[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
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@0utmymind
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
“…anything you fucking want, forever.”
୨୧ — Every damn morning like clockwork, 5:45 AM. Tiny fingers pry one of Sukuna’s eyelids open, a small face hovering inches from his own. Her hair still wild from sleep, cheeks flushed with excitement, "Papa! Wake up!" Small hands nudging him while clutching her pink brush and collection of scrunchies against her pjs, "Hair time!"
Sukuna clicked his tongue, a massive hand engulfing her tiny face as he gently pushed her back, "Go back to bed, brat."
"Nooooo!" She whined, pushing his hand off her face and climbing onto his broad back, "You promised!"
With a displeased groan, he rolls over, causing her to slide off his back with a delighted squeal. Sitting up while running a hand through his own disheveled hair, he looks at the brat he helped create with a scowl, "Gimme that," he grumbles, snatching the brush from her.
She scrambles into his lap, her small back pressed against his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. Sukuna couldn’t relate, it was early… too early, like always. He looks down at the top of her head and mutters under his breath, "She was supposed to be a boy..."
Propping yourself up on one elbow, you trace your fingers over his the tattoos that decorate his warm arm, "You say that every morning," you tease him softly.
"Because it's true every morning," he fires back, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Awkwardly, he begins working through her tangles, his calloused hands- hands that at times come home bloody, now trying to be gentle with his daughter's delicate scalp.
"Ooww! Papa!!! You're pulling!"
"Stay still then..." he grunts, trying again with more care, "Your hair's a damn mess." As he brushes through her strands, he couldn't help but think how absurd this was- he was Sukuna Ryomen, the fucking guy who’s got everyone pissing their pants in fear… The guy who was born out of bloodshed, who's never had a single care for the lives he's taken. How the hell did he end up with a little girl, a wife, and a home? … His eyes softened as they narrowed, how the hell did he find himself fearing for this tiny things future- the day she's old enough to be married off to a man like him…?
He’s grown soft…
But it doesn't mean he won't rip out the throat of any man who dares lay a finger on her...
You watch, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of Sukuna struggling, being utterly defeated by a five year old's bedhead, "Want me to take over-"
"No!" both father and daughter respond in unison, making you throw your hands up in surrender before they decide to kick you out of bed.
"I got this," Sukuna insists, his fingers, more accustomed to handling weapons and violence than hair accessories, fumbling with the thin strands. His brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to separate her hair into sections. How the fuck was he supposed to make three even parts again?
Your daughter looks over at you, wholesome pride in her eyes. This was their thing- this morning struggle that somehow means everything to both of them. Even if Sukuna doesn't admit it, he loves being the protective girl dad... enjoys feeling needed and special in this way.
You lean against his bare shoulder as you watch him separate her hair into three uneven sections, trying to remember how braiding works. The girl in his lap patiently waits with the biggest smile, offering encouraging words as if she's the adult coaching the child.
"Papa! Papa! Like this! Over not under, remember? You did it yesterday!"
"Yesterday I fucked it up too." he mumbles, starting over for a third time.
When he finally manages something resembling a braid, secured with her favorite sparkly leopard scrunchie, she hops off his lap to examine his work in the bathroom mirror. You take the opportunity to press a kiss to Sukuna’s shoulder, then his neck, then the corner of his mouth, "Looks like you're getting better~."
"Don't start what you can't finish," he warns, his voice dropping lower as he turns to catch your lips properly. His hand coming up to squeeze your cheek possessively.
Your daughter returns before you could respond, beaming despite the crooked, messy braid that's already coming undone at the bottom, "Perect! Thank you, Papa!"
Sukuna breaks away from you, looking down at her, at this tiny little being who fears nothing about him... not his size, not his tattoos, not how he puts the fear of god in her preschool teacher. She sees only her papa, the man who makes her burnt pancakes and braids her hair poorly.
The man who protects you- her mother, and would do anything for her. The man who would secretly die for her…
Placing his hand on the top of her head, he gives it a little ruffle, "Yeah kid... perfect."
Bestfriend!St0ner!Sukuna x f!Reader
MDNI, +18, 4.6k (not proofread)
*You didn’t take Sukuna to be one to beg.*
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Your friendship with Sukuna has always existed in this weird liminal space between platonic and something else entirely. You met sophomore year in a shared philosophy class—he sat behind you and spent the entire semester making sarcastic commentary about Kant that had you biting your lip to keep from laughing. By midterms, you were inseparable.
