. Too close now. Close enough that your rain-soaked breaths mix between both of you.

“Don’t say it like that.”

Your composure finally cracks then.Not dramatically but if there’s something Worse than that.

Your face crumples slightly before you look away again, one shaking breath leaving you hard enough that Sukuna’s chest physically aches hearing it.

“Then how am I supposed to say it?” you ask quietly, voice breaking apart. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

Sukuna freezes Because there it is. Not jealousy. Not anger. But pain.

Raw enough that it strips him open instantly.

“You know what the worst part is?” you whisper, eyes burning now despite the rain washing endlessly down your face. “I actually started believing you.”

Something inside Sukuna shatters completely.

“You looked at me like…” Your voice breaks so hard you stop speaking entirely for a second, shaking your head once like you hate yourself for even admitting this. “God, you looked at me like I mattered to you.”

“You do.”

The answer leaves him violently fast.

Immediate ,Like breathing ,as if him not saying it fast enough would make it worse. Your eyes widen at his words slightly.

And Sukuna steps closer again before he can stop himself, hands hovering helplessly near your arms like he wants to hold you together physically but is terrified you’ll pull away.

“You do,” he says again, rougher this time, rain soaking through every word. “You matter so fucking much it’s driving me insane.”

Your breath catches sharply. And suddenly Sukuna can’t stop anymore. Weeks of restraint split open all at once.

“I can’t fucking sleep anymore,” he admits, voice wrecked now. “Every room I walk into, I look for you first.”

Rain streams endlessly down his face while his eyes stay locked desperately onto yours.

“I sat through that stupid fucking party hoping you’d show up.”

Something in your chest twist sharply.

“And when you did…” His voice catches roughly. “Fuck.”

He laughs once in disbelief Like even now he can’t believe how badly this has ruined him.

“You looked so beautiful tonight I couldn’t fucking think straight.”

The confession lands between both of you like lightning. Its raw, ugly and honest .

“And then you looked at me like that—”

His voice cracks completely this time. Actually cracks. Like he physically cannot survive replaying that moment again.

Before you can react—

he drops.

Straight onto his knees against the flooded pavement. The sound of it shocks you visibly.

“Sukuna—”

“I don’t care.”

His voice is wrecked now. Absolutely wrecked.

Rain pours over him mercilessly while he looks up at you from the ground like he’s watching his entire life walk away from him in real time.

And maybe he is.

“I don’t care if this is pathetic,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t care if I look fucking insane right now.”

Your chest tightens painfully. Because Sukuna never begs. Never. But he is now.

“You can yell at me,” he says, breathing unevenly. “You can hate me if you want to. But don’t stand there and tell yourself none of this was real.”

His voice breaks hard around the last sentence.

And suddenly he looks…something which isn’t,arrogant like his usual self, he looks … terrified.

“I meant every fucking thing,” he says desperately. “Every look. Every touch. Every second.”

Your composure visibly splinters then.

A shaky breath leaves you as your hand rises instinctively toward your mouth.

And Sukuna’s expression crumples completely the second he realizes you’re crying harder now.

“Fuck,” he whispers brokenly, like the sound physically hurts him. “Baby, please don’t cry.”

The nickname slips out accidentally.

Raw. Unthinking. And somehow that ruins you even more. Because Sukuna is kneeling in the middle of the storm looking at you like losing you would destroy him completely

Rain crashes endlessly around both of you. Cold water streams down Sukuna’s face, soaks through his clothes, drips from his lashes every time he looks up at you from the pavement beneath your feet.

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even seem aware of the storm anymore. The only thing he sees is you.

Shaking. Crying. Looking at him like he’s broken something fragile beyond repair.

And it’s killing him.

“Sukuna” you whisper shakily.

He looks up immediately.Like your voice physically pulls at him.

“Stand up.”

He shakes his head once instantly. Small.Desperate.

“I can’t lose you.”

The words leave him before he can stop them. Raw enough that your breath catches.

Rainwater slides down the sharp line of his jaw while he stares at you like he’s drowning in front of you and doesn’t care who sees it.

And suddenly he looks nothing like the Sukuna everyone else knows. No arrogance. No control ,just fear.

“Sukuna,” you say again, voice cracking harder this time. “Stand up.”

Slowly,hesitant enough,he does.

But the second he’s close again, your hand presses hard against his chest instinctively. Holding space there.

Keeping him from getting any closer before you completely lose yourself in him again. Your fingers fist weakly into his soaked shirt.

Sukuna looks down at them like the contact alone nearly destroys him.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whisper.

Rainwater clings to your lashes while your voice trembles apart more with every word.

“You don’t get to look at me like I’m everything to you and then make me feel this replaceable.”

Sukuna physically flinches. Like the words hit somewhere deep enough to bruise.

“You think I wanted her there?” he asks roughly.

Your jaw tightens immediately.

“That’s not the point.”

“I know it’s not the fucking point.”

His voice breaks suddenly. Violently. And that shocks both of you into silence for half a second. Because Sukuna never sounds like this. Never.

Rain crashes harder around both of you while he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair, chest rising unevenly like breathing itself hurts now.

“You know what the problem is?” he says hoarsely. “I don’t know how to do this right.”

Your eyes flicker toward him again despite yourself.

“I don’t know how to stand in front of you without feeling like everything I’ve ever been is suddenly disgusting.”

The confession lands hard between both of you because its Ugly and honest.

“You look at me now and I can see you trying so hard to trust me again.” His voice roughens further. “And every fucking second I’m terrified I’m gonna ruin it.”

Something in your chest twists painfully.

“You think I don’t know what people say about me?” he laughs once softly.

There’s no humour in it.

“They’re right.”

You shake your head immediately. But Sukuna keeps going before you can stop him.

“No, listen to me.” His eyes lock onto yours desperately. “I spent years acting like none of this mattered. None of them mattered. Drinking too much, sleeping around, acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything because it was easier than…” His voice catches hard. “Than feeling something real.”

