the sunarin archive

You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.

"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.

You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.

"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.

Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.

When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.

"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"

You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."

The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.

"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.

"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.

"And do you know where you are right now?"

"A hospital?"

"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."

You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign

So you were married.

"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."

The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.

Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?

"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."

You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.

"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.

The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.

"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.

"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.

To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.

"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."

You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.

An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.

You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.

"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.

"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.

"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.

"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."

"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"

"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."

He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.

"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."

He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.

Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.

As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.

"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.

'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.

"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.

It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.

You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.

"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.

He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.

"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."

You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.

"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."

"Okay" you hummed softly.

His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."

You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.

"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"

His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.

"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.

He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.

"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"

"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"

"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.

"Why?"

"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."

You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."

The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.

"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."

"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm thirty two. You're thirty" Sukuna answered smoothly.

"Wow. So we're getting old," you teased gently.

Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."

A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.

Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.

Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.

When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.

And then, there was Sukuna.

Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.

To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.

He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much

His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.

At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.

The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.

Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"

"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.

"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.

"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."

The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"

You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."

You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.

"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.

"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."

You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.

"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.

The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.

As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.

Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.

Crash!

The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.

You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.

You froze.

Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.

Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.

You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.

Pink hair.

The backyard.

The jazz music.

The napkin.

A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.

The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.

When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.

"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.

You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.

But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.

As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.

"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.

Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.

Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.

"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."

Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.

"I fucking love you" he whispers

sukuna’s tattoos shifted when he moved, those dark lines that crawled up his forearms and disappeared beneath his sleeves. you'd always liked that about sukuna; the way the boy never bothered to hide them even when professors gave him pointed looks on the first day of classes.

he was all sharp edges and hard lines, but then he'd show up at your apartment with a sprig of lavender tucked behind his ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"you're not listening," sukuna said, but there was no accusation in it, just a statement of fact, accompanied by the faintest quirk of his lips.

"i am," you lied, sitting up straighter. "you were talking about... flowers saying things."

his eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

"i was talking about specific meanings. symbolic language. there's a difference."

sukuna set down the orchid and reached for another pot, something small with delicate white blooms that you didn't recognize. his fingers were careful, deliberate, the same way they were when he rolled a cigarette or tied his shoelaces or did anything that required even the slightest bit of precision.

it was hard to reconcile this version of sukuna with the one who'd shoved his way through a crowd last week just to get to the front of the coffee shop line, all elbows and impatience and barely concealed irritation.

"this one," sukuna said, holding the pot up so you could see. "is stephanotis. it means marital happiness, but also a willingness to be led. which is stupid, honestly, because why the hell would anyone want to be led anywhere? but the victorians were weird about a lot of things."

you laughed, and something in his expression softened just enough that you almost missed it.

sukuna had been leaving you flowers for months now.

not in a romantic way, or at least you'd assumed it wasn't romantic because this was sukuna, and sukuna didn't do romance. he did late-night study sessions that turned into ordering pizza at two in the morning. he did stealing your clothes and pretending he hadn't noticed they were yours. he did showing up at your door with a single yellow tulip tucked behind his ear and then plucking it out to hand to you like it was nothing, like he hadn't just walked across campus with a flower in his hair and dared anyone to say something about it.

you'd kept all of them, pressed between the pages of textbooks you never opened anymore, tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror, dried and hanging from string tacked to your bedroom wall. there was something about the way he gave them to you; casual and offhand, like he'd just happened to find them and thought of you.

but sukuna never said why, he never explained the meaning behind any of them.

well, until now.

"so then you've got your roses, obviously," sukuna continued, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

the movement pulled his t-shirt taut across his shoulders, and you looked away before he could catch you staring.

"red for love, white for purity, yellow for friendship. but that's way too simple. anyone knows that. the real interesting stuff is the obscure ones."

the afternoon light filtered through the greenhouse glass, casting everything in a warm, golden, and beautiful haze. dust motes drifted between the two of you, slow and lazy, and a bee hummed somewhere in the corner, drunk on something sweet and pink that you couldn't name.

sukuna's voice washed over you like honey, and you found yourself sinking into it despite your best efforts to stay alert.

"like gardenias," he said, and your heart did something strange in your chest because he'd given you gardenias. three weeks ago, tucked into a mason jar on your desk after a particularly brutal exam week. you'd thought they were just pretty. "they mean secret love. the kind that can't be spoken aloud. which is dramatic as hell, but victorians loved drama almost as much as they loved repressed emotions."

he said it like a joke, like he was mocking the very concept, but his fingers had gone still on the table with no fidgeting, no gesturing; just stillness, and the way his gaze darted away from yours for a fraction of a second before snapping back.

you thought about the gardenias, pressed between pages 87 and 88 of your ancient history textbook, still faintly fragrant when you opened them.

"and peonies," sukuna went on, reaching for the plant he'd been touching earlier. "they've got a few meanings. shame, anger, but also romance and prosperity. it depends on the context, really. the victorians loved context, too."

a little pause.

"mostly, though, they symbolize a happy marriage. or a wish for one, anyway."

sukuna had given you peonies on your birthday. a whole bouquet of them, pink and lush and ridiculous, shoved into your arms with a gruff 'happy birthday, idiot' before he'd disappeared into the kitchen to make you dinner. you'd cried a little, though you'd blamed it on allergies.

your throat felt tight now, but you weren't sure why.

"basil is hatred," sukuna said, ticking off on his fingers now, counting down some internal list. "which is funny because it's also a cooking herb, so who knows what that says about italian grandmothers. ivy means fidelity. rosemary is remembrance. lavender is devotion, but also distrust, because again, context matters."

lavender. he'd left a sprig of lavender on your pillow last month after you'd fallen asleep on his couch.

you'd woken up to the smell of it, and to sukuna making coffee in the kitchen, humming something tuneless under his breath. you'd kept it tucked behind your ear for the rest of the day, and he'd looked at you differently after that; softer, maybe. or maybe you'd imagined it.

"what about camellias?" you asked, and sukuna’s hand paused mid-gesture.

your voice sounded strange to your own ears, thin in a way that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with the way your heart was suddenly trying to escape your ribcage. because he'd given you camellias too. pink ones, tied with a bit of twine, left in your backpack after a study session two months ago. you'd found them while looking for a pen and spent the rest of the night trying not to overthink it.

sukuna's jaw tightened for just a fraction, just for a second, but you saw it because you were looking, because you were always looking, even when you told yourself not to.

"camellias," sukuna repeated, and the word came out rougher than the others. he cleared his throat. "they mean... longing. desire, mostly. but specifically the kind that's acknowledged and accepted. not secret like gardenias, not hopeful like peonies. just... wanted."

the silence that followed was heavy and thick with something unspoken. a bee buzzed, a leaf drifted down from one of the hanging plants, landing softly on the table between the two of you like a tiny green question mark.

you thought about all of it.

the tulips and the lavender, the gardenias and the peonies, the camellias and the stephanotis sukuna had given you just last week, white and fragile and tucked into your coat pocket. you thought about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he always, always made sure you ate even when you forgot, even when you were too tired or too stressed or too something to take care of yourself.

you thought about the yellow tulips he'd given you first, and what he'd just said about them meaning friendship, and how maybe that had been the beginning. maybe sukuna had started there on purpose, testing the waters, seeing if you'd accept something small and simple before moving on to gardenias and secrets and things left unsaid.

"why are you telling me this?" you asked, and your voice barely trembled at all.

sukuna's eyes met yours, and for once, there was nothing sharp in them. there was no challenge, no defense, no carefully constructed walls. there was just him, just ryomen sukuna, the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met with his flower meanings and his pressed specimens and his soft spot for things that grew from the dirt.

"because," sukuna said, and his ears were turning pink, actually pink, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. "i've been leaving you flowers for six months, and you haven't said a single word about it. and i thought maybe you didn't know what they meant, and i couldn't decide if that was better or worse than you knowing and not saying anything anyway."

sukuna's hands were shaking slightly.

you'd never seen sukuna's hands shake before, not once in all the years you'd known him. he was always so steady, so sure, so infuriatingly composed, but now, his fingers were curled into loose fists on the table, and the faint tremor in them made something ache behind your sternum.

"so which is it?" sukuna asked, and his voice cracked on the last word. just a little. just enough. "did you know?"

you thought about the gardenias pressed in your textbook, the lavender behind your ear, the peonies on your birthday, the camellias in your backpack. you thought about the way you'd told yourself it didn't mean anything at all, that sukuna wasn't capable of meaning anything, that this was just something the boy did because he was strange like that and unpredictable and full of contradictions.

you thought about how badly you'd wanted to be wrong.

