⭑.ᐟ about.

⭑.ᐟ navigation.

⭑.ᐟ rules.

he’s unusually silent as he dabs at the cut on your cheek, eyes focused, lips pressed into a thin line. hiss hands are careful, gentler than they have any right to be, considering how effortlessly those same hands tear through curses like paper.

you flinch slightly at the sting. he pauses, tilts his head. “sorry,” he murmurs, voice low.

you shake your head. “it’s okay.”

a beat passes. you watch him work, the slight furrow between his brows, the dried blood on his jaw — not yours, not his, maybe both. he’s a mess, really. you probably are too.

he drops the cloth into the sink, leans back on his heels, and looks up at you with that tired, half-smile. the kind he only wears when it’s just the two of you.

“huh,” he says, almost to himself, “in another life, we’re not doing this, you know?”

you raise an eyebrow. “doing what?”

“this.” he gestures vaguely between you. “not patching each other up after fighting monsters. not running into death like it’s some joke. just…” he trails off, eyes scanning your face. “maybe we’re just two people. normal. maybe we argue about what to eat for dinner, or who forgot to take out the trash.”

you let out a soft breath, the image hitting harder than you expect. him, with his ridiculous socks scattered around the apartment. you, chasing him down with a laundry basket. no blood, no curses, no constant threat of loss.

“maybe,” you say quietly, meeting his gaze.

he stands then, brushing your hair back with stained fingers before pressing his forehead against yours. “but we’ve got this life,” he whispers, eyes closing. “and i’ll take care of you, whether it’s this life or any other life.”

-> @cuntphoric

neither of you says it out loud, but you both know this is the end. the weight of it sits between you, heavy, suffocating.

sukuna exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop to his side. his eyes flick over you, unreadable, yet somehow still so familiar. even now, even here, he still looks at you like you’re something worth keeping.

but you can’t stay.

you open your mouth to say something—anything to fill the silence, to make sense of the wreckage between you—but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

sukuna steps closer. not enough to trap you, not enough to change your mind. just enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, the scent that’s woven into your skin after all this time.

“let me kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges. “one last time.”

you shouldn’t.

but when he reaches for you, fingers curling against your jaw, you don’t pull away.

the kiss is slow, aching, like he’s trying to make you remember. like he’s trying to tell you all the things he never said—the things he never will. his hands are firm on your waist, grounding you, but there’s no force behind them. no desperation. just him.

you kiss him back just as softly, just as painfully, as if you can press all your love into this one moment before it disappears forever.

when you pull away, his lips linger against yours for a second longer, like he doesn’t want to break the connection. then, finally, his hands slip from your body.

he doesn’t say anything when you step back.

things they do that make you second-guess your friendship featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i’ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.

Your Sukuna apocalypse story had me STRESS that something terrible was going to happen and when it did I was freaking out. But, you were merciful and kind to us and gave us a happy ending. Really did enjoy watching Sukuna grow to trust and love YN. It took me a while to read it all but it was definitely worth it and you made sure that each section important to the story (ie to learn about and see interactions with the characters)

And I really like your love letter drabbles. The letters you made for each JKK character was so cute and personalized!

I’m looking forward to reading more of your work. You definitely have a talent for it.

oh wow, this means so much to me. thank you !!!!i’m so glad you enjoyed everything, especially the sukuna apocalypse story. i was definitely aiming for that “oh god, something bad is coming” kind of tension, so hearing that it had you stressed (in a good way) is honestly the best compliment. and yeah, i couldn’t be too cruel :p i had to give a happy ending! also, it makes me so happy that you liked the love letter drabbles! i really wanted each one to feel true to the character, so knowing that came through makes me happy 🙂‍↕️

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.

pairing: sukuna x reader

genre: angst

inspired by the song do i wanna know? live at bbc by hozier

it’s been three months.

three months since the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence in your wake. three months since you walked away, and sukuna didn’t chase after you—not that night, not the morning after, not the weeks that followed. he told himself it was for the best. that this was what you wanted.

but now, as he sits alone in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a vice, he wonders if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

the buzzing of his tattoo machine is the only thing that keeps him sane most days. his clients come and go, faces he barely registers as he inks intricate designs onto their skin. it’s the only time his mind goes quiet—when his hands are busy, the hum of the machine drowning out the thoughts he doesn’t want to face.

but the second the machine powers down, reality creeps back in. and reality is cruel.

because no matter how hard he tries, you’re everywhere.

he sees you in the smallest things—things that shouldn’t remind him of you, but somehow always do. In the flicker of a neon sign outside the shop that hums the same soft glow as the fairy lights you used to hang in your room. in the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine that lingers when someone walks past him on the street, never quite matching the way it clung to your skin. in the half-empty coffee cup sitting on the counter, lipstick smudged at the rim, and he’s reminded of lazy mornings when you’d steal sips from his mug, laughing when he grumbled but never really minded.

you’re in the song that plays softly from the radio while he works—one he never paid attention to before but now knows every word to because it was always on your playlists. in the chipped black nail polish on his coworker’s hands, a fleeting reminder of the countless nights you sat cross-legged on his couch, painting your nails and teasing him for being too still as he let you paint his, too.

but worst of all, he sees you in his reflection—tired eyes that have lost their edge, the weight of regret carving its place in the lines of his face. in the faint traces of your touch that still linger like phantom sensations along the tattoos you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, as if memorizing every inch of him.

and when his coworkers scroll through their phones, laughter echoing through the shop, there you are again—captured in a fleeting Instagram story from some party last weekend. grainy, imperfect, but unmistakably you. smiling, carefree, eyes crinkling in that way that always made something in his chest tighten. and god, how he hates the way it guts him, wishing—aching—that he was still the reason for that smile.

you unfollowed him. he noticed immediately.

one day, your name was gone from his notifications, your profile nowhere to be found. he tried not to care. tried to convince himself that it was just social media. but it gnawed at him. you were cutting him out piece by piece, and all he could do was watch it happen.

he lurks in the shadows, hoping one of your friends posts something—anything—that gives him a glimpse of you. It’s pathetic, he knows, but it’s the only thing he has left.

there’s a bitter irony in it all. he was the one who pushed you away first. always keeping you at arm’s length, never letting you in too close. you wanted more—deserved more—but he couldn’t give it to you. not when vulnerability felt like a weakness he couldn’t afford.

and now? now, he craves your presence like a man starved.

the shop is quieter than usual tonight. it’s late, and everyone else has left. sukuna leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of traffic outside barely audible through the thick walls. the glow from his phone screen flickers beside him, but he doesn’t touch it.

not yet.

he’s been doing this every night. sitting here, contemplating. the urge to reach out is unbearable, but something always stops him. pride, maybe. or fear.

fear that you’ve moved on. that you don’t want to hear from him. that he’s too late.

his chest tightens at the thought.

he tried to fill the void, but nothing ever worked.

not the long hours at the tattoo shop, where he threw himself into his work until his fingers ached and his mind blurred. not the mindless scrolling through social media, hoping—not that he’d ever admit it—that he might catch a glimpse of you. not the empty nights spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to drag him under.

nothing could distract him from the ache of missing you.

