𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐞

His locker door has been forced open, a clear refusal of his to give them the original key. And the spare from the office suddenly going missing only adds to their suspicion. The crane bar lies on the floor, its purpose already complete. It took less than a minute, only gathering more eyes to watch this spectacle. As much as the teachers try and move along the students, stating that there is nothing for them to see, the students continue to linger like an ominous shadow, eyes peering with both fear and wonder.

In your mind you can already see the headlines for the upcoming school paper, no— even in the local town news you can see it. Titled in bold, the question on the tips of everyone's tongues, threatening to spill across their lips: Was the son of a killer really holding guns in his locker? You can imagine now that when these kids go back home fro the day this will be the first piece of news told to their parents and it'll be the news of the town for the next coming weeks.

People will say that they knew it all along. That blood is thicker than water will ever be.

Like father like son.

Hands search his locker without any care, pulling all the contents out, mouths moving to tell people to step back. Endless scraps of paper and old notebooks flop to the ground in a heap. A gym bag and a pair of sneakers come tumbling out without any thought. An old leather jacket falls out and other dishevelled notes join the items on the floor.

The gaping black hole of Sukuna Ryomen's locker meets the irate gaze of the principle.

"See." He mumbles. "I told you idiots I didn't have a fucking gun."

Standing with his arms crossed, his composed act is never dropped. He looks bored. Not even breaking a sweat as they search every dark corner of his locker. The principal lets out a sigh, evidently disappointed that he couldn't find anything to incriminate the boy who has given him a headache over the past academic year.

For months everyone knows that the principal has been subjected to complaints by teachers who have taught the infamous Sukuna Ryomen. There was even the incident leading to a fellow group of teachers who refused to teach him in their class altogether.

Why hasn't he been expelled yet?

Only God knows.

Each and every meeting with his mother only entails any promise that he will be well behaved and keep his head down. But he never does. The only thing holding him back from expulsion is the consideration that this is his final year. Just a few more weeks and he'll be out of the system. He's not heading for college. That's for sure. But everybody hopes that he lives up to his word of leaving this town as soon as possible.

You try to strain your hearing to hear the words of the principal before he walks away. You can't hear the words exactly but reading the lips 'welfare check' you predict that he's suspended for the rest of the day.

The students scatter, the climax is now over. Some are evidently dishearten that their school won't make it on the local news, others are texting their parents that it was a false alarm whilst a small majority of students swear that they saw a glimpse of a firearm.

"I swear I saw it! I'm not kidding."

"Me too!"

You linger a little longer than you should, aware that you'll be late to your next class but you choose to stay. Just a little longer. Watching, Sukuna kneels on the laminated floor.

He doesn't make eye contact with students that are brave enough to walk past him. They don't say anything but their fleeting glances say enough. His hands shove everything back inside his backpack and locker without any care. You study his face tattoos, black markings that imitate his father's own tattoos. It was a huge scandal when he came to school with those. An investigation discovered that he forged parental approval before heading to a tattoo artist that wasn't even licensed.

The topic of his father was a whole other discussion. He's been scheduled for death row for the past decade for multiple killings carried out in the early 90s, a local tragedy in the neighbouring state. It was the whole reason the family moved so that it was easier for visitations. His date isn't upcoming for another nine years.

It's hard to look at Sukuna's twin brother and think that the two have any relation. Sukuna changed his last name to his father's whilst Jin still takes his mother's surname of Itadori. Appearance wise, they look similar. Identical pink hair and a sharp jaw but there are still some outstanding qualities between them.

Sukuna's eyes glare at everyone who dares look at him and it's obvious that the tattoos don't help his reputation. He's a direct foil to his brother, Jin Itadori who is the known golden child and top student of the school. You've heard that he's capable of aiming towards Harvard, Columbia and Stanford, teachers betting on which one will give him an offer first.

You can see it already: Harvard acceptance offer given to the second generation American-Japanese Student from the small town of — yeah, this headline is worthy enough for the school to brag for the next decade of students.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Sukuna, dressed in all black, shuts his locker with a slam before chucking his hoodie over his head.

You don't stop watching until he turns the corner.

/

Your drama club ended a little later than usual.

The squeak of your sneakers on the laminated floors of the hallway accompany you as you make your way outside. Being at school whilst it's empty and deserted as always managed to give you the creeps. The stench of bleach and cleaning products almost makes you think you're at a pool, the cleaners probably working overtime to get rid of the graffiti stains in the toilets.

It's a little late but there is still light outside, a little glimpse of the transition into Spring. At least that's one of the more positive things that you can look forward to after today's events. Pushing the heavy entrance doors open, it doesn't take you long to notice a figure sitting on the curb at the front of the school. Your other drama friends must have already been picked up by their parents leaving one figure waiting.

Approaching, you wonder who the hooded figure could be but it's not until they hear you coming closer that they turn around. All it takes is a glimpse of that pink hair and a black tattoo on his face for you to realise who you've bumped into.

