Archive of Our Own

It happened in the Vermillion Pavilion on the twentieth day of spring. The palace gardens were quiet, the air still carried a trace of winter’s coolness, new blossoms trembling softly in the breeze that drifted through the open hall.

Sukuna lounged against a pile of cushions, one arm wrapped loosely around Yuuji’s waist where his wife leaned against him, warm and content.

Yuuji had his head tipped back against Sukuna’s shoulder as they watched the petals fall across the courtyard below. Sukuna’s thumb moved absentmindedly against the fabric at Yuuji’s side, slow and indulgent.

Peaceful.

Which was precisely when it was interrupted.

The light appeared first.

A pale, celestial glow gathered at the entrance of the pavilion before resolving into the form of a heavenly messenger. They stepped carefully onto the stone floor of Sukuna’s domain, robes of white and gold fluttering faintly as if stirred by a wind that did not exist.

Heavenly officials always carried themselves with immaculate composure. Except when they were here.

The messenger bowed stiffly, clearly trying not to look too directly at the man lounging beside Yuuji.

“Your Grace Itadori Yuuji… Heaven requests your presence.”

Sukuna felt it immediately. The subtle shift.

Yuuji straightened slightly in his arms. Not leaving yet, but Sukuna still felt the loss like something being taken from him. His arm remained where it was around Yuuji’s waist, fingers tightening faintly, unwilling to release their place just yet.

Yuuji nodded easily. “Okay.”

Sukuna spoke then, voice slow and casual as he tilted his head slightly.

“For how long?”

The messenger froze. Because Sukuna was looking directly at him now.

The heavenly official tried to maintain composure, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “…Seven weeks.”

Sukuna sighed roughly, the annoyance beneath it was unmistakable. 

“Too long.”

The messenger stiffened further, clearly unsure whether that was a complaint meant for Heaven or for him personally.

Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, Yuuji laughed softly. His hand lifted, warm palm cradling Sukuna’s face as easily as if the terrifying ruler of this realm were nothing more than someone dear to him. He pressed a light kiss against Sukuna’s cheek.

“You’ll survive, love.”

Sukuna made a faint sound of dissatisfaction as Yuuji shifted out of his hold. His hand slipped reluctantly from Yuuji’s waist when the other man stood.

He tried to hide the small frown forming on his face and failed.

“I’ll try to go home as soon as I can,” Yuuji said, brushing his robes smooth. Then he smiled down at him, warm and apologetic all at once.

“Be good, Sukuna. I’ll miss you.”

Sukuna rose as well. As displeased as he was, he knew better than to sour Yuuji’s departure with his mood.

“Hn.”

He reached out, holding Yuuji’s chin lightly between his fingers and tilting his face upward so he could look at him properly. Just for a moment. Just enough to memorize him again.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Sukuna leaned down and kissed him, slow and unapologetic, entirely disregarding the heavenly messenger who stiffened in visible discomfort at the display. Sukuna had never cared what Heaven thought.

Yuuji kissed him back without hesitation. When they parted, he gave Sukuna one last smile. Soft. Too soft. It irritated Sukuna to know that for the next seven weeks it would be Heaven’s halls that saw that smile instead of him.

“Take care,” Sukuna said quietly.

“I will,” Yuuji replied, voice softer still, like a promise meant for him alone.

Light gathered around him then, the messenger stepping forward as the celestial glow wrapped around them both. And with that Yuuji left.

The pavilion grew very quiet after. Sukuna stood there for a long moment, staring at the place where the light had faded.

Seven weeks.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched. 

Annoying.

-

There was very little Sukuna cared to do when Yuuji was away.

Most days, when Yuuji was home, Sukuna spent them the way he preferred: draped around his wife like a lazy shadow, loving him, bothering him, dragging him away from work, stealing his attention from whatever scroll or prayer or heavenly nonsense he was supposed to be doing. Life was easily interesting.

Before Yuuji, Sukuna had entertained himself differently. Wars. Rival sovereigns. Cultivators arrogant enough to challenge him. Those things had once held his interest, now they felt trivial.

Occasionally he still enjoyed frightening the odd self-righteous immortal or crushing a demon lord who wandered too close to his territory. But even that had grown dull over the centuries. And Yuuji didn’t like it much, so Sukuna had mostly stopped. Which left him with very little to do.

Uraume called it sulking. 

Sukuna preferred to think of it as boredom. His wife was gone, summoned away by Heaven’s endless demands, and before leaving Yuuji had looked at him with that smile and told him to be good.

Sukuna had grunted something noncommittal at the time, but now he regretted it. Because apparently being good was extremely boring.

He handled the affairs of his domain half-heartedly. A few distant warlords were reminded why it was unwise to encroach on his borders. Some lowly cultivators were chased out of sacred lands they had no business trespassing in.

At one point he encountered a pair of heavenly officials passing through his skies. He fought with them for nearly an hour purely out of irritation. It improved his mood slightly. But not enough.

Eventually he wandered down to the main town at the foot of the mountain. Uraume followed a respectful step behind him.

The town square centered around a statue. Yuuji’s statue.

White stone carved into the god's likeness — serene expression, robes flowing gently as if stirred by wind, one hand extended in quiet blessing.

Sukuna was the one who had it built centuries ago.

Incense burned constantly before it. Fresh offerings of fruit and flowers rested at the base of the statue. Thin ribbons tied to nearby branches fluttered with written prayers.

