tax

Your nails bite into your palms. His words, his whole fucking attitude makes you want to spit. “I’m the one making things difficult?” you demand. “Me? You’re the one who fucking blew up at me for paying the rent a few days late and—Sukuna, what the fuck are you even doing?”

He glances up from where he’s fiddling with something in his pocket, eyes unimpressed. “It was almost a week late.”

“And that’s fine,” you emphasize clearly, “they won’t evict us if we’re a little late, I swear.”

Sukuna’s eyes say he doesn’t believe you, but it’s too late, he’s got you on a roll. “And then,” you hiss, “and then, you threw another shit-fit because I didn’t ask the maintenance guy about our toilet running—”

“You saw him in the hallway,” Sukuna interrupts. “The toilet’s been fucked for a month. You needed to say something.”

“I know,” you growl indignantly. “I know I should have, but—but you didn’t have to yell at me! And now you’re pissed because I didn’t want to go on this fucking trek to who-knows-where when it’s cold as fuck out, and—oh, shit.”

You stop short, gaping because Sukuna is—is actually down on one knee.

He looks up at you, scowling. "Extremely difficult," he says through gritted teeth, fingers clenched around the little box in his hand.

That snaps you some; you jerk, outraged. "Then don't do it!”

He snorts, actually laughs at you. "As if I could avoid this," he mutters. "As if there's a third option besides chaining you to my side forever or dying face down in a ditch by the year's end."

You gasp, affronted, but the wind’s knocked out of you. Trembling, you take a step towards him. "That was—actually very sweet.”

"I'm very sweet," he says, dead-eyed. 

You try to laugh; can't quite manage. "You—” 

Your voice stops. He raises an eyebrow. You cough, try again. “You really want that?”

Sukuna’s eyebrow climbs even higher. “Do you think I asked you about it last month because I like the sound of your voice?”

You pinch him in the ear. His hand whips out and keeps you there, and he smirks like he’s caught you.

You roll your eyes. “I—I mean it,” you press stubbornly. “You really want—” you make an aborted gesture at yourself.

It’s—you’re not usually so, so unsure. Insecure. But Sukuna threw this in your fucking face with no warni—well. With warning signs that flew right under your radar, you amend wryly. He says he’s thought about it, he says he wants this, but, but you know yourself. You can be—

Unaffectionate, sort of. Forgetful, in a dismissive way. Cold, if you think about it when you’re being hard on yourself.

Uncaring, if you’re being particularly brutal.

Unaffect—cold. Inattentive, distant. Not on purpose; affection just—just doesn’t swim out of you the way it should. You can never read the call signs; when to give, when to take, how much. You fly a bit blind, but Sukuna knows that. He’s known for ages, you couldn’t cloak that even if you tried, but you want to make sure. That he’s clear on—that he actually wants what he’s signing up for.

You look down at him warily. Sukuna’s sharp gaze reads like a flashing caution light on the flight deck of a Boeing 777. “Am I sure?” he repeats, lips beginning to twist. “Am I sure about this, about you?”

You nod. 

Another caution light flicks on. “When the hell have you seen me work for something I don’t want?” he demands.

You suck your teeth. Fair. But—

“Why?” you whisper. His face turns murderous. “Not—not ‘why me,’ relax,” you say hurriedly. “But, why not just—just stay? Where we are?”

He calms; thinks about it for less than a second before his lips curve into a smirk. “I think the divorce paperwork would piss you off so bad you wouldn’t be able to file.”

Wha—

You splutter indignantly, digging your nails into his jaw.

Sukuna hisses, face lighting up. “You’d find it so boring; if you ever get tired of me I’d have ages to convince you to stay.”

A smile bubbles, but you push it down. “If that’s your real answer I’m walking away right now,” you threaten.

He scoffs, hands coming up to trap you at your hips. You expect him to snark, but he doesn’t. You stare down at him meaningfully.

“‘Girlfriend’ is ridiculous,” he mutters after a while. 

It catches you off guard. You open your mouth to protest, but he keeps at it doggedly. “At our age, I have to call you my damn ‘girlfriend.’ Idiotic, I’m not fourteen,” he sneers angrily.

“‘Partner,’” you offer. “Sometimes I call you that.”

“Also ridiculous,” he says promptly. “Fucking stupid, we’re not ‘partners.’”

That’s—actually offensive. You let your anger show on your face. 