You've never spoken to Sukuna directly. The two of you share the same English class and he sits in the row behind you but you have never made any attempt to have a conversation with him. You can only recall the one time you passed him a book and he said 'thank you' without even making eye contact.

You're…curious about him. There's always been something about him which keeps you intrigued and on the contrary to everybody else it's not about his family history. Your eyes can't help but fall upon him. You study his facial features, the curve of his nose and the plumpness of his lips. Despite his exterior roughness there's something pretty about him.

But you don't know what.

"Oh sorry." you say immediately when he turns around to look up at you. "I didn't know it was…" your sentence remains unfinished. There's a breeze in the air and the rustle of leaves fills up the silence. It's a little awkward but you're not panicking coming face to face with him. You thought that he would have stormed off by now or tell you to leave him alone but he does neither. The silence is almost inviting and instead of heading home there's something inside you which makes you sit next to him.

Sukuna doesn't move or shuffle away from you, nor does he question why you're sitting next to him. Weirdly enough, he lets you sit next to him. Sukuna has seen you around before, mostly in his English class, but he's never been face to face with you before. He knows you're not a threat and somehow he knows you're not the type to pester him about what happened today. You're pretty quiet and you keep yourself to yourself — unlike everyone else in this school you don't engage with the gossip and rumours and that's something Sukuna has noticed about you.

"Have you been sitting here this whole time? I thought you got suspended."

"I had to come back for something."

"Right."

The silence intervenes between you guys again but it's less awkward than before. You don't know what it is that makes you stay in this position, that makes you stay and continue this conversation with someone you'd never thought you'd ever speak to.

Maybe it's the fact that after this final year you'll never see Sukuna again. You'll be going your separate ways in a few months and probably never see each other again.

After a few minutes of silence Sukuna speaks up again, this time to ask you a question. "Have you ever tried dope?"

"Dope?" you question.

"The drug?"

You'd only ever heard about dope when you'd secretly stay up and overhear your mom playing her favourite cop and crime show late at night. Or even during that health lesson when the local police came in to do their annual talk about staying away from drugs.

Sukuna turns away slightly and mutters something under his breath. Just from this action it makes you think that you've done something wrong, like you've picked the wrong answer. You wonder what he would have said if you had said yes to him. Regret churns deep in your lower abdomen, cursing yourself.

You don't say anything. Not for a while. The gravel crunches loudly underneath your feet as you shuffle awkwardly. The next question comes from you. Your tone isn't interrogative just curious, and it's clear that there isn't an ounce of judgement coming from you. "What made them think that you had a gun?"

Sukuna shrugs again and you notice that he has a pretty good habit of shrugging all the damn time. "Rumours. You know all that shit though. I'm not stupid enough to shoot up a whole fucking school."

You hum. You know that Sukuna slacks off school from time to time and he doesn't get the best grades in the class but you know that he's smarter than he'll ever let on. Maybe academics isn't his best fit but you know that he's somewhat intelligent enough to trick the school and the cops into getting tattoos. He says all the right things in the end, after all he's done. You've seen how he throws teachers all on edge but then pulls back — it's emotional manipulation but he's so damn good at it.

As soon as you get the idea to leave Sukuna prompts another question. And from his tone you can tell the conversation has dipped into something serious.

"If I show you something do you promise not to tell?"

If the question about the drugs threw you off, you're even more confused by this question. There's a shiver that runs up your spine at the thought of having to be sworn to secrecy.

Sukuna doesn't wait for your reply or for your confirmation of your secrecy before showing you, again there's something that tells him that you're trustworthy. There's something about you which convinces him that you'll never tell anyone even if he gave you permission to go out and tell people.

Sukuna pulls his hand out slightly from his pocket, just enough to show you a glimpse of a handgun. Your brows are raised but your mouth runs dry. You can feel your heart thud in your ears at the sudden realisation.

"Where did you keep it?"

"I hid it somewhere else when I heard that the principal was looking for me. A hole behind the boys toilets."

"Holy shit." you say and you move your gaze away from Sukuna to the road ahead that leads out from the school's car park. You wonder what today's events would have looked like if they did find the gun on him. The school would have been put into lock down and armed police would have arrived, your mother would probably would have left work early to come and get you…

and what would have happened to Sukuna?

well, this would damage his entire record and prove that what everyone in town has been saying about him was right. He'd be local — no, national news at least.

"I'm not even gonna ask how you got that without a license." you mutter, staring down at your shoes.

"Good." he says, bringing his hand back into his pocket for concealment. "I wasn't gonna do anything with it. I just wanted to carry it."

You don't respond back to him. You don't want to talk about it anymore, there's something heavy in the air and it makes you feel a little nauseous, your stomach's been churning too much around him and you don't like it.

You let a beat pass by before changing the subject. "What are your plans for after high school?"

"What are your plans?" he throws back at you.

This time you're the one shrugging. "You know, I have a basic college plan. Get away from here for a bit."

"Holy shit." Sukuna says in a deadpan tone. He pulls out his other hand from a pocket, flicking the cap of a lighter. "Got any offers yet?"

