summary: your criminal boyfriend sukuna who absolutely rocks your world in the best way possible. now youâre in ur prison gf arc?
wc: uuhhh, 7k? i think..i yapped
cw: angsty, fluff, smut, mentions of guns, prison, drugs, etc. comfort at the end, pinky promise :3
you met ryomen sukuna through some mutuals. back when you were still smart. still cautious. some house party with peeling paint, shitty music. way too many bodies and way too many red solo cups.
you went with one of your girls yuki tsukumoâwell, got dragged along. she was pointing people out, talking fast, already tipsy. you were half listening, half not giving a fuck.
then she leaned in, whispered over the rim of her drink,
âand thatâs ryomen. donât. heâs like crazy. likeâjail time type shit.â
your ears perked up like a dog.
âjail time?â you asked. and then you saw him.
sitting on a shitty couch, red eyes. black tattoos on his face, crawling down the back of his neck, his arms, clearly all over. all ink and muscle and attitude. dragging a hand through a soft pink buzzcut, smoking a blunt. shirt half unbuttoned (thank fuck). tatted hands in his pockets like he could kill you or kiss you and youâd say thank you for both.
and to your surprise, he looked in your direction as you mindlessly walked to up him like youâd be shot by cupid. he smirked, looking you up and downâlike he already knew youâd walk over.
âyou lost?â his voice was low. rough. amused.
you shook your head. ânope.â sitting on his lap anyways.
and you swore it was just you being dumb. wanted a quick fuck, nothing more. you werenât actually gonna fall for him.
after the first time you met him, it started slow. drinks, texts, late nights that blurred into mornings. you never asked what he didânot really. he never volunteered it. but the cash came easy. so what the hell right?
âyou scared of me yet?â he asks you one night, voice low, fingers brushing your thigh while you sat in his lap, his gun cold against your lower back while it was tucked in his waist band.
you shake your head. âdunno, should i be?â
he grins. all teeth. ânah. iâd never hurt you.â and he meant it.
you always looked the other way when he left in the middle of the night. didnât feel the need ask why he always checked the blinds twice. why he had two phones. why he flinched when a black SUV passed too slow.
because sukunaâŠhe was surprisingly gentle. always held the door for you. always touched you like he meant it. he made you laugh when you didnât want to, made you feel like the only girl in the world. took you out and never let you pay. took you home and made you feel safe, somehow, even with a gun or two on the nightstand.
you know heâs not a good man. youâre not stupid.
but he just looks so goddamn fine when he leans against the hood of his car, blunt between his lips, black hoodie clinging to his frame. the kind of man people cross the street to avoid.
i mean come on, heâs a criminal. a real one. not some fake ass who shoplifts and smokes mids. sukuna moves product, handles money, kills when he has toâcold, smart, ruthless.
but with you? heâs just so soft. always puts his gun on the counter before dinner. keeps his voice low when youâre tired. kisses the inside of your wrist and tugs you into his lap when youâre mad at him. carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. rubs your feet without asking.
he kisses you so sweetly. calls you baby in that low voice like itâs a threat. you argue like you want to kill each other and fuck like youâre trying to bring each other back to life.
so when he comes home at night, blood on his clothes and that dead-calm look in his eye, and mutters, âneed you to say i was with you tonight,â
you donât ask. you just say: âyeah. course you were.â
and some months later, heâs still in your bed. still eating all of your snacks, washing your dishes sometimes, kissing your neck with a kind of possessiveness that should be a red flagâbut feels so green.
the thing is? he never lies to you. doesnât even try to.
âiâm not clean,â he says one night, tracing tattoos along your thigh while the tv plays something neither of you are watching. âi do bad shit. and iâm not gonna stop.â
you probably shouldâve left then. but instead, you kissed him.
and by the end of year one, youâre living in his apartmentâscratch that, your apartment, because his nameâs not on the lease. âcanât leave a paper trail, princess.â the place is cozy and yours. you got loud neighbors and a pitbull named akumaâbig, gray, dumb as hell, and completely obsessed with sukuna.
âheâs gonna be a little menace to society,â you said when he brought the puppy home.
sukuna just smirked, kneeling down, scratching behind the dogâs ears. âtakes after his dad.â
the three of you are like some fucked-up little family. your neighbors always side-eye you. your mom knows but chooses not to say anything anymore. and now your friends have stopped trying to talk you out of it.
and you stopped pretending you wanted out a loooong ass time ago.
fast forward to two years in: the fridge is covered in dumb polaroids. you brushing your teeth. him flipping off the camera. akuma in the middle, tongue out, wearing the stupid, gucci harness you swore was too expensive until sukuna said, âyeah, and?â and bought it anyway.
and now sukunaâs even got your name inked into the thick muscle of his forearm. right above those bold lines on his wrist.
