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It was the 6th of December, a cold Friday morning that left frost crusting the edges of Hollow Bloom’s windowpanes like lacework. Inside, the shop was warm and bright, scented with eucalyptus and winter roses—Satoru’s attempt at making the place feel comforting and alive as the season crept toward its darkest point. He moved quietly through the shop, his white knit sweater sleeves pushed to his elbows as he trimmed stems beneath the soft hum of the heater. The warmth should’ve soothed him. And normally, it did.
But today, restlessness stirred under his skin.
Satoru had spent the past week insisting to his friends and to his infuriatingly attentive boyfriend that he didn’t want anything for his birthday tomorrow. No party. No gifts. No fuss. He’d said it with a breezy smile every time, even made a joke or two, pretending it didn’t matter. I don’t want anything. I don’t need anything. Really, I’m fine.
But the moment those conversations ended, discomfort pooled low in his stomach, heavier than he felt it had any right to be.
He could still picture the way Sukuna had looked at him the night before, eyebrows lifted, arms crossed over his bare chest as they got ready for bed. That unamused, you’re-not-fooling-me expression. Satoru had been fluffing the pillows to avoid eye contact when Sukuna asked again if he wanted anything.
And Satoru had laughed, light and airy, brushing the question away like dust: “Nope! Nothing. Really.”
But now, alone in the quiet shop with only the muted roar of passing traffic outside, the truth pressed in on him. It was sweet. All of it. The asking, the caring, the circling around him with genuine interest like he was something precious. He still wasn’t quite used to that. Birthdays were easier when nobody bothered, when the day slipped by unnoticed and unimportant.
Letting people celebrate him? That felt like walking into a room full of spotlights with nowhere to hide.
He set the shears down and exhaled slowly, leaning his hip against the counter. His breath fogged faintly in the cooler air near the windows, and he dragged a hand through his hair, pushing the snowy strands out of his eyes.
This is ridiculous, he told himself. Completely ridiculous. People had birthdays all the time. Normal people celebrated them. Normal people didn’t feel this tightness in their chest at the idea of being seen, really seen, by people who cared.
But he still did, and admitting that out loud felt embarrassing.
Satoru sighed again and turned away from the counter, absently brushing fallen petals from his sweater. The shop felt too quiet now, too full of his own thoughts echoing back at him.
Truly, what surprised him most wasn’t that everyone kept asking, but how genuinely excited they all seemed to be about it. Nobara had already threatened to break into his house and throw confetti at him in his sleep if he didn’t give her at least one idea.
Yuji kept sending him pictures of increasingly ridiculous cupcakes. Even Shoko had poked her head into the shop two days ago just to squint at him and say, “You sure you don’t want, like, drugs or something? Anxiety meds? Extra strength heat suppressants? You know I can prescribe the legal ones.”
Satoru knew they all meant well. He could feel the warmth of it when he let himself. He even thought it was sweet—adorable, really—that they cared enough to ask, to plan, to want to celebrate something as unimpressive as his existence.
Honestly, he almost regretted letting it slip when his birthday was at all.
It'd happened back in November, when the world had still been holding onto the last scraps of autumn—crisp air, burnt-orange leaves clinging to gutters, and the warm gold glow that always pooled inside Golden Hour once the sun dipped below the horizon. It was just past 7PM, the hour when the day finally exhaled and the whole group settled into their usual end-of-shift ritual. The cafe smelled like cinnamon, steamed milk, and roasted coffee beans, and Nanami had Christmas instrumentals playing softly over the speakers.
Satoru was curled into his seat wearing the oversized hoodie that he'd stolen from Sukuna. He’d swiped it from the alpha's closet that morning and absolutely refused to give it back. It hung off him in that familiar way he secretly loved, sleeves long enough that he kept having to push them up every time he reached for anything.
The group was scattered around their usual pushed-together tables—Shoko sitting next to Utahime, leaning back with her feet on her wife's lap, Nobara scrolling through her phone and showing Maki and Yuta memes, Yuji trying to convince Megumi to share a croissant he clearly didn’t want to share.
Sukuna sat beside Satoru, broad shoulders relaxed, one thick arm slung casually along the backrest of Satoru’s chair. Every so often, Satoru would feel the brush of warm fingers grazing his shoulder as his mate chatted with Uraume and Jin, absent-minded but affectionate.
Satoru was in the middle of bickering with Suguru, who had just stolen the last fry from his plate with all the smugness of a man who thrived on being annoying.
“You’re disgusting,” Satoru huffed, swatting at Suguru’s arm. “Absolutely foul. I’m reporting you to the authorities.”
Suguru popped the fry into his mouth, grinning. “I’ll buy you some more for your birthday.”
Satoru scoffed. “You don’t even know when my birthday is, dipshit.”
It was tossed out lightly, a joking jab, the same way they always traded insults—nothing serious, nothing heavy. Just easy banter that came with a bond built over years, even though Satoru and Suguru had barely known each other for one.
But the moment the words left his mouth, the table fell quiet.
They were all staring at him.
Not in a prying way, no, this was somehow worse. In that curious, concerned, gently nosy way that meant they’d just realized something they hadn’t known before. Something Satoru had intentionally never shared.
