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
sukuna should have known the silence from your chambers had been too perfect, too idyllic.
the king of curses had been called away for some bullshit impromptu meeting, some snivelling curses begging on their knees. what an utter waste of time, he mused, his shadow hulking behind him in the dim corridors.
he'd left you on your plush futon, assuming you had dozed off. that had been his first mistake.
for his wife was not in her chambers. you were in the hallway outside the receiving hall, and you certainly were not alone. those fussy old men, the lords jiro and kenji were standing there, their faces a mixture thunderous and painful disapproval, mingled with profound discomfort.
and between them, swaying gently on your feet, was you. his wife, his queen of curses.
your kimono was slightly askew, and your cheeks were clearly heated as you beamed sweetly. and in your hand, you clutched the delicate porcelain cap of his prized, asuka-period sake decanter. you were giggling, a loose and uninhibited sound that echoed in the solemn hallway.
". . . and then, he put my legs right over his big, strong shoulders," you were slurring to the utterly horrified worms, "and he just went to town! i was screamin' so loud, i think i saw my ancestors, bless their souls, am i right?"
sukuna moved. he crossed the space in three long, silent strides, a storm contained within the king of curses.
"his tongue is like, magic . . . you know? like a really talented little eel, although, i wouldn't say it's that little – heh, oh!" you continued, before a large, tattooed hand clamped over your mouth.
you squeaked in surprise, hazy eyes blinking up at him. the scent of high-quality, tragically wasted rice wine wafted from your robes.
lord jiro found his voice first, sputtering, "sukuna-sama! this . . . is indecency! this drunken harlot – "
sukuna's russet gaze snapped to him, and the old vermin's words died in his wizened throat. for the look in the eyes of the king of curses promised a slow, and deliciously painful death.
"get out of my sight," sukuna suggested mildly. it was not a suggestion.
without another word, the king of curses bent down, hooking an arm under his wife's knees, and hauling you up over his shoulder. that poor sake cap clattered to the floor, and sukuna tried not to wince.
"wheeeeeee!" you giggled, dangling down his backs, your soft hands patting his shoulder blades, "hello, husband. your ass looks nice from here!"
sukuna didn't respond. he simply turned, spinning away from the speechless elders, carrying his drunken, crude burden back towards their chambers, like a merchant's sack of rice.
"you're so strong," you mumbled into his back, voice muffled by his robes, "strong enough to fuck me through the wall . . . we should try that, bet those old idiots would hate the noise."
sukuna unceremoniously dumped you back onto the futon. and you landed with a soft oof! and immediately rolled onto your back, grinning up at him with glassy, unfocused eyes.
"you're mad," you declared, poking a finger in his direction, "you got that grumpy line right here." you tried to point between your own eyebrows, but missed spectacularly.
"you," sukuna said, his voice a low growl as he loomed over her, "got into my four-hundred year old sake. and then you described the specific workings of my . . . tongue to the clan elders."
your grin widened, "they probably needed the advice. their wives probably haven't cum since the day rice was first cultivated on the archipelago."
sukuna's mouth twitched, staring down at his ridiculous, tipsy, filthy-mouthed wife. the anger warred with a powerful, overwhelming surge of fondness that he would always deny.
you reached up, your movements clumsy, grabbing the font of his kimono, pulling him down, "don't be mad," you whispered, breath sweet with sake, "i'll make it up to you. i'll be your good girl. your real good girl. i'll suck your cock so good you'll forget your own name, ryomen."
sukuna sighed, ignoring the twitch of his dual-cocks beneath his robes. he captured your grabbing hands, pinning them gently to the futon on either side of your head. you blinked up at him, expression suddenly soft and so needy.
"no, little bird," he murmured, leaning down until his forehead rested against hers, "you are going to drink a flagon of water, and go to sleep."
you pouted, lower lip trembling in tragic disappointed, "but i wanna' be good for you . . ."
"you are," sukuna said, and surprisingly, he found that he meant it, "in your own impossible way." he kissed your forehead, tasting the faint hint of salt and perspiration on your skin, "now, sleep off all the wine you wasted, you dreadful little drunkard."
Good morning, dear,
Or rather, it would be, if my wife so much as looked in my direction this morning. Instead, I find myself writing to you like some forgotten soul behind enemy lines, using this means of communication as if I am but a mere stranger begging for a moment of your time. It is humiliating. Your refusal to hear your husband out is noted and begrudgingly endured but I forgive you (see? It is not so hard at all).
Please just answer your messages. We have a data plan for a reason.
Love, always,
Your Kento
Hello Kento,
I hope you are well.
Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.
Best wishes,
Your Wife
Hello to you too, sweetheart,
I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot.
What must I do, my love?
I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.
Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you.
Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?
And after all of that…
You walked past me.
Not a word.
Not even a glance.
You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’
That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover.
Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished.
But to leave without kissing me goodbye?