âseriously? this isnât like sharpie or something?â youâd asked when he came home from the tattoo shop that day.
he just smirked. âdead serious.â
when akuma jumps into bed and crushes your legs and sukuna tells him to get off but doesnât mean it, when he presses his inked hand to your thigh while youâre watching a movie and says âgonna put a ring on it, you know that?â
one day, you see the red and blue lights flash by in a blur out the window when he comes running inside the apartmentâbreathlessâyou donât question him. idiot move but itâs because he always comes home. always throws his wallet and his keys on the counter and kisses your cheek like nothing happened. cooks dinner shirtless, muscles flexing while he flips the steak and washes his hands off in the sink.
you clean his knuckles. you patch his ribs. you kiss the crown of his head while he falls asleep on the couch with his arms around you and thatâs all that matters.
but you notice how heâs been on edge. more late nights. tighter grip on your waist when youâre out. more checking the windows. more guns on the table.
âyou trust me?â he asks later that night, voice low in the dark.
youâre in bed, curled against his side, tracing the black ink on his chest. akuma at your feet. his heartâs beating too fast.
you nod. âalways, kuna.â
he exhales, fingers brushing over your spine.
âthen no matter what happensâno matter who says what, or what you hearâyou remember that. alright?â
you look up at him. search his face. âbaby, whatâs going on?â
he doesnât answer. just kisses your forehead, holds you tighter.
a week goes by after that conversation. everything is almost perfect and then itâs not. it all happens so fast. itâs 2:26 a.m. quiet, maybe a little too quiet. then itâs not.
one minute youâre on the couch, hoodie on, legs tucked under you, sukunaâs head in your lap while a movie plays low in the background. heâs half-asleep, arm curled around your thigh, breathing slow likeâfor onceâheâs letting himself rest.
then a crash. your front door kicked in. boots pounding down the hall. shoutingâsharp, cold, barked like war commands.
âHANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!â
akuma is the first to reactâyour gray pittie, big and gentle and stupidly loyalâhowling, barking like heâs ready to kill. but there are too many of them. someone yells to grab the dog. you scream his name, but theyâve already got him by the collar, dragging him back while he thrashes and whines. red and blue lights flash across the walls. guns drawn.
youâre frozen, shaking, the room is spinning.
youâre still processingâstill trying to understand why there are rifles in your face. why theyâre screaming your name. why theyâre tearing through your drawers, your closet. why theyâre grabbing sukunaâs burner phone, the rolled cash, the duffel bags, the box under the bed he told you never to touch.
sukunaâs already standingâcalm. too calm. hands raised. jaw tight.
his gunâs on the coffee table. he doesnât move. he just looks at you.
âlisten to me. breathe. look at me. i told youâdonât forget, alright?â
youâre crying now. shaking. choking on air.
his eyesâsharp, red, unreadableâdonât move.
you lunge for him, but two officers grab you first and shove you against the wall. youâre screaming just trying to see him, but theyâre in the way, shouting over you.
âwaitâplease, donât hurt him!â you shake your head, blinking through tears, âhe didnâtâheâwhat the fuck is going on?!â
âryomen sukuna, youâre under arrest for organized crime, weapons trafficking, drug trafficking, assault with a deadly weaponââ
the words donât sound real and itâs not like you didnât know. you werenât stupid. you just loved him too much to say it out loud.
as they read him his rights. he doesnât flinch. doesnât blink. he lets them cuff himâwrists behind his back, shoulders loose. they slam him into the wall and he still turns to find you.
the cuffs are tight. your apartmentâs destroyed. your dog is howling like heâs mourning a death.
but sukuna just smiles. like this is nothing. like he knew it was coming. which in hindsight, he tried to warn you something was coming.
his eyes stay on you, even through the flashlight beams, the chaos.
âitâs okay, baby,â he says, soft, just for you. âdonât cry.â
âsukunaâplease, noââ
he keeps smiling. even as they start pulling him toward the door.
âiâll be alright. i promise.â
and just before the hallway swallows him, just before the sirens drown it all out.
âbaby,â he calls out again, louder this time. âlook at me.â
you do, through the blur of tears, you do.
heâs got a split lip from how they man handled him, bleeding. his arms tensed behind his back. his face still calm.
âdonât worry, yeah?â voice steady. âtheyâre just doing their job. iâll be fine.â
âb-but you promisedââ your voice breaks. âyou promised meââ
âi know.â he nods. and for the first time, the smile slips. just for a second. âi know, baby. iâm sorry.â
they drag him out towards the squad car. akumaâs losing itâthrashing against the grip on his collar, trying to follow him. you collapse to the floor, sobbing. akuma finally escapes from one of the officers and pushes his head into your side, whining like his heartâs breaking too.
as you look around, theyâre bagging everything. phones. files. guns. bricks. a woman in a black blazer reads off inventory like sheâs listing groceries. her voice is calm. efficient. it makes you want to scream.
while youâre left on the floorâsobbing, shaking, clutching your dog while your whole life gets zipped into evidence bags. and all you can hear is his voice, still yelling from outside:
âdonât fuckinâ touch my girl or my dogâyou hear me?!â
you stare past the officer crouched in front of you, not even hearing him anymoreâjust watching sukuna get shoved into the back of a squad car.
