can i peel that for you?

Not in that melancholic, emotional way that would tug on your heartstrings and would make you miss the comfort that such a home could bring.

No, it felt like an inconvenience.

So it was clear: You had needed a place to stay. Perhaps something permanent, or maybe even something to bridge the time until you had something more permanent.

“Is this one the one with the toothbrushes and pajamas?”

You're ripped out of your thoughts by a voice and when you look up, you've already made your way inside the empty apartment.

Well. Empty, save for the mess of half-emptied boxes, folded clothes and pieces of stray furniture.

“Might be. I told you, we should have at least labeled them,” you tell him and he laughs.

“The marker was empty!”

“Because you decided to add useless doodles to everything. What's supposed to be in a box that has…,” You check the drawings. “Horses and flowers on them?”

Yoichi raises a brow at you, big brown eyes shooting you a judgemental look. “Those are giraffes. That's the box with the cleaning supplies.”

You're speechless.

“Where in the world…” Squinting, you look at the sketches and smears again. There are some spots on them and their necks do look a little too long to be anatomically correct, if those were horses.

“Right… Giraffes… Cleaning supplies. Of course.”

Putting the box down, you give an exhausted sigh before popping down into a pile of clothes. Must be his, mainly, judging from how they smell like sweet dessert and his expensive perfume that he has been using since your JCC days.

Your eyes trail along the lines where the walls meet the ceiling, following the lines of the big windows before trailing along the pre-installed cupboards.

It's strange, you think. Yoichi has multiple places he inhabits, you know that, but this doesn't fit into the sort of housing he usually takes up.

Spacious, open, too large to feel lived in, modern and sleek. None of which are adjectives to describe the cute little apartment he had found for the both of you to share, once you'd told him about your predicament.

“Let's live together then. I'll protect you~” he had told you in that aggravatingly playful tone of his.

There have been many offers like that over the years. Some seemingly more serious than others. He'd thrown them at you, sometimes worded like a most generous offer, only rivaled by a god's mercy, sometimes whispered as you laid tangled beneath the sheets.

You'd declined them all.

And you were able to tell that this time around, when you finally took him up on his offer, he'd been surprised.

Glancing at him, your eyes meet his. His hands are pushed deep into the big box, rummaging for god knows what. But he's looking at you. Intently. As if he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I'm just resting,” you tell him. Trying to make it sound less like an excuse and more like reassurance. You're not leaving. Not this time.

“Lazy bum,” Yoichi offers with a shake of his head and a smile that is entirely too fond. Your breath stutters on its way out of your throat. You look away again.

The rest of the evening is a blur and somewhere between the feeling of dry carton against your hands and warm instant noodles filling your stomach, the exhaustion catches up to you.

It's too late to start building the bed together. So you make do with the mattress.

When Yoichi exits the bathroom, you're already under the blanket you've decided to use as an interim solution. It's a scratchy, old thing, meant to be used more as a comforter if anything, but it's warm and it makes you feel a bit better about the instability of your surrounding circumstances.

The mattress is big enough to fit at least three people, so there is no reasonable explanation as to why Yoichi finds his way into your personal space, his leg slipping between yours, his chest against your back.

He's warm, you note. You don't remember the last time you got to cuddle like this. Must have been years ago. Back before you'd left the assassin's life behind.

As if the time between then and now has never passed, your fingers find his underarms and they trace his tattoos. Save for what the moon is offering in terms of light through the windows that are still missing their curtains, the room is dark and yet, you find your way along the map of his body with ease.

Truthfully, you think you'd be able to trace his tattoos in your sleep. You've probably lulled yourself to sleep thinking about the patterns, that stretch across his body like overgrown ivy on an old house, more times than you can count.

“This is the first time I'm living with someone,” he mumbles, nuzzling his face into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. His arms squeeze around your middle, interrupting your hands' task of reacquainting themselves with something they never managed to forget.

Your brows furrow, in spite of him not being able to see. Not to demonstrate your confusion, but because your face decides to make room for your sleepy irritation. “Did you birth yourself then?”