"Not yet. What about you?"

"I'm getting out of here as soon as possible."

"How soon?"

"Once I get enough money to afford some place far, far away from this shithole."

"So by the time I come back from college you'll be gone?"

Sukuna knows, "You can count on it…or better yet I'll make you a special promise."

You sit up a little taller, the heaviness of the previous conversation now long gone. "What's the promise?"

"If you come back here once you've graduated and find me still around this hell of a place then I guess you can give me a black eye and two kisses."

"A black eye and two kisses?" You tilt your head to the side. "I've never heard of that, you know, normal people usually do a pinky promise and then call it a day."

Sukuna looks down at the lighter for a moment before he speaks again, his face turning pensive. "It's just something my dad used to say to my mom if he ever broke a promise." He flicks the lighter, a small flame spurting out. "But I guess he broke that by landing in prison."

"Did she give him the black eye?"

"Worse." Sukuna mutters, staring at the ground. "She cried. For days."

The words leave his mouth in a soft tone, almost like a whisper. You've never heard him speak like this before. You have to admit that you don't know the ins and outs of his family life but you know it must be overwhelming for him to grasp.

Again, you're curious about him. You're curious about him because you see past his 'bad' facade that he puts on at school for the teachers and for the rest of the students. You see past his acting out, rudeness and impulsivity. You've noticed that the english class you share with him is the only class where he actually sits down and pays attention. Sure, he's not writing anything down but you've seen him get through an entire book in just an hour.

Once you've said your goodbyes and you're on the way home, you can't help but think over your entire interaction with Sukuna. You reflect on all the things you've said and all the things he's said to you, trying to figure out what to make of what he's trusted to tell you. You wonder why he's trusted you with the secret of the gun or why he made that stupid promise.

Reflecting on everything on your walk home, you've come to another realisation.

You think you like him.

Or worse…

you have a crush on him.

/

After the gun fiasco you saw never Sukuna again at school and the rumours were spreading.

They jumped from him finally landing in Juvie to him being sent out of the country or that he ended up in hospital. Thankfully, your english teacher put these rumours to rest and brought everyone back into reality. Sukuna was just sent to stay with his grandfather in another town for the rest of the school year.

You would be lying if you said that you weren't a little disappointed that Sukuna wouldn't be coming back. Each and every time you came to class you immediately looked towards the empty desk hoping that he would somehow appear for the final time.

But he never did.

He didn't even show up for the high school graduation but you guessed that he probably wasn't allowed to. You think back to the promise you had made with him, 'a black eye and two kisses.'

You wonder what his lips would feel like on your own. Often before you drifted off to sleep you would hyper fixate on how you would kiss him or maybe even how he would kiss you. Would he be gentle? Or would he be a little rough? Would his lips be soft or suffocating?

You thought about this more than you should ever admit but you'd cross your heart and hope to die before you told another living soul that you fell asleep thinking about kissing Sukuna Ryomen.

You can only hope that somehow he'll still be around in four years. Just so you can put your mind at ease.

/

College was different.

So much had happened in the span of four years.

Heartbreak, friendships, friendship break ups, rejections, internships, 9am lectures, never ending assignments, partying, hangovers, travelling, discovery, arguments, make ups, drunk makeouts and so much more that could never even be put into words.

You never really thought about what kind of world was out there beyond your hometown and you're more than grateful that you had the opportunity to leave and grow. Each and every time that you returned to your hometown for the holidays you always had the idea that you had outgrown everything. And it was true, you've grown more confident in your skills and thinking, your dreams have gotten bigger and you know what you want out of life.

The only thing stopping you from continuing this independence was money.

It's only natural that you have to settle down back with your parents and save some money. It doesn't feel right to continue your academic journey nor does it feel right to jump straight into corporate life. If you were being honest with yourself that kind of life scared you. You weren't ready to jump into adult life so permanently.

So you're returning back home, just for a year or two, until you get your money together and land a graduate job that feels right.

You're not really fixated on the characters that remain from your high school. Sure you see a person from the year above working at the local grocery store or the couple you used to see making out in hallways before your afternoon math class finally settled down and somehow rent a house together. Most people you know have remained in their university cities or decided to travel the world or at least were successful in their attempt to never come back here again.

As you're walking down the road with your suitcase rattling on the cobble behind you, you don't really see anyone sticking out.

Until a figure catches your eye.

And that figure just so happens to have pink hair and unique tattoos drawn all over themselves. If it wasn't for those features, you'd think you would have walked straight past him.

"Sukuna?" you say before you even realise the words have left your mouth.

The tall figure looms over you and stops in his tracks. It's clear he was deep in his thoughts, barely paying attention as he walked by.

He's gotten…bigger. In a bulking way as if since the last time you saw him he's been doing nothing but going to the gym everyday. He's no longer the scrawny kid you remember from high school but he moves with a different type of authority and confidence. He looks like he works with his hands and smells like Marlboro reds.

He frowns at you as if trying to place where in his life that you fit. A lot of people don't reach out to him in this town unless absolutely necessary.