That, my love, was unconscionable.
A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together.
Yours, unwaveringly,
Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon
P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home.
P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.
Kento,
You infuriatingly adorable man.
All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst.
Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.
You have aggrieved me.
Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.
The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.
And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.
Lukewarm wishes,
Your Wife
P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish
P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.
My dearest,
I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.
Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure.
Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too— then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form.
Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth.
Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch.
As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart.
Your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully.
With all my love,
Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband
P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home.
P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silk, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.
Kento.
I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say...
The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm.
Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop.
Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and...
Moving on.
I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me.
But fine. F I N E.
You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;)
Love,
Your Wife
(Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.)
P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.
Dear YN and Nanami Kento,
I hope you are both well.
Do forgive me for intruding me but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.
I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.
Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay.’ I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees.
Do better.
Best wishes,
Ijichi Kiyotaka
P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?
Dear Kento,
Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me?
Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.
And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say.
Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and to catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.
Love,
Your wife
Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague,
You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room.
Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon.
You're welcome.
Worst wishes (to Ijichi),
Nanami Kento
And nothing but love (to my wife),
Ken
Ken,
You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk?
Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two.
Lust,
Your Wife
Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom,
This is what happens in the office?
Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy)
Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls
Stay sexy,
The Strongest
P.S. Can I watch? I’m kidding…unless?
an. a little spin on a christmas tale, i hope you guys like it. happy early christmas to those who celebrate <3
the north pole buzzed with a frenzy unlike any december before. the workshop, usually a well-oiled machine of holiday cheer, was on the brink of chaos. elves darted across the floor, their faces pale, their hands trembling as they struggled to stay productive amidst the rising tension.
toys had disappeared. not just a few, but sleighs worth of carefully crafted gifts, all set to be delivered to children across the world.
“gone,” whispered a senior elf, his voice trembling as he held up an empty inventory list. “every last one.”
“how could this happen?” another elf demanded, their voice sharp with fear. “no one gets past santa’s wards. no one.”
you worked silently, sorting a batch of unfinished trains, though your hands trembled as much as theirs. the tension in the room was suffocating, each whispered fear clawing at the edges of your composure.
you weren’t the most experienced elf—far from it—but even you could sense the weight of what had happened. christmas wasn’t just a season; it was magic, a promise of joy to the world. and without the toys, that magic would crumble.
“it’s him,” someone whispered behind you, their voice low and ominous. “krampus.”
the name hung in the air like a curse.
you’d heard the stories growing up, tales of a monstrous being who lived in the frozen expanse of the south pole. krampus, they said, was the shadow of christmas, a creature who thrived on misery and chaos. his four arms were said to be lined with claws, his horns sharp enough to pierce steel.
but no one believed the stories. not really.
until now.
the grand hall was quieter than you’d ever heard it.
rows of elves stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the towering christmas tree. despite the festive decorations, the atmosphere was heavy, the usual cheer replaced by unease.
santa stood at the head of the room, his crimson coat gleaming in the firelight. his sharp crimson eyes swept over the crowd, and the tension in the room seemed to deepen.
“this was no accident,” santa said, his voice cutting through the silence. “the toys have been stolen. and the wards around the north pole have been breached.”
a ripple of shock ran through the crowd.
“krampus has made his move,” santa continued. “and if we don’t act quickly, christmas will be ruined.”
the whispers began again, this time louder, more frantic.
“he’s real?” someone asked, their voice tinged with disbelief.
“of course he’s real,” another snapped. “who else could have done this?”
you stayed silent, your heart pounding as santa’s words sank in.
“we must retrieve the gifts,” santa said. “but the south pole is treacherous, and krampus is no ordinary foe. this will require courage—and skill.”
his gaze swept over the crowd again, lingering on the senior elves who avoided his eyes.
“who will go?”
the room fell silent.
your hands clenched into fists.
you could feel the weight of your fellow elves’ fear, their unwillingness to step forward. the journey would be dangerous, and the thought of facing krampus—the supposed monster of legend—was enough to send even the bravest elves into hiding.
but as the silence stretched on, something inside you stirred.
if no one else would act, then who would?
before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward.
“i’ll do it.”
the words rang out in the hall, louder than you’d expected.
all eyes turned to you, a mix of admiration, surprise, and doubt flickering in their gazes.
santa’s sharp gaze settled on you, his expression unreadable.
“you’re brave,” he said after a moment, his tone even. “but this will not be easy.”
“i can handle it,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady.
before santa could respond, the air changed.
a sudden chill swept through the hall, snuffing out the candles in an instant. the elves gasped, their breath visible in the freezing air.
the temperature plummeted, and an unnatural wind began to swirl, carrying with it a deep, mocking laugh.
“so this is the great north pole,” a voice boomed, the sound reverberating through the hall like thunder. it was smooth and resonant, laced with cruel amusement.