and just before the door slams, he shouts, âi love you, yâknow that? iâll come back.â
all that was left was the mumbling of officers as they raided your apartment. after that, they take you down to the station. they question you for hours but they donât have anything on you nor do they any info from you.
you were smart. loyal. quiet. just his girlfriend, just the love of his life. you didnât know a damn thing. you were with him on this day. and that day. you gave them alibis for everything they tried to pin on him.
never flinched. never snitched. you held the line.
and when they finally let you go, hours laterâbleary-eyed, fingers trembling, walking back into the wreckage of what used to be homeâakumaâs waiting by the door. his tail thumping, eyes wide, like he doesnât know how to stop looking for him.
couple months down the line, itâs his court date. itâd been painfully long. phone calls, visits here and there but it was finally time for his sentencing.
you had gotten there early. standing in a corner, speaking with his defense attorney.
but as the time passed, the courtroom felt cold and quiet in that fake, choking way.
youâre sitting stiff in the second row, all blackâtight dress, heavy coat, heels loud on the tile when you walked in. hands gripping the edge of the bench, white-knuckled as you waited.
your eyes lock on him the second he steps into the room.
sukuna walks in wearing shackles like theyâre fucking jewelry. orange jumpsuit unzipped just enough to show the ink crawling up his chest. wrists cuffed, ankles too, chain connecting them down the middle.
heâs smirking like this is a joke. like he already knows how it ends. then his eyes land on you. his girl.
âhey, baby. you look good.â
âshut the fuck up,â one of the guards snaps, yanking the chain forward.
you donât flinch. you donât even speak. you just watch him walk to his seat like he owns the place.
he sits back like itâs a poker game. his leg bouncing, smiling. those red eyes scan the room once, like heâs bored.
then it begins. and soon enough, the judge starts reading the charges.
violent, serious shit. none of it exaggerated even a little bit.
organized crime. trafficking. assault. illegal weapons.
which again, you know what he did. you knew before the cops ever did. meanwhile everyone in the room looks at him like a monster but not you.
you donât even blink when the jury says âguiltyâ after every charge and neither does he.
the judge ends the trial with his sentence, âtwenty-five years. eligible for parole in seven.â
the courtroom breathes in like it just took a punch. and sukuna? sukuna just laughs. real fucking loud, ugly and real. he throws his head back like heâs in on some joke no one else gets.
the judge bangs the gavel. some man yells at him to shut up and stop laughing, the guards move fast.
he just grins through all of it then turns his head toward you, mouth split in that same damn smirk.
âstill gonna write me, baby?â he calls, smug, voice booming off the walls.
you nod onceâsharp. you could care less who sees.
the guards haul him up, start dragging him toward the side door. he doesnât resist. just keeps smiling at you like he already knows youâll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. and heâs right.
the truth is, the charges couldâve been a hell of a lot worse. they had enough to bury him alive but you? you were a fucking godsend. every little lie was perfect. you lied through your goddamn teeth. all the fake alibis, timelines, pretending not to know what half the shit in your apartment wasâhad worked. even after they grilled you for hours. days. tried to shake you, to get you to break.
but you never gave them shit. you kept your voice steady, your story straight and your love for him ironclad.
and it worked. it couldâve been 40 years to life. it couldâve been no parole. it couldâve even been you, too. but here you areâstill free. heâs not. but heâs still yours.
and seven years later? heâs still yours.
sure, heâs missed holidays. birthdays. every new yearâs kiss. but every thursday at 3:00pm? youâre there.
youâre used to the routine now. first your ID, patdown, metal detector. pretty boring stuff.
at that point, you knew every guard by name.
youâve done this a hundred timesâplastic chairs, shitty vending machine coffee, body searches.
you donât care because the second he walks into the visitation room everything else fades out.
heâs bigger now. broader. face leaner, eyes sharperâdarker in a way that says time has passed, and prison doesnât change people so much as refine them. orange jumpsuit rolled to the waist, white tank clinging to his chest, black ink crawling up the back of his neck like smoke.
and that grinâdangerous. crooked. just for you.
âfuck, baby,â he drawls, sliding into the seat across from you. âyou get hotter every time i see you. is that a new lip gloss?â
you roll your eyes. âyou gonna flirt or ask how iâve been?â
he shrugs, smirking. âsame thing.â
still cocky. still loud. still him but the edges are tighter now. more controlled like every second without you has been simmering under his skin.
there were times youâd talk. about nothing. about everything. he tells you about prison like itâs high school drama. you tell him about bills, work, new TV shows, keeping the bed warm for him. he listens like every word matters. like youâre the only real thing in his world.