Your grip tightens involuntarily against his chest.

“And then you happened.”

The words leave him quietly this time.Almost disbelieving. Like even now he can’t fully understand what you did to him.

“And suddenly I couldn’t breathe properly every time you looked at me.”

Your breath catches sharply.

“I started noticing everything.” His voice shakes. “The way you play with your rings when you’re nervous. The way your face changes when you’re trying not to smile. The way you always look for everyone else before yourself.”

Rain drips endlessly from his chin while his eyes stay completely fixed on you.

“I tried so hard not to want you this badly.”

The honesty in his voice hurts , it hurts so much.

“But you kept getting under my skin anyway.” He laughs again softly, devastated this time. “And then one day I realized I was rearranging my entire fucking life around the chance of being near you for ten minutes.”

Your composure visibly cracks.

“I stopped going to parties because they felt empty without you there.” His voice lowers roughly. “I sat in classrooms I didn’t care about because you were in them.”

Tears mix endlessly with rain on your face now. Sukuna notices every single one. And it destroys him more each time.

“When you stopped talking to me…” His throat moves sharply.

“Fuck.”

He looks away for the first time. Only for a second. Like the memory physically hurts to touch.

“I thought that was it,” he admits quietly. “Thought I finally pushed too far and lost the only person I’ve ever looked at and thought…”

His voice breaks completely. You stare at him with your heart hammering.

Sukuna swallows hard, eyes finding yours again with something unbearably vulnerable split wide open inside them.

“The only person I’ve ever wanted to be better for.”

Something inside you caves inward violently.

“And tonight—” His breathing turns uneven again.

“When you looked at me like that…”

He presses a shaking hand briefly against his own chest like he physically can’t steady what’s happening inside it.

“I swear to God it felt like someone ripped my fucking heart out.”

Your eyes sting harder instantly.

“You wanna know why I panicked?” he whispers.

He steps closer despite your hand still against his chest. Not enough to overpower you. Just enough that warmth collides between your soaked bodies again.

“Because I knew exactly what you saw.”

Your breath trembles.

“You saw every reason you ever had not to trust me standing right in front of you again.” His voice cracks hard. “And I couldn’t fucking survive knowing I put that look in your eyes.”

The storm roars around both of you. Neither of you notices anymore.

“You don’t understand what you’ve become to me,” Sukuna whispers brokenly. “You walk into a room and suddenly everything else disappears.”

Your hand tightens in his shirt. Instinctively.

“And yeah,” he laughs softly again, devastated. “Maybe this is pathetic.”

His eyes burn into yours.

“But I’d rather kneel in the rain begging for you than spend one more second pretending I don’t belong completely to you already.”

Sukuna’s words hang between both of you beneath the storm. Heavy. Breathless. Still vibrating somewhere deep inside your chest. For a second, neither of you move.

Rain crashes endlessly around you, soaking through everything, thunder rumbling low somewhere above the city while your pulse pounds so hard it almost hurts.

And suddenly, you realize Sukuna is shaking. Your hand is still twisted tightly in the front of his soaked shirt, fingers trembling against his chest while he looks at you like he’s waiting for the final blow. Like he genuinely believes you might still walk away. And somehow that hurts worse than anything else tonight.

“Sukuna…” you whisper.

His eyes close briefly at the sound of his name in your voice. Like it physically wounds him. You hate this. You hate him. You hate the terrifying amount of power he has over your heart.

“I hate you,” you whisper shakily.

The words collapse halfway through because neither of you believes them anymore. Something helpless flickers across his face. Not defensive or angry. Just devastated.

“I know.”

Your throat burns harder instantly. Because he sounds like he’d let you.

Like he’d stand here and let you destroy him if that’s what you needed.

You shake your head sharply.

“No, you don’t.”

Rainwater slips down your cheeks endlessly now, your breathing uneven and fragile while Sukuna watches you with complete, terrifying attention.

“You don’t understand how terrifying this is for me,” you admit finally.

And there it is.The truth. Raw and shaking between both of you.

Sukuna’s expression crumples instantly. Because suddenly he understands. This was never about another girl. This was about you finally allowing yourself to hope. And thinking he destroyed it.

“I know,” he says again, rougher this time. “I know I fucked this up, I know I scared you, I know I’ve given you every reason not to trust me but—”

His voice breaks hard.

“But please don’t give up on me now”

The plea nearly destroys you. Because Sukuna never asks for anything.Never. And yet here he is in the middle of a storm looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

Your composure finally gives out completely. A broken sound leaves your throat before you can stop it, fingers tightening harder in his shirt as tears mix violently with rain against your face.

And the second Sukuna sees it, something inside him snaps.

He stands abruptly. Not to leave but to catch you. His hands find your waist instantly, careful for all of half a second before he pulls you against him like he physically cannot survive another inch of distance between you.

You gasp softly against his chest.Warm. Solid. Shaking just as badly as you are.

“Sukuna—”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately.

The words spill out against your wet hair desperately, uneven and wrecked. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your chest aches violently. Because he means it. Every single word.

“I didn’t know how bad this got,” he admits roughly, hands tightening at your waist. “I didn’t realize how much of you I already had until I thought I lost it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut instantly.

“And you have me,” you whisper brokenly before you can stop yourself.

The confession hangs there. Both of you freezing slightly beneath the rain. Sukuna pulls back just enough to look at you. And the expression on his face absolutely ruins you. Because he looks stunned. Like nobody has ever handed him something this precious before.

“You can’t say shit like that to me right now,” he whispers hoarsely.

Your breath catches sharply.

“Why?”

A broken laugh leaves him. Wrecked.

“Because I’m already one second away from losing my fucking mind over you.”

And suddenly you can’t take it anymore. Not the way he’s looking at you. Not the honesty splitting him wide open. Not the unbearable tenderness underneath all that desperation.