his friends tell him it’s time to move on. they say three months is long enough to let someone go. that there are plenty of people out there. but what do they know? they didn’t spend endless nights memorizing the shape of your smile, or the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, like he was the only person in the world. they didn’t hear the quiet affection in your voice when you whispered his name in the dead of night, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his chest like you were trying to commit every line to memory.

his friends didn’t feel the weight of your absence like he did—the way it settled deep in his bones, heavy and inescapable. they didn’t know how every morning, he still reached for you instinctively, only to be met with the cold, empty space beside him. how even now, he still slept on his side of the bed, as if leaving room for you just in case.

how could he fall for someone new when he was still so busy being yours?

they didn’t see how badly he broke you when he shut you out.

the memory of your last fight is still fresh, even after all this time. you stood in the doorway, tears brimming in your eyes, asking him—begging him—to just let you in. to tell you what he wanted. and all he gave you was silence.

he thought you’d stay. you always had before. but that night, you walked away. and now, the silence is all he has left.

his fingers twitch toward his phone, but he stops himself. what’s the point? you deserve better than a half-assed apology three months too late.

but then he thinks about the what-ifs. what if you’re waiting for him to reach out? what if you’re lying in bed right now, staring at your phone, wondering why he never called?

he can’t take it anymore.

the weight of missing you presses down on his chest, suffocating and relentless, until it pushes him off his chair and out the door before he can even think twice. it’s reckless, stupid—but so is love, isn’t it?

the streets are quiet at this hour, the hum of the city softened under the cloak of night. his hands are shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, but none of it matters. all he can focus on is you. the thought of you, maybe asleep, maybe curled up in bed with your phone just out of reach. maybe dreaming of something—someone—that isn’t him.

the thought twists like a knife in his gut.

he walks with purpose, even though every step is a silent war between hope and dread. what if you don’t open the door? what if you tell him to leave? what if someone else is there?

he shakes the thought away.

it’s been three months, but it feels like no time has passed at all. and yet, it feels like forever.

before he knows it, he’s standing outside your apartment building, staring up at your window. the soft glow of light seeps through the curtains, and he wonders if you’re still awake or if you’ve just fallen asleep with the lamp on, the way you used to when reading late into the night.

his heart pounds so loudly he’s sure it’ll wake the whole block, but still, he climbs the stairs. each step echoes in the silence, a quiet reminder that there’s still time to turn back. but he doesn’t. he can’t.

and suddenly, he’s there. in front of your door. it’s familiar and foreign all at once.

he doesn’t have a plan. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. all he knows is that the thought of another night without you is unbearable.

he raises his hand to knock but hesitates. his breath is shallow, his pulse erratic.

but then, before he can stop himself, his knuckles rap gently against the door.

seconds pass. each one heavier than the last.

then, the faint sound of footsteps. the quiet click of the lock.

the door opens, and there you are.

soft, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket, and so heartbreakingly familiar that it steals the breath from his lungs.

“sukuna?” your voice is quiet, confused, and laced with something that might be disbelief.

he swallows hard, the weight of the past three months pressing down on him all at once. “i know it’s late,” he says, voice rough and barely above a whisper. “i know i shouldn’t be here. but… i couldn’t stay away.”

you blink at him, and for a moment, there’s only silence. then, softly, “why now?”

his throat tightens, and he runs a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “because i’m tired,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s held back. “tired of trying to forget you. tired of pretending i’m okay. i’ve tried. god, i’ve tried. but i can’t. i miss you.”

his voice cracks at the end, and he hates how raw he sounds. how vulnerable. but it’s the truth. And right now, that’s all he has left to offer.

he sees the flicker of emotion in your eyes—the conflict, the hurt, the love you’ve tried to bury—and it guts him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with regret. “i’m sorry for not being enough. for not being what you deserved. i know I fucked up. i know i wasn’t always what you needed me to be.”

his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists at his sides. “but i swear… i’ll do better. i will. i promise you.”

his voice is raw now, barely more than a whisper. “just… tell me it’s not too late.”

you stare at him, eyes glossy, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. and then, finally, you step back just enough to let him in.

and for the first time in three months, sukuna breathes.

pairings: gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, sukuna x reader

summary: jjk characters as high school boyfriends

genre: fluff

SATORU — steals your notebook just to doodle silly hearts and stars in the corners, grinning when you notice. sends you selfies with dumb captions like, “thinking of u during math :)” always ends up next to you, even if it means switching seats without permission. buys your favorite snacks from the vending machine. drapes his jacket over your shoulders when you forget yours. always has to be touching you in some way—holding your hand, resting an arm around your shoulders, or tugging you closer by the waist as you walk. playfully tugs at your hand in the hallway until you finally hold his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. steals kisses when no one’s around, his laughter soft and warm against your skin. is the class president but lets you get away with anything, flashing you a cheeky grin whenever someone calls him out on it.

“satoru, i have to go,” you mumble against his shoulder as he traps you in a loose hug, swaying both of you gently in the empty hallway. “five more minutes,” he says, voice muffled as he presses his face into your neck. “you said that five minutes ago.” “exactly, so one more won’t hurt,” he grins, pulling back just enough to steal a quick kiss. you laugh softly, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “i’m seriously going to be late.” “nooo, wait,” he whines, tightening his arms around you for a second before giving you another kiss, slower this time. you sigh, smiling against his lips. “you’re impossible.” he grins, leaning his forehead against yours. “yeah, but you love me.” “unfortunately,” you tease, finally breaking free. “hey!” he calls after you with a pout. “at least say it back!” you glance over your shoulder, rolling your eyes playfully. “i love you too, now go to class, dummy.” he chuckles, watching you leave.

SUGURU — always waits outside your class, no matter how far his own is, greeting you with a soft smile and a quiet “ready to go?” ties your scarf for you when it’s cold, his touch gentle and thoughtful. listens patiently to every rant, every story, every little detail about your day. lets you nap on his shoulder during study sessions, brushing his fingers through your hair absentmindedly. helps you study, sliding his notebook toward you with the answers already written out, whispering, “i’ve got you, don’t worry.” if you get frustrated, he chuckles softly, resting his hand over yours, “relax, you’re smarter than you think.” soft smiles across crowded hallways and even softer glances when you’re not looking. and if you don’t like someone? he doesn’t either—no questions asked. “if you’re not a fan, why would i be? i’m on your side. always.”

“and then—ugh—he just kept going on and on about how this assignment is ‘so simple,’” you huff, taking another bite of your food mid-rant. “like, maybe it’s simple for him, but some of us actually need time to process things!” geto hums softly in agreement, resting his chin in his hand as he watches you with an amused smile. “mmhm, sounds exhausting.” “right?!” you nod, waving your fork around. “and don’t even get me started on how—” he reaches out gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “you had a little something,” he says quietly, showing you the crumb he wiped away. your cheeks heat up as you blink at him. “oh… thanks.” he chuckles softly, eyes full of warmth. “keep going, i’m listening.” you pause, blinking at him for a moment before gazing at him softly, eyes filled with quiet affection. then, you lean in to press a quick peck to his lips. geto blinks, surprised, before chuckling softly, his smile growing. “oh! let me tell you about this girl in history,” you suddenly say, eyes lighting up as you jump into another story.