Now, senior year, you're practically attached at the hip. He crashes at your dorm more than his own, claiming your roommate is "less of a narc" about the smell of weed. Your Friday nights have a routine: he shows up around eight with whatever strain he's gotten his hands on that week, you order too much takeout, and you spend hours getting progressively more fucked up while watching terrible movies or playing video games.
The thing about Sukuna when he's high, though—he turns into the horniest motherfucker you've ever seen. It's like the weed flips something in his brain that removes whatever filter he usually has. He'll sprawl across your bed, all loose-limbed and heavy-lidded, and say the most obscene shit with that lazy smirk on his face.
"You know," he'd said last week, watching you through half-closed eyes as you took a hit, "you look really good when you do that. Makes me think about what else those lips could do."
You'd nearly choked on the smoke. "Shut up Kuna."
"What? I'm just saying." He'd stretched, his shirt riding up to show a strip of tattooed stomach. "You've got a great mouth, it's an objective observation."
It's always like that—comments about your body, suggestions that make heat pool in your stomach, touches that linger just a second too long. He'll play with your hair while you're both zoned out, his fingers trailing down your neck in a way that makes you shiver. He'll pull you against him on the couch, his hand resting on your thigh, thumb drawing absent circles that drive you insane.
But he never actually does anything. Never kisses you, never takes it further than teasing. It's like a game to him—see how flustered he can make you, how much he can get away with before you call him on it. And you never do, because some part of you loves the attention, loves the way he looks at you like he's thinking about devouring you whole.
You've gotten off to the thought of him more times than you can count, imagining what would happen if he ever stopped playing around and actually touched you the way his eyes promise he wants to.
Which is why losing this bet might be the best thing that's ever happened to you.
You never thought you'd see the day, Ryomen Sukuna—your best friend since sophomore year, the guy who's never lost a bet in his life—sits on the edge of your bed with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, and those sharp eyes burning with barely restrained irritation. He's still wearing that oversized band tee and sweatpants he showed up in for your usual smoke session, his pink hair messier than usual like he's been running his hands through it. All because Sukuna lost a bet.
"You're really going to hold me to this?" His voice is a low rumble, but there's amusement dancing in his tone, like he's already won something you don't know about yet.
You lean against your dresser, arms folded, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your heart is hammering against your ribs with anxiety and excitement. "A bet's a bet. You said so yourself—you never go back on your word, right? That's like, your whole thing." You made big exaggerated movements with your arms.
His upper lip curls into a sneer, revealing his canines—he'd gotten them filed to points all for a dare in junior year. "Oh, I keep my word. I'm just curious what you think you're actually going to do. You've been staring at that rope for ten minutes like it's going to bite you." He leans back on his palms, spreading his legs wider in a show of complete confidence. "Come on then. Show me what you've got. I could use a good laugh."
"Oh, I'm counting on you remembering this." You push off the dresser and walk toward him slowly, deliberately. You've fantasized about this—about having him at your mercy, finally doing something about your long time crush—you never actually thought it would happen. Sukuna doesn't lose. Except he did, spectacularly, trying to out-smoke you and failing to beat your Mario Kart time while high. And now he's here, and the possibilities make heat pool low in your belly. You've made yourself cum more than a dozen times thinking about this exact scenario in your head.
You stop directly in front of him, close enough that your knees almost touch his. Even sitting down, he's imposing—all lean muscle and coiled energy. The black tattoos across his arms and neck (done by some sketchy artist he swears by) seem to stand out more prominently against his flushed skin. "On the bed," you say simply. "On your back."
His eyes narrow, but that cocky smirk doesn't fade. "Wow, so commanding. What's next, you gonna tell me to say please?" He laughs, the sound low and mocking. "You really think you can handle this? I'm starting to think you're all talk."
"Now, Sukuna." You keep your voice steady, channeling a confidence you don't entirely feel. One wrong move and he could just laugh this off, call you crazy, and leave. But something in his expression—a flicker of dark curiosity in his crimson eyes—tells you he's intrigued despite himself.
For a long moment, he just stares at you, and you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stands and moves further into the bed, settling against your pillows with an expression that's equal parts annoyed and intrigued. The oversized band tee rides up slightly, revealing a strip of toned stomach and the band of his boxers peaking from how low his sweats hanged, your mouth waters.
"There. Happy?" He stretches his arms above his head lazily, like he's getting comfortable for a nap. "Go ahead, tie me up. Let's see how long it takes before you chicken out and untie me."