âare you wearing that chain i sent you?â he asks.
you tug it out from under your hoodieâa little silver bar with his name engraved.
his grin widens. âof course you are, donât know why i even asked.â
and sometimes, when the guards arenât looking, he leans in close. voice low, filthy, just for you:
âyou gonna let me fuck you in the conjugal trailer next month?â
âstill think about that pretty little body when i fall asleep.â
âiâm gonna come home and ruin you. you know that, right?â
you squeeze your thighs together. he sees. smirks. and of course the smug bastard is proud of himself.
and sometimes itâs quiet. just the sound of your fingers tapping on the metal table. he stares at your hands like they mean something.
âseven years,â he mutters. âand youâre still here.â
you shrug. âyouâd do it for me.â
he lifts a brow. âwould i?â
he laughsâlow, warm and real. âyeah,â he says. âyeah, i fuckinâ would.â
thereâs no kissing here. no touching past a handshake, a goodbye but the way he looks at you?
and one day, just as the guard calls time, just as he stands and stretches and leans in a little closer than heâs supposed toâ
he murmurs, voice quiet, steady. âmarry me when i get out.â
but heâs already turning away, that same old grin tugging at his mouth, shouting something crass to another inmate, hands cuffed behind his back.
the door slams shut behind him.
and youâre left sitting there, heart pounding, chain warm between your fingers, replaying those words in your head.
the next time you see him, he walks in wearing that ugly-ass orange jumpsuit as usual, smile already stretching across his face the second he sees you.
âlook at you,â he says, voice low and filthy despite the guards. âdressed all nice for your criminal boyfriend.â
you roll your eyes. âyou asked me to.â
âyeah. and you listened. you always doâ he leans in. âalways such a good girl for me.â
the tensionâs thick. his wrists are cuffed, but his eyes are on you like heâs already got his hands around your throat.
âheard the news?â he asks casually, voice like honey dipped in gasoline. âearly release. next month.â
your breath catches. âwait, are you serious?â
âmmhm.â he leans back, tongue flicking over his teeth. âgood behavior.â he grins. âjust for you.â
heâs been cleaning upâno fights, no smuggling, no stabbings in the yard, even though he wants to. because he wants to see you again. wants his hands on you. his mouth. wants you under him, not across the table.
âbeen thinkinâ about what Iâm gonna do to you first,â he says, voice lower now, eyes burning. âonce i get out.â
you swallow and shift in your seat. âare you gonna behave?â
he laughs. full-bodied, dark. âfuck no. iâm gonna ruin you.â
he leans forward, chained wrists clinking on the table, eyes locked on yours.
âiâve been locked up seven years, princess. do you know how much time iâve spent thinking about that sweet little body under mine?â
you feel your cheeks heat, but you donât look away.
âyou better be ready,â he says, voice rough now. ââcause iâm gonna spend the first night out fucking you like iâm tryna get sent right back.â
so thankfully, heâs the kind of inmate that runs the damn yard but keeps his nose clean just enough to qualify for early release. he did beat someoneâs ass in the showers last month for talking sideways about youâbut still managed to earn âgood behaviorâ by bribing the guards and running literacy programs like a deranged philanthropist.
next time you hear from him he calls you from the jail phone with that lazy, smug tone:
âtwo more weeks. then iâm home. you ready for that, princess?â
âdepends. are you gonna kill anyone again?â
âno, baby. iâm a changed man, pinky promise.â
a pause. âunless they touch you.â
but life as a prisonerâs girlfriend had been interesting to say the least. some your favorite memories though?
the video call visits. the video calls hit different.
you answer from the bed, in his hoodie that thankfully still smelled like him, all soft lighting and skin and love in your eyes.
the screen flickersâand there he is.
inmate #966666. your man. arms crossed, face lit by the shitty fluorescent light in the visiting block. buzzed short on the sides, salmon pink thick on top. face tattoos sharp even in pixelation. smirking. cocky. starved.
âthereâs my girl,â he rumbles, leaning in like heâs trying to reach through the screen. âlookinâ all cozy in our bed.â
you smile, soft. âmissed you today.â
he leans back, legs spread, grinning. âyeah? say it again.â
you roll your eyes, giggling. âmissed you.â
âmm,â he hums. âmissed you more, baby. howâs our place lookinâ? bought anything new for me to come home to?â
and you haveâso you flip the camera around, showing off the new record shelf, the little framed photo of you two from before, and the rug youâve been saving for.
âcanât wait for you to see it for real,â you say quietly. âcanât wait till you come home.â
his face softensâjust barely. eyes half-lidded.
âme neither, princess. every night i picture it. you. the apartment. our bed. my hands all over you again.â
you bring the camera back to yourself, and akuma sits up on the floor beside your bed, tail thumping.
sukuna lights up like a kid on christma.
the dog perks up at his voice, sniffs the screen, tail going harder.