Yoichi snorts, his fingers inching along your sides for a short moment that makes your breath hitch. As if you're preparing for him to tickle you, but he immediately relents, seemingly not wanting to disturb you or end the moment.

“Of course, I've lived with my family many years ago. But this is different. I've never chosen to live with someone else.”

The room grows quiet and his words linger in the air for a little while. Your hand finds his, where it's resting on your tummy. “I should count myself lucky then,” you hum. “Now you're even getting all sentimental about it with me. You're growing soft, Yo- ouch!”

His teeth leave your shoulder, where they've just bitten into the exposed skin there. You whip your head around with more energy than you knew you had in store this late tonight.

Before you can complain, he cups your chin and moves in to press his lips against yours.

Embarrassingly enough, it works well as a distraction tactic and you melt into it, your limbs heavy and warm.

“Our first kiss in our first home,” you mumble when he pulls away and Yoichi makes a face at you. Half cringing and half trying not to show that your words affect him.

“You're sleep-deprived,” is his conclusion. He lets go of your chin and moves back to his original position, burying his face against the back of your shoulder.

Slowly, you relax again. The pillow under your head is a bit too soft for your liking. You sink into it a touch too much but right now, you're not too bothered. You'd have to go buy a new one eventually. Priorities first though. Bed, then pillows. Maybe a different blanket. New bed sheets too.

“Does it feel like home to you?” Yoichi interrupts your thought process. There's an edge to his voice that another day, you would have been happy to dissect, if only to put him on the spot and see him squirm.

Tonight, you lack the energy to do so. On top of that, there is something crackling between you that feels so fragile, it might snap if you press on it too hard.

“We're sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Doesn't get any more domestic than this,” you joke, your voice flat and your tone dry. That gains a soft laugh and a gentle squeeze. Good. No need for a heavy mood.

“Maybe it'll feel like home once we fill it up.” You think out loud. “We can put up new furniture, make it colorful too. Maybe add some pictures.”

A yawn leaves your lips and Yoichi’s hold on you tightens ever so slightly. As if he's not ready to let you slip away yet. “What kind of pictures should we hang up?” he asks you, his tone soft. Hopeful, almost.

“We took some back at the JCC,” is your thought. “Maybe some of those. We have some from the festival the other day.”

“We have to take more pictures together. We don't have that many.”

"That's true…” Your voice is a soft exhale. The weight of your eyelids becomes a burden too heavy to bear. You think about it. Yoichi is right. You don't have that many pictures together, which is strange, considering how much time you've spent together.

But then again – you've spent more time apart than with each other.

“Do you think we'll get enough to fill our entire home with them?” Yoichi asks softly.

“We'll need to move into a bigger house eventually. I'll make sure of that.”

That is the last thing you manage to promise before sleep claims you, momentarily borrowing you from his world.

A breathless chuckle leaves him and he moves to rest his forehead against the back of your neck.

He's giving you his first ever experience of sharing a home with someone else and you're already thinking about taking the next round for yourself as well.

Yoichi presses his lips to your skin and thinks about what box he'd put the old camera in. Perhaps the one with the jellyfish doodles on it.

"Why are you out so late." It's more of a statement than a question from Sukuna, reminiscent of something like a scolding father.

"You're one to talk. Don't you have breakfast starting at your restaurant in about four hours?"

"I let the kids handle breakfast these days."

Giving control to the rest of his staff. That shocks you. "You—,"

"Yes. On their own."

"Wow." You blink at him. "That's new."

He exhales, weighs the words carefully on his tongue. "You often said you wished we had more time together in the mornings."

"So you thought to do it after we broke up?"

"It was in motion already."

He leans back in a chair that seems much too small for him, one arm along the windowsill, seemingly unaffected by the crisp air that meets the glass, sliding raindrops like tear tracks. His chest expands with each steady breath, the breadth of him so clear — he's a big man, with a kind of distance that sometimes feels hard to cross. He feels cold but his passion burns hot.

(Sometimes, he feels like he might burn everything around him. It's easier to cut someone off than have an honest, heavy discussion that could end in tatters. A clean break is simpler. Too much of him might feel like ignition.