There's a sex appeal about him that catches your attention. All of a sudden that little stupid crush you had near the end of high school hits you like a slap to the face. You can feel your face burn up as if someone actually did hit you.

You watch his eyes scan your face for any familiarity, you think he won't remember you until a few seconds pass and you watch his eyebrows release the tension they've been holding in and notice his jaw drop slightly. The recognition hits him, you're the classmate that spoke to him before he left high school for good. He doesn't remember much of the conversation. A lot has happened since then.

For a minute you think that you'll have to introduce yourself again, jog his memory of being the quiet girl from his english class. Your mouth opens to do so but the sound of your name falls from his lips before you even get the chance to.

"You're back." His voice is rough and coarse like he doesn't get the chance to use it much.

A shiver travels across your body in hearing him for the first time. "Yeah." you say and you don't realise how nervous you sound until you croak that word out. You take a moment to cough and gain back your confidence before speaking to him again. "And you…stayed."

Sukuna nods. "I did."

All of a sudden it hits you like whiplash. The last remnants of your conversation. You and him made a kind of bet. Or was it a promise?

But it wasn't just any kind of promise…it was a special one that stuck with you. That left you daydreaming about him for longer than you should've been, even when he was long gone. Your eyes fall to focus on his lips, more plumper than you imagined before.

"Is there something on my face?" He frowns again, picking up at your stare.

"Oh no, I was just—" you trail off. It's stupid, he would never have remembered the promise you guys made as kids. "Never mind."

Sukuna pulls a confused face but he prompts you with another question. "Are you staying for long?"

"Yeah, I'm just moving back home after college. I wanted to stay with my parents for a bit before I — y'know, fly the nest for real."

Sukuna hums, not really having anything more to add. The awkwardness picks up a little. He takes it as his sign to leave you alone, unbeknownst to him that you're dying to speak to him for a little longer. "See you around yeah?"

"Yeah…" is all you can say as he begins his pace. "I will."

You begin to move too, continuing your journey. Sukuna's long gone round the corner but you can't help yourself to keep turning back to see if he's still there.

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.

Sukuna glanced over. “Why are you staring.”

You blinked. “Nothing.”

“That face means something.”

You shook your head, and he went back to typing. Two minutes later, you spoke again. “Why are your hands like that?”

He stopped typing and slowly looked at you. “What does that mean.”

You sat up. “No, like…” You reached over and took one of his hands before he could pull away. He let you. You turned it over in your lap, his palm warm and rough. You traced one of the scars with your thumb.

“You work too hard.”

He stared at you, then looked away. “What.”

Your throat felt strange. You laughed awkwardly. “I do not know. I just… I do not know.” You pressed your thumb into his palm, and suddenly your eyes stung.

He noticed immediately. His expression shifted. “Oi.”

You looked away, and he responded by closing the laptop. “Why are you crying?”

“M’not.”

“You are.”

You sniffed, and it sounded ridiculous even to you. You whispered, “I just got sad.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “About my hand.”

You nodded once.

He looked genuinely confused. You swallowed. “I know this is dumb,” you murmured, tracing another scar. “But every time I see stuff like this, I think you do too much.”

His face stayed blank, so you kept going quietly.

“You work all day. You raise Yuji and Cho. You always pay. You fix everything, and…” Your voice softened. “Your hands look tired.”

Silence settled between you. Sukuna looked at you, then at his own hand resting in yours. For a moment, something in his expression shifted. Not dramatically, just a flicker of surprise, like nobody had ever looked at him and thought about him instead of what he could do.

He scoffed under his breath. “You’re weird.”

You nodded sadly. “I know.”

He stared at you for a few more seconds, then turned his hand and closed his fingers around yours. You froze. He looked away, the tips of his ears faintly pink.

“They’re just hands.”

You looked at him and whispered, “No.” 

When his eyes flicked back to you, you smiled softly. “They look like someone whose been trying really hard.”

His jaw tightened, the way it always did, like affection made him uncomfortable. Then he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into him. You made a small, confused sound as he pressed your forehead against his shoulder.

“Stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

You laughed weakly. “M’ not.”

His hand rubbed your back once, slow and awkward. Then, quieter, he said, “It is not that bad.”

You nodded against him.

But later, when he was asleep, you held one of his hands against your cheek and thought that next time he came over, you were buying hand cream. Not because he needed it, but because somebody should take care of the hands that take care of everyone else.

“2–3,” you read aloud. Second floor, third room.

You headed upstairs, leaving your friends behind as they searched for their own rooms. When you pushed open the door, you let out a startled yelp.

Standing in front of you was a shirtless frat boy, halfway through pulling on his shirt.

He froze, eyes wide. “Oh—sorry! Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“You just surprised me,” you said, trying to collect yourself. “I think you’ve got the wrong room.” You stepped closer, holding up your paper to show him.

He frowned slightly, then held up his own slip. “Huh. That’s weird. I’ve got the same room written down.”

