After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.
Everything was so much weird.
When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.
You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.
But the real shock came twenty minutes later.
The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.
You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.
"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.
You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.
"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.
Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.
When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.
"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"
You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."
The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.
"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.
"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.
"And do you know where you are right now?"
"A hospital?"
"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."
You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign
So you were married.
"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."
The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.
Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?
"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."
You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.
"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.
The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.
"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.
"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.
To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.
"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."
You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.
An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.
You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.
"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.
"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.
"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.
"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."
"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"
"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."
He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.
"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."
He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.
Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.
As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.
"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.
'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.
"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.
It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.
You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.
Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.
"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.
He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.
"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."
You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.
"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."
"Okay" you hummed softly.
His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."
You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.
"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"
His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.
"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.
He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.
"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"
"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"
"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.
"Why?"
"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."
You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."
The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.
"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."
"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.
"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.
Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."
A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.
Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.
Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.
When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.
And then, there was Sukuna.
Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.
To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.
He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much
His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.
At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.
The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.
Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"
"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.
"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.
"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."
The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"
You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."
You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.
"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.
"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."
You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.
"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.
The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.
As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.
Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.
Crash!
The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.
You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.
You froze.
Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.
Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.
You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.
Pink hair.
The backyard.
The jazz music.
The napkin.
A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.
The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.
"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.
You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.
But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.
As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.
"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.
Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.
Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.
"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."
Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.
"I fucking love you" he whispers
(not me me writing all night just for 36 like and one reblog😣🙏🏾)
GUYS our Natsu and Lucy got put on pause for seven years. All the other universes had those seven extra years that the main NaLu didn’t to get together. So they’re just playing catch up and they WILL be a couple within seven years. trust 🙏
Natsu Gray and Erza are siblings by blood, not because they share parents, but bc they've rubbed wounds so much while brawling that a dna-test would showcase a fire-ice-sword abomination
Like most shonen, Fairy Tail uses "my friends are my power" and has characters winning fights or obtaining powers because of their love for their friends
When you think about it, Fairy Tail actually justifies this
A recurring theme for different antagonists is that they seek the primordial magic to create a world they desire. Many villains chase after it and spout their own theory on what the true source is
After a few arcs, multiple characters, mainly Lucy and Mavis, think about what the primordial magic is and decide that it comes from love. Fairy Tail actually backs up this theory because the strongest magics are born from acts of love
Protecting people they cared about. Standing together when all else fails
Lucy showcases this the most. She summoned all of her spirits at once to show her resolve to save Loke. She summoned her third spirit and later the Celestial King in Tartaros because of how determined she was to save her loved ones. Her magic itself is fueled by love
In Erza's fight against Ikaruga, she overcame her opponent after resolving to connect to her loved ones more openly and found more strength
Gray's strength comes from the love Ur left behind for him before she died and that still carries him forward
Natsu, Wendy, and Gajeel's magic is a product of love too. Their adoptive parents all taught them that magic out of love
Mirajane and Elfman mastered their monstrous takeovers for the sake of family
Juvia's rain stopped because she found important bonds that allowed her to move forward
Of the Three Great Fairy magics, two of them are based on love. Fairy Sphere is fueled by it and Fairy Law attacks based on who the caster loves. Fairy Glitter was earned to protected loved ones
Love is the primordial magic of the world and the characters are at their strongest when love is their focus
just thinking about how everyones magic reflects their personalities so well. natsu’s fire corresponds with his ‘act before you think’ fiery behaviour, he’s loud and can sometimes be super overwhelming. gray’s ice reflects his ‘cool’ demeanour, especially towards the beginning of the show he acts like a very relaxed and nochanlant individual. iron has a hard exterior, but can be melted with time and patience, just like gajeel. lucy’s magic is seen to be very beautiful to the eye, flashing colours of gold representing her ‘beautiful inside and out’ personality. erza’s requip reflects her different personalities depending on her comfort level, sometimes she’s intimidating, others she’s calm and kind, others she’s shy, she’s constantly evolving depending on who she is spending her time with.