So you kiss him.

Your hands slide into his soaked hair before you pull him down toward you hard enough that his breath catches violently against your mouth.

And for one stunned heartbeat, Sukuna freezes. Like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he thought you were about to leave him here instead.

Then he kisses you back. And it isn’t smooth , Isn’t polished. Its desperate. Weeks of restraint collapse between you all at once beneath pouring rain and shaking breaths.

Sukuna kisses like he’s starving.

Like every quiet look and lingering touch and swallowed confession finally shattered open inside him at once.

And God, the sound he makes against your mouth nearly breaks you apart completely. Because it sounds relieved.

His hands slide up your back instinctively, pulling you impossibly closer while rain pours endlessly over both of you. You can feel his heart hammering violently through his chest.

Feel the way he keeps holding you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you gets far.

Your foreheads stay pressed together, breaths tangled, eyes still half closed while the storm rages around you unnoticed.

And finally in the entire night, the panic inside Sukuna finally starts settling. Only slightly. Just enough to breathe again.

“I meant everything” he says quietly .

Your eyes open slowly. Sukuna looks wrecked still.

“I know,” you whisper back this time.

And the relief that floods his face is so raw it almost makes you cry again. A quiet laugh escapes you suddenly through the remains of tears.

You’re an idiot.”

Sukuna huffs out the faintest laugh against your forehead.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Probably.”

Rainwater drips from his lashes while his thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, wiping away tears even though more immediately replace them.

The touch is impossibly careful. Like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to hold you like this.

Then quieter he says,

“So don’t scare me like that again.”

You blink at him in disbelief. A laugh escapes you despite everything.

“You’re blaming me?”

“No.” His arms tighten instantly around your waist again. “I’m saying I almost fucking died.”

The dramatic sincerity in his voice makes another wet laugh break from your chest. And Sukuna stares at the sound like he wants to memorize it forever.

The storm hasn’t softened yet. Neither have your feelings. Neither have your feelings or hurt.

But for the first time in a while, neither of you is running from it anymore.

Sukuna presses one last lingering kiss against your forehead before resting his against yours again, eyes finally closing properly this time.

And standing there beneath pouring rain with your heart still shaking violently inside your chest,

you realize something quietly. You’ve never seen Ryomen Sukuna look more terrified. Or more in love.

——-

The storm still crashes endlessly around you, rain soaking through your clothes, dripping from tangled lashes and trembling fingers, but somehow it feels farther away now.

Muted.

Like everything narrowed down to this one moment instead. To him.

Sukuna keeps his forehead pressed against yours, breathing unevenly while his arms stay locked around your waist like he’s still scared you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly.

And Maybe he is.

Your heartbeat hasn’t settled yet. Neither has his. You can still feel it hammering violently through his chest every time your body shifts against his.

Still feel the occasional tremor running through his hands when they tighten unconsciously at your back.

Then quietly, almost too low beneath the rain, he says,

“I’m sorry.”

The words land differently this time. Because the words aren’t out of panic, but honesty.

Sukuna’s eyes close briefly, lashes wet against his cheeks while he exhales shakily through his nose.

“For all of it.”

Your eyes sting immediately. Sukuna notices.

“Fuck,” he whispers softly, thumb brushing beneath your eye carefully. “Don’t cry again, baby, I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

A watery laugh escapes you despite yourself.

And the relief that floods Sukuna’s face at the sound of it is almost unbearable to look at.

Like hearing you laugh again physically brought him back to life.

The storm softens slightly after that. Not fully.

But enough that the rain becomes steadier instead of violent, washing quietly through empty streets shining gold beneath streetlights.

You finally become aware of how cold you are.

Your clothes cling heavily to your skin now, fingers stiff from rain while your entire body shivers suddenly beneath Sukuna’s hands.

His expression changes instantly.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“You’re also shivering.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him tiredly.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cold.”

Before you can argue again, Sukuna is already shrugging off his soaked jacket despite the rain still falling lightly around both of you.

You blink immediately.

“Sukuna, that’s literally worse.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“I said I don’t care.”

The jacket settles around your shoulders anyway, still warm somehow despite the storm. And your chest aches quietly at the gesture. Because old Sukuna wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t have cared enough to.

This Sukuna does.

You just stand there beneath dim streetlights while rainwater drips steadily around your feet.

And then, Sukuna reaches for your hand.

He’s careful, no confidence just care. Like he’s still asking permission. Your fingers slide into his before he can second-guess himself. And even such a small gesture makes his breath hitch.

The walk back is quiet. Not awkward. Just soft.

The frat house comes into view slowly through the rain after that, lights still glowing warm behind fogged windows while distant music hums faintly from somewhere inside.

For a second, your steps slow down, he sees that.

His fingers tighten around yours slightly.

“You okay?”

Your eyes linger on the house quietly.

This place used to feel like proof that you could never have him properly.

Too many stories attached to it. Too many girls. Too many nights where Sukuna belonged to everyone except himself.

But tonight, standing here soaked through while his hand holds yours so carefully it almost hurts,

the feeling is different.

“Yeah,” you whisper finally.

And Sukuna’s shoulders loosen so subtly.

The second you step inside, warmth wraps around your skin hard enough to sting. The party has mostly died now.

Music still hums quietly somewhere downstairs, low conversations drifting through the house alongside the smell of alcohol and rain-damp clothes.

Gojo looks up first from the kitchen island. Then pauses dramatically. His eyes flick toward your joined hands. Then your soaked clothes.

Then Sukuna standing absurdly close beside you like he’s terrified distance might happen again if he allows it.

Silence.

“Oh my God,” Gojo breathes.

Shoko looks up from the couch immediately afterward.

One glance at both of you and understanding settles across her face instantly.

“You cried and fixed your lives in the rain, didn’t you?” Gojo whispers dramatically.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna says immediately.