“There must be some mistake,” you muttered. “I’ll go figure this out.”

“I’ll come with,” he said quickly, following you out into the hallway and down the stairs.

———

“Oh yeah. We had an odd number of people, so we just put you two together,” the frat president said casually.

You and your so-called roommate exchanged confused glances.

“It’s no big deal, guys. You can take the couch if you want; I’m sure people won’t be sleeping in their assigned rooms anyway,” your sorority sister added. Both of them turned away, clearly done with the conversation, leaving you and your roommate to awkward introductions.

“Uh… my name’s Kirishima, by the way,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I can sleep on the couch if it makes you uncomfortable.” He gave a small, half-smile.

“Nice to meet you, roomie, I’m Y/N. And no, it’s totally fine. Like she said, we won’t really be using the rooms much , no big deal.” You waved him off, trying to sound casual.

But in reality, you were totally weirded out about sharing a room with a boy you didn’t even know. Of course, you’d heard of him — he was the star of the football team, and your sorority sisters couldn’t stop talking about him. You told yourself this was your vacation, and you weren’t going to let something like this ruin it.

———

The frat boys wasted no time starting the party. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the yard was already scattered with beer cans. Three beer pong tables were set up, and a loudspeaker blasted upbeat music across the property.

Your sorority sisters were flirting with the frat boys, laughing and cheering as some played drinking games. You leaned against the railing, scanning the chaos with a mix of amusement and mild apprehension. That’s when you noticed him, Kirishima, shirtless — again, carrying a cooler toward the group of guys, his bright red hair glowing under the string lights.

He caught your eye and grinned, striding over. “Hey, roomie,” he said, nudging the cooler toward you. “You look way too sober. Want a drink?”

“It’s about time I start having fun. Sure,” you said, grabbing a can from his hand.

“I got a game that’s about to start. Wanna be my partner? I may or may not be last year’s beer pong champ,” he added cockily, puffing his chest out just a little.

You hesitated for a second, then reminded yourself to just let loose. “Are you sure? I might get your title revoked,” you teased.

“Your aim’s really that bad?” he laughed, walking toward the tables. You followed, smirking.

“No backsies! You’re stuck with me now — it’s too late to back out,” you said.

From that moment onward, the night turned into an absolute blast. After a few winning games with Kirishima, you were more than a little tipsy. There was singing around the bonfire, gossiping with the girls, and laughing until your cheeks hurt — until sleepiness finally started to creep in.

Your thoughts were cut off by the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. Being sick on the first night was the worst. As you walked past the bathroom, you spotted a flash of red hair through the crack in the door. Was your roommate already sick? This sleepover was shaping up to be even more terrible than you imagined.

“Kirishima, are you okay?” you asked, cracking the door open slightly.

“Hmm… not feeling too hot,” he groaned, his voice weak.

“You definitely drank too much,” you said gently, stepping into the bathroom. You rested a hand lightly on his back, trying to offer some comfort. “Do you need anything?”

He groaned again, leaning against the wall. “Water… maybe just some help getting to bed,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed.

“Of course,” you said softly, moving closer. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

He tried to stand on his own, wobbling slightly, and you slipped an arm around his waist to steady him. “Careful,” you murmured, though your heart was racing. “You’re not as invincible as you think.”

Kirishima let out a small laugh, embarrassed. “Yeah… okay, maybe not,” he admitted, resting his head briefly on your shoulder for balance.

You guided him carefully toward the bedroom, your hands brushing occasionally in those small, accidental touches that made your chest flutter. “Just a few more steps,” you said, smiling up at him.

Once he was on the bed, you helped him lay down and tucked the blanket around his shoulders. “There, you’re all set. Drink some water, and try not to move too much.”

“Thanks… Y/N,” he said softly, his usual confident tone replaced by a quiet vulnerability that made your chest tighten. You could not be falling for the frat boy in the bed next to you after one night. He gave you a shy smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

As you turned toward your own bed, just a few feet away, you heard him whisper, “You’re… so nice. And so pretty. I got the best room.”

He was clearly drunk, and you didn’t want to get all giddy over a stupid comment. So you brushed him off lightly. “Good night, roomie.”

He didn’t respond, but you noticed his breathing slow, and soon soft snores filled the room.

You paused for a moment, glancing back at him. The warm glow of the bedside lamp highlighted the slight flush on his cheeks and the messy red hair falling over his forehead.

Shaking your head with a small smile, you think to yourself, what a dork, and finally crawled into your own bed, though your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

———-

The following day, Kirishima was already gone when you woke up… which was so embarrassing, because that meant he’d seen you sleeping. Great.

After getting ready, you headed downstairs and froze at the sight before you: the boys were actually cooking breakfast. What a shocker.

“Breakfast is served,” Kirishima said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he handed you a plate of pancakes. “Thanks for last night. If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve fallen asleep on the bathroom floor.” He chuckled, eyes bright despite the slight hangover look.