Liebling, komm und tanz mit mir den letzten Tanz ♪
#young-knight!varka x medic!reader ★ " varka finds himself unsure of the path he wants to take. lucky for him, you're there to give him the little boost needed to step forward. "
#tags-and-cw ★ younger varka (18 to very early 20s), he's a menace but also clearly lovesick, fem!reader, varka loves mondstadt (and you), reader is a tease LOL.
inspired by @/danijaci's fanart (linked at the bottom! pls check it out, it's amazing!) and varka's voicelines about his youth.
"i believe this is the fourth time this week, mr. knight."
varka brightens at the sound of your voice, head turning sharply to see you standing by the mahogany doors. just seeing your face rejuvenates him, and he finds the arrow lodged in his shoulder feel less and less painful by the second.
if he had a tail, it would be wagging right now.
"what? didn't miss me?" he laughs, watching as you step closer to the hospital bed he's currently sitting on.
there was a slight grimace on your face when you entered, one that quickly turned into a small placating smile.
but the smile does not alleviate the headache building at the back of your head. "not really, hard to miss when you're here nearly everyday." you sigh, moving forward to take a good luck at his injuries.
he winces when your gloved fingers touch the torn fabric, muscles twitching under his white shirt.
varka bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to groan from the pain.
"it's not too bad," you assess the damage, mind quickly conjuring ways to mend his injuries. it was a clean hit, and the tip barely went past the muscle tissue. "a few stitches and you'll be good as new. . . "
"only a few?" varka theatrically sighs, face inching closer to yours, "i was hoping to spend a little more time with the cathedral's best healer."
his face is unbelievably close now, nose nearly touching yours.
you find yourself drawn into the glacier-blue of his eyes, caught in their overwhelming brilliance — only to pull back just as quickly when you realize how little space remains between you.
they remind you of a cloudless sky.
with a slight flush on your cheeks, you turn your back to him, pretending that he hasn't gotten under your skin.
it's hard not to get affected, especially when it's varka — the infamous troublemaker of the knights, well-known menace of wolvendom, and grandmaster valentine's headache.
an a-list celebrity is at your clinic bed,
though it's more like a-list criminal.
"please maintain distance, sir knight." you say, keeping your voice steady as possible.
varka chuckles, "as you wish, miss healer."
his eyes follow you as you move around the small clinic, opening cupboards and gathering your tools.
he can’t help but wonder if you realize how lovely you look — how easy you make everything seem.
and more than that, he wonders if you’ll ever look at him and see more than just a patient.
you've always been so serious and professional with him, no matter how much he tries to tease your poor heart. it always ends with you forcefully throwing him out and him backing away with a sheepish grin.
occasionally, though, you slip up and show just how worried you are; there was a time he came in with several broken bones, and you had almost cried.
varka felt his heart ache seeing you like that.
your eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, lips formed to a frown while you bandaged him up. you didn't talk to him for a whole week, and during check-ups you barely showed any reaction to his usual jokes.
it was basically hell being stuck in a bed while other nuns took turns taking care of him.
varka vowed right then and there to never get that reckless again. not only did it hurt like hell but he also nearly withered without your attention.
"tell me, was it a hilichurl again?" you ask, pulling the wooden strolley with your tools towards him.
varka hums, looking up to the side as if thinking, "well. . . what if i told you it was a person this time?"
it wouldn't be surprising if it was. he had been forced to train young aspiring knights to sharpen his 'leadership skills' and if you remembered correctly, most of them were archers.
really bad ones.
"hang in there, you can go on as many adventures as you'd like after this." you let out a small laugh, watching his nose scrunch. a cute sight.
valentine had promised him, after all.
'go out and explore, young man.
a free wind like you shouldn't be tied to one nation only,
experience and learn as much as you can from the outside,
only then will you understand what it means to be a knight."
that was what the old man said, with that wide and warm grin of his. varka never really understood valentine's order, even now as he looks at you.
especially now that he looks at you.