“We’re not,” Sukuna stubbornly persists. “More like—a warplane.”

“Sukuna, what?” you grit out.

“A warplane.” His eyes are alight, mischievous, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re on the gun, and I’m in the cockpit. I fly us and tell you when to fire.”

You let out a snort. 

“I decide where to go,” Sukuna adds, voice glittering, “and you have shit aim.”

A real laugh, this time. “Sukuna.” You can’t help it, you cup his jaw in your hand. “I’m in the cockpit. I decide where to go. And I tell you when to fire.”

He frowns. You grin fiercely. “You’ve been demoted.”

“I fly us where we need to go,” Sukuna points out adamantly. “I get us there.”

“True,” you allow.

“And you don’t tell me where to fire,” he insists.

“Also true.” Something occurs to you. “And sometimes you let me on the gun.”

“When you’re feeling brave and I need a piss,” Sukuna agrees.

You scowl at him. He corrects himself. “When we want a more precise hand,” he says easily.

You raise your eyebrows. He’s smiling softly below you. “So maybe,” you stress. “This fuckass metaphor doesn’t work.”

He shrugs. “Makes sense to me.”

“Of course it does.” You smile, entirely unbothered.

He looks at you; lets his gaze catch and hold. Silence for a moment, you wait him out.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “Can’t write ‘warplane’ on the tax forms,” he says sensibly.

“So this is the only logical answer,” you say, mock-serious.

“Yes,” Sukuna insists, and he’s sincere this time. “It is.” He pauses, then; runs his tongue over his teeth. You wait him out.

Eventually, he speaks up. “I know what you’re like,” he explains practically. “I know what I’m like. You know what I’m like, you know what you’re like.” His hands tighten at your hips. “This is the only thing that makes sense.”

Holy shit. This is—

“Say something nice,” you order, trying to stave off tears. “Say something nice about me.”

“No.”

“Ass.” It comes out like a cough; he never lets you hide. “I hate you.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue. “You should marry me about it.”

That hits you like a punch. Holy shit.

He looks a little unsteady himself.

“Are—are you going to ask me?” you demand.

He gives a half smirk. “No.”

“Ass.”

He levels you with a look. “Stop pretending you’re angry.”

You close your eyes, scrabble for his hand at your waist. He lets you take it; lets you crush his fingers in a death grip. 

Lets you gasp for breath, leaves you until your breathing evens out. Then, Sukuna almost asks.

“Are you going to answer?”

You suck in a last breath, then open your mouth. 

“Wait.” Sukuna shakes your hand roughly. “Open your eyes.”

You swallow. Fair enough. He gives you another couple of seconds before pushing his finger into the back of your hand.

Biting your tongue, you open up and look. Sukuna’s eyes are narrowed; imploring. And—afraid.

Afraid. Ha. You smile, incredulous despite yourself. “You’re not actually worried, are you?”

Sukuna’s face clears, tension dropping like you’ve cut the lines. “Tch. Of course not.” He grins wide enough to show teeth.

That lights you up; you laugh helplessly.

He drags you closer, you nearly trip. “Come on,” he mutters, chin digging into your stomach. “Answer.”

You look down at the man in front of you. He blinks.

A warplane.

You suck your teeth. “Fine.”

Sukuna grabs you wholly round the middle and smashes his face into your gut. “Fucking christ,” he breathes.

You wheeze, hands fisting into his jacket. Tears begin to roll down your nose.

“‘Fine,’” he mumbles, barely audible. “‘Fine.’ I ask for your hand in miserable marriage, ‘fine.’” You can hear it, he’s thrilled beyond belief.

So are you. “And you thought I wouldn’t want—” you cut yourself off with a light gasp and dig your fingers into his back, shoving him against your ribs. “No wonder,” you choke out.

“No wonder,” Sukuna agrees. He gets to his feet, gets you back in his arms and crushes you to him. “That was awful,” he gripes. “I hate you for that.”

“Well, good thing you just chained me to yourself forever,” you remind him giddily.

“I know. I might just be the smartest man alive.”

“See, that was nice,” you say reproachfully. “Why didn’t you say that when you asked?”

“Tch. I said things that were true,” Sukuna pulls back to look at you; raises his eyebrows. 

You incline your head. “You did,” you whisper. “You’re good at that.”

“Mmh, I know.” He snaps his teeth in satisfaction. “Here’s another: that may have been the best decision you’ve ever made.”