"i didn't know," you said, and something in sukuna's expression flickered, dimmed.

you reached across the table before he could pull away, before sukuna could retreat back behind whatever wall he was scrambling to rebuild. your fingers brushed his knuckles softly, and he went very, very still.

"i didn't know the meanings. but i kept all of them. every single one. they're in my apartment, sukuna. pressed into my textbooks and taped to my walls and stuffed into my jewelry box. i've been sleeping with lavender under my pillow for three weeks because i didn't want to lose the scent."

sukuna's breath caught; you heard it, the tiny hitch that he tried to disguise as a cough.

"that's—" sukuna started, but stopped, and then he swallowed. his throat worked around words that didn't seem to want to come out. "that's really fucking weird, actually. keeping flowers for months."

"you're one to talk," you said, and your lips curved into a smile that felt wobbly and fragile and too big for your face. "you're the one who gave them to me."

"yeah, well." his ears were still pink, spreading now to his cheekbones, and you'd never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. "i'm in love with you, so it's different."

the words hung in the air between you, simple and devastating. there was no fanfare, and no dramatic pause, simply sukuna being sukuna, saying the thing he'd probably been trying to say for six months through petals and stems and carefully chosen blooms.

"you could have just told me," you said, and your voice was shaking now, but so were your hands, and so was he, so it didn't really matter.

"where's the fun in that?" he asked, but his voice was rough, and his eyes were bright, and when you squeezed his fingers, he squeezed back like he was afraid you'd disappear.

outside the greenhouse windows, the afternoon was fading into evening, gold bleeding into amber bleeding into the soft purple of early dusk. the bee had gone quiet, the leaves had stopped drifting, and the only sound was your breathing and his, mingling in the warm, humid air.

"i'm in love with you too," you said.

because it was true, because it had probably been true for longer than you wanted to admit, because sukuna was a nightmare and a softy and the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met, and you'd spent six months tucking his gifts between the pages of your life like pressed flowers of your own.

sukuna closed his eyes just for a moment, just long enough for you to see the way his shoulders dropped, the tension draining out of him like water from a cracked vase. when he opened them again, sukuna was smiling. a real smile, not the sharp-edged thing he showed the rest of the world, but something small and private and almost shy.

"good," sukuna said, and then, quieter; "i have more at my apartment. flowers, i mean. i was going to give them to you tomorrow, but—" he shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "seems like a waste to wait."

your heart turned over in your chest, sweet like honey.

"show me," you said, and when he stood up and offered you his hand, you took it without hesitation.

sukuna’s palm was warm against yours, calloused from god knows what, steady now that the worst part was over.

he led you out of the greenhouse and into the cooling evening, and neither of you let go, not even when the campus paths grew busy with other students, not even when someone whistled and sukuna flipped them off with his free hand, not even when you reached sukuna’s apartment and he had to fumble for his keys because he simply didn't want to release you long enough to find them.

his apartment smelled like him, like cedar and something floral you couldn't name.

there were flowers everywhere — on the kitchen counter, on the windowsill, in a vase on the coffee table that was definitely too small for the arrangement it held. you spotted roses and tulips and something dark purple you didn't recognize, and sukuna followed your gaze and went pink again.

"i might have gone overboard," sukuma admitted, finally letting go of your hand so he could gesture vaguely at the chaos. "i wasn't sure which ones you'd like best, so i just kind of... got all of them."

you walked over to the windowsill, running your finger along the edge of a potted plant you didn't recognize. it was green and leafy, unassuming, nothing like the showy blooms scattered around the room.

"what's this one?" you asked, turning back to look at him.

sukuna was standing in the middle of his own living room like he'd never seen it before, like he was seeing it through your eyes and finding it lacking. he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you'd never seen him make, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur.

"basil," he said. "it means hatred, remember? i got it as a joke. thought it would be funny to have something that meant the opposite of everything else."

you laughed, and the sound seemed to break something loose in sukuna. he crossed the room in three long strides and stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at his face.

"i meant it, you know," sukuna said, and his hands hovered near your waist like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch. "every flower. every single one. i meant all of it."

"i know," you said, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands, feeling the slight roughness of his jaw beneath your palms. "i know now."

he kissed you then, soft and careful, like you were something precious he was afraid of breaking. his lips tasted like coffee and something sweet, and his hands finally settled on your hips, and the basil sat on the windowsill behind you, tiny and green and full of meaning.

when you pulled back, sukuna’s eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. he looked sweeter like this, softer, like all the sharp edges had been sanded away by the simple fact of being wanted back.

"i'm still mad you didn't look up the meanings," he said without opening his eyes. "six months. i could have just told you in the first week and saved myself a lot of anxiety."

"but then i wouldn't have gotten the flowers," you pointed out, and sukuna snorted, and you felt the vibration of it all the way down to your bones.

"i would have given you the flowers anyway," he said, finally opening his eyes. they were darker than usual, soft with something you were learning to recognize. "i probably would have given you flowers even if you'd laughed in my face. it's a problem, really. my therapist would have a field day."

you laughed again, and sukuna smiled again, and the evening stretched out before you both, full of possibility and pressed flowers and the quiet understanding that some things didn't need to be spoken aloud to be true.

but it didn't hurt, you thought, as sukuna pulled you toward his couch and wrapped his arms around you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it.

it didn't hurt to say them anyway.

“oi.”

you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.

yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.

“. . . what?”

he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”

your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.

lip gloss.

receipt.

wires.

a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?

everything but your keys.

normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—

“you regret comin’ out with me?”

oh . . . 

for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.

“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.

sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.

“you heard me.”

your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.

his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.

“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”

“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”

“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”

well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.

“well, no! i just—”　　 what an insufferable man. 　　“i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”

“just nervous.”

“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”

your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.

sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.

“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”

you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”

sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.

“your call.”

and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.

“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.

“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”

“platonically,” you added after a moment.

. . .

his brows lifted slowly.

“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”

“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”

“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”

“that too.”

silence.

then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.

“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”

your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”

he kept walking.

not far. just enough to be annoying.

“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”

a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”

your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”

his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”

“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.

his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.

before you could overthink, your lips meet his.

it’s quick. chaste. shy even.

his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.

he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.

you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.

your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—

“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”

you pant, “what does that even mean?”

his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.

the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.

a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.

yeah. annoyingly cute.

“why’re you always askin’ obvious questions?”

“because youre always saying weird things,” you huff, “and you’re annoying.”

he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”

you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.

except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.

his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.

you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.

it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.

the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.

then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.

“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.

he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”

“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.

your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.

“here.”

you pause.

and there they were.

your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.

“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”

he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”

you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”

his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”

you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.

“…thanks,” you mutter.

“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”

and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.

you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .

“you alright?”

“yes.”

“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”

“i know!” you shoot back immediately.

the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.

“ okay . . . ” you hummed.

“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.

but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.

a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.

despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.

you liked it.

you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.

“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.

except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.

“fuck—”

you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”

and then, you’re gone.

the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.

outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.

“…yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “that tracks.”

their domains: domain expansion is a sorcerer’s manifestation of their inner mental landscape and Sukuna and Gojo's meld together perfectly. For a while the omniscient cosmos acts as the cradle for an uncaring shrine, blue starry sky meeting the red blood sea.

Thousands of years and the only domain that is compatible with Malevolent Shrine is Unlimited Void, to the point that when Gojo died, Sukuna couldn't deploy his domain for a whole while and when he got it back, Yuta- the patron saint of mutual love in the verse, wore Gojo skin to run in back again.

Sukuna could deploy his domain without barrier which is unimaginable to other sorcerers cuz it’s like painting without a canvas. A king that conquers all just like the all-consuming purifying fire that he wields. Meanwhile Gojo could make the barrier of his domain so tiny it’s also unimaginable to others because they couldn’t imagine being trapped in such a small space. Gojo did because he has also folded into himself for the sake of those he loves his entire life.

They are both doing such advanced techniques to the power system that’s out of reach for everyone else, but they are also doing it in the opposite direction of each other, in a way that’s reflective of their life philosophy. Two equals standing at two polar axis.

their approach to becoming strong: they are both jujutsu nerds, but Sukuna's thirst for knowledge & self-improvement is in service to himself, while Satoru seeks to give knowledge & encourages growth in his students. If his community is strong, he is strong. Therefore in that month of preparation before the big fight, Gojo was shown training Yuta & Yuuji rather than digging more on Sukuna.

How they approach life and make their choices is a mirror to their own personal stories & struggle. It's these little push & pull of meanings that makes them so compelling as a pair.

