Anonymous Requested:Hello! Can I Request A Scenario For Yuuta Okkotsu Where He Has An S/o Whos Very Attractive

anonymous requested: Hello! Can I request a scenario for Yuuta Okkotsu where he has an s/o who’s very attractive and all the others students are like baffled on how a guy like yuuta managed to get with a person like them *Cue the first and second year students with surprised pikachu faces

⤏ contents: okkotsu yuuta x gn!reader; 1492 words; fluff; disbelief at the fact that yuuta snagged you somehow

⤏ notes: bringing the other characters in to interact is always something :D this one has more intro to the beginning but i wanted to write the others, too

Maki is the first to greet you at the front of the school. To be honest, she wasn’t expecting anyone. After all, would even show up to this secluded place in the mountains? It wasn’t everyday they’d have someone come in and at most it would be some representatives coming for her teacher. 

But this person was clearly not one of those reps, if it wasn’t enough for the fact that you looked closer to her age than the old geezers Gojo would complain about. Your greeting was nice enough if a little nervous from the way you looked at her up and down. Though, she couldn’t deny that she gave the same once over to you. Her eyes nearly budged out of her sockets in surprise before she spit out a hello and who are you. 

“Oh, I’m looking for someone.” You say casually, not missing the way her eyes narrow. It was intimidating because her expression was sort of calculative. Maki was just thinking to herself who it could have been. She hums in acknowledgement, sensing the waves of cursed energy coming off of you to deem you safe to expose to what was behind her. 

She wanted a simple walk around campus but now, she supposes, she’s bringing in a visitor. 

Keep reading

Ok but I legitimately love venti using outdated sayings and phrases?? Like omg that’s so good. Lol imagine him saying the riptide of mortal blood thing to diluc, and then dilucs reaction to the explanation that venti gives when diluc asks what the FUCK he was talking about. Like, I just love people remembering that venti is 1) very very old, and 2) lived through very violent times in his life, along with the fact that he actively took part in at least 2 wars

More Archon War Era Venti Headcanons  one three four

For real though like the potential is endless and i just really like to think of the impact that especially the Archon War could have had on Venti's character!

.... im totally gonna expand on this now-

archon war spoilers

Imagine him taking a break between each battle, retreating to Mondstadt and composing a new song, one to play when he next sets out to fight, to kill. Because even by his own hand it would be a shame to let those who fought so hard for survival to be forgotten, so he does what he can, a divine song for each civilization he wiped out, the chorus leading the four winds to descend and carry on their memory for eternity on the very wind that caused their fall.

some see his retreat as weakness and attempt to ambush him in his own domain, a dishonorable battle fought in silence. The people of Mondstadt and Teyvat as a whole need not remember those who chose to stoop so low.

Some of these songs get picked up by other bards, carrying on as Venti had hoped, but many of them are forgotten, especially during his 1000 year sleep. But every so often, an especially giften musician with have a burst of inspiration, as if whispered to them by the wind. Those who know him look to Venti with concern as his eyes turn glassy at the familiar sound of a civilization whose memory he thought he had failed. He laughs it off, dramatically wiping his tears with a comment about how the music was just that beautiful that he couldn't help but be moved, "i couldn't have wrote a better song myself"

"let the wind lead" had a very different meaning during the Archon War. I headcanon that when in battle Venti took on his sprite form. To have anyone associate his dear friend with the carnage and terror of battle was the last thing he wanted, so sprite form it is. because of his small size, his presence was almost unnoticeable, which is why he survived so long without so much as a hand being laid on him. But one god noticed it- as four massive figures descended, in the very center, almost invisible was a concentrated presence of wind energy, absorbing and relocating energy to the four with the ever present song. And the god ran- survived, and spread the key "let the wind lead" in hopes that someone would be strong enough to avenge his people. This phrase almost cost Venti his life a number of times. Nobody knows its origin now but Venti still internally cringes each time he hears it.

Venti preferring to be outdoors and sleep in trees and such not only because he's the god freedom but because if hes indoors he wont be able to tell if someone's coming, he wont be able to get in the air in time, and he might be too late

I also headcanon that Venti is the ones who supplies Zhongli with Xiao's painkillers, since Zhongli doesn't actually have any healing abilities, and Venti is proved to have an affect on that

which leads into the next point- "but where are those who share the memory?" remember Venti's wine obsession... Venti and Zhongli - and Xiao on the occasion he can be convinces to leave his duties- getting together to speak freely, not having to watch their words, not having to be reminded 'oh right, that doesn't exist in people's memories anymore' every time. Just finally being able to reminisce, talk about the people and the things that they can no longer speak about to anyone else, speak about that which no-one else would understand. They're understanding yes, but there are very few people who can empathize with you as you talk about how you still remember that one battle where the sheer volume of blood spilled by your hand cause the calla lilies to bloom red for centuries, the tint never going away even now. Some random kid: huh i wonder why they fade to red like that Venti: why that's the blood of my enemies of course! ehe, just kidding! *looks at camera like in the office*

A lot of people view Venti as extremely superstitious because he believes and follows a lot of them, but it's because he remembers where the superstitions came from. He knows that during the archon war, breaking a mirror truly could set that god's wrath on you and simultaneously reveal your identity and location to them, that knocking on wood alerted the past Dendro archon, a benevolent god of protection to guard your words from prying eyes, at least until they were were found and killed. Venti just continues to follow them to honor their memory\.