The sudden closeness made your heart flutter. “Oh, no problem,” you managed, trying not to sound flustered. “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

Of course, your friends noticed. The moment you sat down at the table, one of your sorority sisters, Aya leaned in with a grin. “Oh my god! What happened between you two last night?” she squealed.

Literally nothing,” you said casually — which, to be fair, was the truth. But the warmth rising in your cheeks said otherwise. The jealous glances from the other girls at the table didn’t go unnoticed, and they only made you feel more self-conscious.

———

Today was the day you were finally going to take advantage of the beach. The weather was perfect; warm sunlight, a salty breeze drifting through the air, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Everyone had planned a full day of activities: volleyball, swimming, tanning, and probably a few chaotic drinking games before sunset.

You slipped on your sunglasses, feeling the sand crunch softly beneath your feet as you made your way down the boardwalk. It should’ve been relaxing, the kind of morning you’d been looking forward to all week. But the second your eyes found the crowd near the water, your stomach dropped.

There, surrounded by a small group of girls, was Kirishima. He was sitting on a towel, back turned toward you, his red hair catching the sunlight like fire. And right behind him, the sorority president, laughing as she slowly rubbed sunscreen onto his shoulders.

“You’re so muscular, Kiri,” she cooed, her voice syrupy-sweet.

He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, thanks, I guess! Gotta stay strong for the team, right?”

You froze, your smile faltering. You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much; it’s not like you and Kirishima were a thing.

You told yourself it was silly. He could talk to whoever he wanted. He was the star athlete …friendly, charming, built like a superhero. Of course girls gravitated toward him.

Still, you felt that stubborn twist in your chest.

You quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your towel, determined not to let it show on your face.

“Hey, Y/N!” His voice carried over the sound of the waves, warm and familiar. You heard him loud and clear, but you pretended you didn’t. Instead, you turned and walked toward a group of girls tanning nearby, forcing a casual smile as if nothing had happened.

——-

By the afternoon, a beach volleyball match was about to start and laughter carried over the waves. Kirishima spotted you lounging on your towel and jogged over, his usual grin plastered on his face.

“You wanna play on my team?” he asked enthusiastically, brushing sand from his hands. “We need one more girl.”

You barely tilted your head toward him from behind your sunglasses. “Uhm, I’m good. I think I’ll tan for a little longer.”Yes, you were still a little bitter from earlier.

“C’mon, we were such a good team yesterday,” he said, crouching beside you. Before you could protest, he gently plucked your sunglasses off your face, the sudden sunlight making you squint.

“Hey!” you protested, reaching for them. He laughed in response.

“You can ask anyone else,” you muttered. “I’m sure they’d love to join you.”

Kirishima’s smile faltered. “Did I… do something?” he asked softly, leaning closer so only you could hear. His tone had lost its playful edge.

You sighed, finally meeting his eyes. “No, you’re fine,” you said quickly, brushing him off even though your chest tightened.

He studied your face for a moment, clearly unconvinced. Then, instead of leaving, he plopped down right beside you on your towel, elbows resting on his knees.

“Well, I’m not moving,” he said with a teasing grin, his voice gentle but stubborn. “’Cause it kinda feels like my favorite roommate’s ghosted me early and now she’s mad at me.”

“Why are you like this?” you mumbled, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He shrugged, grinning wider. “Because you’re my partner. Can’t win without you.”

You groaned, pressing your palm to your face. “Fine! One game. But if we lose, I’m blaming you.”

Kirishima jumped up instantly, offering his hand to help you stand. “Deal! But we’re not gonna lose.”

You hesitated for a second before taking his hand, his grip warm and steady. He didn’t let go right away either.

———

Now you were standing in front of your suitcase, trying to decide what to wear, but your mind kept drifting back to the volleyball game. The way Kirishima always included you, his eyes lighting up whenever your team scored, replayed over and over in your head.

But most of all, you remembered the winning point. The ball was going to fly straight over your heads, and without thinking, he scooped you up by your waist. His strong, steady hands lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all.

“It’s all you!” he yelled, grinning like a maniac, just before you spiked the ball over the net. When it hit the sand, your team erupted in cheers.

“Told you we’d win!” he said, smiling, and draped an arm around your shoulders. You could have melted right then and there. He really wasn’t making it easy not to fall for him.

That night was much like the last: drinking, singing, and games. Everyone participated, making it all the more fun.

Although, unlike last night, the room situations seemed to have changed. Your friend Aya would be sleeping on the couch tonight since her roommate was hooking up with one of the frat boys, which you found inconsiderate.

As you climbed the stairs to your room to let Kirishima know Aya would be sleeping with you, the sorority president stopped you before you could go any further.

“You’re not sleeping in your room tonight,” she demanded. “Go downstairs and sleep with Aya on the couches.”

“What the hell, why?” you shot back.

“I’m going to be staying with Kiri tonight, so get out.”

Your heart could’ve stopped. Broken. All of the above.

“Oh, I see. Totally. Let me just grab my bag.”

“I left it on the floor over there. Night,” she said dryly.

