not bad for the end of the world

Hey i’m Alex | 20’s

[cosmicbreathe]

Kyojuro Rengoku: “if only I could…”

[beaniesayshi]

𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖 𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗔 masterlist

a collection of one shots, drabbles, and mini-series following different moments from your relationship with Sukuna

content: modern au, sukuna x f!reader, established relationship, gamer!sukuna, soft!sukuna, fluff, slice-of-life, crack, slow moments, married chaos, married stupidity, the whole friend group is sometimes there too

main masterlist ◦ ao3

𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗

⪼ skincare   Sukuna lets you drag him into your skincare routine ◦ fluff ⪼ your eating habits   fluff ⪼ you feel like picking a fight   chaos, relationship stupidity, petty argument, comfort

𝗛𝗨𝗦𝗕𝗔𝗡𝗗

⪼ 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿!𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗶-𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀   ⪼ part 1 ◦ Sukuna wants you in his space ◦ fluff   ⪼ part 2 ◦ Sukuna teaches you things ◦ fluff   ⪼ part 3 ◦ Sukuna shuts things down before you have to ask ◦ fluff   ⪼ part 4 ◦ Sukuna tries something new just to share it with you ◦ fluff   ⪼ part 5 ◦ Sukuna makes even chaos feel manageable ◦ fluff ⪼ 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸!𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗶-𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀   ⪼ he fixates on a very important question for his wife     crack, fluff   ⪼ he decides to remind his wife exactly who she married     crack, fluff   ⪼ he becomes convinced something is wrong with his tattoos     crack   ⪼ he makes it very clear he's taken     crack, fluff ⪼ 𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗶-𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀   ⪼ when he's reading a book ◦ fluff   ⪼ when he's making coffee in a heatwave ◦ fluff   ⪼ when he's trying to nap ◦ fluff   ⪼ more coming soon... ⪼ his favourite sound ◦ the alternative ending   muscles, flexing and giggles ◦ fluff ⪼ his favourite animal is his wife when she's drunk   crack, fluff ⪼ how one huge piece of furniture mysteriously appeared in your apartment   read gamer!Sukuna part 1 first ◦ crack, fluff ⪼ hear me out cake   crack, fluff ⪼ pretending to give Sukuna the silent treatment   crack, fluff ⪼ valentine's day   fluff, crack ⪼ Sukuna gets hit on while you're busy befriending a stray cat   fluff ⪼ you call Sukuna mid-ranked and it turns out he has softer setting just for you   gamer!Sukuna ft Gojo ◦ fluff, crack ⪼ you decide to fuck around and find out with Sukuna   smut ⪼ you want a cat, and Sukuna absolutely does not   fluff ⪼ you vs. self-checkout vs. Sukuna’s patience   crack, fluff ⪼ Sukuna’s mechanic intuition   fluff ⪼ bad day protocol   chaos, married stupidity, petty argument ⪼ you know Sukuna's in love when he can't hold back the tremble in his voice   fluff ⪼ tracing Sukuna's tattoos while he plays   gamer!Sukuna ◦ fluff ⪼ waking up in the middle of the night to find Sukuna still gaming   gamer!Sukuna ◦ fluff ⪼ calling Sukuna a good boy   fluff ⪼ dragging Sukuna into the photo booth   fluff ⪼ it's your anniversary and Sukuna doesn't really... like the way you're dressed?   not fluff, more like married stupidity ⪼ putting petrol in Sukuna's diesel jeep   crack ⪼ Sukuna doesn't handle waking up alone in the middle of the night very well   fluff ⪼ Kunaaaa, why aren't you holding my hand?   fluff ⪼ asking Sukuna if you're too clingy   fluff ⪼ surprising Sukuna with lunch at the shop   fluff ⪼ asking Sukuna about the date he planned for tonight, except… he never planned one   crack, fluff

⪼ ask tag ⪼ my sukuna appearance headcanons

art is a commission done by @/nessieartss <3

[jeansprettybaby]

toji has a thing for you being his wife 𓂃🪶

you're in the middle of folding laundry when he comes up behind you. arms snaking around your waist and his chin hooking over your shoulder. "you're in my way." you mutter. but he just hums low in his chest. lips pressing to the curve of your neck. "don't care." he mumbles. voice all rough and sleepy. "smell good." you try to wiggle free but he holds tighter. and you can feel the smirk forming against your skin. "toji. the shirts are gonna wrinkle." he just grunts. "let 'em."

he's not a morning person. never has been. but he wakes up before you do just to watch you sleep—creepy. you told him once. and he just shrugged and said "it's not creepy if you're mine." when you stir. he closes his eyes real fast. faking it. but you catch the twitch of his scarred lip and poke his cheek. "you're so weird." he cracks one eye open. and his hand finds your hip. tugging you flush against him. "and you're warm." he mutters. "so quit movin' and go back to sleep."

you're cooking dinner, something simple. because he'll eat anything. he's leaning against the counter. just watching you move around the kitchen. "you know." he says. voice flat but eyes soft. "i used to think marriage was a trap." you glance over. raising an eyebrow. and he continues. "but then you made me rice balls that one time and i kinda got it." you snort. stirring the pot. and he steps closer. pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "you're stuck with me. you know that." he says. and it's not a question.

he's got that stupid thousand-yard stare sometimes. the one that means he's thinking about all the blood and the fighting and the life he used to have. you don't ask. you just slide into his lap and cup his face. thumbs brushing his cheekbones. he blinks. focus snapping back to you. and his hands settle on your waist like you're the only solid thing in the room. "you're the only good thing in my life." he says quietly. like it's a confession he didn't mean to make. and then he hides his face in your neck. "don't tell anyone i said that."

at night. when the world's quiet and it's just the two of you tangled in sheets. he traces lazy shapes on your arm. barely awake. "hey." he rasps. voice thick with sleep. "you're not goin' anywhere. right?" you're half-asleep yourself. but you turn and press a kiss to his collarbone. "nowhere else i'd rather be." you whisper. and he huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh—or maybe a sigh of relief. he pulls you closer. one arm like a steel bar around you. and mumbles. "good. 'cause i'd burn the whole world down if you left."

author's note: i'm not sure if u guys rmbr me but i've deleted all of my works before. this is my first work after a very long time! i haven't written anything for so long so i hope you guys like it. also lmk if u guys like the aesthetic! i'm not sure if the dividers match my blog? pls lmk!! ⋆˚࿔

@jeansprettybaby

[bambismoon]

apocalypse - masterlist

undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]

series synopsis - in a world where soulmates were real, fate ties you to ryomen sukuna like some cruel and twisted joke. where people felt their soulmates in soft touches and quiet comfort, all you’ve ever known was phantom pain, sleepless nights, and a violent rage that didn’t belong to you. by the time you finally meet the man ruining your nervous system, the city already knew him as its most feared underground boxer. how would you survive? [mdni 18+]

chapters

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ prologue

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ one - no surprises

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ two - cigarette smoke

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ three - tbd

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ four - tbd

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ five - tbd

⚡︎ ⋆.˚ six - tbd

no taglist!

credits: art by @/cinaillus | divider by @/uzmacchiato

[kiyosuku]

"Hey, pal."

『Avengers : Doomsday』

[twolegsandbleeds]

cw: afab+f!reader, virginity loss (a/n virginity is a social construct). 4k words.

simon knows you haven't had sex before.

it wasn't a big secret. you'd told him early on in your relationship, when things got a little too heated on the couch and you'd panicked when his hand slid under your shirt and his fingertips grazed your bare stomach.

you'd sat there and twisted the hem of your shirt between your fingers, eyes firmly on the hardwood floor of simon's flat, quietly telling him that it wasn't because you didn't want to, you just hadn't found anyone that you trusted not to make it a… thing. a conquest. an oh look i fucked a virgin story that gets told to mates at the pub. that the older you got the harder it was to find someone who… understood. and the longer you left it? well. the more the anxiety about it built, until the idea of sex became an almost impossible landscape to traverse.

he'd watched the way you fidgeted. listened as you spoke but wouldn't meet his eye.

then shrugged.