“weak, fragile, desperate,” the voice continued. “you send a mere elf to face me? is that the best you can do, kenjaku?”
the air seemed to pulse with the weight of the voice, a presence you could feel but not see.
you glanced at santa, your confusion growing. kenjaku? who was that?
“show yourself, krampus,” santa growled, his jaw tightening.
the voice laughed again, colder this time.
“you’d like that, wouldn’t you? but no, not yet,” krampus said, his tone dripping with mockery. “come to me, kenjaku. or are you too much of a coward to face what you stole?”
the words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
santa’s expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing.
“i’ll come,” he said finally, his voice tight with restrained anger.
the meeting ended in a flurry of nervous energy. elves whispered among themselves, their voices rising and falling like waves as they tried to make sense of what they’d just heard.
you stayed behind, packing supplies for the journey. the staff santa had given you—infused with ancient christmas magic—felt warm in your hands, a faint glow emanating from its carved surface.
“are you sure about this?” one of the senior elves asked, their voice hesitant as they approached you.
“i don’t have a choice,” you replied, your voice firm. “someone has to do it.”
they nodded, though their expression remained troubled. “be careful,” they said before turning to leave.
you glanced at santa, who stood by the fire, his gaze distant. his usual commanding presence felt… strained, as though the weight of krampus’s words had unsettled him.
you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story—something he wasn’t telling you.
but there was no time to dwell on it. the journey to the south pole awaited, and whatever lay ahead, you would face it head-on.
the journey to the south pole was grueling.
the snow felt sharper here, more like shards of glass than soft flakes. the bitter cold seemed to seep through every layer of clothing, chilling you to your bones. this wasn’t like the north pole—the light, the cheer, the magic. this place felt… wrong.
santa led the way, his crimson coat stark against the endless expanse of gray and white. the silence between you was heavy, broken only by the crunch of snow underfoot and the howling wind.
“are we close?” you asked, gripping your staff tightly as its faint glow pulsed in your hand.
“closer than i’d like,” santa replied, his tone clipped.
you frowned. his usual steady demeanor felt off. there was none of the quiet confidence you’d grown used to—just tension, coiled and sharp.
“what is this place?” you pressed, glancing at the jagged ice formations jutting out of the ground like broken glass.
“krampus’s domain,” santa said. “his influence twists the land. the closer we get, the more dangerous it becomes.”
a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
the attack came without warning.
the ground trembled beneath your feet, the snow cracking and shifting as shadowy figures emerged from the storm.
“what’s that?” you asked, panic rising in your chest.
“bandits,” santa said sharply, his hand tightening around his staff.
before you could respond, they were upon you. their movements were quick and unnatural, their jagged weapons carved from ice glinting in the dim light.
“stay close,” santa ordered.
you raised your staff, its glow flaring as the first bandit lunged toward you. the magic coursed through you, sending a pulse of energy that knocked them back.
but there were too many.
you swung the staff again, the force of the blow sending another bandit sprawling into the snow. but for every one you struck down, two more seemed to take their place.
a sharp blow to your side sent you stumbling, the staff slipping from your grasp. you fell to your knees, gasping for breath as pain radiated through your ribs.
“help me!” you shouted, turning to santa.
but he wasn’t there.
your heart sank as you scanned the storm, the wind tearing at your cloak. “santa!” you called again, desperation rising in your voice.
there was no answer.
the bandits closed in, their twisted faces leering down at you.
“still breathing, are you?”
the voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a hint of amusement.
you blinked, your vision blurry as the storm raged around you. a figure crouched beside you, his sharp features coming into focus as the wind whipped through his wild, pink hair.
“who…” you croaked, your voice barely audible.
“relax,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.
he leaned closer, his crimson eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made your heart stutter.
“bandits,” he muttered, glancing at the torn fabric of your cloak. “you’re lucky they didn’t finish the job.”
before you could respond, he slipped a thick cloak around your trembling form, his four arms moving with surprising gentleness.
“can you stand?” he asked.
you shook your head weakly, your body refusing to cooperate.
“figured as much,” he said with a faint smirk.
before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. the warmth of his skin seeped through the layers of fabric, and you found yourself leaning into him, unable to resist.
“who are you?” you asked weakly.
“someone who doesn’t leave people to die in the snow,” he replied dryly.
the warmth of his shelter was a shock after the brutal cold outside.
he set you down on a plush couch near the fire, his movements careful as he adjusted the blanket around your shoulders.
“drink this,” he said, handing you a steaming mug.
the spiced cider was rich and warm, flooding your senses with comfort. you sipped it cautiously, watching as he crouched beside you.