YOU, ME, US - TOJI F.

husband! Toji x fem! reader

CW: SFW, hurt/comfort, self doubts, fluff fluffff!!, age gap (reader is 18-19, Toji is around 40), Toji being a house husband! Toji may be OOC but I just want to write fluff so leave me aloneeeeee.

AN: For a special girl of mine, @p-antomime

Arranged marriage is a common practice between the world of sorcerers. Arranged marriage for power, politics, clan's business. Yours were to be married to Toji, to clear out the financial issues your clan had. Why he chose you out of all, you never know or understood the reasoning. But you were expecting a harsh treatment because of the pitying glances and whispers between your maids on how the Zenin clan works. Worst of all, you found out he had a wife before and they got divorced due to the clan's intervention, or so the rumours said. And you know he has a child, a teenage boy around your age to be exact.

When you don't know the reason why Toji chose you, it's always had been known to the man itself. To him, it was because you're supposed to get married to Naoya, the worst of all Zenin, but the first time he saw you, a bright eyed, full of wonder wandering around the Zenin's clan property, he knew he needed to get you before Naoya ruins you.

Was it a fatherly instinct? The need to protect the childlike wonder in your eyes and not wanting the Zenin's clan reputation and treatment to tarnish you, for hating the thoughts of Naoya ruining you until your eyes are as empty as a cave. He doesn't know what it was, but he knew even from back then he HAD to have you in his hold, his arms to protect.

Naoya would had fought if it weren't Toji's personal request (remember that it's canon how Naoya holds deep respect for Toji) so he let it go after several temper tantrums and chosing someone else after throwing a snide remark that you don't look like a virgin at all, which Toji had to refrain from punching him for the sake of protecting the agreement.

Imagine your suprise when Toji treats you softly, unlike how you always heard about the Zenin's treatments. He didn't forced you to have sex with him, not even during the first night after the wedding, where he just softly smiled at you and said goodnight. Not only that, he even allows you to have your own space and room too, not needing to sleep beside him.

But because of that, insecurities begins to crawl itself inside your heart and mind. The 'What Ifs' played itself inside your mind like a broken record.

"What if he's doing this bcs he's not interested in you?"

"What if this marriage is just a joke to him?"

While he did treated you nicely, for you it feels like there's a wedge between you both, a line neither of you willing to cross over.

And that, that's what makes the tears fall every night inside your room. Again, unknown to you, Toji listens to your heart wrenching sobs every night, asking himself what the fuck he did wrong or messed up and how can he fix it.

One day Toji had enough of your sleepless night, crying into your pillow, not knowing the root of the problem. He confronts you in the morning, asking what was wrong with you and if he did something wrong.

Maybe it was the fear of him, or the tone of his voice was a bit tad louder than you're used to, but it does ignites a fear inside you. But you are you. The sole heiress of your clan, you should not be weak.

So what you did was, you took a deep breath before asking him, if you are or ever had been enough for him? Or was the marriage is just a running inside joke to him and the clan?

Toji was flabbergasted to say the most. Because while he was expecting you to call him out on his cold demeanour, he never thought you would ever felt that way.

Sighing, Toji knew he has to clear things up with you. He, unexpected to you, hugs you and apologising for the all neglect you felt while kissing the top of your head. He sat you down, and sit down right in front of you, and told himself that he has to be fully honest with you this time around, to clear out all the fog and doubts running through your pretty little mind.

He told you about his ex-wife, how she cheated on him with one of the clan members causing them both to get divorced. How the relationship with his son got strained because of that. Then he told you about the day he first saw you, how your innocent demeanour and wonderlike nature should never be tarnish with how Zenin's clan reputation and treatment.

How he put you at arms length bcs he didn't know how you actually feels with the arranged marriage, being sold by your clan to settle their debts only because you're the sole heiress.

With you trying absorb all these information in, Toji decided to leave you be and prepare the meal he was preparing before the confrontation. Snapping out from your thoughts, you can feel the tears running as realisation fully hits you and the images, the memories of him doing even the smallest thing runs through your head the way he lets you to have your own garden, full of linum lewisii, your favourite flower, how he would pick a fresh one each day to decorate the kitchen table. You turn towards Toji, only to see him at the kitchen aisle. You rushed towards him and apologising over and over to which he chuckled at and shook his head. He took your palm in his, focusing on your finger where your wedding ring, a ring with his eye colour as the colour of the stone stayed.