"love, i like spendin' time with you. i like kissin' you like we're fuckin' teenagers. not gonna stop seein' you just cause you 'aven't got laid before." he'd paused, considered his words, "ball's in yer court now sweetheart. you want t' fuck? tell me. an' i'll do what i can to make it right for you."

and the ball… stayed in your court. for months. no pressure. no wandering hands where you didn't want them. just dates and kisses and the one time you were ovulating and overwhelmingly horny and asked him to go down on you on the sofa. and even then, with your thighs trembling around his head and your fingers tight in his hair and the taste of you on his tongue he hadn't pushed, just pulled you into his lap after you'd come down and held you like he realised just how overwhelming it was for you to be close to someone in that way.

he was… surprisingly sweet about it all for a man who looked like he might kill someone for breathing wrong in his company.

sweet enough that the idea of having sex with him stopped feeling like something insurmountable and started feeling more like excitement curling through your veins instead of terror.

so you told him. over dinner one evening. all casual.

he'd looked up from his pasta, nodded. "want me to… book a hotel? or a cabin? you wanted to go away for the weekend, anyway." a pause and then, "or is that too much pressure?"

you'd blinked. once. twice. like the idea of making an occasion of it hadn't even crossed your mind. you'd swallowed softly and then nodded. "yeah. that would be… nice actually." but then you'd pulled a face - eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed. "…what if i bleed on their sheets?" like the idea of inconveniencing hotel or air b&b staff was more concerning to you than the fact you might bleed at all.

then it was simon's turn to blink. "… i'll bring some blankets. if yer that worried love." he'd offered back - not mocking. just cataloguing all the things he can do to make this less stressful for you. there's a pause, "might not bleed. not everyone does."

you'd stared at him.

he'd shrugged.

"been doin' some… recon. about how to make it easier for you." he'd admitted quietly. "not… done this with someone who ain't before. don't want to… traumatise you or some shite. want you to enjoy it. not suffer though it."

your heart had flared warm in your chest.

you'd smiled softly down into your pasta.

"cabin would be nice."

the drive was quiet, just the low sound of what you teasingly called simon's dad rock coming from the car speakers. his right hand was on the wheel; left resting on your thigh whenever he didn't need to change gears, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on the side of your knee.

"love, i want t' talk before we get there."

you spine stiffens automatically at the words, eyes flaring wide as your head snaps around to look at him.

the corners of his lips twitch.

"not like that love. you don't need t' act like i'm sendin' you to the headteachers office."

you can't help but laugh - a soft little huff of air as your shoulder relax.

"sorry, habit." you murmur back, slumping back into the seat. "so, if i'm not in trouble, what do you want to talk about, si?"

he rolls his eyes. "in trouble? when th' fuck 'ave you ever been in trouble with me love?" he grumbles back, but the crinkles in the corners of his eyes give away that he's nowhere near mad. there's a moment of silence - not heavy, but there - before he continues carefully, "i just want to talk about… expectations. or a lack of 'em really."

you open your mouth to interject. he squeezes your knee to stop you.

"jus' let me talk a minute love." he says softly, glancing across at you for just a split second. "i jus' want to be clear with you. we're goin' away for the weekend. that's all. i know we've said we'd… y'know. but if you don't want to? if you change yer mind? at any time? that's fine love. i just want t' 'ave a nice weekend with you. that's all."

you're quiet for a moment, warmth flaring in your chest. that feeling that's so close to love you can almost reach out and grab it. for a moment you don't know what to say, how to shape a sentence that conveys how much you appreciate that - or how sure you actually are about this weekend. and when you open your mouth? nothing eloquent comes out.

"i bought fancy knickers."

simon's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road. he clears his throat slightly, absolutely shoving the image of you in whatever you mean by fancy knickers somewhere deep in the back of his brain so he doesn't drive you both into a ditch.

you bite your lip, suppress a laugh that threatens to bubble out of your throat. "i just mean… i went out and bought special pants for the occasion. i've been uh, looking forward to it. but… thank you. for being so sweet about it."

he glances sidelong at you, eyebrows pinched into a frown "it's not sweet. it's basic consent, love." he says quietly, squeezing your knee again and for a moment you think he's got more serious talk to get out of his system before you get to your destination; but then his mouth twitches in the corners, "but i am lookin' forward to seein' these fancy knickers, in that case."

simon has outdone himself with his choice of weekend getaway destination.

a cabin nestled in the clearing of a forest. log burner. claw foot bathtub on the deck.

no neighbours for miles; unless you count the owls currently hooting from the trees.

it's perfect.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, "go unpack. i'll put th' kettle on."

forty minutes later you're curled into simon's side on the back deck, mug clutched in both hands, both just staring at the night sky with quiet awe; the stars visible here in a way they aren't back home.

your new fancy knickers and matching bra have already been slipped on under your sweatpants and hoodie. simon looks down at you, at how soft and open your face looks; the way your jaw hangs slightly loose with amazement as you look up at the sky. his chest flares warm, unable to stop the way his entire expression softens.

"i've been under a lot of nice skies, all over the world." he says quietly. "but this one might be my favourite."

he doesn't need to say it's because you're there. you can tell from the way his arm tightens around your shoulders, the way he leans his weight into you slightly.

you melt inside. like butter left on the counter on a hot day. that same warm feeling from the car flaring in your chest as you tilt your face to his.

then you're kissing him. mug discarded on the deck. half crawled into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

for the first time in the months you've been together you're not holding anything back. you're not trying to leash yourself to stop this going further than you're ready for. you're all in.

simon can feel the difference. the way you're letting the energy you usually keep simmering under your skin out into the air around you; the way you kiss him deeper, let your hands wander over his chest and biceps.

he's instantly, painfully hard in his sweatpants.

and acutely aware of the fact that you can tell. that the fabric of his sweats does nothing to hide the way he's hardened underneath you, that he's thick and heavy against your inner thigh where you're now practically straddling him. he tenses slightly underneath you; not able to control his reaction but hesitant to be the one to take the next step.

but then you groan into his mouth.

the sound goes straight to his core.

"christ, love. those really are fancy knickers."

he scoops you up in his arms without hesitation, carrying you through the cabin and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

you don't think you've ever seen an expression on simon's face quite like the one he wearing now, staring down at you sprawled out beneath him, clothes removed with enough care it made your heart ache.

reverent. that's the only word for it.

"yer really… jesus. yer fuckin' beautiful dove, you know that, right?"

your cheeks heat automatically at the compliment, "it's the underwear. it's doing a lot of the heavy lifting." you reply, mock serious - deflecting.

simon rolls his eyes. "shut up. daft bint. s'all you."

before you can retort he pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, and the only word you're left capable of is "fuck."

you reach out; trace your fingers over the scars that criss cross his torso like a roadmap of everything he's survived. the muscle of his chest and stomach is solid; but there's a soft layer of fat over his abdomen that he gets between deployments - the layer that makes him feel warm and soft and human; not just the soldier everyone else sees.

simon's breath hitches when your nails graze lower, but he catches your wrist, bringing your open palm to his lips to press a kiss against the centre of it.

"lay back for me, love." he murmurs, "i'm takin' care of you first."

you nod, heart slamming in your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it.

your bra comes off first; carefully unhooked and pulled away from your body, placed carefully on the side next to you.

your underwear comes next, the soft black lace you knew was perfect the moment you picked it out in the store. cool air hits your skin as he tugs them down your calves and you fight the instinct to close your legs.

simon looks down at you from below his lashes. "yeah. it's not the fancy knickers love. yer just fuckin' beautiful."

simon settles between your legs, lips pressing a trail down your stomach to where your thighs part; and for a moment he hovers above your bare cunt, nose flaring as the warm scent of you hits him.

he groans.

your ears go hot.

he looks up at you, "gonna go down on you now love, alright?"

you manage a short jerk of your head, pupils blown wide as you stare back down at him.

then his mouth is on you.

the last time he did this - that one night on the couch - is burned into simon’s memory. and he remembers, in beautiful high definition, what each little gasp and groan you made sounded like, and what he did to drag them out of you.

the first slow lick from your slit to your clit pulls a shaky sound from your throat, fingers tightening in the sheets next to you.

he doesn’t rush.

has no intention of skipping steps.

he’s treating this like the main event. like if he could just stay between your spread thighs for the rest of the weekend and the two of you didn’t go any further than that he’d be fine with it, happy about it even.

he explores every inch of you with his tongue; licking broad stripes across your entire cunt, before flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit - little patterns that make your thighs tremble.

“si…” you breathe, feeling yourself relax into the mattress with every touch.

simon pulls away to press a kiss against your inner thigh, “okay up there, sweetheart?”

you nod.

vigorously.

then reach to tangle your fingers in his short hair and tug his mouth back towards you with a desperation that surprises even yourself, like now he’s started you really, really don’t want him to stop.

his lips twitch in the corners, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, like you’ve just convinced him you really are okay.

he seals his lips around your clit and hums softly; the vibration shooting straight up your spine and sparking white behind your eyes. you hips jerk, hard; immediately one of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, pressing down gently - reassuring rather than controlling - whilst he continues to work you with his mouth. he sucks softly, then harder, alternating rhythms until your fingers are twisted tightly in his hair and your breathing comes in short, ragged gasps.

it’s messy.

the wet sounds of his mouth fill the quiet of the room - slick, obscene noises that you think should mortify you but actually only turn you on more. he pulls back just to groan softly, eyes flicking up to yours. “yer fuckin’ perfect love. can i open you up proper?”

one finger circles your entrance, spreading slickness - but he waits until he sees your chin jerk in confirmation before pushing in achingly slow. it’s an unfamiliar stretch; his finger thicker than your own, but it’s not unwelcome, not unpleasant. he sinks that first finger to the knuckle before curling it upwards, searching for the soft, spongy part inside you that makes your back arch sharply off the mattress.