“what were you doing out there?” he asked, his crimson eyes sharp and searching.
you hesitated, glancing down at the mug in your hands. “you wouldn’t believe me if i told you.”
his lips curved into a faint smirk. “try me.”
you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “i came here with santa claus,” you began hesitantly, watching his reaction.
his eyes widened slightly, but not with disbelief. there was something else in his gaze—an intensity you couldn’t quite place, as if he were seeing you for the first time.
you felt the need to explain, to justify yourself. “i know it sounds ridiculous,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “but… santa claus is real. he exists for those who choose to believe in him.”
to your surprise, his expression softened. the smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, almost contemplative.
“and you believe,” he said, his tone calm.
“i do,” you admitted. “it’s not just about the toys or the magic. it’s about hope. about believing that even in the darkest times, there’s something good in the world.”
he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “a rare thing, these days,” he said quietly.
his reaction surprised you. instead of mockery, there was understanding in his gaze, a warmth that made your chest tighten.
“so, you’re here with him,” he said after a moment.
“yes,” you replied. “santa sent me to find krampus and retrieve the stolen gifts.”
his eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than felt natural. it wasn’t skepticism or anger—it was something deeper, more intense.
how could kenjaku have someone like you by his side? your quiet strength, your rare beauty, your unwavering belief in something so pure. the thought ignited something sharp and bitter in his chest.
you shifted under his gaze, mistaking his silence for doubt. “i know it sounds ridiculous,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “but i promise, it’s real. everything—santa, the north pole, the magic—it’s all real.”
“i don’t think it’s ridiculous,” he said, interrupting you gently.
you blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t?”
his lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “not at all,” he said, his voice low. “some things are worth believing in, even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand.”
his words lingered in the air between you, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed to fade into the background.
“you’re not what i expected,” he said finally, his voice softer now.
neither was he.
the storm outside had grown fiercer, the wind howling against the walls of the shelter as if the very land were angry. inside, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the room.
you watched your rescuer as he paced near the hearth, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. the tension in his movements was palpable, his four arms crossing and uncrossing as if he were fighting an internal battle.
“so,” he said, breaking the silence. “you came here with kenjaku.”
you frowned. “who?”
his gaze snapped to yours, sharp and incredulous. “kenjaku,” he repeated, his tone laced with disdain. “the man you call santa claus.”
your stomach twisted at his words, the weight of the name unfamiliar and wrong. “that’s not his name,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“it is,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “you’ve been lied to.”
you opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity in his gaze silenced you. there was no mockery, no smugness—only a simmering anger that made your breath catch.
“you don’t know, do you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, softer. “what he’s done.”
“what are you talking about?” you said, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed down on you.
he sighed, running a hand through his pink hair, his tattoos glowing faintly as his anger simmered just beneath the surface.
“centuries ago,” he began, his voice steady but edged with bitterness, “i was chosen to bear the mantle of santa claus. the magic of christmas—the ancient power that keeps this world in balance—was mine by right. but kenjaku didn’t think i was fit for the role. he wanted it for himself.”
you stared at him, your mind reeling as his words sank in.
“he used forbidden magic,” sukuna continued, his voice darkening, “to seal me here, in the south pole. he took everything from me—my title, my power, my purpose—and left me to rot in this frozen wasteland.”
the crackle of the fire was the only sound as his words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
“and now he sends you,” he said, his gaze narrowing. “to clean up his mess.”
“that’s not true,” you said, though your voice wavered. “he wouldn’t…”
“wouldn’t he?” sukuna interrupted, stepping closer. “then tell me, where is he now? why did he leave you to die?”
the question hit like a blow, the memory of the bandits and kenjaku’s disappearance flashing in your mind.
“maybe he had no choice,” you said weakly, though even you didn’t believe the words.
sukuna snorted, his expression twisting into a bitter smile. “you’re too kind for your own good.”
you looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear.
“you still don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “he’s been using you. just like he uses everyone else.”
the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the silence.
sukuna stiffened, his tattoos glowing brighter as he turned toward the door. his crimson eyes burned with anger, his four arms flexing as he prepared for what was coming.
“stay here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
before you could respond, the door burst open, a gust of icy wind swirling into the room.
and there, standing in the doorway, was kenjaku—santa claus.
“so this is where you’ve been hiding,” kenjaku said, his voice smooth, almost amused.
sukuna’s growl rumbled through the room like distant thunder. “you’ve got some nerve showing your face here.”
kenjaku stepped inside, his crimson coat gleaming in the firelight. his gaze swept over the room, lingering on you for a moment before returning to sukuna.
“you always were dramatic,” kenjaku said, his tone sharp.
“and you always were a liar,” sukuna shot back, his voice venomous.
you stood frozen, your heart pounding as the tension between them crackled like static electricity.
“why did you leave me?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the standoff.
kenjaku’s gaze softened, though there was something calculating in his expression. “i had no choice,” he said smoothly. “the bandits were too many. if i’d stayed, we both would have died.”
“that’s bullshit,” sukuna spat, stepping forward. “you left her because she wasn’t worth the effort to you.”
“don’t listen to him,” kenjaku said, his voice soothing as he turned to you. “he’s krampus. he’s the reason we’re in this mess.”