When Sukuna entered the square, the people noticed immediately. The reaction was always the same. Bows. Fearful glances. A few mortals nearly tripped over themselves trying to move aside.

Sukuna ignored most of them.

A few braver townsfolk approached cautiously.

“My lord… is His Grace well?”

“Has His Grace Itadori departed again?”

Their voices held more worry than fear. Yuuji was loved here. And because of that, Sukuna allowed them the rare mercy of his goodwill.

“He’s working,” Sukuna said shortly and that seemed to satisfy them. 

After all, everyone knew the god Itadori Yuuji resided in the Crimson Palace with Sukuna himself. They were married. Even if some people still found that fact difficult to accept.

Sukuna was walking past the shrine when someone stepped forward. A cultivator, young, arrogant, and very stupid.

“Ryoumen Sukuna!”

The square fell silent instantly. Uraume’s eyes narrowed. The cultivator lifted his chin stubbornly.

“If you possess even a shred of dignity, you should release His Grace from your grasp.” 

Sukuna stopped. The cultivator continued, voice growing louder. “His Grace deserves someone better than a monster like you. You imprison him with your power and reputation.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“He has companions far more worthy of him,” the man pressed on. “His Grace Fushiguro has stood beside His Grace Itadori for centuries. He would make him far happier than you ever could.”

Something snapped.

Sukuna had heard this argument countless times. Fushiguro Megumi. Gojo Satoru. Various other names people liked to throw around when speaking about Yuuji’s supposed better matches. Once, long ago, Sukuna had sewn the mouths of such people shut one by one. His name alone had been enough to bring terror to the world then. 

It was remarkable how some fools still dared.

For a moment the square held its breath. Then Sukuna laughed — a rough, biting sound that rumbled like distant thunder.

“If I imprison him,” Sukuna said slowly, “then why does Yuuji always return to me?”

The cultivator stiffened.

“Why does he laugh and sleep beside me every night when he could live anywhere in Heaven?” Sukuna continued.

Before the man could react, Sukuna moved. The cultivator was slammed to the ground in an instant. Despite his training, despite his cultivation, he was nothing more than a leaf beneath Sukuna’s strength.

His knees struck stone. Bones cracked sharply. The man bit back a scream.

Sukuna forced his head up.

“Ask him,” Sukuna said. He tilted the man’s face toward the statue. The shrine loomed above them. Yuuji’s calm stone expression seemed suddenly far more intimidating than it ever had before.

For a moment nothing happened. 

Then, softly, the wind stirred. The flames of the candles trembled. Petals loosened from the flowering tree above, drifting slowly through the air like falling snow. The scent of incense thickened, warm and calming.

The square grew quiet. Not fearful. Reverent.

Yuuji was listening.

The cultivator realized it too. His defiance crumbled. Opposing Sukuna was terrifying, but standing before the gaze of the god he worshipped was something else entirely.

Slowly, trembling, the man bowed his head to the stone floor.

Sukuna smiled faintly.

Yuuji chose him. 

Always.

For a brief moment, the breeze brushed across Sukuna’s sleeve, gentle and familiar. A petal landed against his shoulder, catching in his robes, pink against white. The same color as Sukuna’s hair. The same color as Yuuji’s.

Another petal drifted down. This one landed on the bowed head of the cultivator. Mercy. Acknowledgement.

Sukuna clicked his tongue. Even now Yuuji was soft-hearted.

“Mortals,” he said calmly, “should learn their place.” 

Without another word, he turned and walked away, Uraume falling silently into step behind him.

The wind followed for a moment, gentle and warm, carrying the scent of flowers through the square. As if someone far away had just sighed fondly.

-

The Heavenly Court was quieter than usual.

Far above the mortal realm, the palaces of Heaven stretched endlessly across clouds and light. Jade bridges arched over drifting mist. Officials moved through the courtyards with scrolls and tablets of script, their voices hushed, their duties endless.

Heaven was never truly still. Yet there were places where the noise faded. One such place was a small pavilion overlooking the western gardens. The trees here were old, their branches heavy with pale blossoms that never seemed to wilt.

Yuuji sat across from Gojo Satoru at a golden table. Between them rested a simple tea set, steam curling gently from two porcelain cups. 

It had been a long time since Yuuji had last sat here. After all, the Six Eyes of Heaven's responsibilities rarely allowed for quiet meetings like this. And Yuuji himself had been away more often than not. Still, somehow, today they had both found the time.

Gojo lifted his cup, watching Yuuji over the rim with a relaxed smile. 

“Yuuji,” he said, voice confident and easy as if the air itself was made to echo it, “it’s always great when you are back here.”

Back here. As if Heaven was the place Yuuji naturally belonged.

Yuuji simply smiled.

Gojo tilted his head, pale hair shifting slightly in the light breeze. “Sukuna sure has a hobby of stealing Heaven’s treasure, doesn’t he?”

Yuuji laughed softly at that. “I am not stolen, Your Grace,” he replied gently. “I choose to be his.”

Gojo’s smile widened, though if one knew him well enough, the amusement did not quite reach his eyes. “Ah, of course,” Gojo said lightly. “I believe Yuuji knows what’s best for himself.”

He set his teacup down. “I’m simply unsatisfied that we have you for such a short time.”

Yuuji’s expression softened. “I always come when you need me.”

“That you do,” Gojo agreed. He paused, then added more quietly, “Though coming and staying are not quite the same thing.” 