There's a meta commentary here about how since Sukuna kept possessing Gojo’s students & gaining their memories, whether he knew he was doing it or not, he reacts to/ follow the lessons Gojo gave out. Him using Gojo’s hand sign & techniques later on is also a part of this larger theme that Gojo had unwittingly been like a teacher to him too. It makes the “the one to teach you about love” “I want him to understand” lines hit even harder.

I elaborate more here on why Sukuna's upbringing and curse is its own can of worm that makes his interaction with Gojo so poweful. Gojo who kept rescuing cursed children and protecting them is the kind of protective figure Sukuna never had, and I always felt like a part of Sukuna's resentment to the students and Yuuji in particular does stem from that (i do understand if ppl say this is a reach, but !! i'd like to show you guys the character that i believe is one of the main inspiration Gege took to develop Sukuna:

yes, the main character from the BL Gege once recommend The Night Beyond the Tricornered Window. when his love interest chose to protect innocent civillains instead of him (because he's already strong), he literally asked "why protect them, and not me?")

fish metaphor: the fish imagery in the sukugo fight is always so peak since ningyo flesh in japanese mythology is said to grant immortality + the "scale of the dragons" incantation in sukuna's world slash is a throwback to the fish scales lines. there are layers to this:

according to the myth of Four Divine Beasts in Sinosphere culture, control over dragon grants one's control over aquatic life, specifically fish

there's also the myth of a determined koi fish that swims upstream and is rewarded by the God to become a dragon. it's one way to show how Satoru transforms from a nameless fish to a dragon in Sukuna's eyes throughout the fight. which, again, runs another parallel to the alchemy imagery where the royal beast lion transforms into its true form after a dragon’s death, like Sukuna did after Gojo died.

you see how many parallels and analysis we can have of the sukugo fight with just one line here? it's how gege crafted this fight with such concise and powerful imagery that makes it go so hard.

gege has always been building up to sukuna vs gojo since the beginning: probably a hot take, but to me sukugo chemistry is what JJK0, the very first 3 chapters & HI arc built up to 😭 (their fight is literally a constant throwback to their first meeting)

“love to the strong” “a curse must be exorcised using another curse” “love is the most twisted curse of all” being centered around Gojo means the biggest fight of his life, the one he’d put his everything into would ofc be him facing off someone he wants to convey such a thing to.

The line Geto said about being jealous in that airport was there for a reason. The recognition & affirmation of “love to the strong” that Gojo showed Sukuna was what he wanted. But then he got blindsided right after when Gojo said if he’d been there with the students cheering him on, Gojo would have been satisfied too, cuz once again Geto got a reminder that Gojo’s love wasn’t just about strength, but community & support of all the “flowers” in his life as well.

THAT is the type of love Gojo was trying to show Sukuna. The understanding & sympathy, never stop seeing humanity even in the “monstrous”. The type of kindess Sukuna wasn’t graced with as a child, leading to the cursed existence he was trapped in now. Hell, the first line we got about how Sukuna used to be a human was from Gojo himself!

When everyone thought of Sukuna in fear and hatred, the Sukuna in Gojo's eyes to the bitter end is never a malicous grinning calamity, but someone calm and dignified with his gaze forwards. And despite thinking Sukuna could not reciprocate his feelings in kind, he gave Sukuna everything.

meanwhile mr yearnatron3000 Sukuna over here already sees Gojo as a goal to reach since the beginning:

after Gojo died he legit started comparing everyone else to him and thinking in terms of "me and gojo satoru vs anyone else"

(if i write about the meaning behind the incantations of World-Bisecting Slash, this would become a real manifesto, so please see this here. basically, Sukuna made Gojo's whole existence a part of his technique. if that's not the most romantic thing in the world idk what is)

side note from character design perspective: the spelling of Six Eyes is "Rikugan" and sometimes it's used as a title to refer to Gojo (the same way Ryomen is for Sukuna). so we have: Ryomen (Two Faces) - Rikugan (Six Eyes) / Sukuna - Satoru.

what i mean is in a roundabout way sukugo do have matching initials

marketing from JUMP and song lyrics be like: in the the JUMP promo video for vol 25 (which they have private now for some reasons... but i think it's because they are fr going to make the sukugo fight anime rollout the biggest blast ever), they have a banner that coins Sukuna and Gojo as "the existence of an equal"

be it a demon god or a child prodigy, ultimate strength comes with solitude. the only thing they have yet to obtain is an existence equal to themselves. so, how long will you entertain me now?

they also have some crazy contrasting wordplay to introduce them:

鬼神 (demon god) / 神童 (child prodigy) -> share the same 神 (divine)

堕天 (fallen one) / 天才 (genius) -> share the same 天 (sky)

In the soundtrack of the JJK Phantom Parade game (Avant by Eve - came out a few months after the sukugo fight), the lyrics “my yearning towards you alone cuts through space like a heartfelt wish” is always accompanied by Sukuna and Gojo imagery:

for the “like a wish” phase, the word is 希う which has a very beseeching and imploring connotation, so it reads like being able to cut through space and reach that unique person is all he’s ever wanted. Eve cooked like crazy with this ngl

and in JJK Modulo, Gege made "wish" an actual manifestation of a technique possessed by Maru and Cross - the alien twins that everyone jokes that they look like Sukuna and Gojo's lovechild.

talking about lyrics, here are the character songs gege picked out for sukuna and gojo... idk what to even comment on this 😭

that concludes my presentation on why sukugo changes my brain chemistry (i think). there are more obvious ones like "cut me open and see my love buried in this flesh", the legendary "you were magnificent/ cleared my sky", etc... but i want to touch more on the less discussed imagery here.

reader is ripped

reader can be a bit antisocial at times

reader is quite lazy when it comes to studies, she's happy with a 5. fortunately, she's quite smart

reader is quite the nerd and gamer. she's not ashamed or embarrassed by it, has a good self-esteem and does not care about people's opinions on her

frat gojo is a closeted nerd who is embarrassed of others discovering

basically, outwardly > frat!jo, inwardly > nerd!jo

Gojo and readers' twitter profiles because why not? (I might not even use twitter in the smau but who cares)

he almost laughs were it not for you trying to escape again. walking off to the storage room to get more things. and you admit, it’s a lot. but owning a house is a lot. and you just want the space to be usable and comfy and worthy of love.

“angel,” he sighs, finally grabbing onto your shoulders and halting you. forcing— no, begging you to see him. “i’m here.”

“and the house is a mess,” you frown. frustrated, the edges of your vision blur. he’s wrong, you’ve been working on this house for days. and still, on the very day you looked forward to him visiting, it isn’t ready. and you’re fed up, and exhausted and humiliated for letting him stay here no matter how many times he insists he doesn’t mind. “you’re here. and it’s a mess!”

he frowns. “am i getting in your way?”

what an atrocious thing to make him think. “no! no…” you sniffle, holding his face in your hands and caressing the contours of his cheekbones to ground yourself. “not at all, i didn’t mean it like that.”

he leans to your touch, lips kissing the center of your palm. “then?”

you look around. piles of trinkets unkempt, pillows strewn about, the carpets crumpled, tables and chairs scattered like a disaster after a hurricane. “i just… i thought i’d be done by now—and that i could welcome you to something… nicer than this.”

he purses his lips. wipes your tears. “ah.”

“would you like me to go?” he asks, brushing wild strands of hair out of your face.

“no,” you admit, fingers weighing heavier on his skin.

“can i help?”

you bite your cheek. “i can’t ask that of you.”

he snorts in amusement, catching your gaze. “why not?”

“you’re my guest.” you insist, like its an obvious fact.

“and your partner.” he counters, chuckling. “i didn’t think you’d have trouble with bossing me around. you do it so much when we’re in—“

“that’s!” you shush him, pressing panicked palms to his face to shut his pie hole. “enough!”

he’s all giggles now that you’re flustered. “the house is beautiful. you’re doing a great job, and i like being here. done or not.”

your heart is butter under the warmth of his words and you spare him a small smile. “you mean that?”

“anywhere is home as long as you’re there.” he reiterates sincerely, pulling you closer. he glances at the mess. “this is nothing. we lived in a cave once.”

you are bright when you laugh and he revels in your luminance. your fondness now felt in the breath you take, “i remember.”

and he’s glad you do.

“now…” his fangs glisten when he grins. knowing that he’s captured your heart and will give him at least a sliver of a chance. he leans, pressing his lips on your mouth. he melts when you kiss him back, draping himself over you.

you pull away chuckling at his eagerness. “what are you even here for?”

​Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.

​Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.

It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.

​"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."

​"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.

This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?

​But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.

Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.

You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.

It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.

Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.

You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.

And Megumi knew.

He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.

Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.

The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.

It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.

Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.

The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.

"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.

The dust settled, heavy and silent.

Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.

The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.

But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.

The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.

You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.

"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."

Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.

"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."

The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.

Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."

The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.

By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.

"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.

Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.

You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.

A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.

Click.

You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.

The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.

But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.

He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.

The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.

"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.

"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"

"Stop."

The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.

He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.

"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"

Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.

"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"

"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.

You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.

Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.

He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.

"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"

"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."

"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.

"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"

You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.

"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."

The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.

But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.

The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.

Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.

Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."

You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.

"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."

You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.

"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."

He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.

"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."

The dam broke.

You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.

You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.

Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.

Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.

You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.

"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.

"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."

The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.

You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.

"Okay."

Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.

Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.

The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.

When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.

The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.

When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.

Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.

But he didn't lie down on his side.

Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.

You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"

"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."

You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.

You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.

The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.

He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.

"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.

"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.

You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.

It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.

You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.

"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.

Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."

Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.

He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.

"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."

He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"

It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.

The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.

You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.

But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.

You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.

"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"

The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.

Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.

He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.

"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.

"And [Name]?"

You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you asked."

Sukuna had returned from his Christmas in Kyoto a couple of days before the start of the new year, and had spent that entire time at your apartment making it clear just how much he’d missed spending every second at your side. It had been a couple of days of bliss, spending all your time huddled up in bed together or on the couch, eating chocolate and watching Christmas movies. 

He’d spent half of that time kissing you and murmuring about how much he loved you, seemingly never tiring of hearing you say it back to him. 

When he’d come out and told you how he felt when you were in the ryokan in Kyushu, it had been the easiest thing in the world to return the sentiment. To tell him how you really felt was like having a weight lifted off your shoulders, one that you hadn’t even been aware you were harbouring. 

You’d loved him for a long time. 

To be honest, you’d probably loved him for longer than you’d even been dating. He’d been at your side unwaveringly for so long now, always making sure that he supported you through what had easily been the worst period of your life. He demonstrated a love for you that you’d never really believed that you’d find, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It was a shame that your dad wasn’t around to witness it. 

He’d wanted this happiness for you, had truly believed that you’d find it. Even after everything that happened with Hiromi, even with how depressed and disheartened you grew, your father never doubted that one day you would find someone who would make all of that nothing more than a distant memory. 

You truly believed that he knew Sukuna would be that for you, that he went out of his way to ensure that you understood that before he passed away. 

It was why today, a few days into the new year, you were taking Sukuna with you to your dad’s grave. Well, partly why you were bringing Sukuna with you. A big part of it was the fact that you hadn’t visited the grave since he’d passed away, and you were apprehensive to go alone. However, you knew that your father would also be delighted to see you together, so it was a win-win. 

“We should pray at the temple before heading to the cemetery,” You suggested, as the two of you reached the top of the temple’s stairs. 

People were queuing up to make offerings, the area bustling with the expected New Year's activity. You and your father had been among the many visitors over the last few years, never failing to pay your respects at the temple to mark a new beginning.

It would be nice to uphold the tradition with Sukuna - make an offering and hope that some greater force rewarded you with better luck this year. It felt like a way of honoring your father’s memory in some manner.

He nodded in agreement and you joined the queue of people, squeezing Sukuna’s hand softly. Even though you were doing much better than you were a few months ago, there was still an element of anxiety that overcame you within large crowds, a desire to hide away like you had for the past few months. It was grounding to hold on to him, knowing he was there at your side. 

“My dad always used to make us go pray at the temple on New Years,” Sukuna said. Unlike your happy recollection of time with your father, Sukuna’s tone suggested that his memory of such a tradition was of it being troublesome more than anything else. 

“You didn’t enjoy it?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not really. My dad would usually be mad at me for one thing or another.” 

You could picture the image of a tiny Sukuna being dragged kicking and screaming up the stairs to some tranquil temple, his father’s ire growing with all the attention he was garnering from those around him. 

“Besides, I never really understood the whole praying thing anyway,” he added. 

“Oh! We can skip this if you want? Go straight to my dad’s grave?” You hadn’t considered that Sukuna might not want to honor your usual New Year’s tradition, you’d essentially just dragged him into it. 

Shaking his head, he shot you a smile. “No, I like being here with you. Maybe now that I'm older I’d even like going with my dad. It wasn’t like it was his fault my prayers weren’t answered when I was a kid.”

You tilted your head in interest, not sure what to make of that statement. You’d assumed his dislike of the yearly visits had stemmed from outside factors - like wanting to forgo a trip to the temple to go and play video games instead, making his father angry. But his statement made it sound more like the two of them would be at odds over the visit itself. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, keeping your gaze on him as the two of you shuffled closer to the front of the queue. 

“The first few years after my mom left I’d go and pray that she’d come back and the whole family would be happy again.” There was a hint of a blush on Sukuna’s cheeks, as if that wasn’t something that he’d confided in anyone before. “Obviously, she never did, so I started getting angry whenever my dad would try to take me to the shrine. Why should I waste my time praying when it was so obviously all made up?” 

You hummed in understanding. Your wishes as a child had always been more general, the classic stuff like good luck and a happy year, rather than something as specific as your family being reunited. It was a request that essentially set him up for failure, no wonder he hated visiting the temple. 

“In hindsight, I really punished my dad for the stupidest shit,” Sukuna said with a laugh. “I mean, she was the one that abandoned her family, and yet I took all my anger out on him.” 

“Its easier to direct your blame towards someone who’s actually present,” you reasoned. 

To some extent you could understand his feelings. Even though there was little animosity in your parents’ divorce, you’d still found yourself frustrated by your mother’s decision to move far from Tokyo. Your father had weathered more than one angsty teenage tantrum from you as a result of that. 

You could only imagine how much more tumultuous Sukuna’s feelings regarding his own situation must have been. Especially when he was dealing with a sibling who seemed to be handling things so much better than he was. 

“Oh sure, but I guess I just actually feel bad about it now.” 

“You didn’t before?” You asked. 

He shrugged. “Not really. It never felt like me and my dad saw eye-to-eye. In my mind he was always bringing the hammer down on me for everything. I figured that we’d just grow apart once I stopped living in his house and just eventually stop talking altogether.” 

Sukuna explained his view so matter of factly, barely batting an eyelid at the idea that he’d simply stop talking to his remaining parent. There was a pang of hurt in your chest, something akin to jealousy at how lucky Sukuna was for that to even be a choice, because you’d do anything to speak to your dad again. 

Sensing your displeasure, he continued before you could misinterpret him further. “Since I met you, I think I see it differently. Even if my dad can be a hell of a lot more difficult than yours, I don’t want to end up in a situation where he dies and I live in regret of not spending more time with him.” 

You gave him a soft smile, glad that your experience had some effect on him. The way that he spoke about Wasuke always fascinated you, because you couldn’t imagine the man being anything but a good father. But you supposed the Sukuna that you knew now was far more mellow than he had been as a teen. If Wasuke had to put him in his place, there was no doubt in your mind that he’d do it with a stern hand. 

“I think it's much easier to appreciate your parents when you stop living with them. You’ve got a way to withdraw if they start to drive you up the wall,” you said. 

Sukuna tilted his head, glancing down at you. There was a glimmer of disbelief in his crimson eyes.  “Did your dad ever annoy you?” 

“Of course.” You scoffed. “No one likes their parents all the time. But it didn’t ever stop me from loving him, even when he’d frustrate me.” 

“Oh. I can’t really imagine…that.” He trailed off. You giggled, unsurprised by his reaction. You and your dad had always been in such harmony compared to stories Sukuna had told you about Wasuke. 

“It’s because you only met me when he was dying. At that point I was going out of my way to spend every moment that I could with him. But sure, when I was a teenager there were times where he really pissed me off. It’s natural. When we have kids I’m sure we’ll piss them off.” 

Your mind didn’t really register what you’d said, letting go of Sukuna’s hand and stepping up to pray as you reached the front of the queue, unaware of the way that he’d frozen up at your side, eyes wide with shock, only following after you when an old lady nudged him to keep the queue moving. 

The two of you took a few moments to pray, squeezing your eyes shut and practically begging some greater force to give you an easier year than the last one. You definitely felt like you deserved a break after all you’d gone through. 

Once satisfied that you’d done all you could, you moved out the way to make space for next people in the queue, taking Sukuna’s hand once more and weaving through the temple courtyard in the direction of the cemetery. 