“Now that I think about it, none of us know when your birthday is, Satoru,” Nobara said around a half-eaten french fry, brandishing it like a tiny, starchy pointer as she fixed him with a look.
Satoru wished she’d put the fry down. Something about being interrogated with food made him feel weird.
Before he could answer, Sukuna let out a low chuckle beside him. “I do.”
A dull thump sounded beneath the table, followed instantly by Sukuna hissing, “Ow, fuck,” and shooting a glare at Jin, who sat across from them with his arms folded.
“Don’t kick me, asshole.”
“Of course you know his birthday,” Jin shot back, ignoring his brother's words. “You’re his mate.”
Good God. Even after months of the bond being official, the title wrapped around him like warm hands cupping his face, gently tilting him toward the truth that he wasn’t alone anymore. That someone wanted him.
Mate.
He felt his cheeks warm and immediately hid the reaction by tugging Sukuna’s hoodie sleeve over his hands and looking down.
Yuji nodded sagely from beside Jin. “Yeah, Sukuna. If you didn’t know his birthday, there’d be bigger issues.”
Sukuna snorted but didn’t argue, settling back in his chair.
Nobara turned fully toward Satoru and leveled the fry at him like a lawyer presenting evidence. “So? When is it?”
Satoru blinked. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, like it had forgotten how words worked. He chewed on his bottom lip.
“I—I don’t really celebrate it,” he started, voice light but wavering at the edges. “So I don’t see any reason why—”
Yuji slammed his hands onto the table with a sharp bang! that echoed through the cafe like a gunshot.
Satoru jerked so hard he nearly knocked over his drink, heart leaping straight into his throat. Half the table jumped with him—the remainder of Megumi’s croissant went flying, Nobara cursed under her breath, and Suguru clutched his chest dramatically.
“Unacceptable!” Yuji declared.
From behind the counter, where he’d been wiping down glass cups with a white towel, Nanami didn’t even bother to look up fully. He sighed—a long-suffering, deeply disappointed sound.
“Yuji, quit screaming. And don’t hit the table like that unless you intend to buy another replacement like last time,” he scolded, glasses sliding halfway down his nose as he gave Yuji a pointed stare.
Yuji shrank visibly, offering Nanami a sheepish smile before easing himself back into his seat like a scolded child trying not to make the chair squeak. “Sorry, Nanamin.”
Then he spun back toward Satoru, determination immediately reigniting in his expression.
“Anyway!” he continued, leaning forward with both elbows braced on the table. “That’s entirely unacceptable, Satoru. You deserve to celebrate your birthday, too. We all wanna celebrate with you.”
Satoru swallowed, caught between the weight of everyone’s suddenly-soft eyes and the warmth blooming in his chest that he didn’t quite know how to handle.
And that's when he made his mistake.
Satoru puffed out his cheeks, trying to shield the flare of embarrassment that was climbing across his face. The cafe was suddenly too loud, full of voices bouncing off the walls, each one louder and more excited than the last. He knew this wouldn’t be just a simple, quiet celebration; his friends had never done anything small. But when he looked at Yuji, eyes bright and sparkling with excitement, it was impossible to stay annoyed or shy. That enthusiasm was too endearing.
Sighing, Satoru relented, his voice muffled slightly as he admitted, “December 7th.”
The reaction was instantaneous.
“NO WAY!”
“That’s two weeks away!?”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US EARLIER!?”
Satoru didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he turned his flushed face into Sukuna’s chest, pressing himself against the broad, comforting warmth of his mate. He could feel Sukuna’s rumble of laughter vibrating through him, a deep, teasing sound that made Satoru’s heart beat a little faster.
But Satoru did not appreciate being laughed at right now.
Without lifting his head, he slipped a hand under Sukuna’s shirt, fingers cool against warm skin. He found the sensitive spot just above the waistband—right where Sukuna was ticklish—and pinched.
Hard.
Sukuna sucked in a sharp breath, a drawn-out hiss escaping through his teeth. “You little—”
Satoru smiled smugly into his chest, satisfaction blooming like a small, wicked flower.
And then, earlier this morning, his phone had been buzzing since the very second he cracked an eye open—or rather, since long before he’d even rejoined the land of the waking.
Pings, rings, vibrations that rattled the nightstand like tiny drumbeats, all clamoring for his attention. Texts from Yuji, Nobara, Jin, Suguru, Yuta, Maki—hell, even Choso, Uraume, and Megumi had messaged him at least once. Every single one asked the same kind of invasive-but-well-meaning questions: What cake flavor did he prefer? Did he want chocolate or vanilla frosting—or strawberry, or something more exotic? What size clothes did he wear? Did he need anything specifically that being gifted would make his life easier?
Satoru rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow in an attempt to shut out the barrage, but the insistent chiming persisted. His thoughts flicked irritably between annoyance and amusement. It was sweet, sure, but the intensity of their attention made him want to vanish under the covers and hibernate until it was all over.
Exasperated, Satoru grabbed the offending device from the nightstand and, without thinking about it, tossed it across the bed. The phone sailed through the air in a perfect little arc, landing squarely on Sukuna’s chest with a soft thump.
Sukuna stirred, a low grunt escaping him as his eyes fluttered open. His eyes were half-lidded, hair sticking up in disarray, utterly dazed as he tried to process what had just happened.