âyo, come here, big man,â he coos. âyou takinâ care of my girl, huh? keepinâ her warm at night? âŠbetter not be sleepinâ on my fuckinâ pillow.â
you both laugh. but you already know when sukuna gets out, heâs picking that big soft baby up in his arms like itâs nothing, and probably crying into his fur when no oneâs looking.
and the letters? worth framing.
he sends them folded perfectly, sprayed with just a hint of your favorite cologne. immaculate. front-and-back, always. tight, clean handwriting. detailed as hellâhow heâs doing, what heâs thinking about. sweet shit like âwish i could hold you right now. need it bad.â and spicy shit like: âwanna fuck you face-down ass-up the minute Iâm out.â âwas dreaminâ about you last night. woke up hard. you owe me.â
one of his first letters had said:
hey baby, how are you? miss you real bad. i woke up thinkinâ about your laugh. that one that comes out when youâre tryinâ not to snort. i miss it. miss you. drawn your face from memory like four times now. donât tell nobody, theyâll say iâm gettinâ soft. been missing your smell. you smell like home. that sweet vanilla shit you always put on. i look at your pictures every night. even got one under my pillow. even when they toss my cell, i hide it like itâs fuckinâ contraband. youâre my peace. canât lose you princess.
then theyâd switch, just like that.
you know, i thought about that one night. you dancing in the kitchen, making soup, wearing those little shorts. you remember the ones? yeah. me too. thatâs why i wrote this with one hand. also last night i laid in this goddamn bunk and imagined the sound you make when you take your bra off after a long day. hard as a rock. youâre such a fuckinâ problem. do you still wear that lacey one i like? the one that barely holds anything? bet your titties are sittinâ real pretty in it right now. fuck me.
i miss how you say my name when youâre tired. i miss how you say it when youâre on top. i miss your thighs around my neck. i miss your mouth. i miss being inside you so deep you forget your own fuckinâ name.
but more than that? i miss watching you eat dinner across from me. i miss you bitchinâ about your coworkers. i miss your fingers in my hair when i canât sleep. i donât give a fuck how long it takes, youâre it for me.
and he always had a sketch tucked inside. sometimes itâs little thingsâyour side profile, your body. or sharp, shaded tattoosâones he designed for you. (something he did on the side when he was still a law abiding citizen). his name in kanji. a snake coiled around a katana surrounded by lilies.
this oneâs for your spine. wanna see it when i fuck you from behind.
then, right under that like he didnât just make you cry and wet at the same time:
âŠalso. take it easy at work. remember to eat. and kiss akuma for me. shit, also, can you put some extra on my books? tryna get you something for your birthday. donât ask what. itâs not a weapon, swear.
and you doâput money on his books, no hesitation. commissaryâs got nothing on you. heâs got honey buns, decent ramen, and the best soap on his block. your man is moisturized and fed. period.
and at the end of a long, loving, slightly filthy letter, he always signed in that perfect script: âryo. always yours.â
you kept every letter in a shoebox under your bed, every sketch on your corkboard. you read them on bad days. and good ones.
you always wrote back, tooâ keeping him updated with everything. little doodles, lipstick kisses on the envelope, spritz of perfume here and here. snuck in polaroids of you and akuma. even some spicy ones for his eyes only. always signed with âyour/name, always & forever <3.â
oh and those conjugal visits? they most deeeefinitely take the cake.
you had waited weeks for them, marked off in red hearts on the calendar.
you walk into that little cold-ass private trailer with a bag packedâcute pajamas, your favorite lotion, that perfume he likes. heâs already there when you arrive, looking like sin in his real clothes. not that orange jumpsuit heâs usually in. eyes glued to you the second you step in.
then he softens. just a little.
you stand. donât even say anything. just walk straight into his arms. he buries his face in your neck, breath catching like itâs the first inhale heâs had since they locked the door behind him.
âfuck,â he mutters. âyou smell good. gonna feel even better.â
his hands are everywhere. rough palms on your waist, your thighs, your ass. lips dragging over your skin like heâs starvedâand he is.
he grabs your waist fast, pulls you in for a kiss thatâs all tongue and teeth, rough like heâs been starving for you.
âgot something to show you,â you whisper, breathless already.
you turn around, pull your dress up, and tug the side of your thong down just enough to show himâ
small script. his name. right cheek. close to the curve of your hip.
he goes still. his hand on your ass, thumb dragging right over it. then he finally speaks.
ânah, what the fuck,â he laughs, eyes wide, voice shaking. âyou got my name tatted on you?â
you look back over your shoulder, smiling.
âbeen had it. waited to show you in person.â
his hands are now rubbing all over you, gripping that ass with both hands like itâs his last meal. but then, heâs got you onto the bed so fast the mattress groans. pulls your dress over your head and yanks your panties down. he stares like heâs looking at something holy.
âmissed this mouth,â he groans, spreading your legs, licking up your slick with a filthy moan. âmissed how fuckinâ sweet you are when youâre begginâ.â
you gasp, already squirming.
he fully buries face between your thighs, hands gripping your waist like heâs starving and hasnât had a real meal since he got locked up. moaning into your cunt, licking like itâs his last day alive.