“there you are.” he murmurs, a soft kind of satisfaction threaded through his voice.

he doesn’t stop, just keeps working you in a steady rhythm while his mouth finds your clit again.

your eyes flutter shut. body slowly melting into something that feels like syrup and not flesh against the sheets as pleasure crawls through you.

after a few minutes he carefully adds a second finger - immediately slowing when he sees you wince at the slight burn low down in your pelvis, only continuing when he feels your body go soft again. “easy sweetheart.” he murmurs against your folds, the slight pain mixing with pleasure as as he works his fingers in and out, scissoring gently to open you up. your thighs tremble around his ears; you’re gripping his hair too tight, probably hurting him, but he doesn’t complain - if anything he groans against you at the sensation.

you’re right on the edge. stomach tensing, muscles tightening when he pulls back. his mouth and jaw are slick and shiny with you and his eyes are so, so soft when he gazes up at you.

“not yet.” he murmurs, moving so his body covers yours, wiping his face with the back of his hand, leaning down to kiss you. “want t’ see if i can get you there with me inside ya.”

he shifts, stands, tugs his sweatpants and boxers off in one motion.

you swallow. hard. watching his cock spring free - thick, heavy. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.

you have no idea how the fuck he’s meant to fit inside you.

he sees your pinched expression, the nervous flicker in your eyes, and he leans down, crawling back over you, resting his forehead against yours. “we go as slow as you need. you say stop, we stop. you say you need a break, we take a break.” he promises, voice thick with want but edged with control.

he reaches across into the bedside drawer, grabs a bottle of lube he’d clearly tucked away there earlier.

he really did do his research.

your pupils blow wide as he squeezes a generous dollop onto his cock. he wraps a calloused hand around his length and strokes it slowly, spreading the slick shine from base to tip, lower lip sucked between your teeth as he starts to guide himself to your entrance.

the blunt head nudges against you, slipping a little because everything is so wet.

he pushes forwards.

the first inch stings. sharply. you hiss through your teeth, nails digging into his shoulders.

simon freezes immediately. “too much?” he asks, voice strained.

“just… a lot.” you manage, trying to breathe through the burn. “give me a minute.”

he stays perfectly still, barely inside you, dropping soft kisses on your face - your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. he reaches between you, pad of his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles until the edge of pain dulls into an aching fullness. you nod, shaky, but firm.

he sinks in another inch. the stretch is intense - you feel every ridge, every vein as he works himself in deeper; your walls slowly opening up and moulding around him.

then he slips. just a little.

simon is tall - broad and long limbed - and the angle he’s curved himself into is awkward. shoulders hunched, one arm braced at an odd angle so he doesn’t crush you.

his cock slips out completely on the next shallow rock of his hips.

“fuck.” he mutters - frustrated with himself. “sorry love. ‘ang on.”

he tucks a hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher and hooking it over his hip.

the new position makes it easier; opens you up more. so this time when he pushes back in, he slides a little deeper in one smooth glide.

you both groan.

the fullness is overwhelming, foreign, bordering on too much.

but it also feels right in a way that makes your chest ache.

simon’s breathing is ragged against your neck. sweat already coating his skin under your palms. “christ, you feel like fuckin’ heaven. you alright?”

you nod, nails digging into his skin. “move… please.”

he starts rocking into you - slow, shallow thrusts at first. the wet, obscene sound of him moving inside you fills the quiet cabin.

it’s messier than you expected. all of this is.

your bodies don’t slot together like puzzle pieces; there’s sweat, the awkward shift of limbs, your leg keeps slipping off his hip until he grabs it again.

every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside you, but there’s still a sharp little spark of pain when he finally bottoms out completely. you whimper. simon freezes again. “talk to me dove.”

“it hurts. a bit.” you admit, voice small. “but… don’t stop. please.”

he curses softly and adjusts again, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under the small of your back.

the new angle… changes things. the next thrust makes your toes curl for a reason that isn’t pain. pleasure starts overtaking discomfort -and on the next snap of his hips you rock up to meet him, chasing the sensation. his fingers press firmer against the sensitive little bundle of nerves just above where he's buried inside you.

you feel your cunt flutter around him.

he lets out a completely wrecked sound.

"that's it." simon hisses through his teeth. "yer doin' so fuckin' well love."

the praise goes straight to your head, to your core, setting alight nerves you didn't know could be affected by words.

both your movements grow less coordinated, more desperate. sweat gathers in the space between your bodies. his hips snap a little harder, still careful but less restrained; the slap of skin on skin louder now. his hand that's not still slowly stroking your clit between your bodies finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head.

the tenderness of the movement makes your eyes sting.

you come suddenly - a sharp, peak that makes you clamp down around him. it's an unfamiliar wave of pleasure, coming with him inside you like that, and you let out a long, low moan that he feels in his bones, that he feels burning its way into his brain as a new core memory.

simon groans, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. the overstimulation makes you whine, but you can tell from the way he's tensing that he’s close too.

“gonna come inside you.” he bites out, voice wrecked. “that okay?”

you nod frantically, legs tightening around him. a few more deep, messy thrusts and he buries himself inside you with a broken groan, hips jerking as his own orgasm hits. thick pulses of heat flood you, his cock twitching, face dropped into the curve of your shoulder as he presses his mouth against where your pulse is hammering in your throat.

neither of you move. you just stay wrapped in a little bubble of oh fuck that just happened. simon's collapsed half on top of you, propped up on one elbow so he doesn't smother you completely with his body. his breath is warm on your neck, heart slamming in his chest against your arm.

“you okay love?”

simon's voice is gentler than you've ever heard it, cautious in a way that you know he only ever is with you.

“yeah.” you breathe back. “i’m good.” you shift slightly underneath him, wincing as you unhook your legs from his waist.

he notices. immediately shifts so you can untangle yourselves properly, sliding out of you with a soft, slick noise.

you wince again, glance down, see a faint smear on your thigh; cum, slick - both tinged faintly with pink - and stare down in fascination at the physical evidence of what you've both done lingering on your skin like a brand.

he follows your gaze, jaw tensing when he sees the faint pink mixed into your shared fluids. “you sure you're okay?”

you pull him down next to you, curl into his chest, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. “i'm good. i promise. i’m… i’m happy, si.” there's a brief pause and then you add, almost awkwardly, “...was that okay for you?”

simon leans down and kisses you slowly, before pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead on yours. “you were perfect.” he murmurs. “that was perfect.”

you laugh weakly. “that was not perfect. we were like… tangled giraffes at one point.”

he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth. “yeah, well. still got there in th’ end. still perfect.” he drags his knuckles down your cheekbone, eyes soft in the low lamplight. “no regrets?”

you watch him pad naked across the room - huge, scarred, relaxed in a way you rarely ever see him - and feel a rush of affection so strong it almost hurts.

“none.” you whisper fiercely - and you mean it. you ache in the best and worst ways, but the warmth in your chest is brighter than any discomfort. “thank you. for not rushing me. for… that.”

simon kisses you again, slower this time, then carefully climbs off the bed. “stay there, dove. i’ll get a cloth and run th’ bath. i reckon that fuckin’ clawfoot thing outside looked big enough for both of us.”

you get that same pang when he wipes down your thighs with a warm, damp cloth and again when he deposits you in the bathtub on the deck, climbing in behind you without a second thought.

simon settles you both into the warm water, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, the night breeze ghosting over both of your skin. one of his hands strokes lazily up and down your arm without thought.

“next time we’ll try you on top,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “see if we can avoid the giraffe shite.”

you laugh, loud and free in the quiet night, and tilt your head back to kiss him again properly.

yeah, you're already looking forward to the next time.