But his grip on your hand tightens instinctively afterward.

And Shoko nearly smiles into her drink. Nearly.

“Called it,” she mutters quietly.

Geto looks deeply exhausted by all of you.

Heat creeps unexpectedly into your face which doesn’t go unnoticed by sukuna. And before anyone can continue further, his hand settles gently against your lower back.

Protectively, guiding you toward the stairs.

The walk upstairs feels strangely intimate now.

The frat house quieter here, distant bass fading beneath rain tapping softly against windows while Sukuna keeps glancing back at you every few seconds like he still needs visual confirmation you’re following him.

And suddenly,you realize he’s nervous. That realization nearly ruins you all over again.

Because Ryomen Sukuna can beg in the rain, confess his feelings with his heart practically bleeding out of his chest,

and still look scared bringing you into his room.

Sukuna’s room is warm. Warmer than the rest of the house somehow. Maybe because it’s quieter here.

No flashing lights. No shouting. No chaos vibrating through the walls.

Just soft rain against the windows and the faint sound of both your breathing still trying to settle after everything.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Sukuna just stands there staring at you like he still hasn’t fully recovered from the fact that you followed him upstairs willingly.

That you stayed.

Then his expression tightens suddenly.

“You’re still freezing.”

Before you can answer, he’s already moving.

“Sit,” he says, grabbing a towel from somewhere near his closet.

You blink once.

“You sound bossy for someone who cried in public ten minutes ago.”

Sukuna pauses mid-step. Looks at you completely seriously.

“I’ll cry again.”

A startled laugh escapes you instantly.

And the relief that flashes across his face at the sound of it is almost embarrassing in its intensity.

Like hearing you laugh physically keeps him alive now.

You settle onto the edge of his bed while Sukuna kneels in front of you again, towel draped carefully over your head before he starts drying your hair with surprising gentleness.

The intimacy of it nearly undoes you. Because Sukuna touches you now like he’s aware you can bruise.

“You really got on your knees in the middle of the street,” you mumble again while he works carefully through damp strands.

He exhales quietly through his nose.

“Yeah i did”

“Yeah?”

You glance down at him finally.

His pink hair still damp. Sleeves pushed up slightly. Eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them before.

“You looked one second away from proposing.”

That actually gets a laugh out of him. Its small and rough around the edges but its real.

“Would’ve if you kept walking away.”

Your chest tightens painfully at how honest he says it. No ego. Just truth.

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

Sukuna’s hands still briefly in your hair.

“Probably.”

He disappears for a moment after that before returning with one of his hoodies.

Black. Too big. Still warm from the dryer somehow.

“Put this on.”

You take it slowly, fingers brushing his accidentally. Sukuna’s breath catches so softly you almost miss it.

Almost.

By the time you finish changing in his bathroom, the rain outside has softened into a quiet steady rhythm against the windows.

When you step back into his room wearing his hoodie, Sukuna looks up from where he’s sitting against the headboard.

And completely freezes.

Your stomach flips instantly beneath the intensity of his stare.

“What?”

Sukuna blinks once like he’s trying to recover from a thought.

Then he says,

“Nothing.”

A beat.

“You just look really good in my clothes.”

Heat crawls immediately into your face.

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

The words leave him easily. Then suddenly both of you go quiet. Because that means something different now. His expression softens afterward.

Like he’s still getting used to the idea that he’s finally allowed to say things like that openly.

“C’mere,” he says quietly after a moment.

You go without hesitation.

And Sukuna visibly melts the second you settle against him. Actually melts.

His arms wrap around you carefully at first before tightening slowly, like he’s still convincing himself this is real.

Your head rests against his chest while the steady sound of his heartbeat fills the quiet room between rainfall and distant music downstairs.

And for the first time in weeks, neither of you feels restless.

Sukuna presses a lingering kiss against the top of your head.

Then another. Like he can’t stop.

“You know,” you mumble sleepily against his chest after a while, “Gojo’s never letting you live this down.”

Sukuna groans softly above you.

“I’ll kill him tomorrow.”

“You cried in the rain for me.”

“I said don’t tell people that.”

A tired laugh slips from your chest.

And Sukuna’s arms tighten around you immediately at the sound.

Silence settles softly after that and this time its Warm.

Outside, the storm finally passes.

Inside, Sukuna keeps one arm around your waist while his fingers trace absentminded patterns against your skin beneath oversized sleeves.

Still touching you like he’s afraid this might disappear by morning.

But it won’t.

And this time,

when he reaches for you,

you reach back. ♡

note:AHHHH i know that this took so long, but i didn’t want to rush it, i needed some time to think because i wanted it to be as realistic as it can be 😭

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

You whine a little in protest even though the reference makes your lips tick. "But you guys made me so comfortable already..."

And they truly have.

The bath had been waiting for you before you'd even thought to ask for one. Actually, the idea was planted in Satoru and Suguru's heads the moment you texted that you were dead-tired and grimy to the group chat from the back of Ijichi's car. You had been the only one to head out on a mission today, Satoru spending the day teaching and training the first years and Suguru mirroring him with the third years— Satoru had weaseled his way into a full hands-on day with his students, claiming he needed somewhat of a break, and Suguru spent most of his time teaching rather than hunting curses anymore, anyways.

(You and Satoru have been on the offensive with the higher-ups for years to nail down this arrangement for Suguru. Sure, Suguru still took on the occasional mission when everyone else was stretched thin by their own duties, but for his mental health’s sake, it was best that he stuck to guiding and nurturing the current generation.

You never want to see him as hollowly depressed as he was after everything that went down when he was a student.)

When you'd finally wandered into your shared house with knotted shoulders and your thumbs aggravatedly digging out the soreness from your temples, both your boyfriends snatched you up at the genkan and herded you like wildly insistent border collies to the master bedroom's ensuite, which had been transformed into a luxury spa during your twenty minute commute.