Satoru, in the meantime, had already rolled back onto his side, letting the warm weight of the covers cocoon him. He pressed his face deeper into the softness, inhaling the scent of Sukuna’s pheremones as his alpha oh-so-kindly sent a dozen half-asleep texts to all of their friends, asking them to shut the fuck up and let them sleep.
All of that had led to now. Satoru ran a hand down his face, feeling the faint grit of soil under his nails and making him grimace. Every counter had been scrubbed, every display refreshed, every order double-checked for spelling and placement. Despite his friends’ repeated texts and calls begging him to take the day off, Satoru had insisted on working.
And it was a good thing he did.
The shop had been pure chaos all morning. Customers bustling in for last-minute Christmas centerpieces, families arguing over wreath sizes, and small businesses requesting elaborate floral arrangements for holiday dinners and showcases.
His hands ached from tying ribbons and cutting stems, his back ached from bending to adjust displays, and yet there was a satisfaction to it. It was work, yes, but it was his work. And Inumaki was out of town for the week, so he had to be the one doing it all.
By sundown, exhaustion was a constant companion at his side. He had moved mechanically through the tasks, humming softly to himself, stealing glances at his phone only to find a dozen unread messages from various people asking if he was really going to work today. Satoru had ignored them all. Birthday or not, the shop needed him, and somehow, the thought of abandoning it for a celebration he didn't even want (or so he told himself) made his chest feel tight.
Finally, when the last customer had left, Satoru turned off the lights and locked the door. He breathed in the crisp air as he stepped outside after cleaning up and closing the shop down, letting the quiet of the empty street wrap around him. Night had already fallen, courtesy of daylight savings time.
He tugged his coat tighter, feeling the chill bite through the fabric, and cursed under his breath. Northern California. Always a compromise. The weather was better than most of the nation, sure, and Hinode’s proximity to the coast kept the worst of the frost at bay, but it was still cold.
He trudged across the street toward Ink Bound, his boots crunching faintly against the pavement. As he walked, he glanced at his phone, checking the forecast yet again. Snow. His screen promised that snow would fall by late evening, which was now. Satoru could only hope that the weatherman was wrong again.
It sounded magical. But being out there in the stiff, cold wind, Satoru wasn’t sure he wanted it. He gritted his teeth, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and walked a little faster, hoping that Sukuna hadn't turned down the heat at the tattoo parlor yet like he always did after closing.
Something about "conserving energy" or whatever.
The parlor was quiet when he finally stepped inside, the only sounds the soft hum of a heater and the distant drip of water somewhere in the back.
Satoru’s boots clicked softly against the floor as he walked past the front desk, where Uraume usually sat. The desk was dark and empty, the chair tucked in like it had never been used.
He trailed his fingers along the mural that stretched across the wall in the hallway leading to Sukuna's office as he moved, brushing over the textured paint, the smooth streaks, the tiny, intricate details that only someone who spent a lot of time in the shop could appreciate. It was a familiar comfort these days.
The door to Sukuna’s office was cracked open, and Satoru didn’t bother to knock. It was unnecessary. He had been coming here long enough after closing up for the night to know he was one of very few people who didn’t need permission to enter. And he was the only one of those few who didn't need a reason to enter, either.
Inside, Sukuna was hunched over his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, hair falling just enough to give him that slightly disheveled “old man” look that always made Satoru suppress a grin. He was absorbed in the glow of his computer monitor, scrolling through a seemingly endless stream of emails. The faint click of the trackpad punctuated the otherwise still room. Satoru paused for a moment, just watching, taking in the little details he loved—the concentration in Sukuna’s narrowed eyes, the way his shoulders tensed and relaxed with each scroll, the way his lips pursed in thought.
Satoru finally moved closer to his mate, lifting himself into Sukuna’s lap. Like he always did.
Sukuna didn’t look up immediately. Or at all, in fact.
He wrapped an arm around Satoru’s waist, pulling him close without breaking his focus. Satoru pressed closer, letting the warmth of his mate’s body seep into him, feeling the steady rumble of the alpha's chest against his side.
Satoru rested his head against Sukuna’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, content.
His eyes drifted lazily toward the monitor, catching snippets of words and sentences without really processing them. His attention—or rather, his focus—was entirely elsewhere. He shifted slightly on Sukuna’s lap, adjusting his position until he felt snug against the warmth of his mate’s chest. With a soft, satisfied sigh, he buried his face into the curve of Sukuna’s shoulder, letting the tension of the day seep out of him.
A low, amused chuckle vibrated through Sukuna’s chest, and Satoru felt the alpha’s hand slide beneath his shirt, warm fingers tracing gentle, circular patterns over the soft skin of his waist. A shiver of delight ran through him, his body relaxing further into Sukuna’s hold.
“Comfy?” Sukuna’s voice rumbled, pressing a tender kiss against the top of Satoru’s head.
Satoru hummed softly in reply, voice muffled against Sukuna’s chest. “Yes… very,” he murmured, closing his eyes and savoring the moment.
“Give me just a few and we’ll head out, I promise.”