[iheartyuyu]

you met sukuna at the first year of university.

first day, first lecture, actually. he stepped in late, and the only empty seat left was beside you. you both stared at the professor in pure, utterly confused silence, question marks probably floating on top of your heads as you tried to gather anything. after five minutes, you simply turned and asked him to let you pass so you could leave.

he grabbed his stuff, joining you. he asked if you wanted to grab coffee, and that’s how it all started.

three years later, you were the untouchable sukuna ryomen’s girlfriend. your relationship was private, no one knew any details (it wasn’t like anyone would dare to ask sukuna, especially with the way his resting face was a terrifying glare to everyone else) and you two preferred it that way.

no one knew the details. no one knew how sukuna was deeply and utterly smitten— the scowling, terrifying, muscular 6’4 man turning immediately into lovesick puppy for you. clingy, needy, obsessed, your guard dog of a boyfriend never ever let you doubt his love. he always made it clear, whether it was his arm’s wrapped around you every chance he got, or him spamming your phone whenever you weren’t around, using any excuse to talk to you, or the way he dropped everything for you, making it clear you were his first priority, or the way he listened intensely to every word that left your mouth and noticed everything about you— which showed when he referenced your words from months ago, or bought you gifts you didn’t even mention, or could tell you weren’t okay from a single glance.

it really was not a lie that sukuna ryomen loved you. he knew it. you knew it. his frat knew it. everyone that really knew sukuna knew he loved you.

which was why the break up broke you.

that night didn’t even seem real. he had ignored you for a total of three days, replying to your texts dryly, which was already odd. then, he showed to to your place in the middle of the night, jaw clenched, eye bags dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. he didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain— simply told you he was tired, that he couldn’t do this anymore, and walked away.

like he didn’t just ruin you. like you two weren’t discussing your shared future a few days ago. like you two hadn’t already agreed what stupid fucking roses you wanted at your wedding. like he hasn’t kissed you so softly just a few days ago, murmuring soft pleads for you to never leave him.

to make it worse, he didn’t disappear after. he attended your shared lectures as usual— sitting behind you, always behind you, like he needed to keep you in his vision. he left your notifications on, which you knew because he remained the first to view every story until you blocked him. he kept going to your favorite cafe beside campus (he didn’t even like their coffee) at the exact same time you always did, his sad eyes set on you, buying a single water bottle each time, until you stopped going. you even had to stop going to the library late at night, because he would always be there, blank notebooks open as he pathetically pretended to focus when his eyes wouldn’t leave you alone. even late at night, when you would scroll through your chats, you would see his bubble. tying. erasing. there.

it was worse, because it was obvious that he still loved you.

it made you want to scream, really. it would have been better if he just… pretended you didn’t exist. ignored you. blocked you first. flirted with girls in your vision. did anything to make you feel like he didn’t care anymore. like he didn’t give a fuck, so you could move on. so you wouldn’t get the stupid urge to show up to his place and ask him what the fuck his issue was. so you could hate him.

but again, unfortunately for you, sukuna was never good at hiding his love for you.

it was going to be okay, though. because sukuna already broke it up, and moving on was clearly the only good solution. it wasn’t like he will ever come back, anywa—

bzzz.

dilf420: bro. ur fucking bf is sulking and ruining my party. can you come pick his drunk ass up. ill pay u.

you blinked once at the notification, then twice, then immediately opened it. you really should have blocked the whole frat.

you: broke up. no longer my bf. also, ur broke.

toji replied immediately.

dilf420: idc that u two broke up he’s drunk and blabbering about missing his fucking wife come pick his ass up

you stared at the dm blankly, eyes staring at the words like it would disappear if you blinked.

his fucking wife.

your throat felt dry. heart physically hurting, like someone’s fingers were digging into the muscle and squeezing it the way sukuna used to squeeze your fingers before kissing each knuckle. it hurt, so much, your vision slowly blurring the longer you stared at the three words.

on the other side of the phone, sukuna was pressed against toji, shoving his face into the cracked screen, face flushed from the alcohol, lips almost pouting, hair messy from running his hands through it so many times. “is she answerin’?” he muttered, voice slurred. “my pretty wife, is she comin’?”

toji sighed. “nah, man. she left me on read. you’re so fucked.”

sukuna groaned, stumbling slightly before he was leaning on the wall, eyes shut in pure devastation. “she hates me. what if she doesn’t wanna get back?”

“…you showed up at three in the morning and broke up with her without giving her a reason, bro. on gojo’s soul, she does not want to get back.”

it was silent for a few seconds before a quiet sniffle echoed in the room, and toji’s head snapped to the untouchable, scary figure sliding down the wall, face buried into his hands, shoulders trembling. toji’s eyes widened briefly, but sukuna grunted, the sound shaky. “not a fucking word.”

the next monday, you were still recovering from toji’s dm as you slid into your morning, 8:30 am lecture. you were half-asleep, buried in sweatpants and a hoodie, hood up in an attempt to hide from the world. your eyes were drooping sleepily, head slowly slipping from where your head rested on your palm, the tip of your pen slowly seeping ink into the paper.

someone slides beside you, and you freeze. you knew that cologne. you bought that cologne.

you didn’t move a muscle, shoulders tense, eyes suddenly focused as they stared ahead. you could feel his gaze, his thigh pressing against yours in the annoyingly small seats. you could feel the heat from his skin, even from the thick fabric of your sweatpants.

…what the fuck was he doing?

your jaw clenched, before you took a quiet deep breath, convincing yourself he must have not looked properly when picking a seat. it takes a few minutes, but you’re finally able to focus back on your professor again, ignoring the way you could feel his gaze shifting to you ever few seconds.

“…i’m sorry.”

you sucked in a sharp, annoyed breath, gaze still ahead, fingers tightening around the pen in your grasp, eyes unamused. he slowly placed a cup on your desk— your favorite coffee, from your favorite cafe. you froze, and you could see him wincing from your peripheral vision.

“…give me a chance explain, please?”

you carefully pushed yourself up, grabbing your bag and notebook, and silently stepped out of the hall. outside, toji was standing, a sigh on his lips as he caught up with you despite how you only spared him an annoyed glare.

“he loves you, you know that.” toji murmured. “give him a chance to explain.”

“no.” you muttered. “he’s a coward who left me without an explanation. now he wants to give me one?”

toji grimaced. “that wasn’t his brightest moments, but… come on, he’s your sukuna.”

“he made it clear he’s not.”

that night, you were dragged to one of their parties, curtesy of gojo begging you to show with tears and snot running down his face, using a lame excuse about how everyone in the frat misses you. you didn’t buy it, but you had to stop the embarrassingly loud bawling boy on your doorstep.

now, you sat in their kitchen, perched on the counter, an overly sweet drink between your fingers, and a staring ex-boyfriend on the other side.

sukuna was sulking.

eyes set on you, lips pursed, arms crossed— he ignored everyone who stared at him just so he could keep his eyes on you. geto and nanami sighed as they passed, geto offering him a bottle casually, and sukuna grabbed it, eyes still on you before he tilted his head back and drowned half the bottle down, only stopping when nanami pulled it back while snapping about expensive liquor.

the thing about sukuna? he was a lightweight, and an emotional drunk. that usually manifested in a shorter temper when he wasn’t with you, and him being unbelievably clingy with you, and now, a few hours after gulping random drinks down?

it manifested in him dragging himself to stand in front of you, lips wobbling and eyes tearful, looking like a kicked puppy instead of the frat bro everyone was terrified off. “baby…”

you hated how your own heart clenched, fingers digging into your palm to prevent yourself from cooing at him and tugging him into your hold safely. you only narrowed your eyes at him, and his eyes glossed even more. he opened his mouth, probably to beg, only to halt dangerously.

you, unfortunately, knew him too well. you let out a loud groan, quickly jumping off and dragging him to an empty bathroom upstairs, shutting the door just in time for him to drop to his knees and empty his stomach out into the toilet. he let out a choked sob between retches, and you sighed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, a hand slowly rubbing his back. “dumbass.”

“i miss you so much,” he immediately whimpered, eyes shut painfully. “i miss you so, so, much. please, angel, forgive me, please— i want you back, i need you back, ‘m a stupid son of a bitch for every breaking it off, i need you in my life, please—“

he was interrupted with another gag, and you sighed, resuming to rub his back as he continued, your own vision blurry, heart shattering at the broken sob he let out once he was done.

“breathe.” you murmured softly. “come on, kuna, breathe for me. you can do that, yeah?”

“no,” he choked out. “i can’t— can’t even breathe without you, baby. please, please, forgive me for being a dumb idiot, i need my wife back, please—“

“if you breathe now, and we can talk tomorrow.”

it was almost humorous how he immediately straightened up, red, watery eyes wide, nose red and cheeks flushed from the alcohol. you sighed, reaching over to wipe his tears away, and he let out a pathetic whine, immediately leaning into your touch. you finally helped him up, forcing him to brush his teeth before you opened the door, quietly leading him into his room.

inside, he immediately flopped into bed, tired, sad eyes staring up at you. “you’ll… talk to me, right? please, baby?”

“tomorrow,” you murmured, throwing him a pair of shorts. “just sleep now, okay?”

he nodded frantically, eyes shutting quickly, obediently.

no one would believe this was the version of sukuna ryomen you knew— now when everyone else got the loud, short-tempered, rude, asshole version of him. you stared at him softly, watching his breathe even out, eyes fluttering shut, before you sighed softly, and stepped out of his room.

the next morning, you woke up to sukuna in front of your door, hair messy and eyes exhausted, yet holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and your favorite coffee, the other messily trying to adjust his shirt to look more presentable. the second you opened your door, eyes sleepy and hair messily, lips pulled into a frown, he froze.

red eyes widened softly before his body relaxed, eyes softening, and breathed out slowly. “…hi.”

you reluctantly opened the door wider, letting him in. he stepped in, 6’4 solid figure suddenly seeming small, gently setting the items down, hands that are used to throwing punches leaning down to carefully adjust a delicate petal before he straightened up, eyes falling back on you, so full of unsaid emotions that they were already glossing over.

after a few seconds, he swallowed harshly, throat bobbing before he took a step closer. “i missed you.”

you frowned, eyes narrowing. “why did you break up, sukuna?”