You pick up the rope you'd prepared—soft but strong, something you'd ordered online after he'd agreed to the bet. When you climb onto the bed beside him and reach for his wrist, his hand flips and catches yours instead, grip firm. He pulls you down so you're nose-to-nose with him, his breath, still faintly sweet from the edibles you'd shared earlier—hot against your lips.
"Last chance to back out," he hums, and there's a challenge in his voice, daring you to prove him wrong. "We both know you're not actually going to do anything crazy. You'll tie me up, get all flustered, and then let me go. I know you."
"I'll try," you whisper back.
His eyes flash, but he releases your wrist. You take it as the permission it is and begin binding his wrists to your headboard, acutely aware of how easily he could break free, he's stronger than you, always has been. The rope is symbolic more than anything else, he's allowing this, choosing to submit.
When you finish securing both wrists, you sit back and just look at him. He's spread out before you, still fully clothed but with his arms bound above his head, completely at your mercy. His jaw is clenched, and you can see the tension in every line of his body.
"So? What now?" He tilts his head, that infuriating smirk still in place. "You just gonna stare at me all night? I've seen you freeze up ordering pizza, so forgive me if I'm not exactly shaking with anticipation here."
"Almost," you murmur, running your hands up his thighs over the fabric of his sweatpants. Even through the material, you can feel the muscles jump under your touch. "I'm going to take my time with you."
You start with his shirt, sliding your hands underneath the hem to feel the hard planes of his stomach. His breath hitches slightly, and you smile. Slowly, you push the fabric up, revealing inch by inch of tattooed skin. His physique is devastating: abs that look carved from stone despite his diet of pizza and energy drinks, the black tattoos continuing across his torso in intricate patterns that you want to trace with your tongue.
"What, never seen a guy shirtless before?" His voice is still cocky, but there's a slight roughness to it now. "You're acting like—" He cuts off when you press a kiss just above his navel, and you feel the muscles contract sharply under your lips.
You continue pushing the shirt up, exposing his defined pectorals, his broad shoulders. The fabric bunches at his bound wrists, and when you finally pull it over his head just so you'd have a whole free canvas, his hair was even messier than before, breathing harder.
"There we go," you say softly, drinking in the sight of his bare torso. You've seen him shirtless before—pool parties, that one beach trip, countless times he's crashed at your place—but never like this, never with the knowledge that you're about to put your hands all over that body.
You trail your fingers down his chest, following the lines of his tattoos, and his jaw clenches. When you brush over his pierced nipples, his hips jerk involuntarily.
"Sensitive?" you tease.
"Fuck off," he grits out, but the cocky edge is starting to crack. "It's just—you're being weird about this."
You lean down and take one nipple into your mouth, sucking gently, and the sound he makes is absolutely worth it. You lavish attention on his chest, kissing and licking and biting, marking him, while your hands explore every inch of newly exposed skin. You spend minutes just on his chest, alternating between gentle touches and sharp bites, watching the way his body responds, the way his breathing becomes more ragged.
When you finally move lower, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, his whole body goes tense.
"Wait—" His voice is strained, and the cockiness is completely gone now, replaced by something that sounds almost like nervousness.
You pause, looking up at him. "Having second thoughts?"
"No, I just—" He breaks off, and you realize with delight that he's actually flustered. Sukuna, who never gets embarrassed about anything, is blushing. "Just do it already. Stop dragging this out."
You start pulling at his sweatpants, as you drag the fabric down his thighs, his cock springs free, already hard from you little teasing. Your breath catches. You've wondered, obviously, but seeing it is something else entirely. He's big, intimidating, and you feel heat pool between your legs.
You pull the sweatpants all the way off, dropping them on the floor, and sit back to admire your handiwork. Sukuna, completely naked and bound, spread out on your bed with his cock hardening further under your gaze. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his hands clenched into fists in the ropes, and the flush has spread down his neck to his chest.
"Okay, you—you made your point," he says, and his voice has lost all its earlier bravado. He's not looking at you anymore, staring at the ceiling instead. "You actually did it. Congratulations."
"Not yet," you say, settling between his legs. "But I'm getting there."
You start at his ankles, pressing kisses to the inside of each one, then slowly work your way up his calves. Your hands follow the path of your mouth, touching and exploring, taking your time. When you reach his knees, you pause to bite gently at the sensitive skin there, and his legs twitch.
"What are you—" His voice cracks slightly. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Exploring," you say simply, continuing your journey up his inner thighs. The skin here is softer, more sensitive, you alternating between feather-light touches and firm pressure. You can see his cock getting harder with each passing moment, can see the way his abs clench every time you get close to where he wants you. But you don't touch him there. Not yet.