Before Yuuji could say anything more, Gojo’s smile warmed. “But I am glad that you are happy,” he said. “That’s all I wish for you.”

Yuuji bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Gojo leaned back comfortably. “So,” he said, tone casual again, “how is life in the Crimson Palace these days?”

Yuuji’s shoulders relaxed almost immediately. “It’s peaceful,” he said. “Sukuna’s territory has been stable for a long time.”

Gojo hummed thoughtfully. “That must be a relief.”

Yuuji smiled faintly. “He tries not to cause trouble anymore.”

“Oh?” Gojo’s tone carried a playful barb. “How considerate of him.”

Yuuji laughed quietly, lowering his gaze toward the tea in his hands. “He says it’s not worth our fights.”

“Smart man.”

Yuuji’s smile widened a little at that, warmth blooming quietly in his chest.

There had been a time when Gojo Satoru spoke Sukuna’s name like a curse. For centuries the Sovereign of Heaven had regarded him as nothing less than a calamity upon the realm, an existence so ruinous that the thought of him changing was not even worth considering.

So hearing this, even half in jest, felt like a small victory. Yuuji was glad for it.

Gojo had been the closest thing Yuuji had ever had to a guardian. A mentor who had watched over him since his earliest days in Heaven, guiding him through responsibilities that often felt far larger than himself.

To have both the most important figures in his life coexist without open hostility… it meant more than Yuuji could easily express.

“He’s kinder than you think,” Yuuji said softly.

Gojo raised a brow. “Maybe to you, Yuuji.”

Yuuji considered that for a moment. But it wasn’t entirely true. Sukuna had always been kind to Uraume. In his own sharp-edged way, perhaps, but the loyalty between them had never wavered.

And sometimes, when they passed through the towns beneath the Crimson Palace, Yuuji would catch glimpses of another side of him. Sukuna pausing when children ran past, watching them with an expression that was almost thoughtful.

In those moments Yuuji had caught himself imagining things he rarely allowed himself to think about. A fuller future. A home filled with laughter. A family with Sukuna.

Perhaps someday, when Heaven’s demands loosened their hold on him. They were immortal, after all, there was no need to rush.

But instead of explaining all that, Yuuji simply laughed softly. He understood well enough that trusting Sukuna was complicated for the people of Heaven.

“How about you, Your Grace?” Yuuji asked instead. “Have you been well?”

Gojo took a slow sip of tea before answering.

“Yes. One thing I will admit, Sukuna has caused considerably less trouble in recent years.” He paused. “It’s… beneficial for the realm.”

The words themselves were neutral, but the faint edge beneath them did not escape Yuuji. A small pang of guilt tugged at him.

After all, Sukuna had once been a calamity feared by both mortals and gods alike. Entire eras had been shaped by his battles. Even if that life no longer interested him.

“Ah…” Yuuji laughed sheepishly. “I’ll hit him when I get home if it’ll make you feel better, Your Grace.”

Gojo gave a pleased smile. “That would be appreciated, Yuuji.”

The easy humor warmed Yuuji’s chest.

It was nice to spend time like this—sitting quietly with tea instead of meeting only through official summons or battlefield reports.

Sometimes Yuuji wished things could be simpler. That his mentor and his husband might one day see each other the way he did. But when he thought about it honestly… that might simply be impossible. So Yuuji chose to appreciate the peace they had.

Gojo watched him thoughtfully for a moment.

“I trust you,” he said at last. “And what you see in him. You’ve always had excellent judgment.”

Yuuji lowered his gaze respectfully. “Your teachings helped with that.”

Gojo waved the comment away with a small laugh. “Flattery will not earn you fewer assignments.”

Yuuji grinned. “I wouldn’t expect it to.”

“Good.”

For a while they simply continued their tea, conversation wandering easily between small matters of the court and distant happenings in the mortal realm. Petals drifted lazily through the garden, settling across the marble floor, and the quiet of the pavilion wrapped around them like an old habit.

Eventually, the conversation settled.

Gojo set his cup down.

The ease between them did not disappear, but it slowly gave way to the familiar weight of responsibility. He reached into his sleeve and drew out a scroll, placing it lightly on the table between them.

“There’s been some instability near the eastern boundary of the mortal realm,” he said. “A fault has begun forming within one of the old spirit veins. If it collapses, the imbalance will spread through several regions.”

Yuuji leaned forward slightly. “Has it manifested yet?”

“Not fully,” Gojo replied. “But it will.” He tapped the scroll lightly. “I want it resolved before that happens. You won’t be alone, Megumi will go with you.”

Of course. Megumi was one of the few gods Yuuji was closest to. They had trained together long ago, fought side by side through more missions than either of them cared to count.

More than that, Megumi was one of the rare few who sought Yuuji out even outside of duty.

Sometimes they met in quiet teahouses tucked away between Heaven’s courtyards, simply talking until the sun dipped behind the clouds. Other times Megumi would wander all the way down to the Crimson Palace, claiming he only came to escape Heaven’s endless paperwork.

Sukuna, unfortunately, seemed to find that friendship endlessly suspicious.

Yuuji still remembered the last time Megumi had visited the palace. Sukuna had spent the entire evening lounging nearby, silent and watchful, his gaze fixed on Megumi like a territorial wolf guarding what belonged to him.

Megumi, to his credit, had not been particularly pleased with Sukuna either. The two of them had spent most of the evening exchanging thinly veiled barbs while Yuuji tried very hard not to laugh.