KENTO — always offers to help you study, even when you insist you’ve got it, sliding his notes toward you without a word. shares one side of his earbuds with you during breaks, quietly asking, “this song’s good, right?” and stealing quick glances at you while you’re not paying attention. remembers every small detail—your favorite snacks, the books you want to read, the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re concentrating. walks you home in comfortable silence, the kind that feels easy and familiar, occasionally asking if you’re cold and offering his blazer if you are. not big on pda, but his hand always finds yours when no one’s looking, squeezing gently like a quiet reassurance. when you’re overwhelmed, he gently scolds you for not taking care of yourself—“you need to rest,” he says softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles—but you know it’s because he worries. helps you solve the hardest problems during study sessions, leaning close to explain them in that calm, steady voice of his.

nanami finds you sitting on the library floor, textbooks scattered around you, and a tired pout on your lips. he sighs softly, crouching down beside you. “overwhelmed?” he asks gently. you nod, rubbing your eyes. “i’ve read the same sentence like ten times.” without a word, he settles next to you, close enough that your shoulders touch. “let’s go through it together,” he offers, opening his notebook. you smile, leaning your head against his arm for a moment. “you’re too good to me.” “i just don’t want you stressing yourself out,” he says, flipping through pages. “besides, someone has to remind you to take breaks.” you roll your eyes playfully. “sounds like you’re calling me a mess.” “not a mess,” he corrects, glancing at you with a soft smile. “just… someone I care about.” your cheeks flush as you nudge him lightly. “smooth.” “practical,” he counters, placing an earbud in your ear and pressing play. “now focus. and don’t fall asleep on me again.” “no promises,” you murmur, smiling as he rests his hand over yours while you both start studying.

SUKUNA — teases you endlessly, calling you ridiculous nicknames just to see you roll your eyes, but the moment someone else tries? his sharp glare is enough to shut them up instantly. only attends school events or the clubs just to spend more time with you, grumbling about how boring it is but never actually leaving your side. acts like he doesn’t care, but always waits for you to finish your school activities just to walk you home, carrying your backpack for you without a word, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. flicks your forehead when you’re being stubborn let’s you wear his jacket and grumbles, “don’t lose it.” casually holds your hand like it’s no big deal, but squeezes it just a little tighter when he thinks you’re not paying attention. tugs you away from your friends during lunch, finding a quiet corner to steal kisses from you,

the moment the first blast echoed through the air, gojo’s arm was already around you, his reflexes faster than your thoughts. his hand pressed firmly against the back of your head, shielding you as he pulled you close to his chest.

you could hear the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. it wasn’t from fear—no, gojo satoru didn’t do fear. it was adrenaline, the instinct to protect, to keep you out of harm’s way.

“satoru—” you tried to move, but his grip only tightened.

“shh,” he murmured, eyes darting around as the dust settled. his usual carefree expression was gone, replaced with something unreadable, something cold.

another explosion rocked the ground, and you flinched. your hands found his face, forcing him to look at you. those cerulean eyes, usually filled with mischief, were sharp—calculating. but beneath it, beneath the infinite cosmos of his gaze, you saw the worry he wouldn’t voice.

“we need to help.” your voice was steady, despite the chaos around you.

he hesitated, just for a second, before exhaling a slow breath. his hands settled on either side of your face, his touch achingly gentle.

“be careful, okay?” his voice was softer now, but there was something heavy in the way he said it, like he needed you to promise.

you gave a small nod, and that was all he needed. his lips brushed against yours—a fleeting moment, barely there, but it lingered. when he pulled away, his gaze stayed locked on yours, something unspoken passing between you.

then, with one last squeeze of your hand, he turned, stepping forward as infinity flickered to life around him, ready to face whatever came next.

↳ summary: in a world overrun by the infected, survival is brutal and trust is rare. when a lone survivor joins sukuna’s guarded group, tensions flare, and bonds form in the shadow of constant danger.

→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna x fem!reader

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: graphic injuries, violent confrontations, emotional trauma, loss of loved ones, mature themes, and anything you would expect in an apocalypse au. unprotected sex and dirty talk.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8k+

→ a/n: here it is—the final part of this series! i’m so sorry it took me so long to finish; i honestly struggled with how to end it, but i hope it was worth the wait. completing this series has been such a special experience for me since it’s my first-ever finished one, and i’m so grateful for all the love and support all of you have shown along the way. i promise i read every single comment, and they mean the world to me, even if i haven’t been able to respond as much as i’d like. thank you for your patience and lovely comments. i can’t wait to hear what you think about the ending!

part one & part two

The group reunited after what felt like an eternity—two long, harrowing hours filled with dread and desperation. Relief swept through the air like a fleeting breeze, heavy with exhaustion yet laced with the fragile thread of hope. Slowly, figures emerged from the shadows, battered but alive.

“Everyone here?” Nanami’s voice carried over the quiet chaos, sharp and steady as his eyes scanned the group.

“Barely,” Gojo muttered, dragging a hand through his sweat-matted hair. His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced with fatigue. He clapped Geto on the back, the two exchanging a silent nod of relief.

Shoko was kneeling near a tree, already pulling out her medical kit. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, wiping blood off her fingers as her eyes darted over the group. “No one’s bleeding out, right? Because I’m not carrying anyone back.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group, strained but real.

You leaned heavily against Sukuna, your shoulder throbbing with every shallow breath. He glanced down at you, his crimson eyes narrowing as his gaze landed on the crude bandage over your wound.

“Shoko,” Sukuna barked, his tone sharp but threaded with worry. “Over here. Check this.”

Shoko’s head snapped up, her sharp gaze locking onto you. She frowned, rising to her feet and striding over with brisk efficiency. “What happened?”

“She got hit,” Sukuna grumbled, guiding you to sit on a large rock. His hands hovered near your arms, steadying you as you sank down.

“It’s not that bad,” you said quickly, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Shoko crouched in front of you, her sharp eyes scanning your pale face and the bloody bandage. “Not bad? You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder,” she muttered, tugging her gloves on.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you mumbled, trying for a weak smile.

Shoko gave you a flat look but didn’t comment as she carefully began unwrapping the bandage. Sukuna loomed over her, his jaw tight, his arms crossed, but his eyes stayed locked on you.

“Hold still,” Shoko said softly, her voice losing some of its usual edge. Her hands worked quickly, her fingers deft as she cleaned the wound with a damp cloth. “Does this hurt?”

You winced but shook your head. “Not much.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced at Sukuna. “It’s deep, but it doesn’t look infected. I’ll clean it properly and wrap it up again. She’ll be fine.”

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to your face, his tension only slightly easing at Shoko’s reassurance. “Do it right,” he said gruffly, his voice low but firm.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Shoko shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

She worked in silence for a few moments, her hands steady despite the exhaustion etched into her features. When she finished wrapping your shoulder, she leaned back on her heels and gave you a small, tired smile. “That should hold for now. Just don’t do anything stupid to rip it open again.”

“Thanks, Shoko,” you murmured, your voice soft with gratitude.

She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face in an almost maternal gesture. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting yours.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Sukuna cut in, his voice low. “Me too.”

Shoko’s gaze flicked to Sukuna, something unspoken passing between them before she stood and dusted off her pants. “Try to keep her out of trouble,” she said, more to Sukuna than to you, before walking back to the rest of the group.

Nanami’s voice broke through the relative quiet. “We’ve been here too long. Five minutes to pack up, and we’re moving.”

