11 hours, 34 minutes, and 34 seconds. then 40. then more. sukuna counts them all without meaning to, like something wired too deep into him to stop. each second stretching, dragging, carving itself into his bones as time refuses to move fast enough.

his eyes burn, raw and unforgiving, a kind of ache he’s never known. not even in those long, merciless nights bent over a laptop back in his college days. this is worse. dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes, lashes still damp.

he sits rigid in a cheap, dark blue hospital chair, one that creaks every time he so much as breathes too deeply, yet he hasn’t moved from it in hours. maybe longer. his body feels locked in place, but his mind drifts, slipping in and out of a dull haze until the sound of a door jolts him upright again, sharp, alert, feral in the way his gaze snaps toward it. every time without fail. his hands rest on his knees, fingers twitching, trembling despite himself, nails pressing into fabric as if grounding himself is the only thing keeping him together.

the baby is fine. he knows she is. he’s checked too many times for anyone to comment on without risking the look he’d give them. each visit ends the same way: standing on the other side of the glass, large hand pressed flat against it, breath fogging the surface as something unfamiliar tightens in his chest. he doesn’t stay long. he can’t. not when you’re not there.

everything in him had gone cold— no, empty the moment they rushed you away. the world had narrowed down to the sight of you on that bed, face twisted in pain, your fingers clutching his with a strength that spoke of fear you rarely ever showed. and he had felt it too, sharp and suffocating, coiling tight in his chest in a way he couldn’t fight, couldn’t control.

then a clipboard had been shoved into his line of sight, a nurse speaking too quickly. “mr. ryomen, you need to sign this form in case the baby—”

“my wife.”

his voice had cut through hers without hesitation. not loud nor panicked. just final.

for a moment, everything had stilled. even you had looked at him, eyes wide despite the pain. He hadn’t even looked back at the paper.

“i choose my wife.”

after that, they had forced him out, the doors closing between you with a finality that made something ugly claw at his ribs. since then, all he’s done is wait, endless, suffocating waiting, counting seconds like they’re the only thing he has left to hold onto.

people came. of course they did. gojo, loud and insufferable even in a hospital, arms filled with gifts that cost more than necessary. geto, calm, offering congratulations that barely registered. toji lingering off to the side, megumi in his arms as he tried, awkwardly, to show him the newborn through the glass, jin nearby with itadori and choso, their presence filling the hallway with low conversation and quiet excitement.

sukuna acknowledged none of it beyond a glance at best.

because none of it mattered.

not the gifts, not the voices, not the child he had already seen and silently loved.

the only thing on his mind was you.

his wife.

“mr. ryomen?”

his name lands and something in him snaps taut and slack all at once. sukuna is on his feet before he’s fully aware of moving, the chair scraping faintly behind him. the sudden shift makes his vision tilt for a second, exhaustion catching up, but he steadies through it, jaw set, legs carrying him forward even as they threaten to give.

“she’s awake, everything is stable. you may see her now.”

that’s all he needs.

the door barely has time to open before he’s through it, pace quick, bordering on reckless, yet each step feels impossibly heavy as the weight of the past hours clings to him, refusing to let go. the sterile white of the room greets him, too bright, too clean, and then—

you.

everything else falls away.

you’re laid against the stark sheets, small in a way he’s never seen you before, exhaustion carved into every line of your face, the aftermath of something brutal and beautiful all at once. you look fragile. spent. human.

and still— still you’ve never looked more perfect to him.

his chest tightens, something sharp and overwhelming lodging itself beneath his ribs as his eyes lock onto yours. they find him easily, soft despite the fatigue, a faint smile ghosting over your lips as your hand lifts, barely reaching for him.

“my love…” your voice is hoarse, worn thin, and it nearly undoes him.

he closes the distance in seconds, dropping to his knees at your bedside without care for anything else, large hand immediately enclosing yours as if to confirm you’re real, warm and alive. here. he brings it to his face, pressing slow, reverent kisses to your knuckles, your palm, your wrist, lingering like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.

something wet slips against your skin.

“ryo…?” your voice is softer now, concerned, your fingers twitching as if to pull away, but he doesn’t let go not out of force, never that, but out of something far more desperate.

he tightens just enough to keep you there, head bowed, shoulders trembling in a way that doesn’t belong to a man like him.

“there…” his voice catches, rough, uneven, breath hitching as the memory crashes back; your face twisted in pain, the sound of it, the helplessness of being torn away. his brows pull together sharply, grip faltering for a second before tightening again. “there won’t be another.”

he presses another kiss to your skin, slower this time. like sealing a vow into you.

“there won’t be another,” he repeats, quieter, but no less absolute.

you blink at him, caught off guard, and then despite everythin a soft, breathy laugh escapes you. “don’t be stupid, ryo.”

his head lifts just enough for you to see the way his expression twists, raw and unguarded, eyes rimmed red, lashes clumped.

