Work Text:
You wake up, drifting out of a stupidly vivid dream where foam darts were bouncing off walls and furniture, you were laughing too hard to aim properly, but somehow, still winning, in that dream logic where physics doesn’t apply.
First thing you notice in the quiet of the morning is the empty space beside you. It’s Saturday, and the light coming through the blinds is so soft, it makes it a perfect sleeping-in kind of day. But you knew he would be out early; he mentioned needing to deal with something at the garage last night, and you hadn't really thought twice about it.
Rolling over, you blink at the light and blindly grab your phone from the nightstand. The screen lights up with a bunch of notifications you ignore, and you head straight for your messages with Sukuna. A mischievous grin tugs at your lips as your thumbs tap out the first thing that pops into your head.
“i want to have a nerf fight”
Send. A second later, you add another one, because a Saturday without him in bed feels weird and definitely calls for some extra sweetness.
“also good morning <3”
Then, grinning to yourself like an idiot, you keep going, riding on that dream’s high.
“i would”
“destroy you”
You let the phone drop onto the sheets, stretching out long and slow, smiling, picturing the face he'll make when he reads those. Without waiting for a reply, you push yourself up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.
The hardwood is cold on your bare feet, but you barely notice, because your eyes land on something that wasn’t there the night before.
Right on the nightstand, next to where your phone had been a moment ago, is a bouquet of crimson roses. Maybe fifteen stems, tied with a thick black ribbon, and the blooms are just starting to open.
You let out a quiet, delighted little gasp, and you reach out slowly, half-thinking you're still dreaming, but your fingers brush the soft petals, and you know they're real.
This warm, giddy feeling spreads through your chest, and you grab your phone again to snap a photo of them against the white sheets to send it to him.
“Kuna… they’re gorgeous. i love them! thank you!”
Clutching the roses to your chest, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen to find a vase. And then you stop dead in the doorway.
On the counter, beside the kettle, there’s another bouquet. Smaller this time, maybe eight stems, already standing in a tall glass vase filled with water. Just like the first, all of them are a deep crimson, like he couldn’t help himself.
Your heart is doing something stupid, suddenly beating really fast, and you can’t decide whether to laugh or just shove your face into the flowers and breathe until the feeling passes. You do both, crossing the tiles quickly and setting the first bouquet gently on the island. With eyes closed, you bury your nose in the petals, letting the scent surround you.
“another one? you’re absolutely ridiculous,” reads the next text you send him, along the photo.
A quiet laugh escapes you when his reply comes, perfectly timed to shut down your playful drama.
“You say that every time I do something normal.”
Lost for words at the gesture, you stand there for a long moment after that, alternating between smelling the two bouquets. But eventually, you have to put them in vases and get some stuff done, so you start moving through the apartment, letting the day start slowly around you.
In the bathroom, you turn on the sink to brush your teeth, and it’s only when you lean down to splash water onto your face that you spot a single rose resting neatly on the edge of the basin. It looks so intentionally placed in a space that usually holds nothing more romantic than toothpaste and forgotten hair ties. You just stare at it as the corners of your mouth are trying to pull up, but they can’t, because you still have that goofy grin from finding the second bouquet.
You pick up your phone, snap a photo, and send it off.
“you’re starting something.”
The reply is fast and full of that smug confidence you can practically hear.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You snort, shaking your head as you carefully move the rose aside. Of course, he’s pretending it’s nothing.
After your morning routine, you head back to the bedroom to get socks because the tile is too cold to walk barefoot all day. As you open the dresser and reach for a pair, your hand freezes mid-air.
Sukuna is truly a menace.
Another rose is waiting for you there, tucked right among the socks. This time, a bright laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, because, yes, the flowers are beautiful, but he knows you. He knows exactly which drawer you’d open, and where you’d go.
“Okay. This is getting out of hand.”
A moment later, you read: “What is?”
As the hours pass, you keep finding single roses all over the apartment. There’s one behind the TV, nestled beside the tangle of wires, sticking out for you to see when you walk by; one in the pocket of your favourite coat hanging by the door; one in the cupboard where you keep your tea; one resting on your laptop keyboard... Each time you stumble upon one, you send him a photo.
And each time, he answers with something so… him, you just fall in love all over again.
After the third one, you caption it, “I knew something was up,” just for him to reply in his usual unbothered style, “Mm.” What are you even supposed to do with that? It’s completely useless, yet perfectly him.
After the seventh one, your text says “i’m running out of place to put these”, and your husband has the nerve to respond with “Sounds like a you problem.”