“and you’re the reason she almost died,” sukuna growled, his voice low and dangerous.
kenjaku ignored him, his focus entirely on you. “he’s manipulating you,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “he wants you to trust him so he can use you against me.”
you hesitated, your gaze flickering between them.
“don’t listen to him,” sukuna said, his eyes burning as he looked at you. “you know the truth.”
you took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.
“you left me to die,” you said to kenjaku, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. “he didn’t.”
kenjaku’s expression faltered, the first crack in his calm facade.
“you don’t understand,” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.
raising your staff, you stepped closer to sukuna, the magic within it surging as you made your choice.
“she’s not yours to manipulate,” sukuna snarled, stepping in front of you as kenjaku’s face twisted in rage.
the fight was chaos.
magic crackled through the air, the room trembling as sukuna and kenjaku clashed. sukuna moved with raw power, his four arms striking with precision as his tattoos glowed with unrestrained energy. kenjaku countered with sharp, calculated attacks, his crimson coat billowing around him as he fought with a ruthless efficiency.
you held your ground, the staff in your hands glowing as you channeled your own magic. when kenjaku’s attacks threatened to overwhelm sukuna, you stepped in, the power of the north pole surging through you as you deflected the blows.
“stay out of this!” kenjaku snapped, his voice rising in frustration.
“no,” you said firmly, your gaze steady. “i’m done following your orders.”
sukuna smirked, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to kenjaku. “looks like you’ve lost your grip,” he taunted.
kenjaku roared, his attacks growing wilder, more desperate. but together, you and sukuna were unstoppable—a force that even the self-proclaimed santa couldn’t overcome.
the clash reached its peak with a deafening explosion of magic. sparks of crimson and gold danced through the air as sukuna’s raw power collided with kenjaku’s calculated strikes. the very walls of the shelter trembled under the weight of their battle, cracks snaking along the icy structure.
you gripped the staff tightly, its glow steady in your hands as you prepared to deflect another attack aimed at sukuna.
“is that all you’ve got?” sukuna snarled, his four arms moving with devastating precision as he sent a powerful strike toward kenjaku.
kenjaku staggered, his crimson coat scorched and torn, his sharp features twisted in frustration. his usual smug confidence had begun to falter, his attacks growing more desperate.
“this isn’t over,” kenjaku hissed, his voice laced with venom as he stepped back, his hands crackling with dark magic.
“oh, it is,” sukuna growled, his tattoos glowing brighter as he advanced. “you’re done hiding behind lies, kenjaku.”
you stepped forward, raising your staff. the magic within it surged, intertwining with sukuna’s energy as you sent a pulse of light toward kenjaku.
he barely had time to deflect it before sukuna was upon him, his fists slamming into kenjaku’s barrier with enough force to shatter it. the power of the strike sent kenjaku flying backward, crashing into the icy wall with a thunderous crack.
kenjaku struggled to rise, his movements slow and unsteady. his crimson eyes burned with rage as he glared at you and sukuna.
“you think this changes anything?” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “you think you can take my place?”
“it was never your place to begin with,” sukuna said coldly, stepping forward.
you watched as sukuna loomed over kenjaku, his presence dominating the room. for a moment, you thought he might strike the final blow, but instead, he stepped back, his crimson eyes narrowing.
“you’re not worth it,” sukuna said, his voice low and sharp. “but you’re finished. you’ll never hold the mantle again.”
with a flick of his hand, sukuna unleashed a burst of energy that sent kenjaku hurtling out of the shelter and into the storm. the force of it was so immense that the very air seemed to ripple, the storm outside swallowing kenjaku whole.
silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
you lowered the staff, your hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.
“is it over?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
sukuna turned to you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “it’s over,” he said, his voice steady.
the tension in your chest eased, and you sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over you.
sukuna moved to the hearth, his four arms lowering as the glow of his tattoos dimmed. he leaned against the wall, his crimson eyes watching you closely.
“you fought well,” he said after a moment, his tone quiet.
“so did you,” you replied, offering him a small, tired smile.
his lips twitched into a faint smirk, though there was a warmth in his gaze that made your cheeks flush.
the journey back to the north pole was a blur of ice and wind, but this time, you weren’t alone.
sukuna walked beside you, his presence steady and protective. he carried the stolen gifts in a large sack slung over his shoulder, his four arms making the burden look effortless.
when you finally crossed the threshold of the north pole, the light and magic of the workshop washed over you like a wave. elves gathered in the grand hall, their faces alight with relief and joy as they saw the gifts restored.
but their excitement faltered when they saw sukuna. whispers rippled through the crowd, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.
“it’s okay,” you said, stepping forward. “he’s not our enemy.”
santa’s empty throne loomed at the head of the room, and sukuna’s gaze lingered on it, his expression unreadable.