The group murmured their agreement, their movements slow but efficient as they gathered their belongings. Sukuna stayed close to you, his hand brushing your arm as he helped you stand.

“You okay to walk?” he asked, his voice low but softer than you’d expected.

You nodded, though your legs still felt shaky beneath you. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with quiet determination. “I can handle it.”

He studied you for a long moment, his crimson eyes searching your face for any sign of weakness. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too damn stubborn.”

“Guess that makes two of us,” you said with a faint smile, earning the slightest twitch of his lips in return.

As the group started moving, Sukuna stayed close, his hand brushing yours occasionally, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos. His gaze never stopped scanning the horizon, his body tense and ready, as if daring anything to try and hurt you again.

“You need to tell me if it gets worse,” he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I will,” you promised, your voice soft but sincere.

The walk was slow, the weight of exhaustion and close calls pressing down on everyone. Despite the lingering tension, Sukuna’s careful attention grounded you, his quiet presence a reminder that you weren’t alone.

And as you trudged forward through the darkened forest, his hand brushing yours again, you felt the weight of an unspoken promise between you. Whatever came next, you knew he’d do everything in his power to keep you safe.

The group trudged through the dense forest, the dim light of dawn just beginning to filter through the thick canopy above. The faint rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a branch beneath heavy boots were the only sounds, a tense silence hanging over the group like a storm cloud.

Geto stumbled for the third time in the last fifteen minutes, his usually composed demeanor replaced with a pale, sweat-drenched exhaustion.

“Hey, you okay?” Gojo asked, stepping closer to his old friend. He grabbed Geto’s arm to steady him, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Fine,” Geto muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t look fine,” Sukuna said, his sharp eyes flicking to Geto before scanning the surrounding trees. “When’s the last time you drank anything?”

Geto swayed slightly, and Nanami stepped in on his other side, catching him just before he collapsed.

“Shit,” Shoko cursed, already pulling off her bag to dig for a water bottle. She handed it to Gojo, who pressed it to Geto’s lips.

“Drink,” Gojo ordered, his voice firm but worried.

Geto tried, but his hands trembled too much to hold the bottle. Gojo frowned, tipping it for him as the water dribbled down his chin. “He’s dehydrated,” Shoko said, her voice tight with concern.

Before anyone could respond, the faint groan of the undead carried through the forest.

Sukuna’s head snapped up, his crimson eyes narrowing. “We’ve got company.”

“Shit,” Nanami muttered, already unsheathing his weapon. “Shoko, get him out of here.”

“I can’t carry him alone!” Shoko shot back, her tone sharp with urgency.

“I’ll help,” you volunteered without hesitation, already moving to Geto’s other side. You slung his arm over your shoulder, bracing against his weight as Shoko did the same on the other side.

The groans grew louder, the shuffling footsteps now unmistakable.

“Go!” Sukuna barked, stepping forward to take the lead. “We’ll handle this.”

“But—”

“GO!” he roared, his tone brooking no argument. His crimson eyes locked onto yours for the briefest moment, softening just slightly. “We’ll catch up.”

With a sharp nod, you and Shoko hauled Geto between you, stumbling forward as the undead closed in behind.

The sounds of the fight erupted behind you—the sickening crunch of bone, the wet squelch of blades cutting through flesh, and the furious shouts of Sukuna, Gojo, and Nanami as they fought to hold the horde back.

“Faster!” Shoko urged, her voice strained as Geto’s weight threatened to pull both of you down.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” you grunted, your shoulder screaming in protest from the added strain.

The trees seemed to close in around you, the shadows deepening as the groans of the undead grew closer. Your legs burned, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, but you didn’t dare stop.

A sudden crash behind you made your heart lurch. You risked a glance over your shoulder to see Sukuna, bloodied but unrelenting, slashing through the crowd of zombies with terrifying precision. Gojo’s laughter rang out, wild and sharp, as he dispatched another with a brutal swing of his blade. Nanami, ever focused, held the line with calculated strikes, his movements efficient and deadly.

“They’re holding them off,” Shoko said, her voice a mixture of relief and urgency. “But we need to move faster.”

A root caught your foot, and you stumbled, nearly dragging Geto down with you. Shoko steadied him, her free hand gripping your arm tightly. “Don’t fall now,” she muttered, pulling you back to your feet.

“I’m trying,” you panted, your legs trembling from the effort.

The three of you finally broke through the thick trees into a small clearing. The faint light of dawn painted the scene in muted hues, offering just enough visibility to make out a cluster of rocks near the edge.

“Over there!” Shoko pointed, nodding toward the rocks. “We can put him down for a minute.”

You and Shoko half-carried, half-dragged Geto to the makeshift shelter, easing him down against the largest boulder. His head lolled back, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“Stay with us, Geto,” you whispered, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”

Shoko quickly unzipped her medical kit, pulling out a small vial. “This’ll help stabilize him,” she said, her tone clipped as she injected the solution into his arm.

The clearing felt like a fragile reprieve, the kind that couldn’t possibly last. Every sound, every rustle of leaves made your pulse race, and the distant growls of the undead continued to echo in the back of your mind

“Come on, Suguru,” Shoko muttered as she administered the injection, her steady hands belying the tension in her voice. “This will help, but you need to hold on. Just a little longer.”

You crouched beside them, one hand resting on Geto’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open briefly, unfocused and glassy, before they closed again. “He’s not looking great,” you murmured, worry tightening your chest.

“He’ll pull through,” Shoko said, but the edge in her tone betrayed her own concern. She didn’t stop moving, pulling out gauze and water to clean a small scrape on his temple. “We just need to give him time.”

Time you didn’t have.

The distant snarls seemed to grow louder, the forest pressing in around you. You turned toward the sound, your grip tightening on the knife at your hip. “We should keep moving,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” Shoko replied, her focus on Geto. “Just another minute.”

And then it happened.

The underbrush to your left exploded with movement, the snarling roar of a zombie tearing through the fragile silence. You barely had time to react before Shoko let out a startled scream, her instincts kicking in as she shoved you away from the approaching danger.

“Shoko!” you shouted, stumbling backward and falling to the ground. Your breath caught in your throat as the creature lunged toward her, its rotten, claw-like fingers swiping wildly.

Shoko scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with panic as she grabbed the nearest object—a rock—and swung it with all her strength. The impact knocked the zombie back slightly, but it didn’t stop. It snarled, undeterred, and lunged again.

You acted on instinct. The knife in your hand felt heavier than ever as you surged forward, adrenaline surging through your veins. The zombie had Shoko pinned against a tree now, its teeth snapping dangerously close to her neck.

“Get away from her!” you screamed, your voice hoarse as you slashed at its back. The blade bit into decayed flesh, and the zombie jerked, momentarily distracted. Shoko used the opportunity to shove it away, gasping for breath as she staggered to the side.

But the creature wasn’t done. It turned on you now, its soulless eyes locking onto you as it charged. You stumbled back, your grip tightening on the knife, but before it could reach you, Shoko lunged forward again.

“No!” you cried as the zombie’s claws raked across Shoko’s arm. She let out a cry of pain, but she didn’t stop, grabbing onto its tattered clothes and holding it in place.