Towels were folded up in their warmer, candles swaying happily, the massive tub brimming with fragrant bathing oils and mineral salts— literally the whole nines. All the tiny things you'd long forgotten mentioning you preferred for a long soak were present, that information lovingly archived inside two impossibly attentive minds.

Before you could burst into happy tears at the lengths they went to for you, Suguru helped peel away your clothes before passing you off to Satoru, who offered both hands the moment you stepped toward the siren call of the water on sore legs, smoothly bowing as though escorting you into a ballroom instead of a bathtub.

Between them, lowering yourself into the steaming water (which was the fucking perfect temperature, holy hell) was less like climbing into a bath— another chore to hustle through before bed when you were already so worn-thin— and more like mindlessly handing yourself over for what they both dubbed your 'princess treatment.'

Suguru's smile is a ray of gentle light coloring his words, "Are we supposed to apologize for being good boyfriends?"

"Yeah. And you have to live with the consequences," you sigh, slumping further back into Satoru. The water rocks with you.

"You hear that?" Satoru says to Suguru over your head. You feel his chin nestle into your crown, arms loosely coiling at your waist. "She's blaming and threatening us."

"This is what happens when we go out of our way and draw us all a nice bath, huh," Suguru kisses his teeth, theatrically disappointed in you and what his and Satoru's efforts have come to. "Shame. I guess we won't be doing this ever again."

That finally gets your eyes to crack, blinking past the steam shrouding your slivered vision. Suguru watches the both of you with a sleepy beam curling the corners of his mouth, midnight lashes dampened and beading at their tips from the humidity. In spite of his long hair being wound up in a picture-perfect bun straight from Pinterest— his thorough wash-day took place yesterday and he's in no hurry to rewash his hair all over again— the baby hairs coiling at his nape and hairline are helplessly frizzy, fallen victim to the moisture in the air.

Suguru's gorgeous, a fallen angel meant to tempt you into the salacious temptations of the forbidden— much like the equally stunning white-haired beauty cuddled up to your behind, fluffed up white hair as refreshing as winter's first snowfall and his innate charming smile ten times more devastating than the cursed techniques sown into his very DNA.

"Hey," you protest, somewhat impressed by how he's twisted this situation to his benefit. "I didn't say all of that…"

A big warm palm finds a home on your shoulder, the callouses at the base of Satoru's fingers dragging a satisfyingly scratchy path over your skin. "I didn't agree to that either. Who's gonna appreciate all our hard work and dedication to pampering her if not, well, our princess?" Satoru wonders aloud, each richly pronounced syllable traveling in a velvety rolling rumble through his chest to your back.

Suguru cocks a brow, though he soaks up the reminder with a smoothly executed drag of the wooden bath tray closer to the corner of the tub's edge. Fancy crystalized bottles rattle, winking rainbow prisms across the walls; the oceanic waves of Satoru's irises, the deep earthiness of Suguru's.

You see them in everything, the two men coloring the world you traverse in a gallery forever curated in their likeness, to the point that you couldn't name a single thing on this planet without your lovers tinting your glasses.

Sometimes, you wonder whether the sky was always that boundless, cotton-candy blue, whether the nature crawling dense coils up Tokyo Jujutsu High's mountain campus had always carried such comforting shades of chocolate-brown, or if loving them has simply trained your eyes to always pay homage to Satoru and Suguru. Whatever the case, you're ridiculously smitten.

"Appreciation isn't the point, Satoru," lightly sniffs Suguru.

You wish you could see the stupid grin smeared across Satoru's countenance as he counters, jokingly, "It absolutely is."

"It really isn't," Suguru deadpans, looking to you as if to say get a load of this guy. You giggle.

"I don't know about you, babe, but I wanna be praised for my generous deeds," Satoru announces. "It hits like a line of coke after a long day."

Suguru slowly nods his assent. "That is true… though in your case, I'd say that cake is more your style than coke of all things."

"Snoooore," you loudly mime, deadpanning.

Satoru's laughter sears through your skin, beating a hearty rhythm between your shoulder blades. Suguru fans his fingers over his mouth as he joins in on Satoru's chuckling, amusement blossoming in the air. "Alright, alright. The deluxe princess treatment package is on its way now, promise," Suguru sing-songs with a little flap of his hand, finally easing up now that he's found a way back on track. "Satoru, you'll wash her hair and I'll do her body?"

"For sure," he chirps.

Ah, how nice it feels to lounge around like prized, celebrated royalty without a care in the world while your boys work a plan to pamper you.

All it takes is a simple curl of Suguru's black-painted finger for Satoru to obediently thrust his hand past your head, palm paralleling the ceiling as Suguru pops the glass stopper of a bottle and drizzles a generous heaping of shampoo into his hand's cup.

Satoru loops his arms around your front and works the shampoo between deft palms before your eyes, vanilla and camellia blossoms wafting up to your face, which you dip towards the comforting smell with a hum. It's Suguru's favorite shampoo— you're always surprised when he shares some of it and his conditioner with you, given how he treats it like the holy grail that he alone was blessed and entrusted with.

(Even funnier how he flat out refuses to let Satoru get his hands on it. Not that the white-haired sorcerer cares all that much anyhow; he uses a 3-in-1 shampoo and calls splashing tap water on his face a 'proper face wash.' You'd think a man so prideful about his vanity would splurge on products to properly care for himself and his Adonis body— the same way he buys from luxury clothing brands on the daily— instead of winging it like a head-in-the-clouds college fratboy, but alas…

You've gotta give it to him though: his genetics are killer. Curse Satoru and the goddamned perfectly pretty Gojo bloodline. It's not fair for the rest of you 'simpletons' who actually have to put in the work to groom and maintain yourself in order to look even half as unfairly attractive as he does on a random Thursday morning. The universe shamelessly plays favorites, and Satoru is its dazzling golden child.)