“it’s yours now,” you said softly, your voice carrying only to him.
he glanced at you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “you think they’ll accept me?”
“they will,” you said, your voice firm. “because they’ll see what i see.”
his lips curved into a faint smile, and he stepped forward, his presence commanding as he approached the throne.
when he sat, the air seemed to shift, the ancient magic of christmas surging through the hall. the elves stared in awe as the throne’s glow brightened, its magic recognizing sukuna as the rightful santa.
the days that followed were a whirlwind of activity as christmas was saved and the gifts delivered. but when it was all over, and the workshop quieted for the long rest of the year, sukuna sought you out.
he found you in the quiet of your room, the glow of the north pole’s lights filtering through the window.
“come with me,” he said, his voice low and inviting.
you followed him without hesitation, his presence drawing you in like a magnet. he led you to his chambers—his now, as the new santa. the room was warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.
“you saved me,” he said, turning to face you. his crimson eyes softened, his tattoos glowing faintly in the dim light. “you trusted me when no one else would.”
“you deserved it,” you said quietly.
he stepped closer, his four arms wrapping around you as his lips curved into a smirk. “and now, i intend to thank you properly.”
the air between you seemed to hum with energy, his gaze locking onto yours as the distance between you disappeared.
his chambers were steeped in a heavy, intoxicating warmth, the flickering firelight reflecting off the deep crimson furnishings and casting shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the room. the air itself felt alive, humming with a raw energy that matched the man standing before you.
sukuna leaned casually against the ornate four-poster bed, his broad shoulders and muscular arms giving the impression of effortless power. his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that pinned you in place, their sharpness softened only slightly by the faint curl of his lips.
“you don’t need to stand there like a nervous little rabbit,” he said, his voice low and teasing, a delicious rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “come here.”
the way he said it—smooth and commanding, with a promise of something that made your stomach flutter—left you no choice but to obey.
you stepped closer, your heart pounding with each step, until you were standing in front of him.
“you saved christmas,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours as his four arms moved to surround you. the first hand slid to your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing, while another rested gently on the small of your back, pulling you closer. “and more than that… you saved me.”
“i didn’t do it alone,” you replied, your voice a whisper under the weight of his attention.
he tilted his head, strands of soft pink hair falling into his face as his smirk widened. his thumb traced lazily over your cheek, the pad of it brushing just beneath your lips, lingering like he was daring you to take a bite. “always so modest,” he murmured, voice like velvet dragged over steel. “but tonight isn’t about me. it’s about you.”
his words settled low in your stomach, molten and heavy, and before you could think to reply, his lips were on yours.
the kiss wasn’t gentle. sukuna didn’t ask—he took. his mouth moved over yours with a slow, deliberate hunger that left no room for hesitation. his tongue brushed against your bottom lip before sliding inside, tasting you, claiming you with a heat that left you lightheaded.
his hands—strong, calloused, and just the right amount of rough—moved without direction, as if instinct alone drove them. one slid up the bare skin of your back, tugging you against him until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. another drifted lower, fingers curving to squeeze your thigh, pulling it higher against his hip.
the third tangled into your hair, twisting at the roots with just enough pressure to make you whimper against his mouth. the way he touched you—too many hands, too much strength—left you dizzy and burning.
“fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, giving it a playful tug before releasing you. his voice was husky, breath ragged, but his smirk never faded. “already trembling?”
“maybe you should do something about it,” you shot back, though your voice barely rose above a whisper.
his gaze flicked over you, crimson eyes glinting with something darker.
“oh, i intend to.”
before you could react, sukuna swept you up—two hands beneath your thighs, one cradling your back, the last trailing teasingly down your spine. he carried you toward the bed like you weighed nothing, the heat of his body seeping through every layer between you.
when he dropped you onto the plush sheets, he hovered at the edge of the bed, gaze raking over you with the kind of attention that left your skin flushed.
“strip.”
the single word hung heavy in the air, rasping low and deep, more command than request.
your fingers trembled as you pulled at the fabric, peeling away each layer under his watchful eyes.
by the time the last piece fell to the floor, sukuna knelt between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart with an ease that made your breath catch.
“look at you,” he murmured, his pink hair falling over his forehead as his gaze darkened. thick fingers traced a slow path along the soft skin of your inner thigh, rough fingertips catching on each sensitive dip. “all spread out for me.”
his breath was hot as he lowered his head, lips brushing feather-light kisses over the inside of your legs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
when he finally reached your center, he paused—close enough for you to feel the soft puff of his exhale, but not enough to satisfy the ache blooming between your thighs.
“mine,” he growled, voice vibrating against your skin.
and then his mouth was on you.
his tongue traced a slow, deliberate line from your entrance to your clit, flicking over the sensitive nub with a precision that left your head spinning.
you gasped, fingers flying to his hair, tugging hard at the strands of pink that curled between your knuckles.
he groaned into you, the vibration of his voice sending another jolt straight through your core.