You didn’t hesitate. With a shout, you drove your knife into its skull, the force of the blow sending both of you tumbling to the ground. The zombie twitched once before going limp, its weight heavy and suffocating as it collapsed on top of you.

Panting, you shoved the corpse off and scrambled to your knees, your eyes immediately searching for Shoko. “Shoko!” you cried, your voice breaking.

She was slumped against the tree, cradling her bleeding arm. Her face was pale, her breaths shallow, but she managed to give you a shaky smile. “I’m okay,” she said, though her voice wavered.

“No, you’re not!” you snapped, crawling to her side and grabbing the medical kit. Your hands shook as you fumbled with the supplies, the sight of her blood making your stomach twist. “Why did you do that? You should’ve let me—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice firm despite her obvious pain. “I wasn’t going to let you get hurt. End of story.”

Tears blurred your vision as you pressed gauze to her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “You’re so stupid,” you muttered, your voice trembling. “What if it had been worse? What if—”

“Hey,” Shoko said softly, her good hand reaching out to grip your wrist. Her gaze was steady, her usual calm demeanor peeking through despite everything. “I’m fine. I promise.”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you secured the bandage around her arm. “You can’t scare me like that,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I thought that was it for you.”

Her expression softened, and she gave your wrist a gentle squeeze. “It’s not,” she said simply. “I’m still here.”

The groans of the undead echoed again, reminding you that the danger wasn’t over. You glanced back toward the clearing, your heart racing as you realized the others were still fighting.

“We need to move,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Shoko said, though she winced as she pushed herself up. “Let’s get Geto and go.”

You helped her to her feet, your grip firm but careful, and together you moved to Geto’s side. He was still slumped against the rock, but his breathing was more even now.

As you and Shoko prepared to lift him, a familiar voice broke through the chaos.

You turned to see Sukuna, bloodied but alive, sprinting toward you. His crimson eyes widened as they landed on Shoko’s arm. “What the hell happened?”

“A zombie came out of nowhere,” you said quickly, your voice shaking. “She saved me.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his crimson eyes darting between the two of you. “Dammit,” he muttered, stepping closer. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder before turning his gaze to Shoko. “Can you walk?”

“I’m fine,” Shoko replied, though her wince betrayed her words.

Before Sukuna could respond, another voice called out through the trees. “Y/N! Shoko!”

Gojo emerged first, panting heavily, his white hair streaked with dirt and blood. Nanami followed closely behind, his usual calm demeanor replaced with visible tension. Both of their eyes immediately scanned the scene—the bloody corpse nearby, Shoko’s injury, and Geto’s slumped form.

“What the hell happened here?” Gojo asked, his usual nonchalance nowhere to be found as he crouched beside Geto. His blue eyes narrowed at the sight of Shoko’s bleeding arm. “Are you okay? Shoko, you’re hurt.”

“She’s fine,” Sukuna cut in, his tone sharp. “We need to get moving before more show up.”

Nanami crouched beside Shoko, his sharp gaze assessing her wound. “It’s not deep, but you’ll need to keep it clean. Infection could set in quickly.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Shoko replied firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “Thanks.”

“Geto’s barely holding on,” Gojo said, his voice unusually grim as he lifted their unconscious friend’s arm. “We can’t carry him much farther like this.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Sukuna snapped, his gaze darting to the dense forest behind them. “The longer we stay here, the more exposed we are.”

You knelt beside Geto, brushing sweat-dampened hair from his face. “We’ll figure it out,” you said quietly, glancing at the group. “We always do.”

Gojo met your gaze, nodding firmly. “Damn right we will.”

“Nanami, take his other side. Let’s move.” Sukuna muttered, stepping closer. He crouched and looped one of Geto’s arms over his broad shoulders.

Nanami gave a quick nod, positioning himself on Geto’s opposite side to help carry his weight. Gojo fell back slightly, taking up the rear as he scanned the surroundings, his blade ready.

Shoko swayed slightly, her face pale, and you instinctively moved to support her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked softly, worry lacing your tone.

“I’ve had worse,” she said with a weak smile, but her steps faltered.

Sukuna’s sharp eyes caught the motion, and he stopped abruptly, glancing back. “If she can’t walk, we’ll carry her too.”

Shoko shot him a glare. “I can walk. Let’s just go.”

The group began moving again, the sound of groans and snapping branches growing fainter as you pushed deeper into the forest. Every step felt heavier, the weight of exhaustion and fear pressing down on you, but you kept moving.

Sukuna glanced back at you more than once, his crimson eyes filled with something unspoken. His hand brushed yours briefly, a grounding gesture that steadied your fraying nerves.

After what felt like an eternity, the trees began to thin, revealing a faint trail ahead. The group slowed, everyone breathing hard and glancing over their shoulders as the threat finally seemed to fade.

“We’ll rest here for a few minutes,” Nanami said, his voice calm but firm. He and Sukuna lowered Geto carefully onto a patch of grass, and Gojo immediately crouched beside him, checking his pulse.

Nanami knelt beside Shoko, his sharp gaze focused on her arm as he gently peeled back the makeshift bandage to assess the wound.

“You need to take it easy,” he said firmly, though his voice was softer than usual. “It’s not deep, but it’s not shallow enough to ignore.”

“I’m fine, Nanami,” Shoko replied, but her wince as he cleaned the area betrayed her words.

“You always say that,” he muttered, shaking his head as he applied a fresh bandage with practiced precision. “One of these days, you’re going to actually listen to someone, right?”

She offered a weak chuckle. “Doubtful.”

Across the clearing, Gojo tipped a bottle of water to Geto’s lips, murmuring quietly, “Come on, man. Just a sip. You’ve been through worse. Don’t give up on me now.”

Geto stirred faintly, his eyelids fluttering as he made a weak attempt to drink. Gojo grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s it. You’re tougher than this. I know you are.”

Gojo’s free hand rested on Geto’s shoulder, a grounding gesture that spoke to their deep bond. “You’re not allowed to check out on me yet, okay? We’ve got too much to do.”

Meanwhile, you sat a few feet away, leaning against a tree, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but the tension in your chest refused to ease. Sukuna knelt beside you, his crimson eyes sweeping over the group before they locked onto you, unwavering and intense.

Without a word, he reached out, his large hands gently cupping your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his. The warmth of his palms against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, grounding you in the moment.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, cutting through the haze of fatigue clouding your thoughts. “We’re close. Just a little longer, and we’ll be safe.”

His gaze searched yours, the fierce determination in his eyes softening as his thumbs brushed over your cheekbones in slow, comforting strokes. The weight of his words sank into you, easing some of the tension coiled tight in your chest.

You nodded slightly, your hands instinctively reaching up to rest on his wrists. “I trust you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, Sukuna didn’t move, his eyes lingering on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and grounding, as if to reassure you that you weren’t alone. His hands stayed firm on your cheeks, holding you like you were something fragile yet vital, something he’d fight to protect with everything he had.

The kiss deepened slightly, his breath warm against your skin, before he finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “We’re going to make it,” he whispered, his voice carrying a promise that felt like a lifeline.

You closed your eyes briefly, taking in the steady rhythm of his breaths, and let the comfort of his touch anchor you. When you opened them again, he was watching you, his crimson gaze unwavering and filled with something unspoken but undeniable.