“i don’t—” his breath stutters, voice breaking in a way he doesn’t bother to hide, “—want to see you like that again.” his hand curls into the sheets beside you, gripping the fabric tight as if grounding himself, “not like that. not ever.”

you soften instantly, both hands coming up carefully to cradle his face, guiding him closer despite the way he resists for half a second.

“did you see her?” you murmur, thumb brushing beneath his eye, catching the dampness there.

he nods, quick, almost eager despite everything, leaning into your touch without thinking. “i did… but—” his voice drops, “i wanted to see my wife.”

“oh, ryo…” you pull him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips; soft, lingering, tasting faintly of salt.

he exhales against you, eyes closing briefly, forehead coming to rest against yours as his hand finds its place around yours again, unwilling to let go.

“there won’t be another,” he says, quieter now. final.

you study him for a moment. at the fear still lingering beneath the surface, and the love that outweighs everything else, and your expression softens into something certain.

“okay,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. “there won’t.”

you run your fingers through sukuna’s soft pink locks, gently ruffling them as he melts further into your hold with every passing second. his arm stays snug around you while the two of you lie tangled on your couch, lazily watching reels from his phone.

that’s when you see it.

“sukuna.”

“hm?” he nudges you lightly when you go quiet, shifting just enough to glance up at you. “what’s up?”

“y-you…” you hesitate, fingers brushing through his hair again. this time a little more focused. “you have a grey hair!” you point at it, eyes wide.

he lets out a quiet huff. “so what?”

“wait— wait! there’s more!” your fingers keep searching, and he groans, tossing his phone aside.

“you done? it’s just a few grey strands. what’s the big deal?”

your expression crumples, nose scrunching in that way he knows too well… cute, but dangerous. his hand comes up instinctively, cupping your cheek.

“what are you crying about now, brat?” the “insult” doesn’t stick, it never did even from the moment he met you.

you don’t answer, just sniffle quietly, and he sighs under his breath before shifting. he maneuvers you down beside him on the too-small couch, half his body hanging off the edge, but he doesn’t care. his arms wrap around you, warm and steady.

“love,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle, “you gonna tell me why you’re crying, hm?” his thumbs brush the tears under your eyes.

you sniffle again. “it’s just that… it means you’re getting old…”

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “you worried i won’t be as handsome?”

you lightly swat his arm. “never! i’ll just have more competition…” you mumble, embarrassed, and he chuckles into your hair.

“i’m flattered you’re crying over me getting older.”

“when i get a grey, will you cry?” you pout, and his eyes flicker down.

“yes.” he answers without missing a beat.

“is it because i’ll be ugly—”

he bites lightly at the junction of your neck.

“ow— ow! it was a joke!”

he presses a soft kiss over the spot right after, lingering there as he buries his face into your neck. “no. i won’t cry because of that.”

“then what for?”

you feel the warm puff of his breath against your skin as he pulls you closer, arms tightening just a little.

“it’ll just means my dream is coming true…”

he lifts his head, looking at you with so much quiet adoration it makes your chest ache. his eyes soften, almost glassy, like he might cry if he let himself.

“i’ll grow old with you.”

"maybe i'm the problem?"

"huh?" sukuna unsticks his nose from his notes as he glances at you from across the table with a faint scowl.

the café around you is warm and alive with quiet afternoon noise. espresso machines hissing, cups clinking softly against saucers, low conversations blending into a gentle hum. the smell of roasted coffee and caramel syrup hangs in the air, sweet and comforting, wrapping around the little corner table you and sukuna claimed hours ago. sunlight filters through the tall windows beside you, spilling across the wooden tabletop where your notebooks, pens, and half-highlighted lecture slides are spread out in a messy fan.

you take a slow sip of your coffee while he waits for you to continue your ramble.

"i'm like, in college and i'm yet to experience some sort of… actually any type of romance." you swirl your straw absentmindedly in the iced drink. "like everybody in my teenage years, heck, even younger, either received a shy letter on valentines day or somebody proclaimed their love in a romantic way on a date."

sukuna’s scowl deepens slightly, though whether it's from concentration or your topic is hard to tell. he leans back in his chair, stretching one arm over the backrest while his other hand reaches for his drink.

"there's the funny rumors of people having crushes on a person and it turns into something sweet. for me? it was always in a way people would, like… fuck with me."

for a moment the only sound between you two is the quiet slurp of sukuna pulling from the straw of his strawberry milkshake, the bright pink drink ridiculously cheerful compared to the permanent unimpressed look on his face.

"am i the problem?" you finally ask, voice quieter now as you reach for your pen, "am i genuinely just not likable looks or personality wise? or both?!"

sukuna exhales slowly through his nose.

for a split second he almost looks relieved, like he’d been bracing himself for a completely different kind of conversation. he shrugs, taking another long sip of his milkshake "maybe.”

your fists slowly tighten around your pen like you're contemplating whether stabbing him with it would be socially acceptable in a public café. "you. are. such. a. dick."

sukuna snorts under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward just slightly as he sets the milkshake back down. "i'm joking…"

he turns back to his notes flipping his pen between his fingers. "i don't think you are the problem…" he pauses, pen hovering for a moment before he scribbles something down in the margins. "maybeee somebody has been flirting with you for a while and you just haven't realized it."