"Tilt your head back for me," he murmurs, long fingers immediately finding your hair— already sufficiently wet— the second you obey.

Humming an absent tune that lulls you into closing your eyes once more, Satoru gathers up all your hair, his usual boundless energy replaced by surprising patience. You can envision the way he's likely got his tongue peeking slightly between his teeth as he smooths the shampoo down your head, working up a rich, pearly lather from your crown to your ends with painstaking care exactly as Suguru once taught him.

Nobody from Jujutsu Tech— not Shoko, not Ijichi, not even any of the students— would expect such gentleness from the strongest sorcerer alive. The same man that tears into curses with calculated, almost joyous violence and blows them apart with a well-placed Red and a dry “oopsies,” is unbelievably tender in his task of shampooing the outer layer of your hair before diving to your roots, firm yet gentle. Reverent, really.

His nails glide along your scalp in purposefully light scrapes that send shivers down your spine. A contented sigh escapes you before you can stop it. "Satoruuuu…" You subconsciously roll the r in the same purring cadence that Suguru speaks his name in.

"Yooo, chill," Satoru splutters behind you, sounding alarmed by who knows what.

Suguru fills in the blank with a suggestive smile and thinning of his eyes: "Moan my name next, baby. I'm feeling left out."

Ah. Curious, you shuffle your hips back further into the cradle of Satoru's pelvis, glad to feel a distinct lack of engorged arousal insistently pestering your back; he's as flaccid as the day he was born. Your foot goes splashing water Suguru's way next. He catches your ankle beneath the surface and chuckles sunnily beneath the playful heat of your half-hearted glare.

"You're such a hater," he chastises.

"Excuse me for trying to enjoy my bath and the princess treatment you both promised me while you two horndogs try to make something out of nothing," you say dryly, though the pretense of sarcasm is rendered null by the next (accidentally) suggestive noise that floats its way past your lips when Satoru tugs a strand of shampooed hair just shy of too roughly.

"I didn't mean to do that, sorry!" Satoru jumps to apologize, presuming you'll give him shit for it and kick him out. But the joint snickers that both men promptly share over your head informs you that they're not exactly remorseful; and they're not even trying to play it sly.

"There's gonna be floggers and pillories in my online shopping cart by the end of the night if you two keep it up," you warn even though you're chuckling yourself. "That, or a sounding rod for you to share."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Satoru and Suguru innocently chorus.

Devils, the two of them.

But you're not any better, for you praise them in the sweetest purr possible, "Thank you. Good boys," and you all too joyfully reap the color budding across their already bath-flushed cheeks, tipping your head back against Satoru's shoulder to see his properly.

Suguru and Satoru: 1.

You: also 1.

You'll break that tie soon.

Fingers still wrapped in a delicate snag around your ankle, thumb sweeping over the protruding bone, Suguru one-handedly pumps a decent dollop of body wash into his palm, making a fist and dragging his fingers through it to warm it up a tad. "Lift your leg a little higher for me, sweetheart," he instructs, voice no louder than twinkling rain shimmering in silvery ribbons from the sky.

Conscious yet uncaring of the fact that you're already flashing him your most private parts (both your boyfriends have literally seen it all in every sexual and non-sexual scenario possible), you do just that, trusting that Satoru's solidity will keep you from sliding forward on your ass and submerging your face. Your hip flexor and quadricep tighten in a show of undemandingly easy dexterity— the movement of the latter has Suguru's eyes flicking down to watch as though you're his favorite film made human.

He scrunches his legs up in order to fit into the 'v' your own make. Shifting his grip to the back of your calf, he paints your skin in fragrant body wash from your foot, kneecap, to the crease connecting hip to thigh, coating you thoroughly and treating you to an impromptu massage along the way, thumbs kneading tenderly into muscle.

You're practically purring once he's done with your left leg. Suguru eases it back into the steaming bathwater and rinses you off with sweeping strokes of his broad hand until the jasmine-scented suds melt into the surface. Then, without breaking the tranquil rhythm you'd both settled into, he gathers your right leg in his grasp and starts anew from your foot upward, every motion as meticulous as the last.

You don't startle an inch when Satoru picks his task up again whilst Suguru works his soothing magic up your shin. Circles that bloom sweetness through your body are drawn into your scalp with the pads of Satoru's fingertips, thumbs gliding behind your ears before sweeping upward along your crown, coaxing the rich lather deeper through your roots.

His fingertips dance across your hair in broad, enthusiastic circles, working the shampoo in with enough vigor to make your head tip slightly. It's embarrassingly effective in making you lose track of where one minute ends and another begins. The little remaining tension loosens from your body like water through a sieve.

"Oh my godddd," you moan, blissful, completely swept up in their pampering that comes without a price. You melt between Satoru and Suguru without thinking, trusting the secure cradle of their bodies as completely as breathing itself. "This is exactly what I needed. This is heaven."

"You deserve only good things, especially tonight," Suguru murmurs affectionately, gently dunking your right leg and rinsing that one off, too.

"All the time, really," Satoru agrees. He leaves your hair once he's sure each strand is thoroughly lathered up. "Seeing you turn into a cute little puddle is the best bonus I could ask for. Just let us take care of you, yeah?"

He returns to you with a wooden rinse pitcher that Suguru hands to him. He cups warm bathwater into it, stray droplets sprinkling across the bath's surface when he pulls the pitcher free with an audible gulp of water. Anticipating what follows, you tip your head back and stay still as Satoru pours the first cascade of water over your head to cleanse you of the fragrant foam, his free hand shielding your forehead to keep it from spilling over your face.

"You wanna know a neat trick I thought of?" Satoru asks, voice overflowing with prideful excitement. You and Suguru rumble low noises from your throats at the same time, encouraging. "If Blue allows me to pull buildings apart at minimum output by drawing everything towards the impossibility, then it makes sense that if I put the tiiiiniest possible output into Blue—" you feel a tempered spike of cursed energy that makes the dampened hair at your nape prick to attention, "—the field of attraction is weak enough that I can siphon water from hair."