He smirks. You laugh, because—

“Sukuna, that wasn’t a decision.” You shake your head fondly. “That was—inevitable.”

He grins knowingly. “The only thing that makes sense.”

That cuts you. “Y—yeah,” you manage.

Sukuna pushes his face into your neck. You stretch up and grip him tightly at the shoulders.

Eventually, he bites your jaw. “Let’s get out of here,” he mutters.

You blink. “Sukuna, we just got here.” It had taken over an hour to walk to this end of the pier.

“I asked you, and you said yes,” he points out. “We’re done here, let’s leave.”

“You didn’t ask, actually,” you argue on reflex. “And—hey!” Sukuna tries to shuffle you away, you jerk out of reach. “You walked me way the hell out here,” you begin, “just to—”

“Yes, you look very beautiful with the ocean behind you,” Sukuna interrupts impatiently. “Stunning, I’m so glad I asked, bullshit bullshit. However,” he lunges for your hand and starts hauling you back toward the car. “My dick just realized what the fuck is going on, and he’s very excited.”

You let out a snort. “Sukuna.”

“He’s just as surprised as you are that I managed to pull this off,” he continues, eyes wicked. “And he thinks you should give him a kiss.”

“I’m not blowing you on a public boardwalk,” you say indignantly. “I don’t give a shit if we’re engaged.”

You both jolt, staring at each other in wonder.

Sukuna clocks back in first. “Selfish,” he says thickly. “Already reneging on your promise.”

“I promised to marry you, not play into your voyeurism kink.” You let him drag you along anyway.

“We’ll negotiate,” he says grimly. “For now I’ll let you give me road head.”

“Not while you’re fucking driving!” you insist.

“We both know I could do it,” Sukuna says plainly. “You never let me show off my skills.” You burst out laughing. “You never let me fly,” he adds, lips twitching.

“Except the warplane,” you point out.

“Different metaphor,” Sukuna brushes you off, threading your fingers together. “Keep up.”

“Sukuna, wait,” you dig in your heels. “I want to see the ring.” You nod toward the box in his pocket.

“That?” he glances down. “There’s nothing in there.”

You close your eyes. “Sukuna.”

Silence from his end. You’re going to rip his dick off.

“Sukuna. You just brought an empty box?” The more you think about it, the more absurd it sounds. “You didn’t even bother to get a ring?“

Silence.

“Sukuna.”

He clears his throat. “Is this. Actually important?”

Your eyes fly open in shock. Yes it’s important, he wasn’t even going to try? “Sukuna, what the fuck do you think a proposal is—”

He cuts you off. “Tch. I didn’t want to get the wrong one.”

Bullshit. You open your mouth to call him on it, but his hand squeezes yours sharply. 

“Wait.” He looks at you, very nearly begging. “Love. It isn’t that I didn’t want to pick one out, that I didn’t want to search and find the right one for you, you know I did. I—didn’t want to pick wrong.”

Sukuna snaps his mouth shut, searching your face. 

You think about that, about what he’s not saying. About what an engagement ring even means, what it might mean to Sukuna. It’s—a symbol, the commitment symbol; a sign that the relationship has maxed out. Instantly recognizable, something anyone can look at and know that you’ve chosen someone, actually, so they could fuck right off of what was Sukuna’s. Something to show that you’re with him, that the two of you are—a warplane, you think wryly. And you’re not interested in having anything with anyone else, why would you be? You’ve got a warplane at home, and you’re wearing the ring to prove it.

A ring you’ll wear and think of him; that you’ll wear for the rest of your life until the both of you crumble to dust. And you know your warplane, you reflect grimly, you know who’s on the gun. Sukuna would have wanted that symbol to be damn near perfect, which meant that it all had to be perfect; the cut of the gemstone, the way it was set into the ring, the band, the way it all fit together—

Combinations upon combinations, you realize. Permutations times a million. High stakes. Sukuna would have gone blind.

Okay, yeah. But still. 

“The box?” you clarify.

“I wanted to make sure you knew what I was doing,” he says instantly.

“Don’t insult me,” you mutter.

“I think that one’s fair,” he argues. You glare at him, he’s still slightly nervous. “On one knee without the box? That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, and an empty box is any better?” you challenge.

Sukuna shrugs uneasily. Rolling your eyes, you begin to tug him down the boardwalk.

You feel him relax, all the way in his fingertips. A couple of seconds roll by.

“Was that particularly bad?” he asks suddenly.