Satoru let out a long, lazy yawn, stretching one arm over his head. “Can we stop by KFC on the way home for dinner?” he asked, voice soft and slightly whiny. “I’ve been craving it hardcore since the 1st.” The thought of crispy chicken and salty fries made his stomach rumble, and he couldn’t hide the hopeful lilt in his tone.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Sukuna chuckled. “Anything for the birthday boy.”
Satoru didn’t need to glance up to know that there was a smirk playing at the corner of Sukuna’s lips. He let his hand fall to lightly slap the alpha’s chest. “Not the birthday boy,” he muttered.
“Yet."
“Kuna,” Satoru scolded, rolling his eyes but failing to hide the fondness in his tone, a soft chuckle escaping despite himself.
Sukuna’s laugh rolled through the office, vibrating against Satoru’s back as he leaned lazily against him. The sound was warm and steady, making Satoru relax further into the alpha. Sukuna’s attention moved back to the monitor, fingers moved across the keyboard with precision, eyes scanning with that intensity that always made Satoru both proud and slightly jealous of how focused he could be. Satoru, on the other hand, let his gaze wander, not really paying attention to the words scrolling by.
He idly skimmed over the emails as Sukuna scrolled, catching the occasional subject line. Most of it blurred together—a stream of appointment requests, reminders, follow-ups—but then his eyes caught one particular thread and his eyebrows lifted. There it was, unmistakable and completely absurd:
YOUR WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL, HANDSOME, SEXY, INTELLIGENT, STRONG, LOVEABLE OMEGA LOVES AND MISSES YOU EVEN THOUGH WE WORK ACROSS THE STREET FROM EACH OTHER!!! 😍🥹🫶🏻🥰🤗🤪🤍🙏🏻🤩😌🩵🩶🖤❤️💕💞💓💝💖
Satoru had crafted that subject line himself, of course, carefully choosing every exaggerated word and emoji to be both ridiculous and heartfelt. Emails instead of texts—it was romantic, in his mind. Every time he hit send, he imagined Sukuna seeing it, reading it, and maybe, just maybe, smiling or shaking his head, bemused and affectionate.
And today, seeing it like this… Satoru couldn’t help the little grin that stretched across his face. Not only were his silly little emails being read, but Sukuna had also marked the thread as Very Important and had favorited it.
Satoru’s grin widened, almost too big to be contained. His fingers fidgeted in his lap, wiggling just slightly against Sukuna’s thigh, a small, giddy display of his excitement.
Ridiculous. He was ridiculous.
Satoru closed his eyes for a second, letting the absurdity of it all wash over him. He was an idiot for grinning like this. But he didn’t care. Not one bit.
Because Sukuna loved him even when he was being ridiculous, and that made him the happiest omega in Hinode.
Eventually, Sukuna found a stopping point, stretching as he prepared to get up and double-check everything before they left.
Satoru watched as Sukuna powered down the computer. He climbed off of the alpha's lap and stretched, following his mate out of the office. Sukuna locked up the back first, and Satoru trailed behind him, flipping switches and straightening the little things Sukuna never bothered with twice: wiping down a counter a bit more thoroughly, adjusting a crooked framed print, making sure nothing had been forgotten on the carts.
By the time they moved toward the front, the shop felt dim and cozy, the way it always did when it was just the two of them lingering after hours. Satoru padded up beside Sukuna, expecting the normal empty street beyond the windows—but instead, he found himself staring at a slow spill of swirling white. Heavy flakes drifted down in thick, lazy curtains, blanketing the sidewalk, the road, even the metal bench outside in a smooth sheet of frost.
Satoru stopped dead in his tracks and groaned.
Beside him, Sukuna let out a chuckle. “C’mon,” the alpha drawled, nudging a very reluctant Satoru towards the door. “The sooner we brave the snow, the sooner we can get home where it’s warm.”
Satoru turned his face up toward him with the most dramatic, miserable pout he could muster. The idea of stepping out into that frosty nightmare made every instinct in him bristle like a cat tossed into a bathtub.
Sukuna rolled his eyes, but it was the affectionate kind, the kind that carried a smile hidden under the annoyance. “I’ll make that hot chocolate you really like,” he offered.
Satoru’s pout eased. His eyebrow lifted. His silence was pointed.
Another sigh left Sukuna. “And I’ll buy some extra chicken when we stop at KFC.”
“And one of their lava cakes?”
"And one of their lava cakes.”
That was all Satoru needed.
He bolted.
One second he was standing beside Sukuna; the next he was a blur of limbs and flapping coat, sprinting for the SUV. He heard Sukuna burst into full, shameless laughter behind him—a deep cackle that echoed through the quiet street—but Satoru ignored it, yanking open the passenger door and practically launching himself inside.
A blast of cold air followed him in, but he slammed the door shut, victorious, shivering, and absolutely ready for his lava cake.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
A few hours later found Satoru feeling pleasantly heavy with warmth and food. He now sat straddled across Sukuna’s thick thighs on the living room couch, completely absorbed in the heated tangle of lips, breath, and wandering hands.
The Hallmark movie flickering on the flatscreen barely registered to either of them. Sukuna had turned on the TV earlier but neither of them had paid attention to it. It was only a background blur of soft lighting, predictable snow-covered towns, and overly cheerful music that contrasted sharply with the way Sukuna’s palms were gripping and kneading at Satoru’s ass like it was his damn lifeline.
Satoru didn’t mind.