“so fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, the words muffled by the slick heat of his mouth.
his tongue lapped at you in slow, torturous circles, switching between soft flicks and hard strokes that left your thighs trembling.
when his finger pressed into you—thick and unrelenting—you couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out.
his crimson eyes flicked up, locking onto yours. “louder,” he commanded, curling his finger inside you until he found that spot that made your hips jerk.
“sukuna,” you gasped, nails digging into his scalp.
his smirk widened against you, but he didn’t relent. another finger joined the first, stretching you just enough to make your toes curl.
“that’s it,” he purred, dragging his tongue over your clit with every pulse of his fingers. “say my name again.”
your breath hitched as heat coiled low in your belly, winding tighter with each stroke.
“sukuna,” you whimpered, body arching into his touch as the pressure inside you built to the edge.
“good girl.”
his tongue moved faster, fingers thrusting deeper until the coil snapped, pleasure flooding your senses so sharply that you swore you saw white.
you writhed beneath him, body trembling with each wave of release, but sukuna didn’t stop. his mouth and hands dragged you through the aftershocks, prolonging the heat until your legs shook violently around his head.
when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistened, and the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers sent another rush of heat flooding your core.
“fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice rough and low as he hovered over you, his cock pressing against your entrance.
you could feel him—hot, thick, and far too big.
“you’re gonna take every inch,” he growled, tilting your hips higher as he teased your entrance with the tip.
his cock dragged through your slick folds, each shallow thrust making you ache with want.
“look at me.”
your eyes snapped to his, and the sight of him left you breathless. his crimson gaze burned with possession, pink strands of hair falling into his face as he slowly sank inside, stretching you inch by inch.
your nails dug into his shoulders as your head fell back against the pillow.
“sukuna,” you gasped, breath breaking as he filled you completely.
his name spilled from your lips in a breathy moan as he bottomed out, the thick press of his cock stretching you to your limit. sukuna stilled, letting you adjust, his four hands roaming your body in slow, reverent strokes—calloused palms smoothing over your hips, thighs, and breasts as if to memorize every inch.
“fuck,” he rasped, one of his thumbs dragging lazily over your swollen clit. “you’re takin’ me so well. look how deep i am.”
your eyes fluttered open just in time to catch the glint in his gaze, his crimson irises smoldering as he pressed down on the slight bulge in your abdomen.
“you feel that?” he smirked, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. “so full of me already.”
your head fell back, a soft whimper tumbling from your throat as he rolled his hips, the slow drag of him pulling out leaving you trembling.
“stay with me, baby,” he growled, catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “i wanna see that pretty face while i fuck you.”
he snapped his hips forward again, the sudden force driving a gasp from your lips. sukuna’s smirk widened as he found his rhythm, each thrust harder, deeper—grinding against that sensitive spot inside that left your thighs trembling around his waist.
“goddamn,” he hissed, leaning down to bite at the curve of your shoulder, his teeth dragging against your flushed skin. “tight little thing. you were made for me.”
your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove you closer to the edge with every snap of his hips.
“sukuna—please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for.
“please what?” he teased, dipping his head to suck a bruise just above your collarbone, his tongue flicking over the mark. “you gotta use your words, sweetheart.”
“i—” your voice broke as he angled his thrusts, the head of his cock brushing against that spot so perfectly you thought you might unravel on the spot.
sukuna grinned, reading the desperation in your eyes as if it fueled him. “ah, there it is,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw. “that sweet little spot that makes you fall apart.”
his pace quickened, hips pistoning into you with a brutal precision that sent molten pleasure ripping through your veins.
“you close, baby?” he growled, his voice gravelly as his four hands anchored you to the bed—one pressing down against your lower stomach, two gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, and the last tangling in your hair, tugging gently as he sucked at the curve of your throat.
you could only nod, your breath catching as the tension in your core coiled tighter, dangerously close to snapping.
“then cum for me,” he ordered, dragging his thumb over your clit in tight, merciless circles. “let me feel you.”
his words were all it took—your body arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and all-consuming.
sukuna groaned low in his chest, his thrusts growing rougher, sloppier as your walls pulsed around him, milking him for all he was worth.
“fuck, baby,” he snarled, burying himself to the hilt one last time as he came, the heat of his release flooding you, leaving you trembling beneath him.
for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound between you the ragged cadence of your breathing and the faint crackle of the fire.
for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound between you the ragged cadence of your breathing and the faint crackle of the fire.
sukuna leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the bruising way he’d just taken you. his hands, once gripping you with unrelenting force, now traced gentle patterns along your waist, grounding you in the quiet intimacy that followed.
“an elf always belongs with santa,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, as if the words carried a weight neither of you fully understood until now.
your heart skipped at the quiet conviction in his tone, warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth.
you brushed a hand through his pink hair, letting the strands curl around your fingers as you smiled softly. “guess that makes me yours then.”