“What did you pray f-” 

“When we have kids?” Sukuna cut you off promptly, only now managing to put words together. 

You tilted your head at him, brows knit in confusion as you tried to parse what he was saying. Your mind had already moved on from the conversation you’d been having mere minutes ago, the weight of visiting your father’s grave pushing everything else away. It took a few seconds for you to piece everything together. 

A deep blush flooded your cheeks, a little embarrassed to have spoken so carelessly. It wasn’t like the two of you had discussed that sort of thing seriously yet. So much of your time dating had been spent apart from each other, with Sukuna supporting you through the worst period of your life. There’d been little chance to establish what your future might look like. 

“Uh- yeah.” You weren’t sure what else to say. Part of you wanted to walk it back, to pretend he’d misinterpreted. But he hadn’t - you wanted to be with him in the future, wanted to have kids with him. There was no point in pretending that you didn’t.  

“You’ve thought about that?” 

You bit on your lip shyly, offering him a simple nod. “Yeah.” 

The two of you walked in silence for a little while after that, your free hand fidgeting in your coat pocket, not sure what to say next or what Sukuna was thinking. You were starting to wonder if he would dismiss the matter entirely - perhaps he was simply unsure about whether he’d want children in the future. 

Or, maybe he wanted children but didn’t know if he’d want them with you. 

His hand squeezed yours tightly before you could really start to spiral. “What other things have you thought about?” He asked, softly. 

“Uh- I don’t know, just stupid stuff.” 

“Stupid stuff?” He asked, glancing down at you, lip curling in amusement. 

You pouted, moving your gaze down to your feet, watching the mud of the dirt path squelch beneath your feet. “Y’know, like living together, getting a cat, I don’t know…” You mumbled. 

In reality you’d thought extensively about what your future with Sukuna would look like - living in some nice apartment for just the two of you, spending evenings curled up on the sofa together talking about everything and nothing. Every morning you’d wake up at his side and you’d kiss him like nothing else mattered. 

Having children was something that you’d always known that you’d wanted, but had never really been sure that it was something you’d have. After everything that had happened with Hiromi you’d almost believed that you’d be incapable of trusting a man with your heart, out of fear that he might take advantage in the same way your ex had. 

With Sukuna it was different. He’d proved how trustworthy he was time and time again, and the idea of raising a child with him one day had your heart racing. He’d be a good father, he’d be a good husband, he was the only person that you’d ever want to do those things with. 

But saying that aloud felt nerve wracking, so what you’d given him so far would have to suffice.

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me,” he said. “Sounds important, actually.” 

You blinked a couple of times, glancing up at him in surprise. He looked so unbelievably handsome staring back at you, the beauty of his face never failing to leave you wondering just how you’d gotten so lucky as to garner his interest. 

“I’ve thought about those things too, you know. Kids, marriage and all that,” he said. The two of you had drawn to a halt, Sukuna’s hand leaving yours and reaching for your chin instead, tilting your head up to ensure you were looking at him properly. “It's what I want with you, one day. Everything that life has to offer, I’ll do it with you.” 

Breath hitching, you blinked at him, a little dumbfounded by how romantic those simple words were. 

“I won’t be leaving your side as long as I can stay here,” he continued. “I don’t know what life looks like after we graduate, I really have no idea - but no matter what, I’ll make sure that we’re in it together. That’s all that matters to me.” 

You moved on impulse, because you couldn’t find any words to offer to him that would live up to what he’d already said. Instead, you pushed yourself up onto your tip-toes and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close and pressing your lips softly against his. 

After a few moments, you pulled back, eyes wide as you stared up at him. “Are you sure?” 

He rolled his eyes, bringing his hand up from its position on your waist and flicking you lightly in the centre of your forehead. You let out a yelp of surprise, pouting at the action, finding no sympathy from your boyfriend who was shaking his head in disapproval. “Obviously I’m sure, dumbass. I love you.” 

The feeling of warmth and affection that flooded you did a lot to overcome the sense of foreboding that hung over your head at being in the cemetery. You were so distracted by Sukuna’s words that your desperate anxiety didn’t reappear until just before you reached your father’s grave. Sukuna had done an exceptional job at sidetracking you, whether intentional or not. 

But even Sukuna’s deep confession of love wasn’t enough to distract you once you reached that headstone, the air heavy in your lungs. It was a nice little plot, one that your aunt had picked out. She’d been visiting the grave regularly since his passing, leaving flowers each week and taking the opportunity to talk to him as if he was still around. 

Part of you could understand adopting such a habit, but based on how sick you felt, you weren’t sure that you’d be coming by all that often. It felt wrong that he was in this place, and hated how real it felt to stare at the headstone with his name engraved upon it. 

While you were in Kyushu it was almost possible to convince yourself that you were just on holiday away from him. Being at his grave had all the pain and hurt of his death flooding back, your heart racing with panic. 

“Take a deep breath.” Sukuna’s voice was low, his hand squeezing yours firmly. “I’m here.” 

You nodded, taking a few seconds to control your breathing, which had quickly sped up at the sight of the grave. You were grateful for Sukuna’s grounding presence, practically gripping onto his hand for dear life as you took the last few steps towards the headstone, lip quivering as you stared down at it. 

A few flowers decorated the base, left by your aunt and various friends who had been by to visit. You felt almost guilty that you hadn’t brought some yourself, feeling far too frazzled that morning to even consider picking some up on your way over. You supposed it didn’t really matter - it wasn’t like he was aware of what decorated his grave. 

You stood in silence for a few minutes, just looking at the scene before you, before starting to panic. You’d come here with the intent of visiting him because that was what people did when people they loved passed away. But now that you were actually here, you found that you had absolutely no idea what you were meant to do. 

Should you talk to him? Pray for him? Was it enough to just stand there for a few minutes and then turn back the way you came, like ticking off some tourist attraction in a foreign city? You glanced up at Sukuna haplessly. 

“You okay, baby?” He asked. 

“I…don’t know what to do.” 

“Oh, uh…” He hesitated, eyes widening for a moment before glancing away, as if lost in thought. You weren’t really sure what you’d been expecting from him - it wasn’t like he was more experienced in grief than you were. “Talk to him, maybe?” 

“And say what?” You asked, noting the way Sukuna’s shoulders dropped in defeat, because he had absolutely no idea what you were meant to say. But he did his best to guide you regardless. 

“What would you tell him if he was standing right in front of you?” 

You turned that thought over in your head, unsure what you would actually say if he was standing in front of you, but you supposed it didn’t need to be anything long or drawn out. The basics would suffice. 

Releasing Sukuna’s hand, you knelt down on the patch of grass before the grave, neatly reorganising the flowers that had been left for him, propping them up where the wind had knocked them down. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you fixed your gaze on the headstone, trying to imagine that it was him standing before you, rather than a mere memorial. 

“I miss you,” you said, finally. Your voice came out smaller than you’d been intending it to, but you supposed it didn’t really matter at the end of the day. If there was some magical force that allowed him to actually hear you, having a quiet voice certainly wouldn’t stand in the way. “I- um- I brought Sukuna here.” 

You glanced over at your boyfriend, hoping that he’d step closer. You felt kind of pathetic, unable to truly face this situation alone. But Sukuna didn’t seem unhappy with your request, taking a few steps forward so that he was standing right behind you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“He’s been looking after me, because it's been tough without…you,” you continued. “I know you’d be pulling that stupid face that you’d always pull whenever I’d tell you I liked a boy, I bet wherever you are, you’re ecstatic that your scheming actually worked.” 

You let out a soft huff of laughter, tears gathering in your eyes. He’d always been so invested in your life, so focused on making sure that you were happy. Sukuna made you happier than you’d been in a long time - even despite all the pain that you’d gone through over the past year. You wished that your father could be around to see how happy he made you. 

You wished he’d be around to see his grandchildren one day. You knew that he would’ve spoiled them rotten. 

Tears were starting to drip down your cheeks, and you raised your arm to wipe them away on your sleeve. You’d been crying less and less lately, and you didn’t want to crumble completely right now. You’d cried enough tears for a lifetime at this point. 

Sukuna’s thumb was rubbing circles into your shoulder, comforting you silently as he let you continue with your speech, knowing better than to jump in even if he was eager to keep you from crying more. He was mature enough to understand that your tears in this moment were necessary, he didn’t need to put a stop to them. 

“I uh- I love you so much. You’re the best dad I could’ve possibly asked for. I hope that you can still see me, wherever you are. I hope you’re proud of me.” 