âtaste like fuckinâ heaven,â he groans. âmissed this fuckinâ pussy so bad. missed how you sound when iâm inside you.â
after a two or three orgasms from his tongue and fingers, he finally fucks you. itâs deep, rough, desperate. your legs around his waist, your back arching off the mattress while he pounds into you like heâs making up for lost time. his tip hitting that sweet spot repeatedly in your pussy that makes your body take a fucking screenshot. teeth on your neck, fingers digging into your hips right below where his name is inked into your skin.
he just mutters filthy shit in your ear:
âyou got my name on you, and now youâre gonna take all of me.â
âgonna fuck you so good you dream about it âtil the next visit.â
then he flips you both, makes you ride him, sucking your tits while they bounce, eyes half-lidded.
âshiiiit, sweetheartâgonna fuck a baby into you in this nasty little room if youâre not careful,â he grits.
and you just moan louder, hands in his hair, riding the edge of pure bliss.
âmissed you,â you whisper, staring up at him, cradling his face.
he kisses you. hard. filthy. then soft.
he pulls away breathless. jaw slack, panting like a dog in heat.
âfuck, babyâcome on. gimme that shit. come all over my dick. show me how much you missed it.â
you do. messy. loud. milking him for all heâs got.
and he follows right after, hands gripping your ass so hard theyâre sure to leave bruises as he cums deep and desperate.
and when heâs done, he kisses your neck, arms wrapped around you.
âgonna marry you when i get out,â he whispers. âi swear.â
you both lie on the tiny mattress after some much needed TLC. tangled up, his head between your tits, your fingers in his hair. he traces your tattoo with his fingers.
âgonna take care of you right, when i get out,â he murmurs, voice rough. âno more bullshit.â
you kiss his jaw. whisper back. âi know.â
and when you left that day, sore and glowing, your man watched you walk away as the guards put the cuffs back on him, mouth curled into a grin, voice low like a promise:
âkeep my side of the bed warm, baby. iâm cominâ home. promise.â
and the day he gets out, youâre already there.
youâre standing by the gate before the sunâs even up. his hoodie on, necklace with his name around your neck. youâre trying to play it cool, but your hands wonât stop shaking.
and when that gate finally opened, when ryomen sukuna steps out, a free man, tattoos gleaming in the morning light, black tee hugging his chest, hair grown out just a little, grin already forming.
you donât even get a word out before he grabs you, spins you around like a goddamn princess. his hands firm on your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing, face buried in your neck.
âfuck, baby,â he breathes. âmissed you so fuckinâ bad.â
youâre laughing. crying a little. arms wrapped around his shoulders so tight it hurts.
he sets you down, but barely. just enough to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, and then he pulls back, still holding your face like itâs precious.
you blink. âfor what?â
âcourthouse. thirty minutes away. judgeâs on lunch break. said heâll squeeze us in.â
you blink again. âwait, the fuck? are youâyouâre serious?â
âsweetheart,â he says, already dragging you toward the car, âiâve been locked up seven fuckinâ years. iâm so serious.â
cut to an hour later: courthouse.
fluorescent lights. ugly tile. fake bouquet from the clerkâs desk in your hand. cheap rings in a little box you picked up from the nearest pawn shop on the way there. you didnât even have time to change. he didnât care. not even a little.
âyou look perfect,â he mutters, adjusting your hoodie like itâs designer couture. âiâm gonna wife you up in my hoodie. thatâs so hard.â
you roll your eyes. âyouâre such a dumbass.â
âyour dumbass now,â he grins emphasizing the your. âpermanently.â
you say your vows that came straight from the heart in a cheap government office, between a sleepy officiant and a laminated âno food or drinkâ sign.
but he looks at you like youâre in a white dress on a mountaintop.
he kisses your hand when he slides the ring on.
says ââbout fuckinâ time,â loud enough that the clerk snorts.
and when they say âyou may now kissââ
he doesnât wait. he pulls you in, kisses you like heâs trying to breathe through you. itâs deep and messy and a little bit desperate.
you giggle against his mouth.
he presses his forehead to yours, still grinning.
âmrs. ryomen fuckinâ sukuna,â he says proudly. âfinally.â
you walk out as husband and wife.
he pulls you in by the hips and kisses you again in the parking lot, hands low, grin wide.
âmade good on that promise, yeah?â
you decide not to do anything fancy. no champagne. no five-star dinner.
you celebrate the only way you know howâgreasy as hell.
just burgers and fries at that little place you used to talk about in letters and phone callsâthe one with the neon sign and checkered floors. sukuna orders double everything, and heâs across from you in sweats and an ankle monitor, eating like a man who forgot what real food tastes like.
he steals your fries when youâre not looking. you slap his hand.
he smirks. âmarried now, baby. my fries too.â
you share a milkshake. vanilla. extra whipped cream. two straws.
he stares at you across the table like he still doesnât believe youâre real.