The memory tugged a faint smile from him now.

“We’ll have it dealt with, Your Grace,” Yuuji said.

Gojo inclined his head slightly, satisfied.

And before long, the quiet pavilion returned to its usual stillness.

Petals drifted across the marble floor. Tea cooled in untouched cups.

While somewhere beyond Heaven’s gardens, Yuuji prepared to leave with his friend once more to tend to the fragile balance of the world.

-

Across Heaven and the mortal realm alike, people had their own opinions about it. The question surfaced often, whispered in temples, debated in heavenly courts, and argued among wandering cultivators.

If His Grace Itadori Yuuji was as virtuous as the world believed—kind, righteous, beloved by both gods and mortals alike—then why would he choose to love someone like Ryoumen Sukuna?

There were, broadly speaking, a few kinds of people.

The first believed it was a mistake.

To them, Sukuna was nothing more than a calamity given form. An ancient monster whose name had once shaken the heavens themselves. Entire eras had been shaped by his battles. Cities had burned, gods had fallen, and the Heavenly Court itself had once mobilized its armies in vain attempts to subdue him.

In their eyes, Yuuji’s compassion had simply been misplaced. Some insisted he had been deceived. That the calamity king had ensnared him somehow, binding Heaven’s brightest star to a fate unworthy of him.

Others disagreed.

“You misunderstand,” they would argue. “Ryoumen Sukuna is not merely a calamity.”

“He is a phenomenon.” An existence that could not truly be destroyed. An immortal force that had defied Heaven itself for centuries.

There were whispers that his strength rivaled even the Six Eyes of Heaven, that not even the Sovereign of Heaven could easily bring him to heel. If that was true, then Sukuna was not simply a threat. He was a constant. Something the world would always have to live with.

From that perspective, Yuuji’s love was not foolishness but strategy.

If Sukuna could not be eliminated, then the most powerful thing the world could do was bind him to something he would never wish to destroy. And what greater anchor could there be than the love of Heaven’s most beloved god?

To those people, Yuuji’s affection was mercy.

Mercy for Sukuna. And mercy for the world.

Because the Sukuna who once stood as Heaven’s enemy had grown quieter since then. Less interested in war. More interested in returning home.

And then there were the rare few who believed something far simpler.

They believed Yuuji loved Sukuna because he wished to. Nothing more. Nothing strategic. Nothing tragic. Just love.

These people tended to admire Sukuna more than most. They were the ones who had studied the old records carefully—the ones who noticed the strange pattern history had begun to form.

For all the centuries Sukuna had existed, nothing had ever restrained him. Not Heaven’s armies. Not divine punishments. Not even the passage of time.

Yet somehow, the man who once stood against the heavens themselves now spent most of his days in a palace on a quiet mountain… waiting for someone to come home.

To those observers, that alone said everything. They did not see Yuuji as a victim. Nor did they see Sukuna as a monster being tamed. Instead, they saw something almost unbelievable.

A calamity choosing restraint. Not because he had been defeated. But because he loved someone.

And they saw something equally extraordinary in Yuuji. Because loving Sukuna was not easy. It meant loving someone feared by the world. Someone whose name was spoken with dread. Someone who had once stood against everything Heaven represented.

Yet Yuuji never hesitated. He never hid. He never denied it. He simply loved him. Openly. Proudly. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

To those few observers, that kind of love could not be manipulation. Nor strategy. Nor mercy. It was something rarer than that. 

It was pure.

And perhaps that was the most frightening possibility of all.

Because if even someone like Ryoumen Sukuna could be loved so completely, then perhaps he had never been entirely beyond saving in the first place.

-

Sukuna woke up frowning.

Morning light poured through the tall windows of the palace, washing the room in soft gold. The breeze carried the scent of blooming trees from the gardens below, stirring the long silk curtains around the bed. It was a beautiful morning.

Sukuna’s hand moved instinctively across the bed, searching. His fingers brushed against cold silk. For a moment he simply laid there before he remembered, Yuuji wasn’t home, heaven had taken him again.

Sukuna’s expression darkened immediately. His hand curled slowly against the mattress where Yuuji should have been.

He tried not to dwell on it. Centuries had taught him that indulging the thought too long only made the irritation worse. Still, it was difficult not to.

Heaven had never given them anything, yet those sanctimonious parasites always found new ways to demand Yuuji’s time. His attention. His presence. As if the Heavenly Court owned him.

Sukuna scoffed quietly.

Sukuna had endured it only because Yuuji asked him to. 

Only because Yuuji had stood there, patient and warm, gently convincing him not to tear Heaven apart stone by stone.

Sometimes Sukuna still wondered if that had been a mistake. He could have done it. He still could. The Heavenly Court liked to pretend they tolerated Sukuna, but the truth was simpler. They feared him, always had. And they should.

Sukuna hated Heaven. Every last self-important god hiding behind their laws and rituals. He hated the way they spoke about Yuuji as if they owned him. As if centuries of worship entitled them to decide who he loved.

And he took a certain pride in the fact that he could give Yuuji far more than they ever could. Freedom. Honesty. A world where Yuuji could exist as himself instead of a symbol carved into marble and prayers.

And most of all, Sukuna gave him devotion. The kind Heaven would never understand.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face.

It had been centuries now. Sukuna had grown better at brushing the anger aside, and better at letting the irritation fade before it turned into something destructive.

Most days, it barely bothered him at all. 