Your final few words came out as barely a whisper, silenced by the sob that crawled up your throat. You pressed your hands to your face, body shaking as you cried into your sleeves. Sensing that you were done, Sukuna knelt down behind you, wrapping his arms firmly around your shaking body. 

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, letting you sink back into the warmth of his form as you let all the tears out. 

“You know he was proud of you,” Sukuna murmured against your hair. “There was nothing that he loved more in this world than you.” 

As the sun started to set, bathing the cemetery in orange light, your sobs started to subside. There weren’t any more tears left for you to cry. You stayed in Sukuna’s arms for a while longer, staring down at the headstone, at the name that had been familiar to you for your entire life. 

He would be proud of you, you knew he would. 

You had to keep making him proud. 

—

“He did what?” Yuki asked with a giggle. She was currently sprawled out across your bed, staring down at where you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, shyly picking at the rug underneath you. 

“He pretended to be…” You sighed, face reddening. “Please don’t make me say it again.” 

“Aww come on, it's cute. Being a King suits him.” Shoko chimed in from her position on your desk chair, shooting you a sly smile as Yuki laughed harder. 

For the last hour or so you’d been filling your friends in on all things Sukuna, from how you’d started dating all the way up to his visit in Kyushu a few weeks back. It was the first they were hearing any of it, a result of how tumultuous your last few months had been. 

Outside of Sukuna and occasionally Nanami, you hadn’t had much contact at all with people back in Tokyo over the last few months. It wasn’t for your friends’ lack of trying - they texted you often and asked if you wanted to call - it was you who would take ages to reply and insist on your desire to be alone. They all understood what had happened to your dad, Nanami had relayed the message to them, so while they still checked in on you, none of them pushed for more. 

Now you were back in Tokyo it was a different story. 

Shoko and Yuki had taken the opportunity to grab you the second they returned from Christmas break, eager to get clarification on certain rumors swirling around. Both of them had observed that Sukuna had been acting differently ever since you left, and Yuki knew for sure that Choso was harboring a secret that he was doing his utmost best to hold onto. Not to mention, Yorozu had been smearing your name around campus any chance she got. 

It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. 

Ultimately neither of them blamed you for not telling them sooner, understanding your difficult life position, even if they were a little offended that Nanami hadn’t passed on the details. For the most part they were just excited to hear all about it, and they really did want to hear everything.

“So like, how true are the rumors?” Shoko asked, shrugging her shoulders as you shot her a look of disbelief. “What? I’m curious.” 

“I mean…He’s not really rough with me or any of that, if that’s what you’re asking.” You trailed off, face heating up at the memory of Sukuna’s sincere expression as he made it abundantly clear that he didn’t have it in him to treat you like that, emphasising just how precious you were to him. 

“But he’s good right?” Yuki asked. “Cho said that he always avoided sleeping with girls that Sukuna had been with because he didn’t want to be compared with him.” 

“Uh- yeah- I mean, I don’t know.” You stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing a deep crimson. You found great enjoyment in having sex with Sukuna, but you didn’t have a massive well of positive experience by which to make a comparison. “Better than Hiromi for sure.”

“Well, yeah, I’d hope so.” Yuki said with a snort. “I ran into that asshole the other day actually." 

“Yeah?” You asked, less than enthusiastic to hear anything about Hiromi. You’d prefer it if he could just drop off the face of the earth entirely.

“Mmm, he practically tripped over himself trying to get away from me, it was pretty funny.” 

“He did?” 

“Yeah. To be fair, that was after I’d gone up to him and given him a real piece of my mind for what he did to you. I really don’t think he should just be allowed to get away with that shit, it's not fair.” 

You smiled, grateful for Yuki’s bravado. You really should’ve told her about the situation with Hiromi when it first happened, you were certain now that she would’ve backed you without hesitation. You’d just been too foolish and scared to see it back then. 

“Thanks. Although, I think Sukuna already scared him half to death.” 

“Good. He should’ve done much worse. If you wanted me to kill Hiromi for you, I’d do it.” 

“Me too.” Shoko chimed in with a grin. 

“You would not.” Yuki argued, frowning at your friend. “I’m crazy, I’d actually do it for real.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said with a smile. “I think you’d have to queue up behind Sukuna. He was only really holding back because I asked him to.” 

Yuki huffed. “You’re too nice sometimes, you know?” 

That was probably true. Hiromi deserved way worse than what he’d gotten, but that was mainly because you didn’t want to waste more time thinking about him than necessary. You’d rather wash your hands of him and move on than spend months or years seeking vengeance. 

“Yeah, I still can’t believe Sukuna managed to win over a nice girl like you, he doesn’t deserve that shit.” Shoko chimed in. 

You giggled and shook your head. You could understand the sentiment, but she was dead wrong. “He’s always really kind to me.” 

This wasn’t one of those situations where a delusional girl convinces her friends that her horrible boyfriend is totally nice behind closed doors - with Sukuna it was actually the truth. Despite his rough exterior, he had never been anything but lovely where you were concerned - even if you were aware that his kindness didn’t really extend to others. 

He only had time for those that he respected - you and his friends were part of a special circle that had earned his positive attention. You even more so than his buddies, because unlike them, you would absolutely never be privy to his wrath in the way that Satoru might be on occasion. 

“God, you’ve got him so lovestruck, it's crazy how whipped he is for you,” Yuki said, a dreamy look in her brown eyes.

That was something that you still found hard to believe, even if the evidence was laid out in front of you. You could never quite understand why you were so special to him, why you were so deserving of the reverence that he displayed towards you. And yet, whenever you questioned him on it, Sukuna seemed to think you foolish for asking. 

Like it was obvious why he’d love you as much as he did. 

It was clear that Sukuna saw something in you that you found hard to see for yourself, your insecurities getting in the way of allowing you to witness what he was seeing. It was just something that you’d have to trust him on - stop allowing yourself to be overcome with anxiety for who you were and accept that Sukuna’s love for you was genuine and deserved. 

“How mad would he get if we made fun of him for it this evening?” Shoko asked. She’d thrown her legs up on your desk, rocking back on the chair as she stared over at you. 

“Depends on how far you push him.” 

If you were being honest, you weren’t sure how much it would bother him. With the exception of the incident with Hiromi, you’d never really witnessed him get angry with anyone when he was at your side, even if you were aware that he was capable of it and prone to doing so when you weren’t around. 

You didn’t think he’d get too mad at your friends anyway. It was more likely that he’d check on your reaction to see if you were uncomfortable and then act accordingly. That was just how he was when it came to you. 

“I think you can poke at him a little,” you said with a shrug. “Satoru seems to get away with it all the time - he said that Sukuna is all bark and no bite around people that he likes.” 

Shoko scoffed. “You’re assuming he likes us.” 

“You’re my friends, so he’d at least be tolerant. He wouldn’t want to make me mad.” 

“So whipped,” Yuki said with a grin. “Can’t wait to see how clingy he is with you later. Ryomen Sukuna pining after a girl isn’t something that you see everyday.” 

You hummed softly. You were also eager to see how Sukuna would act with you around people that you actually knew. Considering the strained nature of the last few months, you hadn’t had the chance to witness such a thing yet, tending to always be alone together or around strangers and family. 

Sukuna was usually very touchy with you no matter the situation, but you weren’t sure if he’d be that way around his friends. You’d just have to wait and see. 

That evening you were heading over to his place for a party that Satoru was throwing in your honor, a welcome home gathering essentially. It was supposed to be a relatively small affair, just Sukuna’s close friends and yours, but Sukuna had still checked with you nearly a dozen times that you actually wanted to go. 

Memories of the last party you’d attended at his place hadn’t been great, between fumbling your first kiss with him and then being yelled at by Yorozu, so you could understand his concern. It was nice that he was so fixated on your comfort, happy to give you an out if you wanted one. 

But Satoru had been so excited about his plan that there was no way you were going to say no. He’d been messaging you constantly asking what kind of food and drinks you liked most, what music you enjoyed so he could add it to his party playlist, and what bird you liked the most if a party was hypothetically going to be themed around it. 

That last question had really thrown you for a loop, and when you’d shared it with Sukuna he’d promptly told you that he’d be shutting that shit down and that you weren’t having some stupid bird themed party. 

You wouldn’t be that mad if you showed up and found the place covered in pigeon imagery though - in reality you had to admit that you had a great deal of admiration for Satoru’s talent in committing to a bit. 

With how nice Satoru, and Sukuna’s other friends, had been to you since your boyfriend had told them about your relationship, you were actually looking forward to the party. It would be nice to see your friends too, and knowing that Sukuna was there at your side, with his bedroom to retreat to if things got too overwhelming, you were determined to actually have fun. 