He melted into every kiss, purring unconsciously. Sukuna kissed him back with an intensity that made Satoru’s toes curl, teeth occasionally tugging at his lower lip, breath warm against his skin. The heat between them built and built until Satoru felt drunk on it, leaning into Sukuna, fingers tangled in the alpha’s hair, ready to sink deeper into the moment—
Then Sukuna suddenly pulled back.
Satoru blinked at the abrupt loss of contact, dazed and slightly offended, lips parted as if the kiss had been ripped out of him mid-breath. Instinctively, he chased the alpha's lips with his own, making a small, embarrassingly needy whine as he tried to reclaim Sukuna’s mouth. But Sukuna only turned his head to the side, chuckling low in his chest.
“Baby,” he murmured, voice still rough even as he tried to rein things in, “we gotta go to bed.”
Satoru sat back on Sukuna’s thighs with a dramatic huff, arms crossing tightly over his chest. His lower lip jutted forward in a pout that he absolutely did not consider childish.
“It’s only 10:30,” he argued, narrowing his eyes.
Sukuna nodded in agreement, crimson eyes softening as one large hand slid up the back of Satoru’s head. His fingers threaded into Satoru’s hair and Satoru all but melted on the spot, his entire body relaxing as though Sukuna had flipped some internal switch. His eyes fluttered halfway shut, his breath catching in a tiny, quiet sound of contentment that he tried (and failed) to hide.
“I know,” Sukuna murmured. “But we have plans tomorrow.”
Satoru’s brows knit together. “…We do?” He searched Sukuna’s face, but the alpha’s expression remained maddeningly unreadable.
“Yes.”
Sukuna leaned in, warm breath brushing Satoru’s skin, and pressed a soft kiss right between his eyes. The spot tingled afterward, the ghost of Sukuna's touch lingering.
Satoru blinked, his thoughts stumbling. This was the first he was hearing about any plans. Sukuna hadn’t mentioned anything until now. And Satoru hadn’t agreed to anything. His stomach tightened a little with confusion, then dread, until—
He remembered the date.
He drew back just enough to squint suspiciously at Sukuna. “You’re not telling me…?”
Sukuna’s mouth curved into a smirk so wicked it could curdle cream. It was the kind of smirk that meant trouble.
“I’m not telling you anything, actually,” the alpha said lightly, almost sing-song, which was somehow even more alarming. “Just know that you’ll like it. I promise.”
Satoru stared at him. He wasn’t sure he would like it at all.
But that conviction was only held until morning… which began with Sukuna thoroughly ruining his ability to think at all.
The alpha had woken him with slow, lazy kisses against the back of his neck, hands already roaming his body in a way that made Satoru gasp and moan before he was even fully conscious. The rest of the morning blurred into heated touches and soft laughter, birthday sex leaving his limbs loose and his heart pounding in the best way. Afterward, Sukuna had insisted Satoru stay put in bed, slipping away only long enough to return with a tray—pancakes with strawberries, crispy bacon, and his favorite tea, arranged neatly, complete with a tiny vase holding a single red tulip.
Satoru had pretended not to get emotional over that, too. Pretended very, very badly.
Then came the warm clothes: the thick sweater, the scarf Satoru always stole from Sukuna, the gloves Sukuna tugged carefully over his fingers as if Satoru were fragile. He didn’t even tell Satoru where they were going, just guided him to the SUV with his hands on Satoru’s hips.
Satoru had expected a cafe. A bookstore. A quiet walk near the coast.
Then the alpha drove him to the zoo.
The fucking zoo.
Satoru had stared at the entrance for a long moment, stunned, brain short-circuiting. And then he’d been informed that they had a private appointment.
A red panda meet-and-greet.
A mini one, specifically arranged for him.
His brain short-circuited.
Minutes later, he stood inside a softly lit enclosure, surrounded by the scent of bamboo and straw. A handler placed a sleepy, curious red panda into Satoru’s arms, its little paws curling against his chest as it blinked up at him.
It was warm. And fluffy. And sweet, peering up at him with round dark eyes and sniffing at his hair. Satoru’s throat tightened instantly, a sting building behind his eyes. He had to blink several times, fighting off the threat of tears because, God, this was too much.
He almost cried holding a red panda.
It pawed at the strings of his hoodie. It sniffed his face. And then, it climbed up his arm, onto his shoulders, and sat there.
Satoru choked on a laugh that sounded a lot like a sob.
Sukuna, of course, filmed the entire thing. He caught the moment the little creature perked up and tugged Satoru’s hat right off his head.
Satoru squeaked. The handler wheezed. Sukuna howled with laughter.
“Baby, you—hold on, don’t move,” Sukuna managed between laughs.
If he hadn’t already planned on marrying Sukuna someday, this would have been the moment that decided it for him—no hesitation, no uncertainty.
Around noon, Sukuna guided him back to the SUV, one large palm resting at the small of Satoru’s back as though he were guiding him, though really, Satoru suspected it was just Sukuna’s way of staying close. They drove through Hinode until Sukuna pulled into the parking lot of a small, family-owned Italian restaurant that had opened only a few months ago. Satoru blinked at the sign, realization slowly dawning.
He had mentioned wanting to eat at this place once. In passing. Over three weeks ago.