But mornings like this were different. Mornings when he woke up already affectionate. When his body expected warmth beside him. When the day outside was bright and quiet and perfect. And the bed was empty.

Sukuna swung his legs over the side of the bed with a low click of his tongue. Annoying.

Because today would have been a good day. The weather was clear. The palace gardens would be blooming. And if Yuuji had been here, they would have spent the morning doing absolutely nothing, just like Sukuna liked it.

Sukuna stood, robes falling loosely around his shoulders as he glanced once more at the empty side of the bed. His expression softened for only a brief moment.

“Tch.”

He looked away.

Because whenever the world finally felt worthy of Sukuna, heaven inevitably found a way to ruin it.

He ran a hand through his hair, irritation simmering just beneath his skin.

If Heaven knew what was good for them, they would keep Yuuji’s errands brief.

-

There had been a time when Heaven did far more than simply summon Yuuji away.

The early years of their relationship had been chaos.

Heaven had not merely disapproved, they had interfered. Constantly. Endlessly. Not through open war but pressure and righteousness. And force when righteousness failed.

They called it containment.

Yuuji had been “asked” to remain within Heaven while the court deliberated the danger Sukuna posed to the realm. Officials spoke endlessly of duty, of balance, of the responsibilities of a god who stood among mortals and immortals alike.

Every path outward led to the same argument. If Yuuji chose to leave, it would mean openly defying the Heavenly Court. It would mean tearing through the very order he had sworn to protect.

At first, Yuuji argued. Calmly. Patiently. But patience rarely survives a room full of self-righteous gods.

Discussions turned into accusations, accusations into violence, and before long the arguments had become open conflict—Heaven’s officials against Yuuji himself. 

Sukuna arrived before the court reached its conclusion.

The sky above Heaven split open.

The first crack ran across the firmament like a wound, divine light spilling through it as Sukuna forced his way into the court’s domain. Palaces trembled beneath the pressure of his arrival. Barriers shattered one after another as if they had never existed at all.

Heavenly soldiers rushed forward and died just as quickly. Massacred like insects beneath an ancient force that had no intention of stopping. Gods shouted warnings that dissolved into screams.

Sukuna did not negotiate. By the time he reached the central court, the heavens themselves were already fracturing beneath the weight of his fury.

That day ended with half the Heavenly Court in ruins, and Sukuna leaving with the one thing Heaven had tried to keep from him.

After that, Heaven tried other methods. Assignments meant to keep Yuuji away for decades. Warnings whispered across the celestial court. Accusations that Sukuna would destroy everything Yuuji cared about.

And sometimes they tried to remove Sukuna directly.

Entire battalions of heavenly soldiers sent to “contain” him, seals meant to weaken him, barriers meant to trap him. None of them lasted very long.

Those years were messy and infuriating.

Yuuji and Sukuna argued often. About Heaven. About violence. About whether the world truly needed to be broken simply to prove a point.

Sometimes the arguments lasted for days. Sometimes they ended in silence. But one thing never changed. Whenever the conflict ended, Yuuji stayed.

Even when Heaven offered him honor. Even when they warned him Sukuna would bring ruin to everything he touched. Even when the entire Heavenly Court stood against them. Yuuji chose him every time.

Eventually Heaven learned something. Not mercy. Not acceptance. Just reality. Breaking them apart caused far more destruction than leaving them alone.

So the Heavenly Court stopped trying quite so hard.

And perhaps, after enough time had passed, they came close to understanding as well.

Now they simply borrowed him when they needed him.

And Sukuna tolerated it.

Most of the time.

-

In some places across the mortal realm, the god Itadori Yuuji was not worshipped alone. His statues stood beside another figure. The Crimson King. Yuuji’s husband. Ryoumen Sukuna.

It was an unusual sight—two figures carved into the same shrine, their likenesses placed side by side upon the altar. Yuuji depicted with the serene grace people expected from a god. Sukuna beside him. Taller. Sharper. The sculptors never quite daring to soften the edge of his presence.

Some shrines showed them standing together. Others had Sukuna seated, Yuuji leaning comfortably beside him. A few particularly bold artists even carved Sukuna’s arm loosely around Yuuji’s shoulders.

Sukuna was not a god, he could not hear the prayers whispered there, but Yuuji had told him about them sometimes. About the mortals who believed their union meant protection. About those who prayed not only to Heaven’s son, but to the calamity king who loved him.

The idea had surprised Sukuna at first, but he didn’t hate it. It was rare, after all, for Sukuna to be loved anywhere. So places like these were… tolerable.

Today, out of boredom more than anything else, he decided to visit one.

The shrine stood at the center of a mountain town nestled in Sukuna’s domain. It was grand enough to catch his interest.

A wide courtyard stretched before the temple gates, paved in pale stone worn smooth by years of footsteps. Red-lacquered pillars held up sweeping roofs of dark tile, their edges curling upward like wings. Lanterns hung in neat rows along the eaves, glowing softly even in daylight.

Incense burned constantly at the entrance. The scent of it lingered thick in the air.

Beyond the gates stood the shrine itself—large doors carved with intricate patterns of clouds and flowering branches. Offerings crowded the steps.

Inside, two statues stood upon a raised altar.

When Sukuna entered the courtyard, the reaction was immediate. Gasps. Then bodies dropping to their knees. People bowed deeply, foreheads nearly touching the ground.

Good. These ones knew better than most.

The shrine’s caretakers approached cautiously, trembling slightly as they knelt before him.