That anxiety that crawled up your throat all too often following your father’s passing could take a hike, you weren’t going to let it ruin your last few weeks of university. 

“We should probably start getting ready. We’re meant to be there at eight, right?” You asked, checking the clock and realising that it was already half past seven. 

“Yeah, but you’re the guest of honor so it's fine if we’re late.” Yuki said before sitting up and stretching in a cat-like manner, her crop top riding up slightly. “Got something cute to wear for your boyfriend?” 

She drew out the word in a teasing way that had you cringing, face turning red as Shoko erupted into laughter beside you. You knew that you were in for a whole lot of mocking over the next few weeks and you weren’t sure that you were prepared for it. But regardless, it felt nice to laugh with them again. 

It was a shame that you’d wasted so much time apart from them when you withdrew following the Hiromi incident, you wondered how different things could’ve been if you’d just trusted them from the start. Although, the series of events that led to you meeting Sukuna might’ve changed in that case and you certainly didn’t want that. 

Perhaps things were meant to happen in a certain way for a reason. 

Either way, you wouldn’t be pushing them away again any time soon. 

—

It was almost nine by the time you arrived at Sukuna’s place, largely due to Yuki’s indecision surrounding what to wear. Nanami and Ino were already there, seemingly on their second or third drink of the evening, already engaged in some drinking game with Satoru and Suguru. 

Sukuna and Choso were both lazing on the sofa, seemingly fixated on some terrible movie, hardly noticing the door opening until Yuki was practically jumping on Choso, wrapping her arms around him enthusiastically. Sukuna peered over his shoulder, red eyes lighting up at the sight of you. 

He was on his feet in an instant, wrapping his arms around you and planting a soft kiss on your lips. “You look pretty,” he said as he pulled back, taking a moment to appreciate the dress that you’d chosen just for him. 

“Thanks,” you returned softly, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes and kissing him once more. 

Shoko made faux vomiting sounds in the background, rolling her pretty brown eyes. “You guys are gross,” she said. You weren’t sure if she was referring to you or to Yuki, who was already on Choso’s lap, unashamedly making out with him on the sofa. She had a tendency for PDA when drunk, and she’d already downed a couple of glasses of wine whilst you were getting ready. 

Hearing the commotion, Satoru came running from the other room, splashing his drink over the side of his cup but acting like he didn’t notice, even when Toji yelled at him to watch it. “Welcome back!” Satoru exclaimed with a wide grin, barrelling towards you with the intent of giving you a hug only to think better of it upon seeing Sukuna’s cold expression. 

He halted just before you instead, smiling impishly and pointing up at the banner he’d created for you. Sukuna rolled his eyes, but you couldn’t help but beam at the site of the blue banner which read Welcome Home in massive letters followed by tiny brackets reading (-ing pigeon). 

Shoko tilted her head at the sign, brows furrowing in confusion. “Welcome Homing Pigeon? What the hell does that mean?”

Satoru pouted, pointing at the image on the banner as if it was obvious. “This is a homing pigeon, so the pun is like, instead of welcome home, it's welcome homing pigeon.” The room fell silent for a moment, Satoru’s explanation largely falling flat.

Sukuna sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he spoke in a low voice. “I tried to tell him that you didn’t care about the bird stuff but he insisted. Apparently you always reply with interest when he sends you bird reels on instagram so…” 

There was a tone to Sukuna’s statement that was almost defeatist, as if to some extent he was saying that you’d dug your own grave for entertaining the man in the first place. Shoko was practically rolling with laughter, just about managing to point out that it wasn’t a pun that made sense, to which Satoru grew very defensive. 

“I like it,” you said, interrupting the two of them. Sukuna shot you a look like you were totally insane, but you didn’t mind. You’d learned over the last few months that Satoru was harmless, and you’d welcomed his regular messages. You were willing to throw him a bone where others would just call him a dumbass. 

Whether you’d come to regret that at some point in the future, only time would tell. 

“See?” Satoru said, practically beaming. “I didn’t make it for you, Shoko, so your opinion doesn’t matter.” 

As the two descended into squabbling again, Sukuna tugged you by hand in the direction of the kitchen, proceeding to make you a drink - the same one you’d asked for the last time you’d visited for a party. 

“If he annoys you just tell me and I’ll kick him out,” Sukuna said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the door you’d come in through, where Satoru’s voice was still drifting from the living room. 

“As if,” you said with a giggle. “What did he think of the clown keychain you bought him?” 

Sukuna grinned. “He was terrified of it. Literally threw it across the room and asked how I could be so cruel after he gave me such a thoughtful gift.” 

Only Satoru would think that an I like tits birding keychain would qualify as a thoughtful gift. 

“Anyway, how are you feeling? You came here late so I thought you might’ve changed your mind about this whole thing.” 

You had texted him in advance to say that you were going to be a little late, but perhaps he’d just seen that as a cover. He was certain that you’d be hesitant to attend Satoru’s little party, and suspicious that you might just go along with things out of politeness rather than through an actual desire to take part. 

It was sweet how protective he was of you, how willing he was to spurn his own friends for the sake of your comfort. 

Part of you wondered if it was partially for selfish reasons - a desire to keep you all to himself rather than share you with his friends in any manner. It was a possessiveness that you liked about him, as long as it was driven in a healthy manner as opposed to the control that Hiromi had exerted over you. 

“I’m all good, Sukuna,” you said with a smile. “This is nice.” 

He hummed softly. “Good, but if you just wanna go hang out in my room, just let me know.” 

The evening went by in a manner far preferable to your last party at Sukuna’s house. It was nice that the attendees were restricted down to only people that you actually knew - it gave off a much more intimate and friendly vibe, one that didn’t have your anxiety consuming you. 

It was still the classic party atmosphere though - games of beer pong, in which you and Sukuna thoroughly trounced Yuki and Choso, both of whom were already far too wasted to throw straight by the time you got around to playing them. However, you did end up losing to Toji and Shoko, who were both incredibly good shots, and worked together startlingly well as a team. 

After that, you were sufficiently tipsy and up for playing truth or dare, an unpopular and childish suggestion from Satoru, but one that everyone ultimately went along with because you were the guest of honor and you’d agreed to his request, which meant that everyone had to. 

A lot of it was a blur from that point onwards. You could remember playing the game for a while, and the image of Sukuna’s face turning a deep shade of crimson after being asked a truth by Toji was burned into your mind, but the actual contents of the questions or dares was lost to you with each additional sip of alcohol. 

You didn’t mind, it was probably one of those things best left unremembered. All that mattered was that you were having a good time. 

As the night dragged on, Suguru suggested that you all play Ring of Fire, something that Sukuna gently suggested that you sit out on account of how much you were swaying on your feet by that point. He’d sat you down on the sofa and wrapped a blanket around you, placing a plastic cup of water in your hands.

He’d gone back to rejoin the circle, keeping an eye on you, only to be chastised by a drunk Satoru who proclaimed that you’d be lonely and that he’d keep you company while the others played. No protests from Sukuna seemed to be enough, which was how you ended up listening to Satoru ramble on owls for twenty minutes, barely managing to keep your eyes open. 

You were only aware that Satoru had finished his tirade on nocturnal birds and moved on to something else when he nudged you in the arm firmly, letting you know that he’d asked you a question and you’d failed to answer, your mind somewhere else entirely. In your defence, it was hard to focus on Satoru when Sukuna was sitting on the floor in front of you, arms propped behind his head, putting his muscles on display. 

“I said, what’re you doing after this?” 

“Huh? Sleeping in Sukuna’s room, probably,” you responded. You couldn’t quite understand his question, your brain foggy from too much alcohol. 

“Nooo. I don’t mean after this. Like, after graduation.” 

You weren’t quite sure how he got onto this topic, but you could only imagine that his bird related rant had included some insight into what his future held. He’d mentioned something about a long term expedition that he wanted to go on, so that must’ve been him explaining his future plans. 

How nice it must be to have such clarity on your future. 

You really didn’t have any. 

Beyond wanting to be with Sukuna, you’d been living in survival mode for too long to have a clear grip on what else you wanted. Giving a proper answer when you were this drunk was probably out of the question too. 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, a little more defensively than you’d really intended to, frustrated that you didn’t have an easy answer to hand. You’d worked hard your whole life, had always achieved top grades, and yet here you were - weeks away from finishing education for good, and zero plans around what you were actually going to do. 

“I thought you’d keep working at that bakery.” 