"as if." you cross your arms over your chest immediately, scoffing. ‘i would have noticed."

sukuna stills.

his pen stops moving entirely. slowly, he lifts his head. his nose scrunches in that irritated yet annoyingly adorable way he does whenever you say something so unbelievably stupid it physically pains him. He arches one brow.

you stare at him, "what?"

he looks at you for another long second, expression flat. then he turns back to his notes again with a quiet sigh. "nothing."

you, however, are nowhere near done. leaning forward again as your pen starts tapping the edge of his notebook.

and the more you talk, the more sukuna feels his braincells quietly evaporating.

"it's just—" you begin again, waving one hand vaguely in the air. "i would like it if somebody was straightforward with me, you know?" sukuna's pen scratches across the paper a little harder. "like if he came up to me and just bluntly told me: i like you! and i want to take you on a date!”

there's a sharp clack. sukuna drops his pen harshly against the table as he looks up at you with the most deadpan expression you've ever seen.

"i like you and want to take you on a date," he says flatly. "even though we have went on multiple dates you just haven't realized it."

you beam instantly, like a light switched on inside your face. "yeah!" you nod enthusiastically. "something like that!"

sukuna’s eye twitches. "are you fucking stupid?"

"huh?" you blink.

for a moment sukuna just stares at you across the table, like he’s genuinely trying to figure out whether you’re messing with him or if this level of obliviousness is real. then, with a long exhale through his nose, he gestures broadly around the table as if presenting a collection of very obvious evidence.

his notebooks and textbooks are scattered everywhere, pages filled with his sharp, aggressive handwriting, but between the notes are your doodles. little hearts drawn lazily in the margins, tiny stars, a stupid cartoon of him with horns and the word menace written beside it. he always grumbles when you draw in his things, always mutters something about how annoying it is. and yet he’s never erased a single one.

then there’s the milkshake sitting between you both, the obnoxiously pink strawberry drink slowly melting while water droplets slides down the glass. two straws stick out of it.

as if that wasn’t already enough, underneath the table your legs are comfortably tangled together, your knee pressed against his like it has been for the last hour without either of you acknowledging it.

sukuna points at everything in one sweeping motion before his patience finally snaps. "I LIKE YOU, YOU IDIOT!"

his voice comes out louder than he meant it to, echoing slightly in the cozy café space. A couple of nearby students glance over briefly before returning to their laptops, pretending they didn’t hear anything.

you just blink again. your brain feels like it’s slowly short-circuiting as you try to process the words. "wha—?"

"I HAVE BEEN FLIRTING FOR MONTHS DUMBASS. I THOUGHT—"

you scrunch your face up immediately at the sudden volume of his voice.

"THAT—" the realization hits him and he abruptly stops, dragging a hand down his face before taking a steadying breath. he clears his throat. "ahem. sorry." the scowl on his face doesn’t soften, but when he speaks again his tone drops several levels, far more controlled even if the irritation is still very much present. "I just thought you wanted to take it super duper slow, so i waited and gave signals."

you stare at him, still trying to piece together everything he just said. "really?"

sukuna closes his eyes for a second and pinches the bridge of his nose, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his nose bridge piercing as he rubs it slowly like he’s fighting off a headache. his shoulders sag just a little. "lord, give me strength."

you lean over the table, cheeks slowly turning pink. "when did you give me signals?!"

"uH, WeLL, I don’t KNOW!… maybe when you had those awful cramps and i told you to stay over at my place? you were curled up on my bed, whining like a tiny, pathetic kitten, and i held you all night, kissing the top of your head while rubbing your back until you fell asleep?!”

"uh— wha? i just thought…" you shrug, cheeks still warm. "i mean… you were just… trying to help me feel better, right?"

sukuna blinks at you like he’s about to explode. "what? no! then what the hell did you think that time you suddenly decided you had to have a pomegranate at midnight? i went out to the market just to get it, came back, and ended up cleaning the entire damn thing. I still have the stains on my table!”

you bury your face in your hands, groaning. "i… i felt so bad afterward! you kept grumbling the entire time about how annoying i was… i didn’t think you’d actually go and get it!”

sukuna runs a hand through his hair, his crimson strands falling into his eyes before he yanks them back in exasperation. “how do you even manage to think of it like that?!”

your cheeks flare red, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. "i… i guess i’ve felt so unloved that i shut down the possibility of anyone… liking me… for the rest of my life."

sukuna’s scowl deepens, "you’re telling me i’ve been acting like some damn wife to you and you didn’t realize shit?"

you shake your head, barely able to meet his gaze.

he throws his head back and laughs, a low, throaty sound that’s equal parts exasperation and amusement, "for fuck’s sake, woman…" he mutters, and then softer, more fondly, "you will be the death of me."

your voice comes out barely audible, trembling just slightly, but it’s enough to pull every ounce of his attention toward you. (as if it was ever directed somewhere else but you) "are you… still… up for that date?"

he leans closer, grin spreading across his face like he’s been waiting for this moment. "millions of them," his tattooed arm snakes across the table, and he pinches your reddened cheeks, smirking like a predator who finally caught its prey. "but ones that you actually notice the intentions of, dumbass."