“My lord,” one of them said quietly. “We did not expect—”

“Obviously,” Sukuna interrupted.

They fell silent immediately.

Sukuna glanced around the courtyard again. Every head remained bowed.

Sukuna stepped inside the shrine, ignoring the mortals still kneeling behind him.

His gaze lifted toward the statues. The sculptor had captured Yuuji well. Soft expression. Gentle posture. Almost warm. Sukuna studied the stone figure for a moment before clicking his tongue lightly.

“They made you too gentle,” he muttered.

Then he glanced at the statue beside it. The likeness of himself was tall and imposing, carved with the faintest suggestion of a smirk. Acceptable.

Sukuna folded his arms. For a long moment he simply looked at the two statues standing side by side. He liked that part. He always had. The statues, and the paintings too—some temples had entire murals depicting them together.

Eventually he turned slightly. Uraume stepped forward immediately.

“Bring the offerings,” Sukuna said.

Uraume did not question it. Several heavy chests were carried forward by attendants who had been waiting outside the courtyard. The lids opened with quiet clicks. Gold. Jewels. Silk. Enough wealth to sustain the entire town for years.

The mortals outside lifted their heads cautiously, confusion rippling through the crowd.

Sukuna waved a hand dismissively. “Maintain the shrine,” he said. “And feed the town.” His tone was casual. As if the decision meant very little. “Anyone who prays here shouldn’t starve.”

The priests stared at him like they had forgotten how to breathe.

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

They bowed immediately, voices trembling with gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty. To serve the shrine of you and His Grace is an honor to our town.”

Sukuna regarded them for a moment, silent and unimpressed by their nervous reverence. Then he spoke again. “Stand.”

The command startled them. Slowly, hesitantly, the people lifted their heads, though many still kept their eyes lowered in caution.

Sukuna turned back toward the statues.

He had never cared much whether mortals loved him or feared him. Their opinions rarely mattered. But Yuuji cared. Yuuji always left quiet blessings in places like this. Always thanked these people for their faith.

Over the decades more of Yuuji’s followers had begun building shrines like this, placing Sukuna’s image beside his own simply because they knew how much Yuuji favored the ones that did.

Sukuna glanced once more at the stone likeness beside his own.

“You see that?” he muttered under his breath.

Incense smoke curled lazily through the air, drifting between the two statues like a quiet offering. Yuuji would hear about this eventually. Or perhaps he already knew.

Sukuna huffed softly. Yuuji would be pleased.

“Come back quickly,” Sukuna said. So you can praise me, he almost added. But the words remained unspoken.

Sukuna lingered a moment longer, his gaze resting on the statues above. Two figures carved into pale stone. Standing side by side. Exactly where they belonged.

-

Sukuna would never admit the timing, but he had gotten a haircut three days before Yuuji was due to return.

It was shorter this time, closer to Yuuji’s. He had worn it like this once before, many years ago. Yuuji had fussed over it for an entire evening, running his fingers through Sukuna’s hair as if the change were something remarkable.

“You look good like this,” Yuuji had said then, smiling in that warm, approving way of his.

Sukuna remembered.

The weather was growing warmer anyway, it wasn’t an unreasonable choice. Yuuji also liked to say that spring was for new beginnings.

In the seven weeks Yuuji had been gone, Sukuna had found ways to occupy himself. He commissioned a new painting of Yuuji for the eastern hall of the palace. The artist had spent two days trembling under Sukuna’s supervision before the piece was deemed acceptable. He purchased several new ornaments and pieces of jewelry, things he thought Yuuji might like.

A handful of palace servants who proved particularly irritating had been killed and replaced. That was something he could only do when Yuuji wasn’t home.

None of it had been very interesting.

At night, he found himself fantasizing about his wife far too often, which left him restless and still deeply unsatisfied.

Needless to say, Sukuna was looking forward to Yuuji’s return. He only hoped the timing held.

There had been no notice from Heaven about any delays. These days they were careful about that. After all, the last time Heaven had neglected to inform him of a change in Yuuji’s schedule, Sukuna had broken through three celestial gates looking for him — their fault, for imprisoning Yuuji that one time.

Now they sent word whenever plans changed. It was better for everyone that way.

“The new haircut looks good on you, Sukuna-sama,” Uraume said it casually as they walked a few steps behind him through the palace corridor.

They knew Sukuna well enough to recognize the situation. He wanted the confirmation. Even if he would never ask for it.

Sukuna scoffed lightly. “It’s just hair.” 

But he did not seem displeased.

The rest of the day passed slowly.

Sukuna found himself imagining how Yuuji would return this time. Would he be tired? Happy? Annoyed? The thought that irritated him most — Would he be hurt?

Sukuna’s gaze drifted to the pond in the courtyard, where the surface of the water moved slowly beneath the wind.

It wouldn’t matter. Everything was fine as long as Yuuji was home with him.

Sukuna had already planned the coming weeks.

Whenever Yuuji returned from Heaven, Sukuna became… demanding. Seven weeks apart was unacceptable, so the next seven weeks belonged entirely to Sukuna. Yuuji would not leave his side. Not for Heaven. Not for errands. Not even for a day. Sukuna hoped Heaven had the sense to leave Yuuji alone for a while. Or at the very least, that Yuuji could be persuaded to ignore them.

Convincing Yuuji to disregard Heaven was manageable. Convincing him to ignore people who genuinely needed help, however…that was much harder.