“please,” he choked out the second the name escaped your lips, eyes wide in pure devastation. “please, angel. ryo, kuna, baby, pretty boy— anything but that.”

your frown deepened. he let out a defeated, shaky breath, and stepped even closer. “i broke it because i was a fucking idiot. i… i never loved someone so much, angel, i never cared about someone so much. you made me the happiest person alive, and… i knew you deserved better.”

you froze. he sniffled, taking another step closer, eyes desperately and voice breaking. “angel, i… i’m a selfish, possessive asshole, and you deserve someone perfect. i was so scared that you’ll wake up one day and end it, so i… just did.”

your vision clouded with tears, and he dropped to his knees, eyes wet with unshed tears. “i was a stupid, fucking idiot. i should have stayed, talked to you, got the reassurance i know my angel would give me, but i didn’t want to be selfish… i thought i was doing what’s best for you…”

he let his head drop, face falling to press against your abdomen, a loud, pained whimper escaping him. “turns out i was a fucking idiot for ever considering letting you go. i… i have been miserable, angel, bawled my fucking eyes out an embarrassing amount of times. i miss you so much, baby, i can’t— i can’t live with you. i can’t sleep, eat, breathe,” he gasped, hands trembling as they slowly reached to hold into your waist, and let out a louder sob once his fingers touched your body, tears soaking your shirt. “i need you in my life, angel. please, i can’t live without you. my heart only exists to beat for you. i was a fucking moron to ever think about letting you go. you deserve so much better— and i promise, ‘ll be better. i’ll be a better boyfriend, a better partner, a better everything— just, give me a chance,”

you sniffled. the second you did, his head snapped up, eyes wide and tearful and horrified, and he immediately shot to his feet, ignoring his own soaked face as gentle fingers slowly cupped your cheek, wiping your tears away. “please don’t cry, i can’t handle you being upset, please—“

“you idiot.” you finally whispered. he froze, eyes wide and pained, and you only stepped closer, letting your head drop into his chest. his arms immediately wrapped around you, pulling you until no space existed between you both. “are you stupid?”

“i am. i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered back. “i’m so sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m—“

“shut up.” you croaked out. “you’re an idiot. i love you as you are, you asshole.”

“i know, baby. i’m sorry.” he buried his face into your neck, his tears damping your shirt once more. “i’m never leaving you again, angel. not even physically— i’ll be so clingy you’ll get sick of me. i can’t live without you, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

you let him hold you, eyes shut tiredly. “…idiot.”

he let out a sharp laugh, holding you even tighter, pressing wet kisses all over your face until a smile broke on your pretty lips, and you could physically feel him finally breathing normally, still pressing kisses to your face, gentle and needy and desperate. “i know, angel. only an idiot would ever walk away from you. never, ever again. i love you. never, ever again. i’ll marry you, my love. never leaving you again.”

a/n i hate tumblr i had to write this three times </3 anyways hi ^^ still obsessed w these headers…

[fireladylisa]

˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚ a pledge to keep series masterlist ˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚

summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.

pairing: frat!kuna x reader

content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more

dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by @xxlorinmower

chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!

chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks

chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents

series oneshots/drabbles:

1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin

[rambld]

hey neighbor — a sukuna ryomen fic

pairing: neighbor!sukuna x reader

synopsis: your new neighborhood is good so far. the folks are friendly and the big, scary guy next door is hot. but what happens when the noise coming from his apartment becomes too much and—is that a baby you hear?

contains: fluff, little bit of crack, neighbors to enemies to friends to lovers, angst if you squint, domestic moments, slice-of-life, uncle sukuna, nephew yuji, dinosaurs, unlikely co-parents(?), nonsexual nudity, jealousy, slowburn(?), making out, eventual smut (dry humping), sukuna yearning, mentions of clubbing and alcohol as well as drug and gambling addiction.

words: 24.2k (complete)

part one

part two

part three

extra:

one two

drabbles:

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5

note: this started off as just a random one-shot but these two grew on me so now it's a series! i may write extras or drabbles for them whenever i get the itch.

[kkunai]

[ ₍ᐢ.◡.ᐢ₎ ] :: dad!toji taking care of megumi while you sleep, except it ends in disaster.

“tch—i’m really regretting buyin’ this thing.”

toji is running out of patience as he reads the instructions on the piece of paper in his hands. it’s all so vague; he’s questioning himself for even trying to figure this stuff out in the first place.

the small coos and babbles coming from megumi sound throughout the living room, the baby sitting in the pillow fort that his dad made him. the correct name would actually be ‘pillow jail’, since the fort isn’t built for megumi’s entertainment—it’s mainly to keep the little boy confined so toji can peacefully work on setting up the playhouse.

your husband is so intensly focused on putting the playhouse together to the point that he doesn’t even notice the little thief escaping his self-made jail.

megumi is crawling on his hands and knees, his palms making soft ‘pat’ sounds as they come in contact with the cold floor, pouty lips forming a smile as he crawls his way over to his dad. toji has his back facing megumi, giving the kid a good opportunity to sneak up on him.

“fuck,” toji curses idly as his hand slips and his finger bumps against his own face. not thinking much about that slip-up, the man continues to put the parts together, until he feels something tugging at his shirt from behind.

toji glances down and spots his son trying to climb up on his back—the journey up to toji’s broad shoulders being like climbing a mountain for such a little thing.

“phack!”

the cute voice from below repeats what it had heard with confidence. megumi uses all of his strength to reach up to his dad’s shoulders, repeating the used swear word proudly, a series of ‘phack! phack! phack!’ echoing louder in toji’s ears with each movement upwards.

the kid eventually reaches his destination, head placed right next to toji’s, chubby arms circling around his dad’s neck—basically hanging on for dear life.

toji isn’t even concerned about megumi repeating that bad word over and over. how his son has managed to break free from his confinement is of more importance. his green eyes land on the destroyed pillow fort behind his back and he can’t help but chuckle. almost proudly so.

“i see y’re already outsmarting your dad, kiddo,” toji grins, one hand coming up to stabilise megumi on his back.

the baby looks over his father’s shoulder, seemingly inspecting what he’s building. toji sighs as his free hand holds onto the piece of paper that included the instructions; “maybe you could’ve even helped me build this shitty thing if ya knew how to read.”

“sjiddy!”

it’s as if megumi is purposefully only picking out the curse words. toji chuckles at this and—unlike any other parent—encourages his child to continue for his own entertainment.

“mhm—tha’s right. repeat after me, son l the dark-haired man nods with a smug grin and points at the half-built playhouse, making sure megumi knew what he’s talking about, “that thing is shitty.”

“sjiddy! sjiddy!” the kid repeats loudly and giggles as his father ruffles his hair afterwards in a ‘job-well-done’ manner.

“good boy,” toji laughs softly, moving megumi over to his lap so it’d be more comfortable for the both of them, “y’r momma is gonna kill me if she hears you say such things, though.”

megumi tilts his head up until it rests against toji’s torso, big eyes glancing at the face hovering on top of his; “mama? mama ‘eepy.”

“no, mama isn’t.”

toji freezes in place, megumi gasps in delight.

you had awoken from your nap and decided to check in on your husband and son whom you had left alone for a few hours.

and, apparently, you can’t leave toji and megumi alone without it ending in your kid picking up on his dad’s bad habits.

you put your hands on your hips and glare at toji. he knows what time it is and he is not about to sit through another lecture. the last time you gave him an earful, he had to sit and listen to you scold him for almost an hour.

“shit.. gotta run,” toji immediately grabs tightly onto megumi, gets up and prepares to flee—not even realising that he cursed. again.

“sjit!” megumi giggles happily, the boy just having fun as his dad runs around with him, unaware of the reason nor of the meaning behind the words he’s repeating.

“mama shjit!”

toji’s eyes widened as he heard megumi combine the two words; mama—megumi’s favourite word—and shit, the bad word your son had just learnt.

your husband knows that that’ll only increase your fury more and thus shushes his kid while running around the house. your quick footsteps are just meters behind them;

“crap. shut it, megumi.”

“crap! dada crap!”

“…”

guess he had it coming.