"Well, now that we got that part cleared out, do you mind marrying me again? No arrangement, no clan business. Just you and me."

it ends with us.

pairing. okkotsu yuuta x fem!reader

word count. 2.9k

genre/warnings. friends to lovers, one mention of suffocation, jjk 0 manga spoilers. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

summary. a lesson in friends, moving forward, and sleepovers.

or, four times you and your friends have a sleepover, and the one time it’s just you and yuuta.

The moment Gojo suggests a “first-year bonding sleepover,” Yuuta feels like crawling into a very tiny, very dark hole and never re-emerging. His first introduction to the class had already been disastrous, so he’s not sure why his teacher thinks this is a good idea—in fact, he’s quite sure it’s a dangerous one.

His other four classmates—Toge, Panda, Maki, and you—only stare at your teacher in slack-jawed shock. Surely he hadn’t forgotten the earlier Rika incident? Maki is the first to argue, and she and Gojo go back and forth before she has enough.

“Ugh, fine! But you can’t stay,” she hisses to Gojo despite his protests, cementing her hands on his back and shoving him outside. He smacks his forehead on the doorframe; you and Inumaki snicker to yourselves.

Once Gojo leaves, it’s extremely awkward, to say the least. Yuuta’s sure the four of you have had sleepovers together before, based on the organized way that you arrange yourselves for sleep. No one really speaks; you shuffle around the room, rearranging pillows and blankets and settling into your respective beds.

Yuuta situates his sleeping bag in the furthest corner of the room, nearly chewing his nails to the root with nervousness. He hopes Gojo’s room isn’t too far; if something goes wrong, the older sorcerer needs to be close by.

He lies awake for another thirty minutes, about fifteen minutes past the point where he’s sure the rest of you have fallen asleep. A pounding fear squeezes at his heart. He’s afraid to close his eyes for even a moment.

“Ah, Okkotsu?”

Keep reading

You being the dendro archon who was in love with Zhongli but since Zhongli at the time didn't understand human emotions, didn't reciprocate. You ended up developing and dying due to hanahaki disease because of your unrequited love. Zhongli only realizes he longs for your presence, when you were no longer there.

Ehe have fun <3

出水芙蓉, as a lotus flower breaking the surface

pairing zhongli x gn!dendro archon!reader

genre angst... without comfort

warnings war, blood, death, injury, zhongli's name

a/n special piece for mika ily for this

a lotus bloom.

nelumbo nucifera. it is known to symbolise purity, enlightenment, self-regeneration and rebirth. even when its roots are in the dirtiest of waters, it still manages to produce the most beautiful of blooms.

some legends say it is a plant whose fruit induced a dreamy forgetfulness and an unwillingness to leave.

~

at your will, the snow melts and the blooms rise. pearly precious buds that are yet to develop and grow into the character that fate ordains them to be. they could easily be nipped, yet you protect them with all that you have. warm fingers tickle the horizon, and a palette of rosy hues spills across the the line where the lands of teyvat meet the enigmatic void above. zhongli approaches each one, observing their anatomy with a childlike curiosity. his blameless fingertips gently tip each plantlet towards his gaze. they are pure, not tainted by the cruel realities of this world. yet in the way that you both sigh and linger a little too long in the sunrise, you are both well aware that the crimson blood of demons and angels alike may soon tarnish their innocence.

~

pastel pink, like the sudden blush on the cheeks of a young couple in love. a soft, timid shade. one that brings butterflies to the stomach and lets them escape out the lips in the form of lighthearted teasing and giggles that float through the air like a melody. stolen, fleeting glances from across the room, glittering irises and widening pupils that absorb all of who you are. zhongli's gaze drips with the sweetness of saccharine honey, all golden in the sunlight. it is comforting, and you feel as if it coats every surface and seeps into every crack of your fluttering heart. but zhongli says fleeting emotions such as love are limited to the hearts of the human race. we are not human, he says. we are deities, gods of the heavens. you do not open your mouth to reject, but you can hear the distant protests of your heart, echoing in the emptiest depths of your mind.