You suck your teeth. “No,” you decide. “I mean, I understand,” you eye him meaningfully. “You wouldn’t last an hour on one of those engagement ring websites.”

He manhandles you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I tried for thirty minutes,” he mutters. “I thought was going to kill myself.”

You nod. “The walls closed in,” you can actually picture him in front of the computer, tearing his hair out. “Defeated by those silly little extra diamonds on the side.”

“I didn’t even make it that far,” he gripes, fingers tapping staccato on your arm. “I spent twenty-five minutes making a pros and cons list for each gemstone shape.”

“You actually didn’t write it down, did you?” you ask, delighted.

He raises an eyebrow, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Notes app,” he instructs, handing it over.

You enter the passcode and click on his notes, eyes widening immediately. “Holy shit, Sukuna,” you say, laughing incredulously. “This is—this list is like five pages long.”

“Not a list,” he corrects, “pros and cons.”

You scroll through, smiling happily. “Which one did you end up picking?” 

He watches you through narrowed eyes as you lock the phone and pass it back to him. “You’re not going to read it?” he demands.

Grinning like a thief, you get your hands on his shoulders and jump up so you can kiss him in the ear. He hisses at the sound, shoving you away.

“Fucking hate when you do that, stop it.”

“I’ll read it later,” you say, tucking yourself back under his arm. Sukuna growls, arm settling comfortable around you. 

“I would have gone with the pear shaped one.” He peers down at you, eyes carefully gauging your reaction.

You nod easily, smile serene. “That’s a good choice, I would’ve liked it.”

He exhales, clearly pleased.

“And the setting?” you prod. “Did you pick how the stone would fit into the ring?”

“Didn’t get there. Quit at the band.”

“The band?”you repeat, obsessed with how hard he’d tried for you.

“The death blow,” he mutters. “Finally managed to pick a damn shape, thought the nightmare was over. Clicked next, saw all those fucking options.” Sukuna shakes his head. “Gold, silver, five thousand other kinds of metals. Like watching the Calvary come in.”

“So what’d you do?” you ask gleefully.

“Regrouped. Took a break and had a dark shower.”

You burst out laughing, absolutely enthralled by the idea of Sukuna stalking away from the computer to go shower in pitch darkness.

“Mandated time in the sensory deprivation tank,” you comment, grin stretching your cheeks wide.

“You’re enjoying this,” Sukuna observes, eyeing you with a smile that’s butter-soft. “You’re enjoying hearing about how a fucking engagement ring knocked me out in one round.”

“Sounds like it was more than one round,” you offer. “You put up a pretty good fight.”

Now he’s the one grinning, cracked wide and stupid. He grabs you by the jaw and shoves his tongue between your teeth. Before you even realize what’s going on he’s swiped around the whole of your mouth—over your teeth, under your tongue—and pulled away, planting his face beneath your chin.

“Ableist,” he says fondly.

You clean the spit off your mouth and wipe it on his coat. “So, after your dark shower.”

He scoffs. “Ableist.” You pull his hair until he continues. “After my dark shower, I went back for the fucking band.”

“Refreshed,” you add. “Ready for another round, for another two rounds.”

“Sure,” he agrees dryly. “I counted the options.” He grimaces. “Thought about it. Opened Excel.” 

You scream with laughter.

“Knew you’d like that,” he murmurs. “Opened Excel. Thought about it. Closed Excel. Closed the website.” He shrugs. “Figured the ring was a moot point if you found me washed up under a bridge.”

He shuffles back, looking at you warily. You smile, grabbing his hand and walking towards the car. “You’re right,” you agree easily. “I forgive you for not getting a ring.”

“Thank god,” he mutters. “Didn’t want to give you instant regret.” Sukuna eyes you sidelong. You incline your head, easy. 

“We’ll pick it out together,” he adds like it’s obvious.

Your head flies up. “Yeah?” you grin with excitement.

“Tch. Of course. Can’t let you build an ugly one.” He leers at you.

You roll your eyes. “You have little to no creative input.”

“Obviously,” he agrees. “I’m peer review. I’m quality control.” Sukuna looks at you then, eyes alight. “You tell me where to go,” he begins.”

You pull his arm hard enough to make him wince. “And you take us there,” you finish.

“Mmh. Can go to a jeweler right now, if you want,” he offers.

You click your tongue and shake your head. “I want to go home, actually.” Sukuna raises his eyebrows. “I want to give your dick his kiss,” you explain cheekily.