“i hate how lovey-dovey your disgusting boyfriend gets when he spots you in a crowd.” shoko huffed, exhaling a thin stream of smoke as her lips curled in mild disgust.

“what do you mean?” you asked.

“well,” she shrugged, tapping ash off lazily, “he walks around with this whole terrifying aura like he’s seconds away from ripping someone apart just for breathing wrong. the kind of look that screams ‘i’ll cut your arm off if you meet my gaze.’”

she glanced at you sideways, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“but the second he finds you?” she added, voice dropping with amusement, “it’s like a switch flips.”

shoko’s words lingered in your mind for days after that conversation, replaying over and over.

so when you and sukuna made plans to go to the cinema (and for once, he didn’t argue or override your choice of movie) you found yourself thinking about it again.

you stood in the crowded lobby, surrounded by a restless sea of people waiting for the theater doors to open. the air buzzed with chatter, the scent of popcorn thick and buttery, lights reflecting off polished floors. yet none of it held your attention. your eyes stayed locked on the entrance, anticipating the moment a certain tall, pink-haired menace would stroll in like he owned the place.

your heart picked up just a little, curiosity bubbling under your skin.

and soon enough, a familiar tuft of pink hair slipped into your vision, and your breath caught just a little as you focused on him.

the moment he stepped inside, his eyes immediately began searching, sharp and restless. a small frown sat on his face, brows drawn together in concentration, hands tucked into his pockets as he turned his head, scanning the crowd like nothing else in the room mattered.

someone bumped into him on the way, a girl mumbling a rushed apology but he didn’t even react. not a glance, not a pause. she lingered for a second, clearly taken aback at his looks before walking off.

his gaze really did scream “i’ll cut your arm off if you meet my gaze.”

he moved further in, slow and deliberate, eyes still sweeping over every face until they passed over you. paused. and then snapped back.

for a brief second, he just stared, like his mind needed that extra moment to catch up that it was you.

you watched it happen right in front of you: the shift.

his steps faltered slightly, shoulders easing as if some invisible weight had slipped off them. the tension that clung to him softened, just a little, just enough to notice. a quiet exhale leaving him, almost relieved.

and even though his brows were still faintly furrowed there was something warmer there now. something softer.

something that was only ever meant for you.

“there you are,” you murmured, a soft, almost giddy smile tugging at your lips now that you’d seen it for yourself. your fingers curled lightly around his sleeve. “was looking for you.”

“were you?” he hummed, voice low, like he didn’t quite believe you. he dipped his head just enough to press a brief kiss to your hair, lingering for half a second longer than necessary before his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. “could’ve fooled me.”

“mm,” you glanced up at him, smile turning a little smug, “maybe not as much as you were looking for me.”

your hand slid into the back pocket of his jeans, giving a small, teasing squeeze. “you looked ready to fight someone.”

he clicked his tongue, eyes flicking down at you with a warning look that didn’t quite land, not when his grip on your waist tightened just slightly.

“watch it,” he muttered, though there was no real bite behind it. still, he didn’t move your hand away as he guiding you toward the snack counter, keeping you tucked close to his side like it was instinct. “get whatever you want for the film.”

he pulled out his credit card without a second thought, barely glancing at the menu. “consider it compensation for making me sit through your pick.” the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“you literally agreed,” you pointed out, nudging him with your shoulder.

“yeah,” he scoffed lightly, eyes softening when they landed on you again, "because it’s you.”

sometime in the middle of the night sukuna felt a sharp jab to his arm. not a cute nudge, you literally nearly elbow him off the mattress.

“ugh— what the fuck,” he grumbles, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face as he forces one eye open. “what is it?"

you were sitting up beside him, silhouetted by the faint glow of streetlight leaking through the curtains. “I dreamed of you,” you mutter, breathing uneven.

he exhaled through his nose, already halfway amused. “oh?” a tired chuckle slipped out of him. he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his arm, smirk slowly forming. "do tell."

the tempting edge in his voice faded when he finally takes a proper look at you: your face is twisted, eyes glassy, bottom lip trembling like you're about to combust. his eyebrows pulled together. “what—”

and then you started crying, not subtle sniffles, oh no. more like full-on, chest-heaving sobs. sukuna shot upright instantly, sleep gone in a second. he stared at you like the situation was a puzzle he'd been violently dropped into without instructions.

"hey— hey- what the fuck?" he demanded, tone sharper out of panic than irritation. “why you crying like someone fucking died?”

you can barely get the words out. “y-you d-died and i—” your breath catches painfully. “I had to b-bury you..."

his face lost color. “what?”

“a-and i was crying and you were just— just gone,” you choked out, wiping uselessly at your face. “A- all you can think about is s-sex when i say i dreamed about you?!”

he blinked.

oh.