Before the dirtied water can rejoin the pooling bathwater lapping over you all, it peels from your hair like a clean, satisfying strip of tape as though the laws of nature, too, submit to the wonder that is Gojo Satoru.

You feel each saturated lock of hair lighten by degrees more than you see it. Suspended at your sides where you can spy it from the corner of yout eye, the extracted water gathers into a lazily revolving sphere no larger than a melon, pale with diluted shampoo that swirls in pearlescent ribbons beneath the bathroom's amber light. You can tell that Satoru's flicked his fingers behind you when it all goes gliding into a bucket by the tub— he probably thought to put it there in advance, you realize— with a muffled sploosh. Suguru whistles, impressed.

"There!" Satoru chirps, grin crystal-clear in his voice as though he'd unveiled the world's greatest scientific breakthrough instead of an absurdly overengineered bath hack using one of the greatest cursed techniques in history. "No gross rinse water in the tub."

"That was cool, Toru," you gush.

Suguru's laugh slips free in a quiet puff. "Good idea, baby."

The dual praise has Satoru radiating like an overjoyed sun behind you. "Right? Right?" He boasts with no modesty whatsover, chest jutting proudly against your back.

"You'll have to do that for my hair sometime, too," Suguru sighs longingly, tilting his head with a charmed look on his face. He's so cute. "I could use one of my curses, but Blue'll save me so much time. My hair's getting even longer than it already is, if you can imagine."

"Please never cut it," you and Satoru pipe up in genuine agony.

Suguru titters, enchanting brown eyes creasing in a blinding smile, brighter somehow for it. "Relax, you two. I won't. Aside from trimming split ends— knock on wood." He raps the wooden bath tray with his knuckles.

The exchange coaxes an involuntary smile of your own, the stretch of your lips so overly fond that your cheeks ache. It is so wonderfully, unmistakably the three of you— Suguru's easy indulgement forever balanced alongside Satoru's irrepressible enthusiasm and your habit of matching them both exactly where they stand.

Suguru re-lathers his hands to work on your abdomen, muscles fluttering in delicate butterly wings behind the bountiful garden of your skin at the ticklish feeling of his slickened touch; Satoru ladles another pitcherful over your head and repeats the process of gathering and discarding every soapy drop with Blue. Suguru glides soap up the valley between your perked breasts and beneath them as well, even massaging your tits without a lick of sexual intent; Satoru gives you one last rinse before passing curious fingers through your hair until the strands slide cleanly through his hands, gently teasing apart the few stubborn knots left over. The bathwater gently rocks against your ribs whenever they both shift, focused on their individual tasks but nonetheless in tune with one another.

By the time Suguru finishes off your front by washing your collarbones and shoulders and Satoru's just teased apart the few stubborn knots left over in your hair, your hair hangs sleek and impossibly clean, you're feeling squeaky clean from head to toe, and the bathwater around your bodies remains as clear as when you'd first slipped into it, aside from the body wash that's sluiced off of you.

You feel as though they’d somehow washed away not only the day's sweat and oils, but every bothersome thought that had settled there alongside them. You could seriously fall asleep any second without realizing you'd slipped into unconsciousness.

"Look at us working together in sync," Satoru lilts, signaling for the conditioner over your shoulder. Suguru hands it off from the bath tray without missing a beat. "The G.G. Salon is taking off."

"G.G.?" You ask, faint laughter already bubbling through your nose before he even elaborates. You're anticipating something so stupid that it's somehow funny.

"Get gucked," Satoru supplies, only to shriek a soprano's pitch and jackknife his leg through the water when Suguru aggressively pinches Satoru's big toe. "Yeesh, can't a guy joke around here? I meant the Gojo-Geto salon."

Suguru smiles serenely.

They make quick— but not rushed— work of the rest of your treatment. Suguru reaches between yours and Satoru's bodies to bathe your back while Satoru conditions the ends of your hair with the creamy fixture.

Clearing your hair of conditioner after it soaks in is easy as it was for Satoru with the shampoo. He splashes water along your back to finish off Suguru's work, and Suguru leans in to nuzzle a brief kiss against your forehead, lips lingering for only a second before he settles back against the tub's rim again, the picture of handsome relaxation. A moment later, Satoru cranes his head to smooch the side of your neck as if unwilling to be left out, then ducks past you to peck Suguru's mouth.

No words are needed in the wakeful peace that draws a curtain over you; you, Satoru, and Suguru seemingly come to a silent agreement to soak in the jasmine-fermented bath a while longer, all of yours eyes closed in bone-deep gratification. Heat loosens muscles and peels the firm grip of old aches and pains stemming from battles old and new, determined to ease your bodies that've been carved out from years and years of sorcerery. You only clamber out when the bathwater is cool enough to be drained, yours and Satoru's and Suguru's fingers and toes pruny from the extended soak.

The tired little shiver that quakes you when the air hits your damp skin is noticed immediately by Suguru, who quietly directs Satoru to empty the bucket of dirtied water down the tub before turning to you with towels straight from the tower warmer. He wraps one loosely around your hair and gently squeezes away the excess water.

His sweetened cooing of how cute you are when you're all sleepy and doted-on makes you duck your head into his touch if only to hide your face from the loving searchlights of his eyes. You allow Suguru to similarly wrap your body up in a second towel and you gleefully burrow into the fluffy comfort of it.

Satoru zips to your side in literal seconds with two more towels bunched under his arm, blue eyes alight and completely comfortable in his nudity. "My turn," he announces.

"Didn't you have plenty of turns in the bath?" Suguru amusedly points out in a lowered tone. "She's already dried off, anyways."

Satoru pokes his pretty pink lips out in a pout, sulky as a cat denied its dinner. "I want another."