[rambld]

hey neighbor — a sukuna ryomen fic

pairing: neighbor!sukuna x reader

synopsis: your new neighborhood is good so far. the folks are friendly and the big, scary guy next door is hot. but what happens when the noise coming from his apartment becomes too much and—is that a baby you hear?

contains: fluff, little bit of crack, neighbors to enemies to friends to lovers, angst if you squint, domestic moments, slice-of-life, uncle sukuna, nephew yuji, dinosaurs, unlikely co-parents(?), nonsexual nudity, jealousy, slowburn(?), making out, eventual smut (dry humping), sukuna yearning, mentions of clubbing and alcohol as well as drug and gambling addiction.

words: 24.2k (complete)

part one

part two

part three

extra:

one two

drabbles:

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5

note: this started off as just a random one-shot but these two grew on me so now it's a series! i may write extras or drabbles for them whenever i get the itch.

[yutaerina]

Baby!Yuji realizing his resemblance to dad!Sukuna.

°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔

​You noticed that six-year-old Yuji had been looking in the mirror a lot lately. He was constantly studying his face and playing with his hair. As he did the exact same thing right now, a fond smile touched your lips. You walked up behind him, resting your hands gently on his small shoulders.

"Looks like someone really loves looking in the mirror."

He turned to you and smiled.

"Mommy! I look like Daddy!" he said.

"Ah, so that's why. You were discovering how much you look like your dad."

"Look, my eyes and my hair... just like his!"

His excitement made you giggle. You ruffled his hair and kissed his rosy cheeks.

"Yes, baby. You're a mini version of your dad."

​Lately, everyone who saw him kept saying how much he looked like his father. The boy had heard it so many times that he actually started to notice the resemblance himself.

​When Sukuna walked into the room, Yuji shared his discovery with him too.

"Daddy, look at me!"

He widened his tiny eyes as if to prove it and pointed at his pink hair.

"Look, we're exactly the same!"

A small, smug smile appeared on Sukuna’s face.

"You're your father's son, kid."

Hearing his dad's words, Yuji's face lit up. But then, a sudden thought about you seemed to cross his little mind.

"I don’t look like Mama."

You pouted slightly.

"You didn’t have to say that right to my face, Yuji."

Sukuna let out a short chuckle, a lazy, playful smirk on his lips.

"Sorry about that," he murmured. "My genes are just a bit too stubborn."

You rolled your eyes.

Encouraged by his dad's laughter, the little boy turned back to the mirror with a proud grin.

"My lips, my nose... all Daddy!"

You let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah... You really do look like your dad."

"I didn’t know you loved your father quite this much," Sukuna teased, a hint of deep amusement in his voice.

Yuji hugged Sukuna's legs tightly and looked up at him.

"I love my daddy sooo much!"

Sukuna ran his hand through Yuji's pink hair, ruffling it gently.

°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔

[soph5547]

How 26 eight year olds "accidentally" adopted a SAS Lieutenant. (Simon Riley x fem! teacher reader.) (SFW)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! teacher reader.

OOOOOO MAMA THIS IS MY MANNNNNNN THIS IS MY HUSBANDDDDD THIS IS THE FATHER OF MY CHILDRENNNNNNN. I am so normal about him. totally not batshit insane over him what so ever. Also, this is not a self insert because I am definitely not a teacher!! why would you even ask that, thats so weird. how dare you.

WC: 3264. (the absolute crack this gave me needs to be studied.)

November 11th was three months away almost to the exact day, and the entire classroom was scribbling letters to veterans and active members alike. 

There was no telling if anyone would answer, but they wrote letters regardless. The board had instructions, as well as the big words some of the kids struggled to spell. 

You sat at your desk, and graded last week's math test as the kids whispered to one another about what was going into their letters. The rules were simple, no personal information other than your name, age and grade, and don’t ask any gory or violent questions. 

Most of the letters would involve something along the lines of “thank you for your service” and “is it scary being in a different country without your mom?”

Kid things.

A few would have questions about bomb sniffing dogs, or if they ever saw a gun go off (Both things, you knew the soldiers would have seen.) but eight year olds don’t know. They assume war is far far away and exactly how it's depicted in the movies their parents watch. 

You had no idea what soldier would get your classes letters, if it would be someone with their own kids, and realize the backwards letters in marker were causing boatloads of homesickness, or if it would be a war hardened man who wouldn’t respond with anything other than a thank you.  

For the kids sake, you hoped it was someone who would write more than just three sentences. 

“Miss, how do we know who is gonna get the letters?” Clara asks and you look up “Oh, we don’t know.” Standing, you walk to the front of the room. 26 pairs of eyes follow. 

“We don’t?” 

“But how do we know someone's gonna answer us?” 

“What if they don’t read our letters?” 

You smile “someone will read them. I mail them out, and someone on their end hands them out to the soldiers. One soldier will get all of our letters and become our classroom's own inside scoop.”

“Woah.” 

“Do you think he has a gun?” 

“Miss what happens if no one answers our letters?” 

“Someone will.” you promise “this program is for people who signed up to answer our letters, they want to.” 

A moment of understanding passes over the class and all the kids look back down to their own handwriting asking questions only kids would. 

“Alright,” You hum and look at the clock “do we need another couple minutes? Remember don’t write on the envelopes, I’ll do that for you.” 

It's unanimous that the kids want more time, and so you sit back down at your desk and finish up grading. 

Three weeks later, there they were. The bundle of letters was on your desk when you came in that morning. Each a uniformed grey, with a little stamp and the address of the school on it in neat handwriting. 

They’re here. 

Three weeks the entire class had been on edge, three weeks of “miss are they in yet?” and “Miss, do you think they’ll be in tomorrow?” 

Three weeks of disappointed faces and excited chatter at all times of the day. 

You go to the board, and clear off the first two blocks of the day, instead writing “Letters” in bold marker. They were gonna go nuts. 

You find one addressed to you on top of the pile, and silently thank god the kids weren’t in yet so you could read it quickly-in case it was a “don’t ever send me another letter again” kind of message. 

To your delight, it wasn’t. In fact, it was the complete opposite.  

The soldier, who introduced himself as Simon Riley, wrote that he wasn’t great with kids but tried to answer their questions with as much detail as he could provide-and of course it was all appropriate for kids- 

He revealed that he wasn’t much of a talker, but the questions these kids wrote were hard to not answer, in fact he kept thinking about them until he answered all of them. 

All of them. 26 letters with a page of answers for every. Single. One. 

Simon added that he would be inclined to keep responding to the letters, if the class wanted to send more. Gave him something to do during downtime when he wasn’t being annoyed by his teammates. 

As if the kids would ever refuse something like this. They were gonna explode when they found out. 

It was hard to keep the smile off your face when the kids came in, taking their seats at the desks. You couldn’t help but want to blurt out the good news when the kids put two and two together thanks to the change in their schedule. 

Because of the excitement, you had to call out the names one by one, ensuring nothing got too crazy. 

As expected, the kids go bonkers. Each of them squealing and grinning as they read the messages written to them by “Mr. Riley” as he became formally known by. 

You walk around the classroom, listening to each kid as they pull you to read a sentence or show off a small drawing in the margin. 

After the 6th kid, you realize Simon-sorry, Mr. Riley-has written back with each children’s name, answered their question and included either a small drawing or a funny joke. 

This man… this soldier, has taken time out of whatever he was doing, or staying up late, to finish each of these letters and get them back to the classroom. Oh my god. 

It's safe to say, the class loses their mind. And for the next part of the morning, it's all they talk about. 

During recess, you take the time to write your own letter back. Thanking him for his service (again) and how thoughtful each of the letters were, alongside explaining how excited the kids were to receive the letters. You end the letter with your full name, instead of your regular teacher sign off, it just felt right. 

The following day, your class writes response letters-now they know someone was on the other side answering. They dig in deeper. Asking about his own school, if he knew how to spell big words, if he had a dog. 

A week later (were these letters being mailed out as urgent? That was fast for anyone's standards.) 

“MR. RILEY ANSWERED.” someone shouts, pointing to the letters on your desk just after lunch. 

Safe to say, he was a celebrity in less than a month. The kids ADORED him, and each of them felt they had their own bond with him. Each of the letters were written with the same type of tone, and Simon wasn’t talking down to any of them like some people do with kids, he was talking to them like people. 

It becomes a thing-and now it's halfway into October, the classroom decorated for Halloween already. (your class was enthusiastic about holidays) the kids write, Simon responds. You always add your letters in, thanking him and wishing him well. He sounded more like an adult in his letters to you, adding little jabs and jokes about his team or your bosses. He was…god damn it, he was sneaking into your head when you were home alone, or when you were in bed. 

This was going to become an issue for you, but it was nice to imagine for the time being. 

The kids went nuts over every answer, reading them out loud to each other. “Listen, listen! I asked Mr. Riley if he had a dog, and he said ‘no. The dog would probably outrank me’… Miss, what does outrank mean?” 

“I asked Mr. Riley what his favorite dinosaur was, and he said T-rex! That's my favorite  too!” 

“I drew a picture of Mr. Riley and his team and he said that one of his teammates has a mohawk! A mohawk! How cool is that? Miss, Miss, did you see the mohawk!” 