You've never felt that way, though. Hand in calloused hand. You want his honesty, even if it's cruel, even if it's forged in the fire of a past best left dead. Maybe the simmering rage that sits underneath you both makes you twin flames, feelings that collect and encapsulate, that you have to find outlets for before they scorch your entire lives.)

"You look nice." He clears his throat, like the words were begging to be said or it would suffocate him. You don't know when he turned to look at you, but his gaze feels heavy.

You soften. "Yeah, you do too. You always do."

~

His car was just outside the store, something you might've noticed if you hadn't swept your jacket over your head. You try not to think about what that means — how unnecessary it was for him to sit down with you, have instant noodles that he's not even a fan of with you.

Just to spend time with you. Sukuna has always made his ambitions clear, understands sacrifice in order to take. Yet with you, he's terribly muted about it. Wanting the world, to either have it or burn it down entirely, is something he can say loud and proud. He knows he will have it, because he will do whatever it takes or die having attempted it. Having you is wrapped with a kind of uncertainty he feels uncomfortable with. Can't force it, can't decree it. All he can do is hope you choose him.

His place is exactly how you remember it — sterile, more like a showroom apartment than a place a real person lives. The kitchen counter is entirely blank, save for a few gleaming silver and black appliances, and the back-splash the marble extends to is clean of any debris.

You sweep in with remembered steps, too familiar, catching yourself after the fact only to realize — you're standing much too close to him.

You're aware of how big his hands are when they cup your face, but there's a clumsy delicateness to it, like a giant trying to hold a teacup. He dips his head down, kisses you so gently, a windswept thing. With him, you are not your failures. With you, he is not his strength. There are no defenses that need to be met. He meets you where you are, with his entire, unabashed self at the forefront, encourages you to do the same. There's something about that, that feels a little like love.

He's not made for love, every part of him hardened and calloused — his hands as they make their way down your thighs and hoist you up, the scars on his face that you trace as you kiss him over and over. But the effort is there, the hope, the showing up. The wishing and the waiting.

Whisked to the next room, the bed dips underneath you, a graceful act that has you almost wishing he would just be a little… rougher, more himself.

"You don't have to be so careful," you tell him, your lips against his, like parting even a centimeter might cause him pain. He hums in return.

"You're a gentle girl," he says, a gruff whisper against your skin, and you don't know if you would call yourself that, but next to him maybe it seems that way. Soft curves for rough hands that beg to make a home in, he touches you like he's trying to prove something. He relents, a little. His grip a little harder, his teeth starting to show as they slide down your jaw, nipping at your pulse point.

Your clothes are removed ceremoniously, like an unraveling. He undoes the buttons with consideration for the clothing, drapes them on the chair nearby. It's aching — the time, intensified by his gaze, how he cherishes each strip of skin revealed to him with kisses that pepper and mount. He makes time stretch, taffy-sweet, makes his mouth count as he laps his tongue over your nipple, pulls it into his mouth, blows hot and cold air over it until it raises goosebumps up the rest of your body.

Sukuna entertains little. He understands routine and tradition, but it all has to lead to his end goal. What's this, then — him taking his time with you, making it so all you can think about is him, him, him. Maybe that's the point, making it so you can't leave him ever again.

That's the thing about Sukuna, he relishes meals, takes his time to eat and taste. What he does to you is no different. He laps his tongue over you slowly, lets your slick coat the wet muscle, swallows down before going in again. His moan into your cunt is audible, reverberates down his chest, his breath hot, your core hotter. Your slick drips down his chin and it really isn't like him to be messy but somehow he allows it when it comes to you, maybe even relishes in it. Coming over his mouth comes in waves, a tensing before it wracks through you.

He looms over you, backlit by the cold moon, and everything about him is warm. He looks down at you with so much want that it feels tangible.

To want is dangerous. To want is to give up a piece of yourself for another person to hold, and Sukuna's not sure how much of himself he has left. He slides into you. Every part of him you could want, is already yours anyways.

~

It's the morning after when you notice it, on your way out. Your jacket from before the breakup, hanging on the coat tree in the entryway. He never moved it.