Instead, you move to his hips, tracing the sharp lines of his hip bones with your tongue. You bite down on one side, hard enough to leave a mark, and he actually gasps. The sound goes straight to your core.
"Shit—okay, that's—" He's breathing hard now, pulling at the restraints. "Not playing around are you?"
"Nope." You blow a stream of cool air across his cock, watching it twitch and leak. "I want you desperate for me."
You continue your torment, kissing and licking everywhere except where he needs you most. You trace every tattoo on his torso with your tongue, bite at his ribs, suck marks into his skin that will last for days. Every time his hips thrust up seeking friction, you pull back, denying him.
"Okay—fuck—" he gasps, and the word sounds like it's been torn from him. "Just—just touch me already."
"I am touching you," you say innocently, running your nails lightly down his sides.
"You know what I mean." His voice is strained, almost breaking. "Stop fucking around."
You look up at him, taking in the sight of your usually cocky best friend completely undone. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his pupils are blown wide, and he's actually trembling slightly. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"Beg me properly," you say, "and maybe I'll consider it."
His eyes flash with something between anger and arousal. "I'm not—I don't beg. That's not—"
You wrap your hand around his cock without warning, and whatever he was going to say dissolves into a strangled moan. You stroke him once, twice, feeling the weight and heat of him, then let go completely.
"No—fuck—wait—" He actually whines, his hips bucking up into empty air. "You can't do that—"
"Beg," you repeat, firmer this time.
For a long moment, he just stares at you, jaw clenched, clearly processing the whole thing to himself. Then something in him breaks.
"Please," he says, voice rough and desperate, like the word physically hurts to say. "Please touch me. I need—fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this—I need your hands on me, your mouth, anything. Please."
"That's better." You reward him by leaning down and licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. The taste of him, salt and musk and pure Sukuna, a low groan leaving his lips.
You take just the head into your mouth, sucking gently, and his whole body goes rigid. You work him slowly, taking him deeper with each bob of your head, using your hand to stroke what you can't fit. He's big enough that you can't take him all the way, but you do your best, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue to drive him crazy.
"Shit—oh fuck—" His voice is wrecked, punctuated by gasps and groans. "How are you—that feels so fucking good—I didn't think you'd actually—"
You can feel him getting close, his thighs tensing, his cock pulsing in your mouth. His breathing becomes ragged, desperate, and you know he's right on the edge.
So you pull off completely.
"No—what—fuck—" He actually sounds anguished, his hips thrusting up desperately seeking your mouth again. "Why did you stop? I was so close—you can't just—"
"Because I'm not done playing with you yet." You sit back, watching him struggle against the restraints. His cock is flushed dark, leaking steadily, and you can see how badly he needs release.
You wait until his breathing calms slightly, until he's no longer right on the precipice, then lean down and take him in your mouth again. This time you're more aggressive, taking him deeper, faster, using your hand to twist around the base while your mouth works the head.
It takes less time to get him close this time. Within minutes he's gasping, his abs clenching rhythmically, his hands pulling at the ropes.
"I'm going to—please let me—I need to—don't stop this time, please don't stop—"
You pull off again.
"Fuck!" He actually shouts it this time, his whole body arching off the bed. "You can't keep doing this—I can't—this is torture—"
"You can," you say calmly, though your own arousal is making you ache. "And you will. Because you lost the bet, remember? I get to do whatever I want with you."
You watch him struggle, watch the desperation and frustration play across his face. His cock is so hard it looks painful, twitching against his stomach, leaving wet trails on his skin.
"Please," he begs, and there's no pride left in his voice now, just pure need. "Please let me come. I'll do anything. I was wrong, okay? I was wrong about you. Just please—"
"Anything?" You trail your fingers up his inner thigh, so close to where he needs you but not quite touching.
"Anything," he confirms desperately, his voice breaking. "Whatever- I'll never doubt shit you do just please—"
You take mercy on him and wrap your hand around his cock again, stroking firmly. He moans so loudly you're definitely going to get noise complaints, but you don't care. You work him with purpose now, your hand moving fast and tight, your thumb swiping over the sensitive head on each upstroke.
"That's it," you hum. "You're doing so well for me. So good, letting me play with you like this."
Your words seem to affect him as much as your touch. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry, and you can feel him getting close again.
This time, you don't stop.