And Sukuna remembered.
The interior was cozy and warmly lit, with brick walls, potted herbs lining the windows, and the faint, comforting aroma of garlic and simmering tomatoes drifting through the air. A friendly older woman seated them immediately, greeting Sukuna like she already knew him—which, frankly, wouldn’t surprise Satoru. The alpha knew a lot of people despite not being very sociable.
Satoru didn’t bother hiding his excitement as he slid into the booth. The seats were plush, the table was small and intimate, and the moment he opened the menu, his stomach growled loudly enough that Sukuna chuckled and squeezed his knee beneath the table.
He ordered lasagna, and when the waitress mentioned unlimited soup and breadsticks, Satoru lit up like a damn Christmas tree. The first basket arrived steaming, breadsticks glistening with butter and herbs. He tore into them with an enthusiasm that made Sukuna shake his head fondly.
Then came the soup—rich, savory, packed with vegetables and perfectly seasoned. Satoru devoured bowl after bowl, barely giving himself time to breathe between sips. By the time his lasagna arrived, hot and bubbling beneath a blanket of cheese, most people would have tapped out.
Satoru was not most people.
He inhaled the lasagna too, savoring every layered bite of noodles, ricotta, sauce, and spice until his plate was spotless. He leaned back with a satisfied groan, one hand on his stomach, and declared that he was full.
Sukuna gave him a knowing look.
Ten minutes later, Satoru was happily digging into dessert: a towering slice of tiramisu dusted with cocoa, delicate and sweet and so good he nearly moaned at the first bite. He didn’t know where the extra space came from. He didn’t question it.
It was his birthday, after all.
And he was beginning to think he didn't mind celebrating, not if it looked like this.
And then after finishing lunch, Sukuna took him to the park. It was quieter than usual, softened by the remnants of last night’s snowfall. The paths were damp but no longer icy, and the air had mellowed into something crisp and pleasant rather than sharp. Patches of melting snow clung stubbornly to the grass, glittering in the early afternoon sunlight like scattered crystals. Children shrieked joyfully somewhere in the distance, their laughter bouncing off the bare trees, and the scent of wet earth and pine drifted lightly through the air.
Satoru breathed it in, his fingers threaded comfortably through Sukuna’s much larger hand. Their steps were slow, unhurried, Sukuna occasionally swinging their joined hands just to feel Satoru’s quiet, automatic squeeze in return. Every so often, the alpha glanced down at him, his expression softer than the winter light, as though checking that Satoru was still enjoying himself.
He was. More than he wanted to admit aloud.
They drifted along the winding path, passing a couple walking their dog, then a jogger, then a pair of little kids attempting to kick slush at each other. Satoru watched them, amused, and leaned closer into Sukuna’s side.
“It’s kinda pretty today,” he murmured. “Still cold, but not ‘my toes are gonna fall off’ cold.”
Sukuna huffed a laugh. “High praise coming from you. Usually anything below sixty degrees means that it's the end of the world.”
Satoru elbowed him gently. “I’m delicate.”
“I know,” Sukuna said, his tone so warm that Satoru could imagine it melting the snow that clung to the edges of the path.
They walked another few steps before Satoru noticed a mound of half-melted snow sitting just off the walkway.
A truly devious idea struck.
Satoru slipped his hand from the alpha’s grip when the man was distracted typing out a text on his phone and darted a step off the path. He scooped the snow up quickly and turned on his heel.
“Kuna!” he called sweetly.
Sukuna looked up.
The snowball nailed him square in the face.
A stunned silence followed. Satoru clapped a hand over his mouth as a helpless, bubbling laugh burst out of him. Sukuna wiped snow from his cheek, blinking slowly, as if needing a full moment to process what had just happened.
“Oh, you’re dead,” he said.
Satoru squeaked and ran.
His boots splashed through patches of wet grass as he sprinted toward the center of the park, laughter ringing bright and high. He didn’t get far. Sukuna’s footsteps thundered behind him, and Satoru knew he could never outrun his mate, even on his best day.
He shrieked as arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
“Kuna! Wait!”
Too late. Sukuna tackled him down into a pile of soft, slushy snow, careful even as he sent them both tumbling. Satoru landed on his back with a muffled “oof,” Sukuna bracing his weight so he didn’t crush him, his laughter rumbling low and wild in his chest.
“You hit me,” Sukuna accused playfully, leaning over him with a wide grin.
Satoru wheezed out a laugh. “You deserved it!”
“For what?”
“Breathing, probably!”
Sukuna scoffed, then dipped down and kissed him.
Their laughter tangled between their mouths, warm breaths fogging in the cold air as Sukuna pressed lazy, smiling kisses to Satoru’s lips, his chin, the corner of his jaw. Satoru cupped the alpha’s face, pulling him closer, snow melting beneath them as the world shrank to nothing but them and the quiet, giddy thrill that came from being loved.
Satoru kissed him back, breathless, snowflakes melting against his neck. For a moment, the whole park felt like it existed just for them.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
The sun had already dipped below the horizon by the time they finally pulled into the driveway. The sky was a deep gradient of purples and fading gold, the last traces of daylight clinging stubbornly to the edges of the world. Satoru felt pleasantly chilled from the walk, his cheeks still pink from laughter, and he chattered animatedly as they stepped up to the house.