“baby—” he reached out instinctively to cup your cheek, but you slapped his hand away.

“you are s-such a— hic— dick!”

he let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face again “yeah,” he muttered under it. “i am.”

without further arguing, he laid back down and opened his arms, pulling you toward him with firm insistence. you resisted for about two seconds, pushing weakly at his chest before melting into him like you always did. your face ended up pressed directly into his chest, cheek against warm skin, your tears soaking into him.

he wrapped both arms around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. “I'm not dead,” he said quietly, the usual arrogance stripped from his voice. “I'm right here.”

your crying slowly softened to hiccups, then to shaky breaths. he stayed still, letting you calm down at your own pace, thumb moving in slow circles along your back. you listened to his very alive heartbeat, and eventually the sobbing stopped.

“are you done?” he softly murmured into your hair.

you nodded faintly against him.

he sighed, tension easing from his shoulders. "go to sleep. i'll be right here when you wake up."

"you promise?"

yuji’s older brother was terrifying and no amount of yuji’s sunshine optimism could rebrand that fact.

“he’s a sweetheart, i swear!” yuji had told you once, flashing that bright, guileless grin of his. “he just looks intense. all bark, no bite.”

you had stared at him.

all bark? no bite?

the man looked like he’d chew your arm off, spit it onto the pavement, and then critique the flavor like you personally offended his palate.

you’d never actually had a conversation with him, not once. whenever you were over at yuji’s place with nobara and megumi, he was more of a presence than a participant. just shadow leaning against the kitchen counter, a tall silhouette passing through the hallway, the low timbre of his voice drifting from another room. you weren’t even sure he knew your name. you weren’t sure he’d ever looked at you long enough to register your existence....

and it wasn’t the piercings or the black-painted nails. not the tattoos curling along his arms like inked warnings that made him terrifying. those were… cool. unfairly cool, actually.

it was his demeanor.

the air shifted when he entered a room. he attracted attention without trying. people gravitated toward him on campus like moths to a flame they absolutely knew would burn. whispers followed him down hallways. eyes lingered. every girl you’d ever overheard in the cafeteria had dissected his features at least once: the sharp cut of his jaw, the slash of crimson in his eyes, the way his gaze felt like it could peel skin from bone if he focused it long enough.

and the hair.

that soft, pinkish shade that had no business looking so… cute? you would’ve expected him to dye it black. something dramatic. something that matched the rest of him.

with all the stories yuji had told you about sukuna being some kind of hidden softie, you almost started to wonder if you were talking about the same person.

“i’m serious,” yuji had insisted one afternoon, sprawled across his bed while you sat cross-legged on the floor. “he just doesn’t show it to people.”

you raised a brow. “people? or you?”

yuji only grinned. “like that time in middle school, when those third years wouldn’t leave me alone.”

you remembered that story. apparently, a group of older boys had cornered yuji behind the gym. and sukuna showed up, not because yuji called him but because as yuji says he has that 'older brother instinct'.

“he didn’t even touch them,” yuji had said proudly. “he just asked if they were done. they literally apologized. to me.”

you blinked at him. “that’s not sweet. that’s terrifying.”

“yeah, but he walked me home after,” yuji argued. “and he bought me ice cream. he pretended it was because he wanted some, but he doesn’t even like vanilla.”

you had rolled your eyes. “and then,” yuji continued, undeterred, “there was that time i got sick before finals? like, really sick. i had a fever and everything.”

sukuna had skipped school to stay home. made soup from scratch. forced yuji to take medicine on schedule. sat at the edge of his bed the entire night because yuji kept shivering. “he kept checking my temperature every hour,” yuji said, softer now. “and when i woke up in the morning, he was still there. he looked like shit, but he was still there.”

you snorted. “you’re telling me that grumpy, scowling man spoon-fed you soup?”

“he said if i didn’t eat he’d ‘pry my jaw open himself,’” yuji admitted. “but yeah. basically.”

and then there was the third story; the one yuji always told with a sheepish laugh. “okay, and that one time,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “when i said i wanted to quit track.” yuji had come home frustrated, convinced he wasn’t improving fast enough. sukuna had listened, actually listened, before flicking him in the forehead. “you’re not a quitter,” he’d said bluntly. “you’re impatient.”

and then, the next morning, sukuna had shown up at the field at six a.m. to train with him, in winter.

“he hates mornings,” yuji emphasized. “like, genuinely despises them. but he ran laps with me. every day. for three weeks.”

you had stared at him after that one, arms crossed.

all of it sounded… cute.

in theory.

but every time you saw sukuna in person leaning in a doorway with that bored, predatory gaze, black nails tapping against his phone, tattoos stretching when he crossed his arms; you simply could not reconcile the image.

you mean to tell me that man is a sweetheart?

nope, absolutely not.

yuji could keep his bedtime-story version of sukuna.

weekends at yuji’s had started to feel routine in the best way; shoes kicked off by the door, snacks scattered across the coffee table, textbooks open but rarely respected. the four of you rotated between pretending to study and actually getting distracted every five minutes.

today was supposed to be productive.