You were busy with the peaceful task of cooking in the kitchen, waiting for your boyfriend while making a dish you knew he loved. The smell of the food filled the air, entering your nostrils as you waited for Gojo to come home with bated breath.
It wasn't long before he heard the front door unlock and for him to step through it. As soon as he entered, he was hit with the smell of the food you were cooking, which brought a gentle hum and a small smile to his lips. With further approach, he spotted you. "Hi baby," he said in his smooth and musical voice, his eyes roaming over your body, his voice dropping in pitch as he noticed the skirt you were wearing. You greeted him with a short hey before returning to your task.
Satoru's eyes cloud over with want as he takes in the sight of you in that skirt, the edges of a wolfish grin curling up around his lips.
‟Hey pretty,” he says in a velvety voice, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine as he walks toward you with a confident stride, his hips swaying sexily. You look especially hot today. That skirt hugs your curves in just the right way.
He leans in close, his hot breath gently caressing your ear as he whispers, "I’m craving something different tonight—how about a little game to tease the senses before dinner?" The hard, calloused palm falls—possessively—down onto your hip, as the other draws in long and lazy patterns down your flank, those were seared electrical on your skin. Your eyes are locked with his—deep into Satoru's electric blue, hot eyes—all full of desire and forthcoming pleasure.
You nodded, unaware of the deeper meaning, but the idea sounded intriguing. His grin widens at your eager response, his hand on your hip giving a firm squeeze as he pulls you flush against his toned body. You can feel the heat of him through your thin clothes, his arousal already evident.
"I like the way you think, sweets," he rumbles approvingly, his voice low and husky with desire. His lips find your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there as his hands roam your curves appreciatively.
Suddenly, he spins you around and bends you over the kitchen counter, pressing his hardness against your ass as he nips and sucks at your earlobe. "Fuck, you drive me wild, you know that? I want you so fucking bad right now." Deft fingers make quick work of your skirt, tugging it up around your waist as he palms your ass, kneading the supple flesh. The roughness of his hands is a delicious contrast to the softness of your skin.
You whined in protest, reminding him that you were making dinner for both of you. Satoru chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest as he nips at your earlobe again. "I know, baby, but tonight, you’re what I want to savor more than anything," he promises, his voice a promise of pleasure and pain. He slides a finger between your thighs, teasing your wetness as he nibbles at your neck.
"Tell me how bad you want me, baby wanna hear it from your mouth," he prompts, his voice a dark, demanding purr as he adds another finger, stretching you open and eliciting a gasp from your lips. "Let me hear you beg for it, let me hear how much you need me."
You whimpered weakly in response. Satoru's fingers are still between your thighs, teasing your slick folds as he chuckles darkly at your whimper. "Thaaat's it, baby, let me hear you, he coaxes, his other hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, applying just the slightest pressure.
"I want to hear you beg for my cock, for me to fill you up and make you mine. Tell me how much you need it, love." He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers, his thumb circling your clit as he grinds his hardness against your ass.
"Be a good girl and tell me what you want, and maybe I'll give it to you." Satoru's thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit, his fingers working in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your throat tightens just a bit, urging you to comply.
"Tell me," he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your body. "Do y'want me to fuck you? you wanna feel my cock deep inside you?"
His fingers thrust harder, faster, the pressure building within you as he continued to tease and torment, his voice a commanding purr. “Such a pretty thing.. ‘s like she’s trying to answer for you... hmm? what's that? I think she wants me inside, baby.” Satoru said a wicked grin spreads across his face as he removes his fingers from your dripping core.
He fumbles with his belt, freeing his thick, hard cock. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your slick folds.
"Aw, you’re so cute when you’re slutting yourself out for my fucking cock, baby,” he groans, giving you a moment to adjust before he starts to move, his hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm.
You feel so fucking good, so tight and wet for me, he pants, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back as he pounds into you harder, faster.
Satoru's grip on your hair tightens as he continues to pound into you, his thrusts growing harder and more erratic as he chases his pleasure. His free hand slides around to your front, finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles.
"That's it, baby, take it," he growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "m gonna fuckin’ cum. s- shit, your pussy’s gonna…..fuck.”
He leans down, his teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, marking you as his. His hips snap forward, driving into you as deep as he can go, grinding against your cervix.
“Aw, your legs are gettin’ weak. tappin’ out, princess?” he teased, his fingers working your clit harder, faster, determined to push you over the edge.
Satoru's hips piston forward, driving into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm as he feels your walls start to flutter around him. His fingers work your clit with expert precision, coaxing your pleasure higher and higher.
Satoru groans as he feels your walls clench around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. He continues to thrust, drawing out your pleasure as his own builds to a crescendo.
"I'll cum in you and if it spills we can start all over again."
a/n: uploading this during the middle of finals but i'm back for now!
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