Before either of you could speak, a faint groan broke the moment. Your head snapped toward the source, and Sukuna’s hand immediately fell to his weapon out of instinct. But it wasn’t a threat—it was Geto. His fingers twitched, his head shifting slightly against the makeshift pillow beneath him.

“Suguru?” Shoko was at his side in an instant, her hands hovering over him as her sharp eyes scanned his pale face. “Hey, are you with us?”

Geto’s eyelids fluttered before they slowly cracked open, revealing hazy brown eyes. He blinked sluggishly, his gaze unfocused at first, but when he finally locked onto Shoko, a faint, groggy smile tugged at his lips. “Hey,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shoko let out a shaky laugh, her composure breaking as she threw her arms around him, careful not to jostle him too much. “Don’t scare us like that, you idiot,” she muttered, her voice thick with relief.

“Look who decided to rejoin the land of the living,” Gojo teased, though his voice carried a tremor of emotion. “Missed you, man.”

Geto’s weak chuckle was short-lived, but it was enough to ease the tension gripping the group. “Missed you too,” he mumbled, his eyes drifting between the familiar faces around him.

Nanami approached, his usual stoicism softening. “Glad to see you awake,” he said simply, his gaze steady as he nodded at Geto.

You felt Sukuna’s hand tighten briefly on yours, grounding you in the moment. Relief swept through the group like a balm, lifting the heavy weight that had settled over everyone.

“Think you can move soon?” Sukuna asked, his tone gruff but not unkind. “We can’t stay here much longer.”

Shoko pulled back, wiping at her eyes quickly before regaining her professional demeanor. “Give him a few more minutes. I don’t want him collapsing again.”

Geto gave a faint nod, his head leaning back against the rock. “I’ll be fine. Just… give me a second.”

Gojo leaned back on his heels, shaking his head with a grin. “Take your time, man. We’re not dragging your sorry ass again.”

Shoko shot him a glare. “He literally almost died, Gojo.”

“Exactly, which is why he should get his strength back so we don’t have to go through that again,” Gojo shot back, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed his playful tone.

As the group waited, you found yourself leaning into Sukuna’s side, his arm slipping around your shoulders protectively. His crimson gaze flicked to you briefly before scanning the treeline once more, always alert.

“Stay close when we move,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “We’re not taking any more chances.”

“I will,” you promised, your voice equally soft.

A few minutes later, Shoko stood, brushing dirt off her pants. “Alright. He’s stable enough to move, but slowly. Gojo, help him.”

“On it.” Gojo crouched beside Geto, slinging one of his friend’s arms over his shoulders. “Come on, Geto. Let’s get you out of here.”

With Gojo supporting Geto, the group gathered their belongings and prepared to leave. Sukuna stayed close to you, his hand brushing yours occasionally as you fell into step beside him.

The forest seemed quieter now, the oppressive weight of earlier fading as the faint light of dawn continued to creep through the trees. Despite the lingering exhaustion and tension, there was a renewed sense of hope among the group. You glanced at Sukuna, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon, and felt a flicker of reassurance.

The dense forest finally began to thin, and the air felt sharper, colder. The group trudged forward, exhaustion etched into their faces. It had been days of relentless traveling, ambushes, and sleepless nights, but now there was a flicker of hope.

Nanami, walking slightly ahead, raised his hand to halt the group. “Look,” he said, pointing ahead.

There it was—a weathered, metal sign bolted to a leaning post. It read:

GOVERNMENT SANCTIONED SAFE ZONE—2 MILES.

The arrow pointed upward.

“Finally!” Gojo exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air dramatically. “We’re close!”

Shoko squinted ahead, her hand shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun. “That’s great, but… does that look like a mountain to anyone else?”

The group stared, their eyes following the trail upward. Sure enough, a steep, rocky incline loomed in the distance, climbing high into the fog-draped peaks.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Geto muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nanami exhaled slowly, already looking as if he were calculating the climb. “It makes sense. The higher ground is easier to defend. A natural fortress.”

“Sure, genius. But did they have to make it this high?” Gojo shot back, tilting his head back to exaggerate the incline.

“We can’t stop now,” you said, your voice tired but resolute. “We didn’t come all this way to quit at the last stretch.”

“You’re really looking forward to this, huh?” Sukuna asked, his tone quieter as he glanced at you. There was no judgment in his voice, just curiosity.

You met his gaze. “It’s a chance, Sukuna. A real one. For all of us.”

He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ll see about that.”

“Well, we can complain about it or start climbing,” Shoko said, already pulling her bag tighter.

“I’m too tired for this kind of cardio,” Gojo grumbled but began moving toward the incline.

The group exchanged weary glances, but one by one, they followed. Sukuna stayed close to you, his hand brushing yours every so often as if silently checking you were still there.

The climb was grueling. Loose rocks and steep paths made every step a battle. Shoko slipped once, but Geto caught her arm, steadying her. Sukuna hovered close whenever the trail became especially narrow, his sharp eyes flicking between you and the terrain.

“Almost there,” Nanami called, though his tone betrayed his exhaustion.

“Better be,” Gojo said, half-panting. “If this isn’t the place, I’m turning back and opening my own safe zone.”

“And how long do you think you’d survive on your own?” Geto shot back.

“Forever,” Gojo retorted smugly, though no one was in the mood to humor him.

Finally, after what felt like hours of climbing, the group reached a wide, flat ledge. The fog began to clear, and the faint outline of a massive steel gate came into view. A chain-link fence stretched out from either side, running the length of the rocky cliff. Beyond the gate, you could see the faint glimmer of floodlights and the shapes of guard towers.

“It’s real,” you whispered, your breath hitching.

The group stood there for a moment, staring in stunned silence.

“Guess we didn’t climb for nothing,” Sukuna muttered, though his tone was cautious.

“Let’s not celebrate just yet,” Nanami said, moving forward.

The gate was imposing, its surface dented and scratched from what you could only assume were previous attacks. A security camera perched at the top, its red light blinking as it tracked your group’s movements.

Nanami stepped forward and cleared his throat. “We’re survivors,” he called, his voice steady. “We received your message.”

For a long, tense moment, there was no response.

Then, a loudspeaker crackled to life.

“State your names and how many are in your group,” a voice demanded. It was sharp and professional, but not unkind.

Nanami responded without hesitation, listing your names and confirming the group’s size.

The voice paused, then said, “Stay where you are. Someone will come to assess you. Do not approach the gate.”

The group exchanged wary glances but obeyed, settling into a tense silence. Sukuna moved to stand beside you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“You ready for this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, though your heart hammered in your chest. “Are you?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his gaze flicking back to the gate. “But if this is what the group wants then okay.”

Before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the other side of the gate. The moment of truth was here.

The gates creaked open slowly, revealing a group of heavily armed soldiers standing behind a barricade. They moved forward, their rifles raised but not aimed, scanning each of you carefully.

“Hands where we can see them,” one of the soldiers ordered. His voice was firm but not hostile.

Everyone complied, raising their hands and staying still as the soldiers approached. One of them, a woman with a stern face, stepped up to Nanami first, patting him down methodically and checking his bag.

“We have to search all of you for weapons or signs of infection,” she announced as the others followed suit.

When it was your turn, a soldier—a man with a gruff demeanor—began to check you. His hands moved briskly over your arms, shoulders, and back. But when he gripped your wrist a bit too tightly to check for injuries, you flinched.

