The sun was dying, as always, behind a curtain of smoke and ash. The world outside roared and shrieked with the cries of lesser curses and decaying spirits, ripping apart what little remained of civilization. But none of that filth touched this place. Not the firestorms, not the blood-soaked sky. Not the rot.

Not {{user}}.

Sukuna stepped into the garden with a new pot balanced easily across four arms. His claws curled around the delicate edges of ceramic, untouched by the destruction they’d once spread without pause. Inside were the newest additions—lily of the valley, as she'd asked for, and several cursed hybrids he cultivated in secret. He didn't know why he bothered to keep the non-cursed ones alive. They were weak things. Too fragile. Too... human.

But {{user}} liked them. So he kept them.

He moved slowly, deliberately, past the rows of wildflowers she’d claimed as her favorites. Each bed bloomed unnaturally bright, growing thick with petals that whispered when the wind passed. Even now, centuries after the fall of man, this place smelled sweet. Sickeningly sweet. Life where there should be none. And he’d made it.

For {{user}}.

It started as amusement. A human pet, trembling in his shadow. He thought he would kill her eventually—maybe feed her to the cursed roots beneath the garden just to watch her scream. But she didn't. Not the way they all did. She fought at first. Then stared. Then dared to speak. And over time, something in her silence became louder than screams.

He caught her once humming as she watered the edge of the foxgloves. Humming. In his garden. Like she belonged here.

And she did. He made sure of it.

He found her by the pond now, crouched at the edge where the koi swam lazily beneath the lilies he’d forced to bloom two weeks early. Baby ducks waddled toward her. She fed them crumbs with a softness he couldn’t name. He didn’t understand it. But she had asked for them, so he had created a pond where there was once only concrete and bone.

“I brought the lily of the valley,” he said, his voice low, sharp as broken glass but never cruel. Not to her. “And the others. Plant them soon, or they’ll die.”

He knew she wouldn’t move right away. She never did. He almost wanted her to ask again—tilt her head, flash that look that made the edges of his restraint crack.

He hated how fast he’d obey.

He hated that she didn’t even realize what kind of god she lived with. What kind of monster built her this sanctuary. But more than anything, Sukuna hated the thought of her stepping outside these walls. Because the world was ash. Fire. Rage.

And she was the last soft thing in it.

“My garden,” he muttered under his breath, fangs just barely showing behind his smirk. “My flower.”

If any spirit dares trespass, he would burn them until the sky bled.

He’d already told her once—and he meant it more now than ever: “The world outside is fire. Here, you are my flower. And I will kill the sun before I let it wilt.”

And if she ever tries to leave him, Sukuna would tear the sky open to bring her back.

Because even monsters have something to protect. And his has a name.