He unwound his scarf the moment they crossed the threshold, still talking, shaking melted snowflakes from the wool. Sukuna stepped in behind him, kicking the door shut with his foot, the warmth of the house wrapping around them like a welcoming blanket.
And then the overhead lights snapped on all at once.
“SURPRISE!!”
His eyes went wide as he took in the sight before him.
The living room was completely transformed. Streamers, fairy lights, and soft winter florals decorated every surface. A massive cake sat proudly on the coffee table, the frosting reading Happy Birthday Satoru!! in bright, looping letters. Next to it was a pile of presents, wrapped in shiny paper, stacked high, each tag scribbled with familiar handwriting.
And surrounding all of it were their friends.
Suguru leaned casually against the arm of the sofa, grinning like a proud parent. Shoko raised a cup toward him in lazy salute. Yuji and Nobara waved enthusiastically, already bouncing in place with excitement. Megumi stood with his hands in his pockets, but even he had a small, pleased smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Maki nudged Yuta, who gave Satoru a bright wave. Jin and Choso stood together near the wall; Choso lifted a hand in greeting, and Jin gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. Uraume looked unexpectedly smug, while Utahime offered a more reserved but warm smile.
All of them. Here. In their home.
For him.
Satoru’s breath caught. His vision blurred at the edges, wetness prickling behind his eyes before he could stop it. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, trying and failing to hide how emotional he suddenly felt.
He slowly turned toward Sukuna.
The alpha stood just behind him, hands tucked in his pockets, expression gentler than any sunrise Satoru had ever seen. He looked almost sheepish, like he wasn’t sure if Satoru was about to burst into tears or collapse or both.
“Before you ask,” Sukuna said, voice low and warm, “I wasn’t in on the planning.”
Satoru blinked at him, wet lashes trembling.
Sukuna lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I was gonna spend the whole day with you anyway. But…” He glanced toward their friends, who were watching with eager, barely-contained anticipation. “It just happened to work out that they could set everything up while I kept you out of the house.”
Once the shock ebbed enough for him to breathe properly, everyone descended on him—hugging him, ruffling his hair, all talking over one another in their excitement. Someone put on music. Someone else turned on the fireplace. The house filled with laughter so quickly it felt like it had been waiting for this very moment, holding its breath until Satoru walked in.
They gathered around the giant cake on the coffee table, and Satoru felt his throat tighten just looking at it.
Suguru patted the floor next to him. “Birthday boy sits here.”
Satoru huffed, face warm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” Maki said, shoving a party hat onto his head before he could dodge.
Shoko handed him a fork as though arming him for battle. “Just accept your fate, Satoru.”
Sukuna settled behind him on the couch, one broad hand resting on Satoru’s shoulder. Satoru leaned into it.
Then everyone began singing.
It wasn’t pretty. Not even a little.
Yuji was loud and off-key, Nobara put in unnecessary vibrato, Jin sounded like he was actively trying to harmonize with a dying animal, and Shoko didn’t even pretend to sing actual words. Maki was singing aggressively just to annoy Megumi, and Utahime kept trying to get them all back on rhythm, failing miserably.
But to Satoru, it was perfect.
He felt tears gather in his eyes halfway through the song. By the time they reached the final, chaotic “to youuuu,” his chest felt far too full.
“Make a wish!” Yuta said brightly.
Satoru clasped his hands together for a moment, eyes drifting over each person in the room. His friends. His family. His mate.
His home.
He blew out the candles in one breath.
Cheers erupted around him as Sukuna squeezed his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Satoru ducked his face to hide the smile tugging at his lips.
Once the candles were removed, Sukuna was the one to cut the cake, handing the first slice directly to Satoru.
The cake itself was delicious—vanilla with raspberry filling—and Satoru moaned happily around a bite.
“That good?” Sukuna teased, smirking down at him.
“Shut up,” Satoru muttered, mouth full. “It’s amazing.”
Once the plates were mostly cleared and the music softened, they shifted to the presents piled near the coffee table. They weren’t expensive, nothing extravagant or flashy. But the moment Satoru opened the first one, he realized that didn’t matter. Every gift was perfect.
Suguru’s gift was a handmade photo album, already filled with pictures from over the past near year—the ones he’d taken secretly when Satoru wasn’t paying attention, laughing with Yuji, arranging flowers with a focused frown, sleeping on Sukuna’s chest during group movie nights. And Suguru had left blank pages for future memories.
Satoru swallowed thickly. “You sap.”
“Shut up,” Suguru said, but his smile was gentle.
Shoko’s gift was a lavender-scented heating pad shaped like a fat cat. “For those cramps you get before your heat cycle,” she said simply. “And also because you’re a bitch when you’re cold.”
Satoru hugged it to his chest immediately.
Nobara got him a custom apron for Hollow Bloom—black, embroidered with tiny pink lilies and his name stitched in white thread. Yuji gifted him a stuffed panda plush. Megumi handed him a beautifully illustrated book on rare winter flowers. Jin gave him a hoodie that said BIG BIRTHDAY BOY in neon font, mostly as a joke, and Satoru held it up with dramatic horror while everyone cackled.
And Sukuna’s gift? Well, Sukuna didn’t hand his over yet. He only smirked when Satoru looked at him expectantly.