It was safe to assume that Mr. Riley was the coolest person ever, and some of these kids held him on a higher pedestal then the state did. 

You imagine an older man, maybe with a desk job now, but pulling these stories and funny jokes from when he was in active service. You knew Simon wasn’t retired, because he told you, but nothing could have prepared you for the letter you received the last week of October. 

“I’m going to be on deployment for the next two weeks, won’t be able to answer. Tell the kids I’m sorry and to hang on tight until I get back.” 

Deployment. He was active. He was an active soldier, going into battle and he was STILL keeping up with each and every letter. 

You tell the kids about Simon going away for a bit and the energy in the room dips. Upset, but understanding, the kids wait. And wait. And wait. 

You get an email this time, and your heart kicks starts-but it's not from Simon. It's from the association that put together this whole thing. For one second, one fleeting second, you assume the worst. 

“Oh sorry, the soldier you and your class were speaking to has died in battle, please send letters to someone else.” 

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Simon was okay-at least, you assumed so. This email was asking both you and your principal if the soldiers the classes had been in contact with, could come and visit the classrooms. 

Without hesitation you say yes, and add that your classroom soldier was on deployment, hoping that it didn’t matter much and they would work around that, instead of just ignoring your classroom. 

You nor the kids would survive that. 

The answer comes back two days later, Monday morning. A resounding “we’d love to have them!” from your principal and a promise to work around everyone's schedules, including Simons. 

You write a letter to Simon for when he gets back, hoping everything works out. 

“Dear Simon,

The class would love to meet you, but I know you are currently away. I haven’t said anything to them because I don’t want to get their hopes up, and if you don’t know, deal with the aftermath. They think you're the coolest person ever, and would love to meet you.  If you do decide to come, we’ll welcome you with open arms. Please consider the offer but no pressure of course. 

Wishing you the best, 

y/n.” 

“Y/n, 

I’m writing this at 3am, I just got back from… where I was. I can’t tell you, but just know there was a lot of sand I didn’t enjoy. I said no to coming to the school originally, but I reread the letters the kids sent and changed my mind. I don’t know if they would have already sent in the list, but I will be there. 

Thanks for reaching out, I’ve got all my limbs fyi. 

Simon R.” 

That letter gets tucked into your work bag. That's for you and you only. Later that night, you re-read it. 

He said no. Then he changed his mind. 

You won’t lie, when that finalized list came in, and Simon wasn’t on it-your heart sank. You were quietly devastated that day but refused to tell the kids. You wouldn’t ruin the image of Simon in their minds, even if they were told there could be a chance he misses it because Mr. Riley was on a mission. 

November 15th, was the day the school was welcoming in the classroom soldiers. Every class had cleaned and each room had a “welcome to our class” banner they worked on the last few days. 

Your class was… enthusiastic to say the least. Once the confirmation was given, you told the class about Mr. Riley coming in and they went insane. The banner was filled with drawings and messages, and there was a stuffed dog someone brought to remind Simon of the bomb sniffing dog he spoke of. 

That morning was like trying to wrangle a bunch of sugar crazy, insane little animals. Even the quiet kids were talking amongst their peers, everyone was on the edge of their seats. 

A knock. 

The room goes dead silent, and all of them look at you, waiting to see what you do. 

You walk over, and take a breath before opening the door. Since you had ruled out an older man with the desk job after Simon told you about the deployment, you really didn’t have an idea of what he looked like. 

But nothing could have prepared you for who you saw. 

Standing at least 6’4, in pressed uniform, was Simon. Tattoo’s covered both his arms and one of his hands, medals adorn his chest, and a hat in his hand. 

You just stare at one another, your cheeks pink and his lips quirk. “Miss,” he nods his nice “I’m Lt. Riley, nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand and you take it slowly “it's so nice to meet you in person. I have-we have thought about you for a while.” 

Nice save. 

Simon’s lips pull into that half smile half smirk, and nods "I've thought about this class as well.” 

You smile, eyes lighting up and Simon has to remind himself how to breathe. 

“Miss?” one of the kids called “miss, is that mr. Riley?” 

You grin, and swing open the door. “Alright, please stay in your seats.” Simon steps into the class behind you, towering over you. The entire class stares. 

26 pairs of eyes are on him, on his uniform, his medals, the scar on his lip, at the hat in his hands. Little minds take in everything about the soldier standing in their classroom. He looks a little out of place with all the artwork and  laminated reminders to sound out words and use punctuation. 

“Hes huge.” 

“Is that really him?” 

“Why is he not in camo?” 

The kids whisper and you lead Simon to the chair with the plush dog. “Cute.” 

“It's my dog!” Sarah gasps “he said my dog was cute! Miss, did you hear?” You nod and smile “I did.” 

Your hand stays on the back of the chair when Simon sits and he looks ridiculous in the small chair, but no one laughs. “I’m gonna get them to sit on the carpet, is that okay?” you ask quietly and Simon nods. “Yes ma’am, fine by me.” 

Directing the kids to come and sit on their carpet seats, it's almost laughable how none of them can tear their eyes away from him. 

“Okay” You hum “how about we start by introducing ourselves. Mr. Riley-is it Mr. Riley? Should we call you something else?” 

Simon shrugs “mr. Riley's fine.” 

“Mr. Riley knows us by our names, not our faces right? So let's go ahead and one by one tell him who we are!” you gesture to Karl “go ahead.” 

One by one the kids introduce themselves, putting a face to the names that signed the letters. You watch as Simon files away their names, finally matching crayon drawings and knock knock jokes to each child. 

Simon repeats them quietly, under his breath, you wonder if it's some sort of military memory training.

26 names, 26 hellos and how are you, 26 little kids looking at Simon like he hung the moon because of them? Answering their letters and being in the military was an equivalent  to being a celebrity. 

It's an open floor, for both Simon and the kids. They raise their hands but end up talking over one another in that clumsy, excited way all kids do. 

He answers each question like it's the best question he’s ever heard. Simon takes them all seriously, and not because he basks in the spotlight like you might think, but because these kids and all their questions, they’re the reason his heart lurched when he found out about the deployment. They’re the reason he stayed up later than most to finish off writing so they have something to open when he is gone. 

Hell, he was in the middle of the desert, taking cover behind some old rock, and was already thinking of ways he could make the story family friendly so he could share it with them. 

Quiet students came up to him after that, whispering questions they didn’t want to ask in front of the rest of the class. Instead of answering for everyone, Simon whispers the answers back, and the kids smile when he respects their level. 

Eye contact was a non-negotiable for Simon you found, everyone who asked a question got his undivided attention. 

The entire time Simon spends in the class was taken up by the kids and their endless interest in him. He shows the few photos he can, some of his team (mohawk man was given a real name, which was soap, which the kids just about died laughing at.) 

At the end of the day, you and Simon wave goodbye to each student and he takes home a folder full of drawings, friendship bracelets, and other artwork the kids wanted him to have. 

“Well,” you say, sitting down in the now empty and quiet classroom. “Did you have fun? I hope they weren’t too much.” 

Simon shakes his head “no ma’am, they were fine.” 

“We’re off the clock now,” You smile, “you can call me by my first name.” 

Simon nods and adds that you’ll have to call him Simon now. So you do, and he calls you by your first name like a man who isn’t sure he was worthy enough.

“How long are you in regular life?” you ask softly and he shrugs “as long as I want. I’m home for at least two weeks before I'm eligible for deployment again.” 

“Well, if you ever feel like spending time in the classroom, we’d love to have you again.” 

He nods “yeah, the kids are great. Teacher ain’t too bad either.” 

You grin, and play with a spelling test on the pile “you flirting with me. Mr. Riley?” 

“Simon.” 

You blink, and smile softly “Simon.” 

He shrugs “Ain’t very school friendly, but I figured we were in the clear with it being after hours.” 

Humming, you nod. “Can’t argue with that.” 

Simon watches you, he had the entire time. How you acted with the kids, how they revolve around you and all ask for your attention and you give it. You divide the attention and your time with each student, and remember little things about them. 

They adore you. 

“Are you free for dinner?” Simon asks bluntly and you meet his eyes “really?” He nods “I want to get to know the women who wrote me letters too, not just the kids.” 

You blink, and blush “I'm not sure she’s very interesting.” 

Scoffing, Simon crosses his arms, his biceps bulge. “I beg to differ, come on lovie, let me take you out.” 

Well, how could you say no to that? 

“Sure,” you reply, breathy. “Dinner sounds great.”

Simon hums and stands, you walk him to the door. “At seven, I'll be at yours,” he says. “How do you know my-?” 

Simon pulls out a letter from inside his jacket, one you had written on your own time, from your place. He kept it. 

“Read it whenever I felt like shit.” Simon reveals like it was nothing. “Had me thinking about you even in the desert.” You hold onto the doorframe, otherwise you’re sure you’d fall over. Simon smirks and nods at you again in a goodbye. 