âyou know i dreamed about this?â he says, voice rough from grease and emotion. âused to lay there and think about you, right across from me, doing this exact same shit.â
you smile. press your foot against his under the table.
âdream about the milkshake or me?â
he snorts. âboth. obviously.â
he takes your hand and kisses your ring finger, red eyes locked on yours and filled with so much love.
and when you finally drive homeâreal homeâhis legâs bouncing the whole way. you both get off the car and head up the steps and you unlock the front door.
âyou sure heâs not gonna bite me?â
you snort. âyouâre the one who taught him to go for the ankles.â
the apartment is quiet when you pull up. itâs familiar to him, but different. newer furniture. heâs seen it all in video calls but itâs different in person now. his shoes arenât by the door anymore, but everything elseâeverything youâis still here. still home.
he hesitates at the threshold. just for a second. like heâs afraid itâll vanish if he walks in. but thenâ
âAKUMA!â you call out, voice soft but firm.
and thereâs the sound of scrambling paws, claws on the hardwood, and then akumaâs thereâgray, stocky, a little older, but still full of love and joy.
the pitbull barrels into the room like heâs about to tear through the walls, skids to a stop, and freezes when he sees him.
sukuna kneels down, slow, whispering. ââŠyo.â
akuma just stares at firstâlike heâs short-circuiting. akuma sniffs the air. tail wags once. then again. and then he launches.
sukuna catches all 70 pounds of him like itâs nothing, falling back onto his ass with a grunt as akuma licks at his face like heâs trying to put seven years of love into one minute.
âfuckâokay, okayâgoddamnââ sukunaâs laughing, arms tight around the dogâs back, fingers gripping his fur like heâs afraid heâll disappear again.
akumaâs whining, tail a blur of chaos, body wriggling like he canât get close enough.
and sukunaâyour big, bad, tatted-up, ex-convict husband?
he fucking cries. silent at first. then not. (expected)
his shoulders were shaking, arms wrapped tight around the dog, forehead pressed to his fur.
you just watch from the doorway. hands over your mouth. heart splitting. he looks up at you, eyes wet.
âfuck, baby,â he says, voice cracking. âi didnât thinkâi didnât know ifââ
you kneel beside him. touch his back. âhe never stopped waiting,â you whisper. âneither did i.â
he pulls you both inâyou and akumaâhis whole world in his arms now. big, calloused hands around your waist. akuma draped across your laps like a living blanket.
you sit beside him. curl against his side.
âgod, y/n, youâfuckâiâŠ,â he whispers into akumaâs fur. âdidnât think iâd get to see you again.â
and for the first time in seven years, sukuna lets himself feel safe.
after you both settle in, itâs quiet now. real quiet. not prison quiet.
no locks clanking. no cell doors slamming. no count. no cold tile or shitty mattress. home quiet.
youâre both cleanâfresh from a hot shower, towel-dried hair, his hands all over you the entire time like he couldnât believe you were real. when he brushed his teeth, he kept making jokes about âfirst night as a free man, iâm getting minty for my wife.â
heâs got everything he dreamed about for the last seven years. sheets that smell like you. a real bed. a dim lamp in the corner next to a photo of you, him & akuma.
and youâstanding in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts and a look that says finally.
the ring glints on your finger in the dark. he exhales like heâs never really breathed before. he sits on the edge of the bed for a while. just stares at the wall.
you donât rush him. you know whatâs going on in that handsome head of his. this is the place he got arrested in. the same room they tore apart. same windows, same shadows.
âseven years,â he murmurs. âfirst night back in my bed.â
you walk over. slow. crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.
âour bed,â you whisper.
he swallows. hard. hands settling on your hips.
eyes drinking you in like he canât believe youâre real. like maybe heâs still dreaming in some concrete box.
âyouâre my wife,â he says, voice thick. âfuckinâ wife.â
you smile against his lips. âso make me feel like it.âand thatâs all it takes.
he kisses you hardâmouth desperate, like heâs catching up for all the years he couldnât. he pulls your shirt over your head, kisses the top of your chest first, then lower. his hands are everywhere. reverent. hungry. he grabs your thighs, flips you onto your back, crawls down between your legs like heâs starving.
he pulls your panties off with his teeth. kisses your inner thighs like heâs praying. then licks into you, slow and deep, groaning when your fingers tangle in his hair.
âsweetest fuckinâ thing,â he murmurs against your pussy. âmissed this taste every night. used to jerk off thinkinâ about this right here.â
he eats like heâs got time to worship. not rough. not rushed. justâŠgrateful. long licks, fingers curling inside, nose pressed to your clit until your thighs are shaking and your hips are grinding into his face.
âgo ahead, baby. be a good girl and come on my face. itâs your first night as my wife. i got shit to prove.â
you come hard. breathless. crying out his name.
and he doesnât stop. not until your thighs are twitching. not until heâs satisfied.
then he crawls back up, drags your mouth to his, lets you taste yourself on his lips.