You swallowed hard, pretending her words didn’t cut as deep as they did. The music from downstairs suddenly sounded distant, muffled, like it was coming from underwater. You kept your head down, brushing past her toward your bag.

You tried not to imagine them together in the same room, her hands on him, her laugh echoing off the same walls you’d fallen asleep staring at, wondering if he ever thought about you. Your fingers trembled slightly as you grabbed your things.

Aya was still awake when you got back downstairs, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. The moment she saw your face, she frowned.

“Hey, what happened?”

You forced a smile that didn’t even come close to reaching your eyes. “Room’s full. Guess we’re roommates tonight.”

Aya blinked, confusion flickering into something sharper. “Full? With who?”

You shrugged, sinking down beside her. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed. I’m tired,” you muttered.

“I’m here if you wanna talk, Y/n. Good night.”

You could hear the concern in Aya’s voice, soft even as she settled onto the couch.

Outside, a group of guys were still singing drunkenly, their laughter echoing across the yard. Among the voices, you caught the familiar deep, rough tone of Kirishima’s laugh.

So he hadn’t gone to meet the president yet.

——

An hour passed. You were wide awake, staring at the ceiling, the soft hum of the house wrapping around you. Every sound made your heart jolt; the creak of a stair, a door opening, the low murmur of voices fading from outside.

Then the front door opened.

Kirishima stepped inside, squinting in the dim light. “Y/n? That you? What are you doing down here, roomie?”

You pressed a finger to your lips and pointed toward Aya, fast asleep under her blanket.

“The president’s waiting for you upstairs,” you whispered. “She… kicked me out.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Wait— she what?”

He looked toward the stairs, then back at you, his expression hardening.

He was serious all of a sudden, “I don’t like her like that,” he said quietly, his tone firm. “If she’s up there, I’m not going.” He then returned to his playful self, “got room for a third?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “you don’t have to—”

He shook his head, already pulling off his hoodie and tossing it over the arm of the couch. “Nah. I’m good here. You and Aya can take the big couch — I’ll crash on the floor.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he just smiled that same soft, reassuring smile that always made it impossible to argue.

“Night, Y/n,” he said, settling down with a pillow. “Don’t worry about her, alright? I’d rather be down here with you anyway.”

“Passing up sex with the prez is crazy,” you whispered, trying to play it off like you didn’t care. You tossed a blanket over him, avoiding his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said, laughing a little too much, clearly still tipsy. Suddenly, fatigue washed over you, and it was easy to fall asleep.

——-

“Y/n, wake up,” you hear a whisper, followed by a gentle poke to your shoulder.

You groan softly, eyes fluttering open, only to find Kirishima’s face way too close to yours. You jolt back in surprise.

“Oops,” he chuckles, hands raised. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What’s wrong?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes.

“The sunrise,” he says, smiling a lopsided grin. “Wanna come see it with me? You’ve got, like, ten minutes to get ready.”

Suddenly, you’re wide awake. If it means spending more time with Kirishima, sleep can wait.

As you get dressed, you can’t stop thinking about the fact that he chose to be here with you, and not with her. You try not to read too much into it, but your heart doesn’t exactly listen.

“Hurry up,” he says, waving you toward the door once you’re ready.

He jogs ahead, full of that early-morning energy that makes you wonder how he’s even functioning after barely sleeping. You follow him down the boardwalk, the cool air biting at your skin, the world still asleep around you.

He stops when the sand turns soft underfoot, in front of a beach towel and pillows already laid out.

“You planned this?” you ask, smiling as you sit beside him.

He shrugs, sitting cross-legged beside you. “Kinda. I couldn’t sleep, and I thought it’d be nice, y’know?”

“And what if I said no?” you teased.

“I took my chance.” He smiled to himself.

You look at him, but he’s watching the horizon; the way the sky bleeds slowly from dark blue to soft pink, the first streaks of gold lighting up the water.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at you for a moment too long. “It is.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward — it’s warm, comfortable. The waves roll in and out, steady and calm. Then, softly, he speaks again.

“I had a good time with you this weekend,” he says. “I mean— even with all the craziness, you made it fun. I don’t want to stop seeing you… you know when we go back to school.”

Your breath catches. “Yeah I’d like that.”

He nods, a little shy for once. “I just…like being around you.”

Your heart feels too big for your chest. Before you can overthink it, you say quietly, “I like being around you too.” Wow real original you thought to yourself.

He turns toward you, eyes soft, searching. And before you realize what’s happening, his hand brushes yours, and he leans in.

The world feels still as his lips meet yours. It’s slow, warm, and a little clumsy.

When he pulls back, he’s smiling, “Guess that was worth waking you up for,” he says, voice low and teasing.

You laugh, cheeks burning. “Yeah. Definitely.”

The sun rose higher, painting the sky gold. Everything felt like it had finally fallen into place; a weekend you’d never forget.

The large door of the Fire Nation Palace bursts open with a loud bang, loud enough to rattle the books and scrolls kept in shelves. The sound of quill writing on paper stills, the Fire Lord lifts his head with narrowed eyes.