"Did you want to bring it back?" He tracks your gaze to it, his spine stiffening.

You smile softly at him. "I'll come back for it later."

You scratch the short, fuzzy hairs at the back of his head. “Nowhere, silly. Been right here all morning.”

Valko grunts, dissatisfied with your answer. “Liar. You were far away. Left me all alone.”

“I think someone was dreaming,” you whisper, poking his nose.

“Hm. Maybe,” he says. Then, more quietly, “it felt real though.”

“Oh?” Twisting in his grasp, you move to look at him. He squints back.

“Mm. Someone took you from me. Or took me away from you?” He shakes his head, as if to clear it. “I don’t know. AllI know is that you kept getting further and further away from me.”

“Aw, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him, cupping his cheeks.

“Damn right,” he says, turning his head to kiss your palm before his tone turns flirty. “You could never leave all this.”

“Same goes for you, mister,” you say. “You’re not allowed to leave either.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he says with a lopsided smile, one of his wolf ears flopping down as he does so. The two of you settle down again, snug in one another’s arms. 

After a few moments of quiet, Valko’s hand pauses in playing with your hair. “What would you do if I did?”

Your brow furrows. “Why? You’re not planning on turning tail already, are you?”

“‘Course not, baby. Just wondering.” His hand resumes combing through your hair thoughtfully. 

“I’d be upset, obviously. We’ve only just started properly dating, and I…” You trail off, shy all of a sudden. 

“What?”

Clearing your throat, you try again. “I… Well, I really like you. So it would hurt to see you go.”

Valko’s face breaks into a wide, cheeky smile, pointy fangs on full display. “Ohooo, so you like me, huh?” he teases, wiggling his thick brows at you. “How much?”

Heat blossoms in your cheeks, and you struggle to meet his eyes.  “Valko!” you whine.

“Someone’s getting flustered!” he sings, all too entertained by your reaction. You quickly hide your burning face in his chest, letting it muffle your words, but he still hears you perfectly when you finally decide to speak up. 

“A lot,” you admit. “Too much. Way too much.”

“Too much, huh?” 

You look up at him with a scowl. “Yes! I mean, you’re a wolf, for crying out loud! That’s not normal, is it? I shouldn’t like you this much!”

“Hey, you got a problem with us wolves?” he frowns, ears drooping slightly.

“No!” you say, backtracking with a shake of your head, wanting to soothe him the minute you see his expression fall. “It’s just- well. You don’t get the average person dating a person that sprouts ears and a tail and howls at the moon, y’know? I guess, I just wasn’t expecting to ever be in this sort of situation. I’m still getting used to it.”

“When you put it like that, it makes sense. But also,” he adds, pausing for effect.

“What?”

He nuzzles your nose with his, a warm, honeyed smile curving at his lips. “I feel the same way about you. So it’s okay.”

You melt at his words, scratching his ears again to enjoy the way his eyes flutter and how he chases your touch so eagerly. Endeared, you coo, “do you have any idea how cute you are, Val?”

Before he can respond, you lean in and quickly press a kiss to his lips, catching him off guard. You giggle at the surprise on his face, but it’s short lived because he quickly twists onto his back with you in tow, pulling a shriek from your lips. He holds you tightly against his chest, smirking up at you with his golden, lidded gaze.

“If I'm cute, then that makes you the most adorable person to ever walk this earth.”

“It does not,” you argue, rolling your eyes. 

“Does too,” he says.

“Says who?”

“Me, obviously.” His face is mere inches from yours, and you can feel the strong, steady beat of his heart pressed against yours. He closes the space between you easily, kissing you so softly you wonder how this same man is also a beast. His thumb caresses your cheekbone when you pull back, gazing at you with a look so tender it bleeds into longing. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“You’re silly, Val,” you say softly, looking away bashfully. Valko turns your gaze back to his gently, wearing a serious expression.

“I mean it. Don’t you dare forget how much you mean to me. Even if this world decides to one day keep us apart, it won’t change a thing.”

You whisper his name, like you’re scared those words might actually come true if you speak too loudly. “I won’t,” you tell him, tucking your head under his chin as he holds you. “I promise.”