âsit on it,â he rasps, voice wrecked. âwanna watch you ride me. wanna feel all of it.â
you straddle him, slow, sinking down onto his cock until youâre fullâso fucking full it steals your breath.
he moans, head tipping back, gripping your hips, watching every inch disappear.
âmy fuckinâ wife,â he breathes. âlook at you.â you move slow at first, hands on his chest, grinding your hips like youâve got nowhere else to be for the rest of your life.
heâs got his hands all over you. one on your waist, the other cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.
he fucks up into you, matching your pace, mouth dragging across your throat.
âseven fuckinâ years,â he pants. âyou know how many times i dreamed of this?â
youâre shaking now. gasping.
âshow me,â you whisper. âshow me how bad you wanted it.â
he flips you fastâso fastâlays you down on his bed for the first time in seven years, and fucks you deep, slow, deliberate. the room filled with the most obscene sounds. bed creaking, the sweet, wet squelch of your pussy and his balls slapping against your ass.
he kisses your fingers. your mouth. your ring.
âmine,â he whispers into your neck. âforever. mine.â
you come again. this time with his name in your mouth and his hand locked with yours.
he follows right afterâgroaning low, buried deep inside you, face pressed to your chest. (definitely pregnant after that)
you collapse on top of him. he wraps you up. presses kisses to your hair. just lays there, breathing with you, forehead to yours, thumb brushing your cheek.
âthank you,â he whispers. âfor waiting. for staying. for not giving up on me.â
no more grainy phone calls. no more visits. no more letters. just the two of you home with nothing between you but peace.
he rubs his hand over your back, voice soft.
âweâre good now, yeah?â
you nod, half-asleep. âmhm.â
âtold you iâd come back.â he whispers.
after that, it gets quiet again. except akumaâs snoring in the corner like a damn freight train. the doorâs locked. the cityâs asleep.
and youâre in bed, legs tangled with your husbandâs, skin warm from hours of sex and laughter and most of allârelief.
sukunaâs on his back, one arm around your waist, the other tucked behind his head.
heâs watching the ceiling like it owes him something, blinking slow, chest still rising a little too fast. like he canât quite believe any of this is real.
you lean over him, kiss the ink on his collarbone.
he smilesâlazy and smugâas usual.
âwhat?â you murmur, tracing a line down his stomach.
he glances at you, eyes half-lidded. âjust thinking.â
âoof, thatâs dangerous.â you tease.
he huffs a laugh. âyeah.â
you wait and then he says itâquiet, almost like a joke.
âremember the party?â
you blink. âthe one where we met. over some shitty, warm beer that toji picked up at the corner store?â
âmmhm.â he smirks, but softer now. âthe one where yuki told you not to talk to me.â
you laugh. full and real. ââdonât. heâs crazy, jail-time type shit.ââ
âand you came and sat on my lap anyway.â
âi meeean, you were hot.â you shrug.
âand youâre an idiot.â
you smile, curl into his side, cheek resting on his shoulder.
he presses a kiss to your forehead, knuckles brushing your bare spine.
âguess i should thank your dumbass friend,â he mutters, voice low, already fading into sleep. âsheâs the reason i met my wife. my ride or die.â
you smile and donât say anything. you just hold him tighter, like youâre afraid heâll disappear all over again.
two years in, then seven apart.
crime. then courtrooms. then shitty vending machine coffee. hundreds of letters and visits.
and now heâs here, tucked against your side, finally. fully.
yours in a way no one ever thought he should be.
you whisper, barely a breath. âguess youâre not so crazy after all, huh?â
he stirsâdoesnât open his eyesâbut he hears you and with a rough, half-asleep laugh, he mutters.
âstill fuckinâ crazy.â
then he kisses your shoulder, presses closer, and falls back asleep with his hand curled around your wedding ring.
youâre just starting to drift offâhis breathing slow against your skin, your fingers still tangled in his hairâwhen the mattress shifts with a heavy thud.
âno. absolutely the fuck notââ sukuna mumbles, voice hoarse.
akuma, in all his 70-pound glory, launched himself onto the bed. sprawling across both of you like heâs claiming his spot. head wedged on your stomach, paws kicking into sukunaâs ribs.
you laugh, half-asleep. âaw, kuuuna. baby, he missed you.â
sukuna sighs, glaring at the ceiling.
âseven years in prison, and i come home to my traitorous cockblockinâ dog.â
akuma lets out a loud sigh and promptly starts snoring. loud and obnoxious.
you kiss his little boxy head and then sukunaâs temple, still grinning.
sukuna grumbles something under his breathâbut his arm curls tighter around both of you.
and youâre pretty sure you heard him mutter the words, âthanksâŠwhoeverâs out there.â
:3 please check out my other works! hereâs the master list! <3
a/n: this was pretty long! been sitting on this for about a month now, hopefully you all enjoyed it! let me know if i should continue this or leave it as is! t
snowghoul
titsay
yousharknotpass
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
kaledo-art