Sukuna stepped forward instantly, his tone sharp and protective. “Careful!” he snapped, glaring daggers at the soldier.

The man looked up, startled. “Standard procedure.”

“Yeah? Then do it without bruising her,” Sukuna growled, his voice low and threatening.

The soldier hesitated but backed off slightly, finishing his check without another word. You glanced at Sukuna, your heart swelling at his protectiveness, though you gave him a small shake of your head to signal it was okay.

Once the search was complete, the lead soldier gestured for the group to move forward. “They’re clear. Welcome to Haven Base.”

The inside of the base was like stepping into a different world. Wide, clean paths wound between sturdy buildings constructed from concrete and metal. Solar panels gleamed on rooftops, and the hum of generators filled the air. People bustled about—children playing, adults tending to gardens or working on machinery. It was the most life you’d seen since the outbreak began.

A large, central building loomed ahead, flanked by smaller dormitories. Soldiers patrolled the perimeter, but their stances were relaxed, their faces calm. It truly felt like a safe haven.

“Holy shit,” Gojo muttered, his wide eyes darting around. “This place is… legit.”

“It’s almost too good to be true,” Geto murmured warily.

Nanami nodded, his expression unreadable. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

A soldier led you to the dormitory, handing each of you a key. “You’ll be assigned rooms here. Two to a room. Showers and meals are provided in the main building. Orientation is tomorrow morning. Rest up.”

The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the base’s generators. You stand by the window, freshly showered, wrapped in clothes that don’t smell like blood or sweat. For the first time in months, your hair feels clean, your skin soft, and the simple feeling of being washed is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

The view outside is peaceful—the mountains standing tall in the distance, the world quiet under a blanket of night. You trace a finger along the cold glass, almost afraid that if you blink too long, this will all disappear.

The sound of the door opening breaks your thoughts. You turn to see Sukuna walk in, his hair damp and pushed back, a clean shirt clinging to him. He looks… different. Relaxed, maybe, though his crimson eyes still hold that sharp glint you’ve grown so used to. But there’s something else there too—something softer.

“How are the others?” you ask softly, turning back to the window as he walks up beside you.

“They’re good,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He leans against the wall, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “Gojo’s stuffing his face with every snack he can get his hands on. Shoko’s already talking about how much she missed sleeping on a real bed. Nanami’s… well, being Nanami. He’s already asking about rations and supplies.”

You laugh softly at the thought. “That sounds like them.”

Sukuna smirks. “Yeah. Bunch of idiots. But they’re okay.”

“And Geto?”

“Probably trying to keep Gojo from eating the whole stockpile,” Sukuna replies with a shake of his head.

You smile, turning to look at him. There’s a faint shadow of exhaustion still lingering in his features, but his expression is lighter, his shoulders looser. He catches you staring and raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s just… we made it.”

The weight of those words hangs between you. Sukuna studies you for a moment before pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you. He reaches for your hand, fingers sliding easily between yours as he pulls you away from the window.

“Come here.”

You let him guide you to the bed, where he sits and tugs you down beside him. It’s quiet for a moment—so quiet you can hear the faint sound of his breathing, steady and warm.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” you admit, resting your head against his shoulder. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

Sukuna’s arm wraps around you, pulling you closer until you’re tucked against his side. “It’s real,” he murmurs. “We’re here. And nothing’s going to take this away.”

You close your eyes, letting his words settle deep in your chest. For so long, survival was the only thing you could focus on. Moments like this—simple, soft, human—felt like distant dreams.

Sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You’re thinking too much again,” he says quietly.

You smile faintly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes soften as they trace over your face, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The calluses on his palm are familiar, grounding.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For everything,” you say. “For keeping us safe. For keeping me safe.”

Sukuna scoffs softly, though the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do.”

He doesn’t argue this time. Instead, he leans down, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that’s soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize you. You kiss him back, your hand curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the steady beat of his heart.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, “I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this. Like… I had something worth holding onto ever since Yuji.”

Your chest tightens at the confession. You lift a hand to touch his face, brushing your thumb over the scar on his cheek. “You do,” you whisper. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

Sukuna closes his eyes, like he’s letting your words wash over him, like they’re breaking down the walls he’s spent so long building. When he opens them again, there’s something in his gaze that makes your heart ache—a mix of tenderness and relief.

“I love you,” he says, the words rough and honest, like he’s finally letting himself believe them.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his lips before leaning back just enough to meet his gaze. “I love you too.”

Outside, the world stretches out beyond the base, vast and uncertain. The dangers are still out there—the chaos, the loss, the memories of what you’ve survived—but here, in this moment, there’s only the quiet.

You lean your head against Sukuna’s chest as he wraps both arms around you, holding you close like he’s afraid to let go. The two of you sit like that for a while, breathing each other in, the hum of the base a steady rhythm in the background.

And for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there’s still hope left in this world.

You’ve made it. Together.

And that’s enough.

The dense forest and chaos of the past seemed like a distant memory now. It had been six months since you and the group made it to the government safe zone. The towering steel gates, the floodlights, and the patrolling guards had become an everyday sight, though they still felt foreign sometimes. You weren’t used to walls keeping things out—not when life outside had always been about running, fighting, and surviving. But here you were. Safe. Or as safe as anyone could be

You woke to the sharp whistle that signaled the start of another day. It sliced through the mountain air, crisp and cold even with the spring thaw. Sukuna was already up, sitting at the small desk crammed into your shared unit. His broad shoulders hunched over a map as his fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the surface.

“Morning,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and low as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and offered a tired smile. “Morning. You’ve been up long?”

“Not too long.” He turned back to his map, his focus unwavering. “Thought I’d go over the patrol routes again. Make sure they’re not screwing it up.”

You chuckled softly, slipping out of bed and grabbing your boots. The heater in the corner of the room barely made a dent in the mountain chill, and you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders as you moved toward him. “You can’t micromanage everything, you know.”

He huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Someone has to.”

Breakfast was in the communal dining hall—a noisy, crowded space filled with survivors eating together. The smell of coffee and freshly baked bread mingled with the chatter, a strange contrast to the silence you’d grown accustomed to in the wild. You spotted the others immediately. Shoko was sipping her coffee with half-lidded eyes, while Nanami sat beside her, flipping through a worn notebook. Gojo and Geto were also with them, Gojo gesturing animatedly with his fork while Geto looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Finally!” Gojo called out when he spotted you and Sukuna. “I thought you two were gonna skip breakfast again. I can’t keep saving pancakes for you, y’know.”

“You didn’t save anything,” Shoko muttered, rolling her eyes.

You sat beside her, your shoulder brushing against hers. “How are you holding up?”

“Better than you, I think,” she said, giving you a once-over. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground lately.”

“Not much choice,” you replied, though your tired smile didn’t reach your eyes. “There’s always something to do.”

Shoko nodded, her expression softening. “Well, don’t forget to breathe once in a while.”

Sukuna, sitting across from you, grunted his agreement as he grabbed a piece of toast. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, lingering for a moment before he turned his attention back to his plate.

The mornings had become a strange kind of ritual—a chance to connect, to remind each other why you fought so hard to stay alive.