Who dares to open the doors with such impudence at this hour? And to disturb him from his work?

He does remember, his wife only had the ability to do so.

When narrowed eyes meet anxious ones, he let his guard down.

Zuko does not see you, he sees a royal servant—it was just not any servant, it was your servant. Your royal servant who was assigned to aid you and to be with you at any cost.

Something must have happened.

The Chamberlain makes a sound of disapproval of the servant’s manner. “You shan’t make a fool of yourself in front of Fire Lord Zu—”

Zuko cuts him off with the raise of his hand, eyes filled with worry, he raises from his position.

“What is it?” he queries, Zuko watches the servant trying to gain their breath as their hands were planted on their knees. He lets them regain their composure as the seconds pass, but he was dying to know anything about you.

“M-my Lady..” pant

The room was filled with anticipation, concerned for their Lady. All eyes on the servant, the intensity of their gaze made her small.

With a sharp inhale, she continues—with correct posture and a small smile, despite of the situation.

“My lady refuses to leave her chambers and wishes to not have dinner with you.. my Lord..” She gulped, a tear of sweat sliding down from her forehead. “She claims that she does not have appetite—my Lady has not eaten for days.” Her voice was stern, it was also filled with worry.

With furrowed brows, she continues. “The food I have given her—left untouched. My Lord, I’m afraid if this behavior continues.. she will get sick—”

Zuko moves with a troubling sigh, he descends from the small platform.

“I’ll take care of it.” He doesn’t leave a room for argument, leaving the room with haste

No one dares to follows the Fire Lord.

Regardless of having a servant, you did not become dependent on anyone.

Zuko knows you’re capable, you can handle yourself. But, he does not let you forget that he is there with you—he’s your husband, your best friend.

He says ‘let me’ as if it his second nature—like the air you breathe. He doesn’t let you carry a burden alone. Never.

You deal with it together—whatever struggles you were going through, he prays that it was his alone. Even though he carries the weight of a Nation, he can handle both of his Nation and yours.

He proved you wrong.

Alone in your shared chambers, arms pressed on the window sill as you lay your head, staring the glowing moon above you.

You feel arms wrap around your waist, the familiar warmth pressed against your back.

Too deep in thought that you hadn’t noticed Zuko entering your quarters.

“My heart,” he says softly, waiting for your response. “speak to me, please?”

You leave your former position to stand properly, eyes anywhere but the arms around you. You do not return the affection easily.

“My lord.” you do not see Zuko wince at the name, he waits for a few seconds then he realizes that’s all you can muster.

With a heavy exhale his hold tightened, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what are you apologizing for?”

“No, but your silence is enough to tell me I did something wrong. You do not bother seeing me.”

“Zuko, I haven’t seen you in weeks.” He turns you around—you continue to avoid his gaze. With his thumb and index finger between your chin, he makes you look at him, his eyes filled with worry and guilt, it pains you.

“There, now you see me.” He smiles trying to lighten up the mood, though it was wiped off his face when your face remained unmoved.

He lets out a sound of displeasure. Before he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him first.

“The first thing I hear you say to me in weeks is ‘My heart’ and then you joke to me as if you hadn’t neglected me for weeks. Zuko—”You groan, you were really trying to not get mad at him right now. “I wake up in the morning, alone—in our chambers and mind you, your side of the bed is cold.” Untouched.

“I don’t even know if you sleep or take care of yourself properly. I go to bed and sleep without being near you—I don’t even recall seeing you around. I know I tell you I can handle myself, but it feels so—” God, you feel like crying right now. You weren’t even mad at him.

“Hey. Hey. Love. Breathe.” His hands rubbing your shoulders comfortingly, he lifts a hand to wipe the tears that unknowingly poured, you didn’t know you started tearing up.

He wasn’t angry, Zuko was never angry at you, maybe he was angry at himself for not noticing this sooner and that he decided to prioritize his duties instead of you.

He was glad you finally spoke to him, it’s been a while since he has heard your voice.

“I’m sorry—I know I haven’t been good to you, I take care of myself well.” He leans away an inch to look at you. “You should’ve told me sooner… I promise, I swear on my life that I’ve been taking care of myself well, but you have to take care of yourself too just because you think I don’t. I heard you haven’t ate in days..” His voice soft, slightly wavering due to your tears.

You could only huff in response, “I eat, just not the food they give.”

Zuko laughs lightly. “That’s good to hear, you did well.” He embraces you wholly. Tucking your head beneath his chin, slightly swaying the both of you.

“How about I take a few weeks off? We could spend it together for as long as we want? How does that sound?” He stares at you so gently that it was impossible to decline. Your response gave him joy to be with you again without anything in the way. He wants to make it up to you. To redeem himself.

He couldn’t wait to be with you again.

“Even if there was an emergency?” You mumble against his chest faintly.

“I’d let the world burn than leave you here alone and upset with me.” He kisses your temple that lingers longer than a second, and he feels you smile beneath him.

Zuko couldn’t help but smile too.