"Let go. Show me how good I make you feel." You cooed and he does, with a shout that's probably going to wake your neighbors. His whole body goes rigid, his back arching off the bed as he comes harder than you've ever seen anyone come. Hot ropes of cum paint his stomach and chest, and you keep stroking him through it, milking every last drop from him.
When he finally stops pulsing, he collapses back against the pillows, chest heaving, looking absolutely wrecked. You think you're done, that you'll give him a moment to recover.
But then you remember—you're in charge here. And you're not quite satisfied yet.
Before he can fully catch his breath, you lean down and take his oversensitive cock back into your mouth.
His reaction is immediate and intense. "Wait—fuck—I can't—it's too much—what are you doing—"
You ignore his protests, sucking gently on the head while your hand continues to stroke him. He's still half-hard despite just coming, and you're determined to see just how far you can push him.
His voice breaks. "It's too sensitive—please—I just came—"
But his cock is already hardening again in your mouth, his body betraying his words. You work him slowly, carefully, knowing he's overstimulated but not letting up. Every touch makes him gasp and writhe, his legs trying to close but unable to with you between them.
"You can take it," you say, pulling off just long enough to speak before taking him deep again. "You're going to take everything I give you."
You're relentless now, using every trick you know to drive him crazy. You alternate between fast and slow, deep and shallow, adding your hand to stroke him while you focus on the head. His sounds are constant now—gasps and moans and broken pleas that only make you more determined.
It takes longer this time, his body fighting against the overstimulation even as it responds to your touch. But eventually, inevitably, you feel him getting close again. His thighs are trembling, his whole body covered in a sheet of sweat, and he's babbling incoherently.
"I can't—fuck—keep going—I'm going to—ah!—"
When he comes the second time, it's almost violent. His whole body convulses, pulling hard against the restraints, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a sob and a scream. There's less this time, but you swallow it down, continuing to suck gently until he's completely spent.
When you finally pull off, he's trembling all over. He looks completely destroyed, and the sight fills you with a satisfaction so deep it's almost frightening.
His hands try to reach for you, but the restraints pull taut, stopping him short. The realization crosses his face—he's still tied up, still completely at your mercy.
"Wait—" he starts, voice hoarse and wrecked, but you just smile.
"I'm not done with you yet."
"You're insane," he groans, but there's no real authority in his voice. He's still wrecked from what you did to him, still trembling slightly, and now the frustration of not being able to touch you is written all over his face. "I take back everything I said. You're fucking evil." But really he was enjoying every last bit of this. You slowly got off the bed, undressing yourself slowly, always making sure he was looking, which he happily did.
"I thought you liked when I teased you," you say innocently, getting on top of him now, grinding against him but not taking him inside. His cock slides through your folds, the head catching on your clit, and you both moan.
"I'm going to lose my fucking mind," he grits out, his hands clenching into fists above his head. "Please. Let me touch you. I need to touch you."
"Not yet," you murmur, and the sound he makes is almost anguished.
You reach between your bodies and position him at your entrance, then slowly—torturously slowly—sink down onto him.
The stretch is intense. He's big, bigger than anyone you've been with, and you have to take your time, working yourself down inch by inch. His whole body goes rigid beneath you, every muscle tense, and you can see him pulling against the restraints, desperate to grab you, to pull you down onto him faster.
"Shit—you're so tight—" His voice breaks. "So fucking perfect. Please let me—I need to touch you—I need to hold you—"
"No," you say simply, and when you finally take him all the way, you both pause, breathing hard. The feeling of being completely filled by him, of having him inside you while he's helpless beneath you, is intoxicating. You can feel him pulsing, can see the strain on his face as he fights against every instinct to thrust up into you.
"Move," he pleads, and there's nothing cocky left in his voice at all. "Please move."
You do, lifting yourself up slowly before sinking back down. The drag of him against your walls is exquisite, and you set a deliberate pace—slow and deep, making both of you feel every inch. You brace your hands on his chest for leverage, and his eyes are locked on where your bodies join, watching himself disappear inside you over and over.
"Faster," he begs, pulling hard against the ropes. "Please—let me—fuck—I need to touch you—I need to move—"
"I'm in charge, remember?" You lean down to bite at his jaw, and he actually whimpers. "I set the pace."
He growls in frustration, the sound raw and desperate. His hips buck up involuntarily, trying to drive deeper, but you lift yourself away, denying him.
"Stay still," you command, "or I'll stop completely."
"Okay—okay—I'll stay still—" he gasps, but he forces himself to go still, every muscle trembling with the effort of restraint. The way his cock twitches inside you tells you he loves it, even as he's going out of his mind with need. "Just don't stop. Please don't stop."