Yuuji had always been weak in that regard, too willing to answer every prayer that reached him. And because of that, Sukuna had occasionally taken matters into his own hands while Yuuji was away. 

Particularly troublesome warlords, bandits, and would-be tyrants had a habit of disappearing during those weeks. Entire problems removed before they had the chance to grow large enough to demand a stronger god’s attention.

Nothing dramatic. Just a bit of… preventative maintenance. Less trouble meant fewer reasons for Yuuji to leave.

Mortals and Heaven alike should really have been kneeling in thanks. Sukuna was practically doing their work for them.

He ran his fingers through his hair again, this time not out of frustration but simply to feel it.

Sukuna couldn’t wait.

-

The Crimson Palace rose from the mountains like a monument carved into the world itself. From a distance it looked severe — high stone walls, towering gates, wide courtyards framed by dark pillars that seemed to stretch endlessly into shadow. The architecture was ancient, immense, and quietly intimidating, the kind of place that reminded visitors exactly who ruled there.

Yet the palace was not truly cold.

Not anymore.

It had been Sukuna’s home for centuries, but much of it had changed over time. Entire halls had been rebuilt, gardens reshaped, pavilions opened to the wind and sunlight. None of those changes had been announced. But everyone knew why they had happened.

Yuuji preferred warmth. And Sukuna had always been attentive to the things Yuuji liked.

Lanterns now hung in long rows along the corridors, casting soft golden light instead of the harsher glow the palace once held. The gardens below rustled gently as wind moved through the flowering trees.

Evening settled slowly over the Crimson Palace. The last light of the sun slipped behind the mountains, leaving the courtyards bathed in lantern glow and quiet shadow.

Sukuna sat alone in the main courtyard for quite some time now. The wind moved softly through the gardens, carrying the scent of blossoms drifting down from the terraces above. Petals scattered across the stone paths, gathering quietly near the base of the pillars.

Seven weeks.

Too long.

Sukuna exhaled slowly, arms folded as his gaze lingered on the distant sky. 

Uraume had stopped asking hours ago.

Sukuna clicked his tongue.

If Heaven had delayed Yuuji again—

The thought had barely finished forming when the air shifted. A faint ripple passed through the courtyard.

Sukuna looked up immediately.

A soft glow gathered above the stone path at the far end of the garden. Golden. Warm. Familiar. The light condensed slowly, the air itself bending around it before settling into the shape of a figure stepping out of Heaven’s path.

Yuuji appeared as if he had simply walked through the sky. His robes were still pale from the Heavenly Court, dusted faintly with celestial light that faded the moment his feet touched the ground. He looked exactly the same as when he had left. Perhaps a little more tired. But smiling.

“Hi,” Yuuji said, the word bright with excitement.

Sukuna stared at him. Seven weeks of empty mornings. Seven weeks of waiting. And now, he was here.

Sukuna crossed the courtyard in three long strides. 

Before Yuuji could say anything else, Sukuna grabbed him and pulled him into his arms. Hard. The force of it nearly knocked the breath out of Yuuji as Sukuna held him close.

“Welcome back,” Sukuna muttered against his shoulder.

But Yuuji couldn’t stay still for long. He immediately pulled back, eyes widening as he looked up at him. “My love—your hair!”

Sukuna blinked.

Yuuji cupped his face in both hands before he could react. “Oh,” Yuuji breathed, clearly delighted. “You look so handsome. What have I missed?” Sukuna opened his mouth to respond, but Yuuji kept talking, clearly fascinated. “You just go around looking this good while I’m not here?” he teased. “You’re terrible.”

Yuuji tilted his head, openly admiring the shorter cut as if he had discovered something new. 

Sukuna leaned down, intending to kiss him. Yuuji promptly pushed his face away. “Wait, wait,” Yuuji laughed. “Let me look at you.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes.

“Oh heavens,” Yuuji continued dramatically. “I’ve been deprived of my husband’s beauty.” Yuuji ran his fingers through Sukuna’s hair, testing the shorter strands with clear enjoyment.

Sukuna lifted an eyebrow slowly. “Heavens?”

The word carried just enough jealousy to make Yuuji scoff. “Oh, Sukuna,” Yuuji said, rolling his eyes fondly. “Don’t start.”

Sukuna had already endured enough of Yuuji’s teasing. His patience snapped. He grabbed Yuuji’s wrist, guiding his hand down before gripping his chin with the other, finally forcing him to stay still.

Yuuji blinked at him.

Sukuna’s eyes were dark, intense, studying him like he was making up for lost time.

“You’re late,” Sukuna said quietly.

“I’m exactly on time.”

“You’re still late.”

Yuuji laughed again, the sound warm and familiar in the quiet courtyard. “I finished everything,” he said. “No disasters, no arguments with Heaven, no unexpected assignments.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes slightly. “No arguments?”

“Well…” Yuuji admitted, smiling sheepishly. “A few.”

Sukuna snorted softly.

Yuuji glanced around the courtyard then, breathing in the evening air as if tasting it. The lanternlight. The quiet gardens. The scent of blossoms drifting down from the terraces.

“Home,” he murmured. The word settled between them.

Sukuna watched him closely. For a moment his grip on Yuuji’s wrist loosened, sliding instead to rest at his waist, drawing him closer again without even thinking about it.

“You smell like Heaven,” Sukuna muttered.

Yuuji huffed a laugh. “Is that an insult?”

“It’s temporary.”