“Later,” the alpha mouthed. Satoru’s heart skipped a beat.
By the time he finished unwrapping everything, Satoru sat surrounded by tokens of love—small, thoughtful pieces of himself reflected back at him through the eyes of people who cared far more than he ever realized.
He couldn’t help it. Tears welled up again, blurring the room around him.
“I…” He sniffed, wiping at his eyes quickly. “I can’t believe you guys did all this.”
Nobara tossed a napkin at him. “Believe it, dumbass.”
Yuji nodded solemnly. “We love you, Satoru!”
And as Sukuna’s arm slid around his waist, drawing him in against that steady, familiar warmth, Satoru felt it down to his bones.
By the time the last of their friends trickled out into the cold December night and the door clicked shut behind the last person, Satoru was both tired and feeling pleasantly light-hearted. The house was quiet again, the hum of the heater a steady background noise as he and Sukuna moved through the living room collecting paper cups, stray balled-up napkins, and the debris of ribbon and discarded gift wrap strewn across the rug.
Satoru hummed as he worked, fingertips brushing glitter from the coffee table. The cake crumbs were still there, as were the half-melted candles.
He felt Sukuna before he heard him—warmth pressing into his back, the subtle shift in the air that announced the alpha’s presence. Satoru paused mid-wipe over the coffee table and straightened, turning with a small smile already forming on his lips.
But the smile faltered when he saw Sukuna’s posture.
The alpha was standing with his hands tucked conspicuously behind his broad back, shoulders slightly tense, expression schooled into something unreadable.
“I figured we’d wait until everyone was gone,” Sukuna said, voice low and warm, almost intimate. “I wanted you to have this alone.”
Satoru blinked, surprise blooming across his face. “You got me something?” His voice came out small, almost fragile, caught somewhere between disbelief and a fluttering hope. After everything—after the zoo, the Italian lunch, the park, the surprise party—how could there possibly be more?
Sukuna didn’t answer.
Instead, he slowly brought his arms forward from behind his back.
And that’s when Satoru realized just how big the package was.
Nearly the length of Sukuna’s torso, wide and rectangular, wrapped carefully in thick kraft paper and tied with a deep red ribbon. The alpha held it carefully with both hands, like it was made of glass or some other precious material.
Satoru's hands lifted, trembling faintly, as he reached out. His fingertips brushed over the paper, feeling the texture, and when he looked up again, Sukuna’s gaze had softened into something achingly tender.
“Go on,” the alpha murmured. “Open it.”
Satoru swallowed and carefully untied the ribbon, letting it fall across the table. He peeled away the paper slowly, until what was inside was revealed.
He stopped breathing.
It was beautiful.
A large art print, painted and designed by Sukuna himself, bathed in deep midnight blues and soft gradients of pale silver, white, and cool pastels. In the center was a stylized figure that was unmistakably meant to represent him—not literally, but symbolically. White hellebore blossoms curled around a silhouette made up of soft lines, their petals glowing faintly against a darker background. Stars twined through the form’s chest, constellations shaping a heart. Surrounding everything was the impression of cracked glass that framed the figure.
His fingers lifted as if of their own will, brushing the smooth surface of the print as though afraid it might crumble if he touched it too firmly. Every tiny detail—the brush strokes, the intentional imperfections, the way each flower curled protectively toward the center—carried Sukuna’s hand. Sukuna’s thought. Sukuna’s love.
“It’s…” Satoru’s voice cracked embarrassingly, and he cleared his throat. “Kuna… this… You made this?”
Sukuna stepped closer, one hand bracing at Satoru’s lower back, anchoring him. “Yes,” he said. “You inspire the hell out of me, sweetheart.”
Satoru felt tears slipping from his eyes, down his face. “It’s… it’s me,” he whispered, his throat tightening painfully. “This is… you painted me.”
“I painted what I see when I look at you,” Sukuna corrected gently. “Strength. Softness. Light that doesn’t go out, no matter what tries to break it.” His hand slid up to cradle Satoru’s jaw, guiding his gaze upward. “You’re incredible, Satoru.”
Satoru’s chest squeezed, breath coming unsteady—an overflowing mixture of love and disbelief. He finally managed to whisper, voice trembling, “Kuna… it’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me.”
Sukuna leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Satoru’s, his hands resting lightly on the omega's waist.
“I’m glad,” he murmured.
Satoru slid both arms around the alpha’s middle and pressed his face against the line of Sukuna’s jaw. “I’m gonna hang it above our bed,” he murmured into Sukuna’s skin.
Sukuna huffed out a chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into Satoru’s cheek. “Yeah?” he rumbled, wrapping his arms around Satoru and pulling him even closer. “Then tomorrow I’ll go out and grab what we need to hang it properly. Nails, anchors… the whole deal.”
Satoru hummed in delight and squeezed Sukuna even tighter. A moment later, Sukuna dipped his head and pressed another kiss to the top of Satoru’s hair. His lips stayed there instead of pulling away, and when he finally spoke, the words were a whisper.
“Happy birthday, my love.”
Satoru smiled into his chest. His eyes drifted closed as exhaustion, contentment, and affection all settled heavily over him.
“It’s the best birthday I’ve ever had."