"You always want another," you hum, eyes half-closed and about ready to conk out on the tile of all places. A plane could crash outside and you wouldn't even be fazed, your mind too up in the clouds and doped up on the princess treatment your boyfriends gave you to care.

“Well, I like taking care of you both,” Satoru admits with some sheepishness, scratching his shorn-short nape that you're sure is soon to be warmed pink as you and Suguru look at him with hearts for eyes. "Can't blame a guy for being in love, yeah?"

You really can't; not when you're just as stupidly infatuated with them both. Especially when, adorably, he surprises you both by turning to Suguru and toweling him off with great attention, making your dark-haired partner flush an even ruddier red than the hot water gave his body. For all of Satoru's impossible strength and impossible speed, his hands fuss with deliberate care as they work the plush fabric around Suguru's waist, folding one edge neatly over the other before tucking it securely against his hip. Then Satoru guides a stray bang that fell loose from his bun behind his ear, fingers lingering sweetly.

Suguru blinks once, twice, as though momentarily caught off guard by the simple gesture. "... Thank you, Satoruuu,” he purrs warmly.

The words are accompanied by a smile so soft it melts years off of Suguru's face, leaving behind only the boy who'd once looked at you and Satoru with that same impossible tenderness after late-night konbini store runs and shared umbrellas beneath summer rain as you all ran back to campus after shared misions— long, long before that accursed village sent him into a year-long spiral. Affection settles visibly into every elegant line of him, warming his browned eyes until they resemble polished amber.

Color rushes into Satoru's ears as he's blasted with the full superlunary rays of Suguru's love, almost shying away from his exuberant beam. "Don't mention it," he mutters, already smiling despite himself as he finally slings his own towel around his hips.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, sleepy and airy, and both pairs of eyes snap toward you with such immediate fondness. Your heart gives such a smitten start that it damn near ping-pongs off your ribs.

And then you open your unfiltered mouth, "You're both so cute. You two act like you guys haven't explored each other's holes for literal years."

Their expressions slacken into ones of pained amusement immediately. "Sweets, I love you so so sooo bad, but do you ever think before you reduce years of heartfelt intimacy to digging out each other's asses?" Satoru snorts.

"Please don't say it like that," Suguru bemoans, propping one hand on his towel-wrapped hip while the other drives a thumb into his creased forehead. Even so, he's openly snickering, even moreso when he slaps Satoru's chest. "Are you under the impression that you're any better?"

Satoru touches his heart with theatrical offense. "I've never said anything outrageous as her."

"You literally just did?" Suguru points out, exasperatedly tickled.

You attempt to muster a joke to chip in with, but a yawn stretches your jaw instead, eyes watering as exhaustion overtakes any dignity you might have had left.

"Awww," Satoru breathes out an impossibly stricken coo. "She's gonna fall asleep standing up like a horse."

"I was thinking the same thing," Suguru murmurs, tilting his head at you.

"I am awake and alert and alive," you mumble automatically.

Clearly, neither of them believes you for even half a second. Suguru chuckles beneath his breath before stepping forward, large hand finding the small of your back through the towel. "Looks like the delirium's getting to you, huh, angel? You've had a long day."

Satoru immediately appears at your other side. "For sure. Let's go get dressed and go to bed." Without ceremony, he bends his knees and scoops you into his arms bridal-style as though you weigh nothing at all. You let out the weakest little noise of surprise imaginable before instinctively curling against his warm chest, your cheek finding the familiar place beneath his collarbone.

"I c-can…" Your own yawn slashes the sentence in half, making Satoru throw his head back laughing as he turns towards the bathroom's entrance, "… walk."

"Oh, sweetheart," Suguru rumbles out a laugh.

"I can,” you grumble.

"You just lost consciousness mid-sentence."

"Mmmf," you say intelligently.

Suguru reaches over to straighten the towel atop your head one final time, brushing his knuckles fondly across your temple. "So spoiled," he whispers.

You hum contentedly, already halfway to sleep. "Your fault."

"Our fault," Satoru corrects, carrying you toward the door with Suguru walking beside him, shoulder brushing his every few steps. Then, as an aside to Suguru, "To be fair, we kinda made her expect this."

"I think I deserve princess treatment everyday," you exhaustedly pipe up, words dragging as you gradually drift off.

Satoru and Suguru exchange looks over your lolling head. So cute.

"I don't know...." You fiddle with the end of the duvet and chew on your lip - a telltale sign that to him means you want something but you want to be told it's okay to want. (Something he's been through so many times with you)

"Come on angel, it'll be fun, you'll see."

And you acquiesce, because of course you do. Because you could fall straight into his arms and know he'd catch you. He's also pretty persuasive. A fact you'd never let him know obviously.

So you reach out a hand, tentative, gentle and hesitant at first, fingers splayed and outstretched.

Only to meet an impenetrable and heavy wall an inch from his chest. You push, try to dig your fingers in, claw it with your nails, press against the heavy, indomitable wall. And yet you move no closer. If anything you think it presses you away from him the harder you push.

"see what I mean?" He says, a hint of mirth, a pride in his voice that doesn't go unnoticed.

"That's so strange. It's like I can't move any closer to you. What is it?"

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice curling against your skin. "That angel, is infinity." He leans back. "The details are boring but all you need to know is, nothing could ever get close to me-" your hand suddenly lurches and meets the warm plane of his chest. Soft and toned and familiar. "Unless i let it."

And you press your palm into his shirt, feel the familiar and warm heartbeat, the steady rhythmic thrum. "But I've always been able to touch you. So how does that work?"

And it comes to you suddenly, with a smirk in his eye that tells him you know already.

He's always let you.

He's always kept it off for you .

"Ah," you say, a flame licking at your cheeks as your hand moves upwards, cups the side of his neck and then his cheek. Bright and vivid blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he tilts his head as you stroke his cheek. Bare and vulnerable and knowing.

A beauty that is infinite and limitless and terrifying.