vibrant magenta. glaring noon light and the sound of crickets in the middle of the night. petals begin to burst forth, unfolding and unravelling a secret you cease to hide. your eyes lock from afar. his strength extends beyond the endless expanse of plains and mountains and waters that stretch between you. he turns to you, and you willingly ignore the fact that his spears and boulders have formed a forest of geological remains. you do not know what souls are pinned below the earth he once summoned, and you do not wish to find out. in the rare ceases of fighting and bloodshed, zhongli says the earth allows a pool to form from the tears of the sky; but the muddy waters do not stop you from letting the lotuses thrive to their fullest potential. they are as beautiful as ever, you breathe. they are, and he nods slowly, his smooth voice ringing in your ears. he takes your stained hands in his own and speaks lowly. these hands have suffocated the lungs of many in vines of restraint, promising release but growing ever tighter; yet you see how they still wield the capability to nurture a species of such purity? it truly is remarkable. the corners of his lips turn up into a slight, rare smile, and even the scrutiny of celestia seems to fall away.

indigo, then violet when the celestial lights dim. in the shadows where the heavens' gaze does not fall, ignorance is bliss, it seems. it puzzles you, because neither of you are ignorant, nor innocent. your hands have wielded weapons of war and the cold, shrivelled hands of your dying friends alike, prayers to celestia falling on deaf ears. he is, arguably in a much more augmented way than you, painfully aware of the realities this world has been facing, the memories the spirits of the land crying out in desperation for his assistance. yet between the two of you, bliss seems to only come to zhongli, who does not share the rush of euphoria you experience each time his hands connect with your own in a steady, secure hold; nor does his heartbeat begin to race when you barrel into his chest. zhongli has always been one to see even that which does not fall below his gaze. but you make sure one thing is certain- he does not hear the rumble of pistils in your lungs when the moon begins to rise, nor does he see the vermillion petals that litter the earth below the haven of your people. you have always been one to protect, to foster, to nourish. now your very own blessings have twisted themselves into a vine of thorns and roses, and you cannot help but feed the needs of the savage, reckless blooms. for the memory will die with the wilting of the flower, and you hope that even when all else erodes into the flow of time, the vulnerable work of your hands may prove to be a symbol of uncovered secrets of the past.

crimson, the life that flows like rivers of human blood in human veins. the iron encapsulated in the warning shades of red are created in none other than the remains of dying stars. fascinating, isn't it? you turn your head to zhongli. he seems enamored with the glittering specks of light above. a single meteor streaks into vision, its tail slowly burning; like the passion crackling away in your heart that eventually will degrade the very existence of your body and soul. for the god of wisdom, you are being awfully unwise, he states matter-of-factly. rigid as always, your inner voice mumbles to itself, and your suppressed frustration seems to bubble up until all you can see is the colour of blood; the blood of all you've let fall at your hands. your throat begins to scream as zhongli's palm makes contact with the bumps and curves of your spine. florets erupt from the very organs that sustain your life, and to your surprise they do not seem to sprout before they bloom. scarlet, ruby, carmine, crimson. red. why is everything red, morax? you sputter out words in between strained breaths, and from the way his eyes pierce into yours, you know he is aware. he knows. that is all that matters, correct? is this not the moment you yearned to witness? the memory of your foolish emotions will live on, etched in the rock-hard tablet that is the heart of the man you love. the vines squeeze, and for once, you do not resist fate, the haze of a dream overcoming your senses. pouring rain, newborn lotuses, and a sunrise. why didn't you give up? a foreign voice resounds in your mind, and here i was, thinking i was the stubborn one out of us two. but your earthly body is already vacant; and a pitiful, longing smile graces your features as you wrap yourself around zhongli, his body hunched over your own, crying out in vain for you to stay. these bodies, you whisper, are none other than containers, vehicles that hold our eternal souls.

black. the absence of all light, devoid of life.

white. the presence of all light, the pinnacle of purity.

~

zhongli's fingers dip below the surface of the water. a drumming drizzle has ceased, and as the last of the sun's rays slip below the horizon, he lifts the bud out of the water. a white lotus, cradled in his tainted hands like an impeccable specimen of porcelain. it has the potential to become any colour it wishes to be. a pastel pink, a vibrant magenta, indigo, violet, crimson. yet it remains pure, it remains innocent. or perhaps the perception of this flower is flawed, zhongli thinks. you knew far too much about this world to let a flower of such endurance represent a nescient innocence. perhaps this white bud was meant to encapsulate the paradoxical essence of everything and nothing at the same time. the promise of a soul that requires it to slowly destroy itself in the process. is this what you had wished to speak? as twilight seeps across the endless sky, zhongli stoops to his knees and raises his gaze to the sky. but he is not searching for the guidance of celestia, nor is he searching for their authoritarian gaze. he searches for you, and you only. the stars will be able to provide answers, won't they?

you smile softly, watching as the bud in his palms begins to bloom.

taglist (open): @chichikoi, @noirkkat, @azumira-404, @starglitterz, @urujiako, @abyssheart, @sincerely-mai, @zierx, @dragon-void, @mikachuchu, @eternism, @shxnosuke, @stupidbirdcentral, @icecappa, @ayra2452008, @luceyluce, @masterofbrioches, @upsetpotatoo, @ariesreii

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

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