He speeds up, nearly making you jog next to him. “Fuck yes,” he hisses. “I’m going to go home and face-fuck my fiancée.”

You both stop short, grimacing. “That was bad,” you announce. 

“I know,” Sukuna agrees unhappily. “It was the alliteration. Too many f’s.”

“No, it was the word,” you argue. “Fiancée.” You shudder, and Sukuna jerks right along with you.

“Fuck,” he growls, running a hand through his hair. “This is a serious problem.”

You snort; he shoots you a look. “Am I just back to ‘girlfriend’ now?” he asks, voice getting louder. “Was this all for fucking nothing?”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Obv—” he stops, rubs a hand over his face. “Of course it wasn’t for nothing. We are in love,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

“The happiest day of your life was when the city changed the ‘walk sign is on for Main Street crosswalk’ voice at the intersections,” you remind him, looping your arm through his.

“You’re right,” he agrees instantly. “You should write a letter of thanks, the city council saved your fiancée from early heart failure.”

He scowls; you match it. “Partner,” you suggest again.

Sukuna shakes his head. “Insufficient.”

“One time I called you my ‘other half,’” you offer.

He makes a face. “Did you like it?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I actually planned on taking that to the grave.”

Sukuna grins. “Your secrets are now mine,” he sing-songs.

You blink. “They already were.”

“Not that one, now tell me another.” He waggles his eyebrows.

You bite your tongue, Sukuna notices. “Ah, that means it’s good.” Eyes sparking, he brings his face right up close to yours, waiting for you to flinch. When you don’t, he licks your cheek. “Tell me, tell me, I know it’s go—”

“Ugh!” you splutter, ripping away from him. Sukuna grins fiendishly. “Sukuna!”

“Tell me,” he repeats, snatching you by the waist.

You close your eyes. He begins to protest. “Op—”

“I can’t,” you say calmly. “If you want me to say it, I can’t.”

You practically hear him deliberating. “All right, go on.”

Your teeth crack. “This—” you take a deep breath. “This actually is the happiest day of my life.”

His arms are around you before you can even finish, holding you so tight you can’t breathe. “You’re the best,” he mutters.

“Tell me a secret,” you mumble, tears starting again.

“I have none,” Sukuna says flatly. “If I don’t tell you every single thing that happened to me on a given day, I might as well have stayed in bed.”

You laugh wetly into his chest.

“If I so much as get a paper cut, I have to tell you about it,” he adds, voice low. “If I have a thought, you know it before it hits my hindbrain.”

“That’s true,” you say thickly. “You give me a play-by-play.”

“And if I don’t tell you about it,” he continues. “If it doesn’t make the cut, it wasn’t important enough to remember.”

You stifle a sob. His arms tighten impossibly. “You have to know it all.”

Pulling back, you thunk your head against his chest. Holy fucking shit.

Sukuna holds you there for a long time. Then he clears his throat, gives you a shake. “Alright, come on.” He’s got small grin when you look up. “Let’s get my fiancée in be—no.” He frowns. “It’s bad.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agree. Sukuna looks at you, desolate. “We could elope,” you suggest. “Go straight to ‘wife.’”

Sukuna’s spine—his entire body straightens, stretches impossibly tall. “You are the smartest woman alive.”

His energy infects you. “Are—are we going to the courthouse?” you ask excitedly.

You look at each other. Reality hits. “Yuuji would skin you alive,” you say mournfully.

“He’d never forgive me,” Sukuna agrees with a scowl. “Damn it.”

You start walking toward the car. “Is he your best man, then?”

Sukuna blinks. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

You freeze. “You’re going to have to,” you remind him slowly.

His body locks beside yours. “We’re going to have to plan a wedding,” you go on, looking at him meaningfully. “Weddings are like, all stupid details.”

The abandoned engagement ring hangs between you. Sukuna looks at you with genuine fear on his face. 

“This may have been a mistake.”

listen...nothing on this earth is better than a dark shower....a good dark shower will change your life....

image below is from a tik tok where women talk about what their boyfriends did right before they proposed. big my kind your kind vibes

perm tag list: @fantastucbaby @ryosphere @touyaonmymind @aschwppes @mutedwinter @riribugged @superjelly0us @dawnsoblivion @knb-1 @sukunash0e @chososcupoftea @ahtikil @vacetuuuuu @daroomiz