"hey, miss healer," he speaks up, voice hesitant.
you continue to bandage his wound, not caring to look at him. it's probably another one of his awful pick-up lines, he always had something to talk about whenever he's with you. the boy acts as if no-one has talked to him in years sometimes.
"i'll be going away soon, y'know? like really far, and likely for a long time too." he starts, feeling his palms sweat, which he tries to hide by clutching the fabric of his trousers.
he continues after a moment, "i'll be gone next week, probably."
varka truly does not understand.
"it would be nice if we, uh—" he clears his throat, "hung out more. . . ? 'cause we never really do anything outside of you patching me up, well, not that i'm complaining of course—"
you try to stifle a laugh, watching him fumble with his words. never the type to be subtle, varka always marches forward, says whatever the hell he wants, then gets awkward when the consequences bite him in the ass.
"what use would that be?"
your question stuns him, brows furrowed down to a dismayed look. the brightness of his eyes slowly dims, making for a pathetic scene.
he bites his lip as he looks down, staring at the floor.
you decide not to beat him up too much, lest he actually starts crying in your clinic.
"i was merely jesting," you pat his uninjured shoulder.
he stays silent for a bit before letting out a small exhale.
"maybe you should leave the jokes to me, you suck at them."
"it was that bad, huh. . . "
"really bad, miss. downright awful, i'd say."
the two of you meet each other’s gaze, something mischievous flickering in both of your eyes —
before bursting into a cacophany of laughter, sound mixing into one.
your voice is one of varka's most treasured sounds, aside from the hymns and ballads of his homeland. he adores every small quip and whisper, revels in the way it feels like silk gliding through his ears.
which is why varka can't help but question valentine's words.
mondstadt has always been his home, it's not something varka can and ever will deny. the land contains everything he's ever loved, everything he will love, and most importantly —
it has you.
mondstadt has everything he could ever want and more. his dreams may be lofty and absurd but in the end, all of them take place in the land of anemo where freedom reigns true.
he could achieve all the glory and fame here, at home, where you and his family reside.
"you don't have to worry too much," you murmur, sitting beside him, "trust in the grandmaster's advice and do as he says."
varka simpers, "hah, that old coot never had anything good to say. he's probably trying to drive me away so i don't destroy the walls during training again. . . "
the young knight unceremoniously drops onto the bed, perching his head under his arms as he does. he's always been quick to forget the pain of his injuries, and not once did the discomfort show on his face.
"how surprising," you mumble, leaning on your palms as you look at him, "i thought you'd be more excited for this, you were always so hungry for adventure."
"he should just knight me already instead of makin' me run around places like a fool." he sighs, looking mournfully at the ceiling, "the whole thing feels like a carrot on a stick."
he glances at your curious eyes, and doubts himself even further, "maybe stayin' here ain't too bad."
your gaze hardens.
"absolutely not, sir knight."
"huh?"
varka looks at you with confusion, suddenly sitting up so he's face-to-face with your determined expression.
"you have to follow the grandmaster's words," you insist, pointing at him, "i'm serious, varka."
he immediately groans.
"you're saying the same thing frederica's been preaching," he scratches the back of his head in frustration, "follow his words this, follow his words that. . . !"
to be honest, you don't know much about knighthood and oaths. you certainly aren't a knight yourself, but you do know this: the young boy before you is a lost soul, a free soul but lost nonetheless.
varka, although seemingly driven, has never known where to put that endless ambition and unyielding will. undoubtedly, he has them, but never used it for anything other than reckless fighting.
after all, when given too much freedom, a bird can lose its purpose and forget how to truly fly.
you do not wish for varka to be a flightless bird.
and grandmaster valentine had talked with you beforehand to push varka further. seems even he knew about the young knight's hopeless pining over the cathedral's medic, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed.