But when you find the most outrageous one, you just can’t stop laughing.
“there's a rose sitting on top of my dirty laundry. explain yourself.”
You don’t have to wait long for his answer.
“I was curious how long it’d take you to notice.”
The phone nearly slips out of your hand as you shake your head in disbelief.
“i feel like that crosses some kind of line, Sukuna”
“But you found it, didn’t you? So clearly it worked.”
Sometimes you honestly want to strangle that man and bury his body in Toji’s backyard. It's just a fleeting thought, though, completely undermined by the fact that you haven't stopped smiling all morning.
-
Certain you found all of the roses he hid, you bury yourself in the blanket on the couch, reading a book. You’re two chapters in when the doorbell rings. It catches you completely off guard because you weren’t expecting anyone, and the deliveries came earlier.
When you open the door, no one is there. But you hear Satoru’s unmistakable, retreating laughter echoing wildly through the hall as he jumps into the elevator, waving frantically before the doors slide shut.
“Is he serious?” you mumble, laughing, as the elevator starts going down.
You’re about to run down the stairs because ringing the bell and running away is peak Gojo behaviour he’s been nurturing during your university years, but as your foot nudges something soft, you look down.
Another bouquet is waiting for you on the doormat. This one is different, full of dusty pink roses, and tucked into the wrapping is a folded piece of paper with slightly creased edges.
You quickly crouch down, your heart beating a little faster, and unfold it to see your husband's familiar handwriting.
Gotta make sure you keep your standards HIGH.
You laugh breathlessly, feeling a little undone at the same time, because he just used the biggest agent of chaos in your friends' group as a delivery boy for a dozen more roses.
That shouldn’t even be surprising. Since you two started dating, he’s been making these grand gestures randomly, only to immediately pretend it was nothing, completely normal.
Sukuna isn’t even here; he’s across the city in his garage, and yet he’s been choosing you all day. You’ve been smiling and laughing since morning, all thanks to him, all because of his ridiculous acts of affection. That sudden, overwhelming realisation of how loved you are makes you tear up completely.
You stand up, close the doors, pull out your phone, and take the selfie without trying to make it perfect. The massive, beautiful bouquet fills the frame; your cheeks are wet with tears, and still, the biggest, goofiest grin sits on your face.
“my standards have been sky high for years now. thank you for making sure i remember it. i love you so so much, Kuna”
You send it and lean back against the front door, quietly sobbing and laughing all at once, melting at this man and the gesture.
A moment later, a reply arrives.
“You’re being dramatic.”
Of course, that’s what he goes with. He’d rather deflect and lightly insult you than acknowledge that he just orchestrated half your day from across the city, dropped a fortune on flowers and bribed his most annoying friend to be a courier.
You snort softly, shaking your head, reading it the way he’d say it, flat and unbothered. Then, another message from him pops up.
“But yeah. I’m glad you liked it.”
That’s all.
It’s enough to tell you everything you need to know. You can picture him perfectly in the garage: sleeves rolled up, grease on his hands, checking his phone and trying to look bored, pretending it didn’t get to him when it absolutely did.
—-
Two hours later, you hear the key turning in the front door, followed by the familiar thud of it closing. You’re fumbling out of your blanket, leaving the book behind without even putting the bookmark in, ready to kiss him stupid for making your day this beautiful and for the rose scent that now completely fills the space. But he stops you before you can take two steps.
He doesn't say hello, doesn't ask how your day was, doesn't even acknowledge the roses that have taken over the apartment; instead, from behind his back, he pulls two orange nerf guns and tosses one to you. It’s a miracle you catch it without dropping it, considering how floored you are.
“You’ve got thirty seconds,” he says with one brow raised, way too calm for the chaos he’s about to unleash, but you can hear a hint of playful menace that tells you he’s been planning this since your morning texts. “Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight…”
You don’t think, you just move, darting across the living room, almost tripping over the edge of the rug, laughter bubbling up and spilling out of you as the absurdity of it all hits. Somehow, you’re not surprised that this is how the day ends, not with quiet music and candles, but with foam darts and absolute mayhem.
His voice carries easily through the apartment, teasing and amused all at once. “That’s five,” he calls out. “You’re wasting time.”
“Shut up,” you yell back, skidding around the corner into the bedroom.
You crouch behind the bed, clutching the orange toy, pretending this is a tactical decision and not a grown adult hiding from her husband with a toy gun, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.