Sukuna leaned down slightly, brushing his nose against Yuuji’s hair before pressing a slow kiss to his temple. Yuuji’s hands found their way back to Sukuna’s shoulders easily, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes as if he had never left.

“I missed you,” Yuuji said quietly.

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. Instead he tilted Yuuji’s chin upward, studying his face again like he had earlier in the courtyard, checking for anything out of place. Any injury. Any exhaustion.

When he seemed satisfied, his hand slid behind Yuuji’s neck.

“Of course you did,” Sukuna murmured.

Then he kissed him. This one was slower than the first attempt he’d made earlier, deeper, the kind of kiss that came from weeks of restrained impatience finally being allowed to surface.

Yuuji melted into it immediately. His fingers slipped into Sukuna’s hair again—shorter now, lighter to grip—and he laughed softly into the kiss.

“Ah,” he said when they finally parted, eyes bright. “So that’s why you cut it.”

Sukuna frowned slightly.

“That’s not—”

“You did,” Yuuji interrupted, clearly pleased with himself. “You missed me.”

Sukuna leaned down again, stealing another quick kiss before Yuuji could keep talking. “Of course I did.”

Yuuji rested his forehead against Sukuna’s for a moment, smiling in that quiet way that always softened the sharpest parts of Sukuna’s expression. 

“I’m back now,” he said gently.

Sukuna’s arms tightened around him. 

“Good.”

Then he pulled him closer again.

Because seven weeks had been far too long.

-

Sukuna didn’t let go of him as they left the courtyard. Not as they crossed the long stone walkway toward the palace halls. His hand remained firmly at Yuuji’s waist, fingers pressing lightly into the soft fabric of his robes.

Sukuna hadn’t realized how quiet the palace had become until Yuuji stepped back into it.

Yuuji walked beside him easily, humming under his breath as they entered the long corridor of lanternlight. The warm glow spilled across the polished floors, catching in the gold silk banners drifting gently from the ceiling beams.

Yuuji had always done that. Filled empty spaces without even trying.

They spoke softly as they walked, and Yuuji laughed at something Sukuna said.

Sukuna watched him from the corner of his eye. Yuuji looked different when he laughed here. Heaven polished him too much, but here he softened again. Here he belonged.

Sukuna’s hand slid from Yuuji’s waist to the small of his back, guiding him forward with quiet insistence.

Servants bowed immediately as the two of them passed. None dared look up for long. Sukuna ignored them. Yuuji, as always, offered them an easy smile. He shook his head lightly after a moment, letting out a small, fond sigh that only Sukuna heard.

They reached the inner chambers soon after.

The evening meal had already been prepared, arranged neatly across the long lacquered table. Steam rose gently from the dishes, filling the room with the scent of broth, roasted meat, and warm rice.

Yuuji brightened at once.

“Oh,” he said with clear delight. “I didn’t realize how much I missed home’s food.”

Sukuna took his seat beside him, his hand settling and staying on Yuuji’s knee beneath the table. Possessive. Clingy.

Because now that Yuuji had returned, Sukuna had no intention of letting him out of reach again.

-

Yuuji had changed after returning from Heaven, exchanging his pale celestial robes for one of the palace’s deep red ones.

The color caught the lantern light beautifully, a striking contrast against his skin. It reminded Sukuna of another night long ago. The night they were married.

Yuuji’s hair was still damp from his bath, dark strands clinging to his neck. His eyes were half-lidded, softened by either lingering exhaustion or the quiet comfort of finally being home.

And Sukuna had been without his wife for far too long. That alone made the sight nearly unbearable.

Before Yuuji could say much of anything, Sukuna had already crossed the room.

“Are you doing this to tempt me?” Sukuna asked, voice low.

Yuuji tilted his head slightly, amused. “I simply adore the color.”

Sukuna huffed. His gaze dragged slowly down Yuuji’s body, lingering without shame. “And you simply tempt me by existing.”

He lifted him effortlessly, arms wrapping around him with the ease of long familiarity. His hands moved instinctively across Yuuji’s back and waist, roaming.

His fingers pressed into the softness of Yuuji’s sides, kneading lightly, almost greedily, as though reminding himself that this divine being in his arms belonged nowhere else.

Yuuji was a god. The world worshipped him. But Sukuna alone knew the full extent of him — his warmth, his laughter, the quiet softness he showed when Heaven’s endless duties were finally left behind.

Sukuna would burn the entire realm for him, or spare it, whichever Yuuji asked, it made little difference.

“Show me then,” Yuuji murmured softly against his ear as Sukuna carried him toward the bed. His voice was sweet. Dangerously so. “Show me how true that is.”

Completely holy and unholy at the same time.

Sukuna growled under his breath. Whatever patience he had left snapped cleanly.

He dropped onto the wide bed with Yuuji beneath him, caging him in with his arms as if he might vanish if Sukuna loosened his hold.

Yuuji laughed quietly, breath warm against Sukuna’s jaw. “You’re impossible.”

“And you knew that when you married me.”

Sukuna’s breathing had grown heavier now, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at him. Affection filled his eyes in a way he never bothered to hide when they were alone. 

And beneath it, something far hungrier.

Tonight, Sukuna already knew, would undo him.

And Yuuji—

Yuuji would remember exactly why he always came home.

Sukuna leaned close, voice dropping to a rough whisper. 

“Pray, love,” he murmured against Yuuji’s lips. “You’ll forget Heaven is anywhere else.”