"varka, why did you want to become a knight?"
it takes a while before he answers, and even when he does finally think of one, it comes out as unsure:
"i guess, hm, to gain fame? prove others wrong? and make my parents proud?"
"are you asking me or telling me?"
varka doesn't know how to answer that, so he stays quiet. though not for long before he opens his big mouth again, likely to say something stupid.
"at least go out with me before i leave."
stupid indeed.
you giggle at his defeated frame, "sure, sure, i owe you at least that much."
"when i finish this journey, will you still be here?"
so that's what he was worried about, it's almost childish to think about. but you suppose it's just like him to worry over nonsense.
did he think you'll go running with some other man as soon as he's out of the gates?
he looks at you with a pleading gaze, so clearly besotted it almost hurts to see. you don’t think he realizes it either, and you’re not about to be the one to point it out.
it was probably the reason people immediately knew of his feelings for you, other than his ramblings and everyday visit to the cathedral's clinic.
"i'm more concerned you'll find someone more interesting in your journey, it's a big world after all." you tease, studying the way he tries to defend himself with large hand gestures, nervously muttering how no one could ever match your brilliance.
he's way too fun to mess around with.
"—also nothing could ever beat home! there's nothing better than the wine of mondstadt and the songs of the taverns—"
you feel your heart melt, watching as he talks about home with so much adoration. he may be impulsive and stubborn, but his love remains steadfast and true.
you wonder if he realizes how much of that warmth he carries into you, too.
it lingers in every word, every softened glance, every quiet pause where his voice dips just slightly — like he’s holding something unbelievably precious.
and in that moment, you understand —
to him, home isn’t just a place,
but something he carries with him wherever he goes.
you let all your small worries flutter in the wind — every little thought in your head of him abandoning home in search of something larger — was put to rest.
grandmaster valentine was right to favor this boy, so you'll push him in the righ direction. even if it pains you to see him go.
"fret not, dear knight. just as you won't forget mondstadt, you too will forever endure in my memories."
varka seems to have lost all the usual wit at your sudden proclamation, he feels himself bristle as heat rushes to his face in mere seconds. his mouth gapes open while you smile knowingly at him.
he already knows he's done for.
"you can't just say stuff like that— miss, it's bad for my heart!"
you laugh in his face, and it makes his heart nearly leap out of his chest as you do.
in the coming months, varka will find himself staring at the general direction of his homeland.
although he hasn't grasped the true meaning of knighthood yet, varka still finds himself itching to return.
it's true that he's seen many amazing things on his expedition, and he's realized just how small mondstadt is compared to the never-ending snowy plains of snezhnaya or towering rock formations of liyue.
and yet —
the image of warm taverns, of laughter spilling into the night, of hymns carried by the wind. . . they remain rooted deep within the caverns of his heart.
he finds himself missing it more than he thought he ever could.
missing you, most of all.
there are nights where doubt creeps in, quiet and suffocating. when he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice — if leaving was a mistake he cannot undo.
he thinks of the warriors he’s crossed blades with, their strength, their precision, their experience.
and for the first time in a long while, varka questions himself.
questions whether he is worthy of even holding a sword.
whether he is strong enough to return not as the man who left, but as someone greater.
still, even with doubt gnawing at him, his gaze always drifts back to the same direction.
to mondstadt.
because no matter how far he travels, no matter how much he learns —
his heart has never once left home.
.
.
.
he can only hope that when he finally makes his way back into your warmth, it will be 'my dear knight' this time.
#word-count ☆ 2.3k probabaly?????
#it's-your-captain-ari-speaking ☆ i know i keep posting varka and im so sorry hes just been in my head 24/7 i truly do feel embarassed. . . feels like im clogging the tags with my unending thoughts agh!! also please look at the art linked below, its sosososos9 good and the main reason i stopped everything i was doing to write this.
also i think varka is like the biggest mond lover ever, his whole character revolves around his home and it makes me feel so giddy. i love him.