You continue your slow torture, rising and falling on him with full control, clenching around him occasionally just to hear him gasp. Your own need is building, the friction against your clit with each roll of your hips driving you higher. You speed up slightly, chasing your own pleasure now, using him exactly how you want.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough and strained. "Take what you need. Use me. Fuck—I wish I could see my hands on you—"
The desperation in his voice sends a spike of heat through you. You brace your hands on his chest and really start to move, riding him harder, faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with your gasps and his groans.
"Touch yourself," he demands, pulling against the restraints so hard you worry he might actually break them. "Please—I need to see it—"
You slide one hand down your body to circle your clit, and the added stimulation makes you cry out. Your rhythm falters, and he takes advantage, thrusting up into you.
"Yes—like that—" His eyes are wild, watching you pleasure yourself while riding him. "You look so fucking hot taking my cock—I can't believe this is happening—"
The dual sensation of being filled by him and stimulating yourself rapidly pushes you toward the edge. Your thighs are burning, your whole body covered in sweat, but you don't slow down. You're so close, chasing that peak—
"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice despite his own desperation. "You're clenching around me so tight. Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Please let me feel you come."
His words combined with your touch send you over. Your orgasm crashes through you, intense and overwhelming, and you throw your head back with a cry. Your body clamps down around him, pulsing rhythmically, and you hear him curse.
"Fuck—I'm going to—" He can barely get the words out, his whole body straining against the restraints. "Please—can I—can I come inside you—"
"Come," you gasp, still riding out your orgasm. "Come inside me."
That's all it takes. He thrusts up into you as much as he can while restrained, once, twice, then stills as he comes. You feel him pulsing inside you, filling you, and the sensation triggers another smaller wave of pleasure that makes you shudder.
When you finally still, both of you are trembling and gasping for air. You stay there for a long moment, feeling his heart hammering beneath your palms, watching the way his chest heaves with each breath.
"Untie me," he demands, and his voice is wrecked but there's an edge to it now. "Please. I need to touch you. I need—just untie me."
You consider making him wait longer, but the look in his eyes makes you reconsider. You reach up and slowly work the knots free, and the second his hands are released, they're on you.
He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you against him. His arms come around you, pulling you down to his chest, and for a moment he just holds you there, his face buried in your neck.
"You," he finally says, voice still wrecked, "are fucking evil. I thought I knew you. I had no idea you had that in you."
You laugh breathlessly against his skin. "You loved it."
He can't even deny it. Instead, he tilts your chin up and pulls you into a kiss—slower this time, deeper, but no less intense. When he finally breaks away, his grin is sharp despite his exhaustion.
"Next time," he says, his hands sliding possessively over your body, finally able to touch you the way he's been desperate to, "you're the one getting tied up. And I won't be nearly as nice as you were. I'm going to make you regret every second you made me beg."
The promise in his words sends a fresh wave of heat through you. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Both." His hands slide down to grip your ass possessively. "But first, I think I need to remind you exactly who you're dealing with. You caught me off guard once. It won't happen again."
His mouth crashes down on yours, and you realize that while you may have won the bet, the night is far from over.
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we love a sub sukuna once in a while:’] been trying to post this but it keeps bugging ugh
©sukuhands
The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe
first post but rs…
size kink but not how you think. hear me out, make it so the smaller one is absolutely destroying the bigger one.
Picture this, gn!reader seeing big subby man crying, whimpering, pleading for just a touch, kiss, graze…anything. Letting out a small, content whine when you pull his hair and coo at his sweet antics. His big puppy eyes glazed over, looking into yours with his silent pleas. His big face cradled in your smaller hands kissing and suckling at your fingers, drawled out whimpers and mewls encouraging you to push against his tongue harder.
“This what you want baby? You just needed my touch pretty slut? Show me just how desperately you need it.”
Ok mi done!! ;) lmk if mi should do moreee!
knew from a young age that i was weird and unfixable
man fuck ice if you think otherwise fuck you too
HES LITERALLY HIM I CANNOT DO THIS AHHHHH
@azoosepted i learnt that my main mii divorced off screen after making this cover in vocaloid as i was abt to make the music video. anyways here it is lol
I've been going through some old photos and videos on my phone, and I've found something that I've made right after watching Avatar the Way of Water for the first time
And I feel like I gotta share it with the world
He did the magic trick alright
thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3
I love this trend (on tik tok) lmao
Avatar: Fire and Ash Spoiler with no context
in so many situations i shouldve just acted fucking worse idc