You froze, not expecting Satoru’s offhanded comment. You were pretty certain that Sukuna had told them about your father’s passing, but you supposed Satoru wouldn’t be aware of the particulars surrounding the bakery’s ownership. He probably thought that operations had gone on as normal, and someone else in your family had taken over. 

“It's closed now,” you responded with a shrug. “My dad’s gone, so…” 

Satoru froze up beside you, covering his mouth like he’d said something wrong. Sukuna, who’d been half listening while engaging in his drinking game, twisted around to glare at his friend for so callously broaching the topic that he’d certainly warned them not to bring up.

“Sorry, I thought-” He sighed. “Sorry.” 

“It's okay.” You smiled at him reassuringly. “I could keep working at the bakery if I wanted. It technically belongs to me now.” 

Satoru lit up with a smile. “That’s so cool! You should totally do that!” 

Sukuna had gone back to his game, and you weren’t quite sure if he was still listening. Satoru was babbling excitedly about how much he’d love to have a friend who owned a bakery, and how he’d be there every day to get his sweet fix. All you could think about was whether Sukuna would think it would be a good idea. 

Owning a business was stressful, and you weren’t sure if he’d want the additional pressure of having to deal with that at your side. You’d seen issues arise between your own parents over matters like overcommitting to work, and you didn’t want running the bakery to impact your relationship with Sukuna. 

That was assuming that the bakery was really what you wanted at all. 

“Man, I always wanted to go to your bakery,” Satoru said with a pout. “Sukuna said it was really good.” 

“You didn’t get to go?” You asked, with a tilt of your head. You figured that Sukuna would’ve taken him there at some point, considering that Satoru’s sweet tooth was allegedly something to be feared. 

“No, Sukuna was always weirdly protective of it.” 

You chuckled softly, wondering if Sukuna was scowling right now, currently unable to see his face. You could understand the sentiment - your boyfriend had grown to consider that place as sacred, somewhere that he could go and be the person that you saw, rather than the Sukuna that everyone else saw. 

It didn’t surprise you that he wanted to keep that from Satoru. 

“Well, if I end up opening the place up again, you can be my first customer.” 

“Really?” Satoru’s blue eyes were alight with enthusiasm. 

Your first customer would actually be Sukuna, you were certain of that, but Satoru certainly didn’t need to be privy to that information. 

“The baked goods won’t be as good as what my dad used to make, but yeah, sure.”

—

Later that night, you found yourself in Sukuna’s room. You felt a little dizzy - you hadn’t had alcohol in a while, and that had really come back to bite you. You didn’t really mind though, it felt nice to have that weird ethereal feeling that you’d sometimes get, especially when you were safe in the comfort of Sukuna’s arms. 

The two of you were sitting on his floor, backs pressed up against his bed. The main light was off, the room illuminated only by the fairy lights wrapped around his bedframe. It gave you an odd sense of déjà vu, being there with him like you were, your side pressed against his, music playing off in the distance. 

Sukuna was talking to you about something, you were a little too zoned out to really understand what. As far as you could tell, it was regarding some new game he’d been playing, something about building a deck of cards - but it was hard to follow anything after that point. 

You rested your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let his deep tone comfort you. There was no one that you felt more content to be beside, a complete turn around from the last time you’d found yourself in his room after a party, where everything had gone wrong because you couldn’t hold it together. 

It was lucky that Sukuna hadn’t given up on you at that point. You were glad that he considered you to be worth the effort. 

“Feeling sleepy, angel?” He asked, brushing your hair softly with his hand. 

You hadn’t realised that your eyes had fluttered shut until his question drew you back to reality. “Mmm, sorry, I swear I was listening,” you mumbled. 

“Oh I’m sure.” 

The teasing lilt to his voice wasn’t lost on you, but you were too tired to really disagree. Instead, you gazed up at him with heavy eyes, studying the beautiful details of his face, as if you hadn’t spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at him already. 

“See something you like?” He asked. 

“Always.” 

He leant forward with a grin, lips brushing against yours for a sweet moment before he hesitated. “Not gonna run away this time, right?” He asked, a glimmer of amusement in his crimson eyes. 

You pouted at his recollection of the memory, even if it still hung heavy in your mind. You couldn’t be further away from that day that you fled from his room - there was nowhere you’d rather be than at his side. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Good.” 

His lips found yours, hands cradling your face softly for a moment before moving to pull you into his lap, holding you close as you lost yourself in the sensation of his kiss, heart still fluttering with the same intensity as the first time he’d kissed you in this spot, but with none of the fear and uncertainty from before. 

When he finally broke away, you were both breathless, his hands keeping you pressed against him, while yours settled against his shoulders, relying on him to keep you balanced atop his legs. His forehead bumped gently against yours, and you thought he’d pull you in for another kiss, only for him to just hold you there for a moment. 

“I overheard what you said to Satoru.” 

You tilted your head, thinking back to the conversation you’d held with the man earlier that evening. You might as well have discussed everything under the sun, so you really needed Sukuna to narrow things down a little. 

“About the bakery.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You giggled a little nervously. What you’d told Satoru had been more of an impulse than anything else, you hadn’t given any thought to the fate of your family’s bakery before he’d outright asked you, and the words had just tumbled out of your mouth. 

In reality, you didn’t know if you’d keep the place. It was a nice fantasy, a pleasant way to uphold your father’s memory, but it wasn’t like running a business was easy, and your father certainly hadn’t been rolling in money. Perhaps you could refurbish it into something else, still keep the place running but in a different form. 

Right now it was nothing more than a fantasy. You had no idea what you’d actually do, only time would tell. However, there was a reason that you’d given that impulsive answer to Satoru, and it was because, in your heart, you were keen to keep the bakery as yours. 

The idea of selling it was far more painful than the idea of slaving away to keep it open. Your father’s soul was in that place, and you weren’t keen to cast it aside so quickly. At the very least, you wouldn’t sell the place until you were absolutely sure that was what you wanted. 

“You hadn’t told me you might reopen it,” Sukuna said. 

“I didn’t really know. I still don’t know.” You shrugged, letting out a little huff of air, far too tipsy to be explaining thoughts surrounding your future. “There’s just a part of me that thinks it would be nice.” 

Sukuna hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.” 

“Huh?” You tilted your head a little. 

“You’re always putting others first, I saw you run yourself ragged trying to get everything done when your dad was still alive. If you’re doing this just to honor his memory, rather than it being the life you want to live, you shouldn’t do it.”

Sukuna’s ability to understand your thinking process was always a little scary, and you chewed on his words for a little bit. You weren’t sure if it would be solely for the sake of honoring his memory. More and more you’d lost sight of what you actually wanted outside of university. You loved literature, but you weren’t really sure where to go with it, whether you even wanted to go anywhere with it. 

The more you considered the future the more you fretted that you’d just end up in some boring corporate job, and the bakery was an opportunity to do something else, assuming you were willing to take it. 

“I know that…I just don't really understand what I want right now. Other than, well, you.” You clarified with a soft giggle, pressing a soft kiss to Sukuna’s lips that had him grinning from ear to ear. It was hard to tell in the low lighting, but you were certain he was blushing. 

“You’ve got time to figure it out. If the bakery is what you want to do then I can help you every step of the way. And if it isn’t then we can figure that out too.” 

“You don’t need to burden yourself if I end up starting the business again, you’ll have your own stuff to deal with-” 

His fingers came to your mouth, leaving you stalling halfway through your sentence, not quite sure what he was doing. His expression was serious, with a hint of humor sparkling behind his stern gaze. 

“How many times do I need to tell you that when it comes to you, nothing is a burden?” 

Pouting, you averted your gaze, aware that this wasn’t a conversation that would ever have you coming out on top. Sukuna had a point, he’d demonstrated his willingness to go above and beyond for you time and time again. The word burden should be erased from your dictionary when dealing with him. 

“Until it sticks, I guess,” you murmured, eyes downcast like a schoolchild who’d just been reprimanded. 

“I’ll say it as many times as you need.” He grinned, kissing you hard. “You’re such a dumbass.” 

“I am not.” 

“Are too.”

He didn’t allow you to bite back for another round, bringing his lips to yours once more, and once again making sure that you lost yourself in his kiss, in the warmth of his embrace. 

“I love you, dumbass,” he murmured. 

“I love you too, Sukuna.” 

a/n: the next chapter of this fic will be the final one! thank you for sticking with me through the long waits!

I started writing this fic as a way of coping with some personal struggles in my life that I've now overcome (partially thanks to this fic!), and being more removed from those feelings has made writing these last few chapters difficult! HOWEVER, I'll never abandon a fic and I'll push through and get you that final chapter soon <3

thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

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