The days at the base were structured but demanding. Your role in the infirmary had grown quickly, Shoko relying on you to help with the constant stream of injuries and illnesses. It wasn’t always easy—there were moments when the sight of blood and the cries of pain brought back memories you’d rather forget. But the work kept you grounded. It gave you purpose.

Sukuna’s days were no less exhausting. He’d become one of the leaders of the patrol teams, his sharp instincts and relentless drive making him a natural choice. You rarely saw him during the day, but when he returned to your shared unit each evening, you could see the toll it took on him. The quiet moments you shared, sitting together in the faint glow of the heater, were the only times he seemed to relax.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the infirmary windows, casting a soft golden glow over the sterile room. You were hunched over a supply cabinet, carefully sorting bandages and antiseptics while Shoko worked on organizing the patient files at her desk. The day had been mercifully uneventful—no emergencies, no chaos—just the steady rhythm of work.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head around, expecting another patient or Shoko’s usual delivery of coffee. Instead, Sukuna strolled in, his presence commanding as always. His crimson eyes scanned the room before landing on you, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well, well,” Shoko drawled without looking up. “What brings the mighty Sukuna to our humble infirmary? Need your ego patched up?”

“Funny,” Sukuna deadpanned, ignoring her as he walked straight toward you. You straightened as he approached, your heart skipping slightly at the way his gaze softened just for you.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low as he slid his arms around your waist from behind. His warmth enveloped you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he pulled you flush against him.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, a flustered smile tugging at your lips. “I’m working.”

“And I’m waiting for you to stop,” he replied smoothly, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s been all day, and I’m done pretending I can go any longer without this.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You instinctively leaned back into him, your fingers brushing against his hands as they tightened slightly around your waist.

“Ew,” Shoko groaned loudly, snapping a file shut and glaring at the two of you. “Some of us are trying to get work done without dying of secondhand embarrassment.”

Sukuna didn’t even flinch, his smirk widening as he tilted his head to glance at her. “Then stop watching. Problem solved.”

“Seriously,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Get a room.”

Sukuna straightened slightly, his smirk turning downright wicked. “Gladly.”

Before you could protest, he was already turning you toward the door, his hand firmly clasping yours as he tugged you along. “Sukuna!” you yelped, half-laughing, half-protesting as you stumbled after him. “I’m still working!”

“Not anymore,” he said over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re taking a break.”

Shoko’s exasperated voice rang out behind you, sharp and cutting through the heated moment. “I need her for treatment, Sukuna! She’s not done yet.”

Without missing a beat, Sukuna glanced over his shoulder, his crimson eyes flashing with their usual intensity. “Not as much as I need her,” he shot back, his tone dripping with possessiveness.

Shoko groaned dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Oh my god. Gag me. Seriously, stop. Just—take her and go.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up despite the heat still lingering between you and Sukuna. His lips twitched in amusement, but his hand stayed firm on your wrist as he pulled you toward the door.

The door to your shared room closed with a soft click, and before you could even turn around, Sukuna’s hands were on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips met yours with a desperate hunger, the day’s tension melting away as his warmth consumed you.

Your hands instinctively reached up, tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. A soft gasp escaped you, and he took full advantage, tilting his head to explore you further. The feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands on your hips, made your pulse race.

“Sukuna,” you whispered against his lips, but he didn’t stop—didn’t even slow down. Instead, he gripped your waist tighter and began walking you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. With a gentle but insistent push, you tumbled onto the mattress, your laughter quickly swallowed by his mouth as he leaned over you.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He hovered above you, his crimson eyes locked onto yours, darkened with an emotion that made your breath hitch.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind his neck, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it off in one smooth motion. The soft glow of the room illuminated his tattoos, the intricate black lines dancing across his skin. Your hands instinctively reached up, tracing the patterns over his chest and shoulders, your fingertips brushing against warm, taut muscle.

“Can’t get enough, can you?” he teased, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he leaned closer, his hands sliding beneath your shirt. His calloused fingers brushed over your bare skin, and you arched into his touch, your breath hitching as he slowly dragged the fabric over your head.

“Sukuna,” you breathed, his name a plea as his lips found your neck. He left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin as his hands roamed your body, mapping every curve. He kissed his way down to your collarbone, his lips lingering before his teeth nipped at the delicate skin, making you gasp.

He pulled back slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto yours as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants. “Off,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your hands fumbled to comply, pushing the fabric down your hips. Sukuna helped, his movements uncharacteristically gentle as he slid them off and tossed them aside. His own pants quickly followed, leaving him gloriously bare above you.

Your gaze dropped to his cock, hard and heavy, and your breath caught in your throat. He smirked at your reaction, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear. “You’re already dripping for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “So fucking eager.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. “I need you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with want.

“I know, baby,” he said, his tone softer now, though the intensity in his gaze never wavered. “I’ve got you.”

He positioned himself between your legs, his cock brushing against your slick folds as he teased you, dragging the head slowly along your entrance. The sensation made your hips jerk, a needy whimper escaping your lips.

“Patience,” Sukuna growled, his hands gripping your hips to hold you still. “I’ll give you what you want. But you’re going to take all of me.”

With one slow, deliberate motion, he pushed inside, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs as he filled you completely. Your nails clawed at his shoulders, the fullness overwhelming as he paused, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tipping back as his muscles flexed above you. “So tight. Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembled beneath him, the sensation of him buried so deep igniting every nerve. “Sukuna,” you gasped, your voice breathless. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice a low growl as he pulled back, only to thrust forward again, the force of it making your back arch. “You were made for me.”

He set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with a precision that left you breathless. Each thrust hit deeper, the angle sending shockwaves through your body as he gripped your thighs, spreading you wider to take him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his crimson eyes blazing as he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling as his movements grew rougher, more desperate. “All yours.”

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, a symphony of moans and groans as Sukuna drove you closer to the edge. His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with devastating precision.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your lips. “Falling apart for me. You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

Your head fell back against the mattress, your cries growing louder as the coil in your core tightened. “Sukuna—I’m so close.”

“I know, baby,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Let go. I want to feel you.”

With one more thrust, the dam broke. Your body convulsed beneath him, your walls clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out his name, your hands clawing at his back as you came undone.

“Fuck,” Sukuna groaned, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. He buried himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending another shiver through your body.

He collapsed against you, his weight grounding you as both of you struggled to catch your breath. His forehead pressed against yours, his crimson eyes soft as they searched your face, studying every inch of you like he was committing it to memory. His fingers traced along your jawline, their touch feather-light, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and raw, carrying the weight of every unspoken word that lingered in the quiet.

Your heart swelled, the warmth of his confession spreading through you like a flame. “I love you more,” you whispered, your voice trembling, each word wrapped in sincerity.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were about to argue. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours as he murmured, “Impossible.”

Before you could respond, his mouth captured yours in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was deep and consuming, pulling you into a world where only the two of you existed. His hands cupped your face, holding you with a reverence that made your chest ache, every movement filled with a quiet passion that words could never fully express.

As the kiss softened, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer. He buried his face in your hair, his breaths steadying, his warmth surrounding you like a shield. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was filled with the weight of love, the kind that didn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

And as you lay together, the quiet intimacy of the moment settled over you like a gentle tide, washing away the chaos of the world beyond these walls. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat ground you, a steady reminder that in this chaotic world, he was your constant.

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