“i really don’t understand this term…” you muttered, pressing your fingers to your temples like you could physically massage the information into your brain. the words on the page blurred together, academic jargon twisting into nonsense the longer you stared at it.

megumi leaned closer, calm and patient as ever. he nudged your hand aside gently and pointed to the paragraph. “you’re overcomplicating it. don’t read it the way the book phrases it,” he said, voice low and steady. “explain it to yourself in simpler terms. what’s it actually trying to say?”

you frowned, listening as he reworded it, breaking the concept down piece by piece. he was good at this; making dense material sound almost manageable.

a loud groan shattered the fragile concentration.

“nerds,” nobara announced dramatically, flopping across the couch like a disgruntled cat. “stop being boring and play mario kart with us before i lose my mind.”

yuji popped up beside her, already holding two controllers, grin wide and mischievous. “c’mon, you’ve been staring at that page for like twenty minutes. that’s unhealthy.”

“i’m stuck on this chapter,” you argued, glancing helplessly at megumi as if he might shield you from temptation. “i can’t get my head around it— maybe later—”

“ughhh,” nobara dragged the sound out as if you’d personally offended her. “you have, what, four days until your exam? one game won’t kill you. relax a little.”

yuji wiggled a controller in your direction, teasing, sing-song. “you knooow you want to~”

you exhaled through your nose, already feeling your resolve crumble. “fine. one game,” you conceded, pushing yourself up and heading toward the couch.

nobara shot megumi a look. he didn’t even glance up from his book.

“i’ll pass,” he said simply, flipping a page.

“this,” nobara declared, pointing at him accusingly, “is why people don’t invite you to parties, megs.”

“pretty sure it’s because they’re afraid he’ll knock someone’s ass out,” you added dryly, settling into the couch.

“that too,” yuji agreed cheerfully.

megumi didn’t rise to it. “you three are enough chaos,” he murmured. “statistically, adding more variables would only worsen the outcome.”

“listen to him,” nobara scoffed. “he thinks we’re a science experiment.”

“you kind of are,” megumi replied without missing a beat.

you barely had time to laugh before a new voice slipped into the room.

“is that so?”

you turned.

sukuna was slouched against the doorway at first, then moving closer, folding himself over the back of the couch with lazy confidence. he wore a black tank top that clung to his frame, tattoos winding down his toned arms in sharp, deliberate lines. black-painted nails tapped idly against the couch fabric as crimson eyes flicked over the group.

and then, briefly, over you.

your spine went rigid.

“can i join?” he asked, though it didn’t really sound like a question. more like a challenge.

yuji lit up instantly,he held out a controller. “of course, big bro! get in here.”

sukuna took it without breaking eye contact with the screen. “don’t cry when you lose,” he said lazily, voice edged with amusement.

nobara straightened, competitive spark igniting. “please. more people for me to absolutely destroy.”

he huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “confidence. i’ll enjoy crushing that.”

yuji grinned, already shifting over and patting the empty space beside him. “c’mon, sit here—”

but sukuna didn’t move toward yuji.

instead, he adjusted the controller in his hands and walked around the couch with unhurried steps... and then he was lowering himself onto the cushion beside you. very beside you, likeeeee close enough that his thigh pressed against yours the moment he settled.

holy fucking shit.

yuji blinked, then snickered deciding to turn to the screen and set up the game.

nobara’s eyes flicked between you and sukuna, interest sharpening, but she said nothing. just smirked knowingly and turned back to the screen.

and you?

you were suddenly hyperaware of everything.

the heat radiating off him. the faint scent of something clean but distinctly him. the way his black-painted nails contrasted against the bright plastic of the controller. he leaned back casually, spreading his legs without a second thought, broad shoulders relaxed, posture loose and claiming.

his knee brushed yours and stayed there.

you, meanwhile, were sitting ramrod straight, spine stiff like someone had slid a metal rod down your back. your hands gripped the controller a little too tightly, knuckles paling.

calm down! it’s just proximity.

“you always sit like that?” his voice murmured beside you, low enough that it didn’t carry to the others.

you swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “like what?”

“like you’re about to be executed.”

heat crawled up your neck. “i’m not.”

“hm.” his knee nudged yours lightly, “could’ve fooled me.”

you forced yourself to relax, or at least pretended to. sinking back into the couch by a fraction. it only made everything worze. his arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers lazily draped just behind your shoulder. he occupied space like it belonged to him. you, meanwhile, felt like you were borrowing air.

the race began in a burst of color and sound, and nobara and yuji immediately fell into their usual chaos.

“don’t you dare— yuji!”

“i didn’t even touch you!”

“you absolutely did, you liar—”

but with sukuna added to the mix, the dynamic shifted fast. he wasn’t loud about it. didn’t whoop or gloat. he just… dominated.

sharp turns taken flawlessly. boosts timed perfectly. he drifted like he’d been born with a controller in his hand. within seconds he’d blown past both of them, leaving nobara spluttering in outrage.