The first dart zips past your head a second later, thudding harmlessly into the wall, and you shriek, half in surprise and half in pure delight. You pop up enough to fire back wildly in his direction, missing completely but laughing too hard to care.
“Gonna have to do better than that if you think you can destroy me," he drawls, and his voice just drips with amusement as he steps into view, filling the doorway with his shoulders, firing back with infuriating accuracy as he advances.
His eyes are locked on yours as you dart out from behind the bed and sprint past him, shoving at his arm with your free hand hard enough to make him stagger a step. You know he let you, though; trying to budge Sukuna when he doesn't want to move is like pushing a mountain.
You make it to the living room, diving behind the couch with a breathless giggle that turns into a full-on laugh when you hear his footsteps right behind you.
"Hiding already? Pathetic—come out and fight like you mean it, woman," he snarls playfully, popping up over the back of the couch to fire a dart that bounces off your elbow, making you squeal.
You retaliate with two quick shots, one hitting him square in the chest, the other grazing his thigh as he twists away with a mock growl.
"Ha! Take that—how's that for destruction?" you shout, scrambling to your feet and dashing towards the kitchen, using the island as cover while you reload awkwardly because your hands are shaking from adrenaline and laughter.
Sukuna’s pink hair is messy and sticking in every direction, and you catch yourself staring instead of firing as he rounds the corner. He doesn’t have similar issues, firing a barrage that has you ducking and weaving. He stalks closer with the gun raised, but his steps are slower now, teasing, giving you enough space to think you might escape before he blocks your path with his massive body and arms outstretched, trying corner you.
“Ready to surrender? Or do I have to pin you down and make you beg for mercy?" he drawls, and you fake left before bolting right, slipping under his arm with a triumphant squeak.
You fire blindly as you go, hitting him in the shoulder this time, then the chest, then somehow, impossibly, the side of his neck, each impact punctuated by your laughter and his increasingly dramatic complaints.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, backing up to reload. “I leave you alone for one afternoon, and this is how you behave?”
Then, finally, after a quick, desperate (and shaky) aim, the dart sails true, smacking him dead centre in the forehead, making his head snap back in exaggerated shock as he staggers dramatically.
"You little—you’re dead, brat,” Sukuna barks with a raw laugh, shaking his head to dislodge the dart, which clatters to the floor while he lunges forward, covering the distance in two strides. He catches you around the waist and hauls you upright against him with a laugh that vibrates against your back.
“You’re cheating,” you say, breathless and giddy, trying and failing to aim behind your shoulder as he wrestles the gun out of your hand, spinning you around so you’re face to face, both of you flushed and grinning.
“Skill issue.”
He plants a kiss on your temple to lower your guard before pulling back to fire point-blank into your side, and you shriek again, laughing so hard you can barely stand, swatting at him uselessly as he peppers you with shots until you’re clinging to his shirt for balance.
His nerf gun presses harmlessly against your ribs as he leans down, and his voice drops to that low, gravelly whisper that still sends shivers down your spine even in the middle of this chaos.
“Got you, angel. Admit it, you're done."
You wriggle free, only for him to immediately scoop you up and toss you over his shoulder like he does every time you’re drunk and he has to carry you home. This time is no different. You’re pounding weakly at his back, and tears of laughter are streaming down your face as he walks back to the living room.
"Put me down, you cheater—I was winning!" you protest between gasps, but he just smacks your ass and dumps you onto the couch. He looms over you with that smug, victorious grin, bracing one knee on the cushion beside you.
"Winning? Winning? In your dreams—you hit me twice, maybe three times, and that's only because I let you," Sukuna counters with mock indignation as he plucks a stray dart from his arm and flicks it at your nose, watching it bounce off harmlessly while you swat at him.
Both of you are breathless from laughter, deep in the chaos that’s become your shared language over the years, when he finally collapses beside you.
He’s taking up most of the couch as he pulls you into his side and traces idle patterns along your arm with his fingers while his other hand toys with a stray, crimson rose petal that's somehow caught in your hair.
"Tch, look at this mess—darts everywhere, flowers all over the damn place. You're turning me into a sap, woman, with your stupid morning texts and your scavenger hunts."
You nestle closer, resting your head against his chest, and you tilt your face up to meet his gaze.
"Me? You're the one who started this with the roses, Kuna—and don't think I didn't notice you letting me hit half those shots. What happened to making me beg for mercy?”
He snorts, and the low, rumbling sound vibrates through you both, then tips your chin up with two fingers, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb.
“Nah, brat—that was pure skill on your part. Mostly.”
“You’re such a dork.”