“oh my god, are you serious right now?”

yuji shouted, “bro! stop targeting me!”

sukuna muttered something under his breath, low and dry. “if you can’t keep up, that’s not my problem.”

“that’s so messed up!” yuji laughed anyway.

you, on the other hand, were in last.

which was humiliating, because you were usually decent at this. but your focus was shot to hell. every time sukuna shifted beside you, every brush of fabric or skin, your brain short-circuited for half a second too long.

“you’re falling behind,” he commented mildly, eyes still on the screen.

“i can see that,” you muttered.

“hm.” there was amusement in the sound. “thought you were going to win.”

you gritted your teeth and focused.

second round. you forced yourself to breathe, to tune everything else out. slowly, muscle memory kicked in and your turns sharpened and timing improved. you overtook yuji.

“hey!” he protested. “since when are you good again?”

“always,” you shot back automatically.

up ahead, sukuna was still in first. of course he was. then you saw the blue shell rotating in his item slot. his camera angle shifted briefly, panning behind him. fucking hell. you braced yourself, already imagining the explosion, the inevitable humiliation of getting knocked out just as you caught up— and then he fired.

but not backward, rather foward.

the blue shell screamed ahead, locked onto nobara in first after she’d briefly stolen the lead during the chaos. it detonated spectacularly. “you absolute—!” she shrieked, cursing with impressive creativity as her character spun out.

and sukuna… slowed down? just slightly.

your character surged forward, overtaking him and claiming the first place over the finish line. “ha!” you shouted, adrenaline surging. “in your fucking face!” without thinking you turned and pointed directly at sukuna, grin wide, triumphant and reckless.

the room went quiet for half a beat. ice-cold sweat slid down your spine. for a split second, you were convinced you’d signed your own death warrant.

he looked up at you and met your wide, poorly-concealed panic with a slow raised brow. crimson eyes glinting with something unreadable.

and then he laughed.

not the arrogant, taunting laugh you expected. it slipped out of him unexpectedly, warm enough that he had to cough lightly into his fist to cover it, shoulders shifting with the motion. his eyes never left your face.

you were still pointing at him, still frozen in your little victory pose.

and now, staring back at him like a confused dog trying to process a new command, head tilting slightly to the side as if changing the angle might help you understand what was happening.

that only made him chuckle again, quieter this time. “god,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “you’re adorable.”

your brain short-circuited. “…huh?”

before you could process it, he rose from the couch in one smooth motion. he unfolded to his full height in front of you, broad shoulders casting a faint shadow as he towered over where you still sat clutching the controller.

then he extended his hand. and you, brilliant genius that you were, shut your eyes, slightly flinching. it made him pause, a slight crease forming between his brows.

you felt fingers against your cheek.

warm.

calloused.

pinching?

your eyes flew open.

sukuna was standing there, expression unreadable except for the faint curve tugging at his mouth, his fingers gently squeezing your cheek and wiggling it side to side like you were something mildly amusing he’d picked up off a shelf.

“i said,” he repeated, voice low and almost thoughtful, “you’re adorable.”

you blinked at him. he studied your stunned expression for half a second longer, then let out another quiet chuckle before releasing your cheek. the spot tingled where he’d touched you. without another word, he turned and walked off, hands sliding into his pockets as casually as if he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of the room.

the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall.

silence swallowed the living room.

"let's make out, come on, comeoncome—" jabber had been pestering you for the past hour, his voice a relentless, teasing hum in the back of your mind. normally, his stupid overboard antics didn’t get under your skin. but today was different. today, you were on your last nerve.

you were trying to fix a gadget, carefully navigating the tiny maze of wires and cogs with your pliers. precision required quiet, focus, and patience. quiet was something you had cherished long before this leech decided you were his favorite person.

he leaned close, his shoulder brushing yours, his warm breath teasing the side of your face. “you’re so boring… c’mon, kiss me— kissmekissme—”

that was it.

you needed to shut him up.

you dropped your tools with a clank, seizing him by the collar and yanking him toward you with deliberate force. your lips smashed into his, hard enough to sting, and then your tongue slid into his mouth, claiming it with sheer dominance. he hummed low, muffled against you, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut as your hand cupped his jaw, teeth grazing his bottom lip, drawing a thin line of blood. the metallic tang mixed with the heat of his mouth, setting your own pulse racing.

jabber moaned into you, caught under your control, his hands tangling in your hair as your tongues tangled together in a fierce, messy rhythm. each press of your mouth was sharp, demanding, your frustration pouring through every bite, every press. you could taste him; salty, slightly sweet, spiked with the copper of his blood and it made you want more.

another guttural moan slipped from him just as you pulled back, a thick string of saliva and blood stretching between you, snapping with a wet pop! his lips were swollen, glistening crimson, while yours bore a faint tint, like a devilish, bloody lipstick.

“holy shit… " he stared at you, dazed for a moment, then grinned wide, eyes dark with hunger. "that was so fucking hot. i’m hard. let’s do it again—”

so much for shutting him up.

the third time you giggle in the span of two minutes, megumi finally gives up pretending he doesn’t notice.

at first he had been confused by it. the soft bursts of laughter muffled somewhere against him, the way your shoulders shook slightly where you were half sprawled over his torso. now, though, he knows exactly why you’re giggling and that knowledge does absolutely nothing to help the heat creeping up his neck.

you giggle again.

megumi exhales slowly through his nose and shifts a little on the bed, trying (without much success) to tug you away from where you’ve buried yourself under his shirt.

the room around you is quiet in that lazy, late-afternoon way. golden light spills through the window, warming the sheets and casting soft shadows across the cluttered space— two pairs of sneakers half kicked off near the door, cricket of bugs and calls of birds drifting through the slightly open window.

megumi is lying against the headboard with a comic open in his hands.

or… he was reading it.

now the comic is mostly forgotten, tilted awkwardly in one hand while his other arm rests uncertainly across your back. because several minutes earlier, while you had been kissing him and shifting closer, you’d accidentally brushed your hand across the solid plane of his abdomen.

you had paused, then immediately ducked under his shirt. before megumi could even process what was happening, your cheek had been pressed right against his stomach.

and you had been giggling ever since.

now your face is nestled comfortably against the firm muscle of his abdomen, his shirt pulled up just enough for you to fit underneath. your cheek rests against warm skin, and every time he breathes you feel the subtle rise and fall beneath you.

the scent around him is warm and familiar; his citrus shampoo lingers faintly in his hair, clean and sharp. underneath that is the softer smell of laundry detergent clinging to his shirt, and beneath that, faint but distinctly him — is his natural warmth, sun-warmed skin and something quiet and grounding that makes your chest feel too full. you inhale like someone hoarding oxygen. another giggle escapes you.

megumi’s fingers twitch against the page of his comic. “…are you going to come out?” he mutters finally, voice low and carefully neutral.

your reply comes immediately, muffled by cotton and skin. “no.”

the cheeky tone in your voice makes his eyebrow twitch even though you can’t see it. he sighs, the sound long-suffering, though his hand unconsciously settles a little more firmly on your back. “you’ve been under there for ten minutes.”

you only nuzzle closer in response, rubbing your cheek lightly against the toned muscle beneath his ribs like an overly affectionate cat. megumi’s shoulders tense. you try to kick your feet behind you in delight, but his legs shifts automatically to rest over the back of your thighs, holding you still without really thinking about it.

“don’t start moving around,” he says quietly.

“i wasn’t—” you giggle again.

megumi stares at the ceiling for a moment, clearly reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment. he tries to focus back on his comic. the page blurs almost instantly. under his shirt, you press your nose lightly against his stomach, breathing him in again like you’re committing the scent to memory. then, very deliberately— you tilt your head slightly and press a soft kiss to the warm skin beneath his shirt.

for half a second there is silence, then megumi squeaks. actually squeaks!

the sound is so sudden and high that it startles even him, his entire body jolting as the comic slips straight out of his hands and flops uselessly against his chest.

“stop that!” he blurts, voice cracking a little as his hands immediately grab at the hem of his shirt, trying to shove your head back out from underneath it.

you only laugh, the sound muffled against his stomach. the muscle under your cheek tightens when he tries to push you away, his abdomen flexing in an involuntary reaction that only makes you giggle harder.

instead of retreating, you press another quick kiss there. megumi inhales sharply. “hey—!”

he tries again to nudge your head away, but the movement is clumsy and hesitant, like he’s too flustered to figure out what to actually do with you. you feel the muscle jump again under your lips. so you kiss it once more.

“please… stop,” megumi mutters, and now his voice is quieter, the words slipping out in a soft, strained whine that wavers somewhere between embarrassed and defeated.

that only makes you smile. you press one last affectionate kiss to his stomach before finally sliding out from under his shirt, blinking up at him like someone who has done absolutely nothing wrong. your hands never leave his hips. megumi immediately covers his face with both hands. you can still see the tips of his ears though. they are completely red. the sight makes laughter bubble right out of you.

megumi sighs deeply from behind his hands. “it’s not funny,” he mutters, voice muffled against his palms. “you’re a fucking menace.”

you push yourself up slightly, shifting so you’re sitting more properly over his waist before gently grabbing his wrists. “lemme see.”

“no.”

“megumi.”

he groans softly as you pull his hands away anyway. his face is bright red, color spread across his cheeks and nose, the flush still burning all the way up to his ears. you can’t help it. you lean down and press a kiss to his beetroot-colored cheek.

“you’re so cute, ’gumi,” you murmur fondly, pinching his cheek lightly between your fingers and tugging just a little.

his brows knit together instantly. “don’t call me that.” you grin, completely unapologetic. “stop.” he mutters again, though this time the protest lacks any real force behind it.

for a moment you just look at him; warmth spreading through your chest in a way that feels almost too big for your ribs. megumi glances away, clearly still recovering from the assault of affection. you smile softly.