 “I’ll be outside at 7, be ready."

[starmapz]

what you know - r. sukuna [college au]

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [completed series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. self-loathing. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. minor descriptions of wounds. mentions of arachnids. withdrawal. pet names. oral (f! receiving). p in v. nipple play. neck kissing. marking. body worship. size difference. praise. aftercare.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6'11".

❦ words ; 446k.

main masterlist || ao3 || wattpad || playlist

⋆ ch1 || fallen angel ⋆ ch2 || prom queen ⋆ ch3 || grade a(sshole) ⋆ ch4 || served ⋆ ch5 || hero ⋆ ch6 || intoxicated ⋆ ch7 || yuletide ⋆ ch8 || hysteria ⋆ ch9 || (ex) friends ⋆ ch10 || miscalculation ⋆ ch11 || scars ⋆ ch12 || too sweet ⋆ ch13 || tribulations ⋆ ch14 || trials ⋆ ch15 || aftermath ⋆ ch16 || sleepless nights ⋆ ch17 || ghosts ⋆ ch18 || blinding lights ⋆ ch19 || crash ⋆ ch20 || underdog ⋆ ch21 || reverie ⋆ ch22 || coup de grâce ⋆ ch23 || in bloom ⋆ ch24 || gravity ⋆ ch25 || a piece of heaven

⋆ husband!wyk!sukuna headcanons

pre-series oneshots ⋆ coming soon!

post-series oneshots ⋆ the six-year-old comedian

⫘ sukuna appearance hc ⫘ series art ⫘ ⫘ fanart tag ⫘ music tag ⫘ ask tag ⫘

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[nnoonlightbae]

seriously one of the greatest fic series i’ve binge read. kuna and reader are an exemplary healthy couple but above all else, a friendship. the way each character and scenario feels relatable and just real makes this story all the more comforting.

[paperellina]

tojis daughter protecting her mama from him (papa toji x mama reader) ♡

a/n: AYYYY PIPPAS BACK TO WRITING!!. sorry babies ive been picking up a ton of extra shifts since im gonna be gone the whole of july and i need that bag....hope u guys like this ♡

the bedroom is quiet. youre propped against the pillows with your little girl tucked against your chest, one tiny hand curled into your shirt while a pacifier bobs lazily between her lips. her eyes are heavy, blinking slower every minute, little body completely melted against you as you run your fingers through her hair.

shes content and half asleep.

until toji decides to drag his big old ass in.

the mattress dips heavily beneath a familiar weight, and immediately her eyes crack open. toji climbs into bed with absolutely zero regard for the peaceful atmosphere either of you had going, all broad shoulders and rough hands as he sprawls across the mattress beside you. he takes one look at his wife cuddled up with his daughter and he decides hes being neglected.

"move over." he says, which makes you laugh quietly.

toji leans across the bed anyway, one hand planting beside your hip while he reaches for you, clearly aiming to steal a kiss. a rough one, at that. he barely makes it halfway there before a tiny hand shoots up and smacks him directly on the cheek.

he freezes.

your daughter glares at him around her pacifier before another little hand lands against his face with even more conviction than the first. toji stares at her and she stares right back, and then her tiny arm stretches across your chest like shes physically shielding you from him, pacifier bobbing once in what feels suspiciously like a warning.

toji lets out a sharp laugh.

"aint no damn way." he huffs, voice gruff. did his daughter seriously just do that?

rhe baby doesnt budge. If anything, she presses closer into you, possessive and protective. you finally start laughing into her hair while toji sits there looking betrayed.

"baby," you manage, even though tojis already grinning despite himself.

your daughter keeps glaring at him from the safety of your arms, little brows furrowed while she stubbornly keeps that tiny arm stretched across you.

toji points at her, his eyes narrowing in mock warning.

"thats my wife." he says, voice low, and your baby huffs around her pacifier. toji laughs at that, not being able to take her seriously.

"she got an attitude already." he grunts

Then he reaches for you again and immediately gets smacked a second time. this one somehow manages to feel even more offended than the first. toji falls back against the mattress laughing while your daughter settles proudly against your chest again, completely satisfied that the threat has been neutralized.

for a moment he just watches the two of you. his wife is curled around his daughter, his daughter is curled around his wife. the tiny bodyguard is already starting to drift back off, one chubby hand still resting possessively on your chest bevause shes making absolutely sure he remembers shes protecting mama. then a slow grin pulls at the corner of tojis mouth.

If mamas off limits, thats fine because he can always find a different target.

his hand reaches over and gently pokes one of her cheeks. the babys eyes crack open immediately, and she glares. toji pokes her again, and the glare deepens.

"aint so tough now, huh?" he drawls out, and the baby huffs around her pacifier.

toji reaches over and squishes both cheeks together, and she looks genuinely outraged. the tiny hand that had been protecting you immediately abandons you so she can shove at his wrist instead.

toji bursts out laughing, the sjght of his baby trying to seriously hit him making him laugh even harder.

"there she is." he says.

your daughter lets out the most offended little noise imaginable and tries pushing him away again, but he only gets worse, poking her cheek, stealing her pacifier for half a second before giving it back, squishing her face again, bothering her just enough to keep getting reactions.

by now shes fully awake and deeply unimpressed with her daddy while youre laughing your godamn ass off.

toji finally relents when she starts trying to hide her face against your chest, her lower lip wobbling.

"aw, come on." he huffs.

he reaches over one last time, smoothing a hand over her hair before pressing a loud kiss into her chubby cheek. the baby immediately frowns, which makes toji grin.

then he settles beside both of his girls, one arm wrapping around your waist. his the other reaches over to gently tap his daughters little foot sticking out from beneath the blanket, and she immediately kicks him.

taglist: @@jjakeysheart @rkivesvs7 @c6choso @shea354 @kiwicherry04 @choco-chipp @tojibunnyy @tojisgdgirl @xoxocherrybabyy @dearwyn @pigtaileddolliee @tojiful @heartcandyslxt @lisabelhyhn @chaeisrichnow @chewiebee @tojisfiancee @retiredpanda @bbvvvy @princesplatano @jaehyunsleftnut @lightandfuryauthor @fysalia @alinacoke @ssrist @bl1ndv3lvet @lisa200976 @vheartsfushi @amarislovesmcdonalds @1ana22 @cherrieslovess @arcanehellokittyforlife69 @lov-3-x @str4wb3rrylife @whoiskaykay @sugurusbun @tojioppshotta @yumyumyu @yvesapple4 @733164 @peonysecret @pr1ncessthug @magicalpeenpoo @unknownowlbokutoswifeyy @eepynataly @bowiesprettieststar2 @bagleaf @lacedwithsarcasm @wholemeltt @ipoopedmypants47

© 2026 paperellina - all rights reserved. do not plagiarise, translate, or feed into any form of ai.

[beaniesayshi]

Sukuna is the type of man who will try something new just to share it with you.

This is the part 4 of my gamer!Sukuna drabbles. It can be read on its own, but it's better to read in order. Previous parts: part 1 part 2 part 3. Not gonna lie though, besides the first part, this one is my favourite.

You’re scrolling through something that caught your eyes earlier in the day, before peeking at his screen to check if his match has started already or not.

“Kuna?” you start softly, seeing he’s still in the lobby. You turn your computer toward his desk, offering a glimpse of what you discovered. “I found this thing, well, this game…” The corner of your mouth twitches up into a hopeful smile. “It looks cute.”

One side of his headphones slides to the side as his eyes flick from his setup to your screen. The moment he recognises the pixel art of Stardew Valley, he lets out a quiet snort. “It looks dumb.”

There’s no malice in his voice, it’s just a genuine lack of interest in the little farming game.

You take no offense. It’s the truth as he sees it, and years of knowing Sukuna mean you’re now completely unfazed by his directness. He has always been this way, brutally honest and absolutely uninterested in anything that hinted at apparent cuteness, fluff, or any kind of overt emotional sentimentality. His preferences lean heavily toward action, strategy, and things he can win.

“That’s fine,” you concede easily, shrugging your shoulders. You know better than to push something on him, but the thought had been so appealing you simply had to try. “I just thought… maybe we could try it together.”

That single word is what catches Sukuna’s attention. His fingers quickly tap out a message to the boys to give him a moment, and the gaming chair turns toward you. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and he gives it a second glance.

Though, it isn’t the game he’s truly considering as much as the word together and how it sounds when you say it, less like a request and more like an invitation.

He nods, his eyes meeting yours. “Fine. We’ll try it.”

True to his word, once his matches are finished and the group disconnects, he shows you the basics of how steam works so you can download the game on your laptop, then he sets it up for himself too.

Soon enough, you’re curled into your armchair as the first in-game day begins. He’s at his desk, and you hear a low grumble of impatience, the lack of urgency in the game clearly grates on him. It’s a typical Sukuna reaction, and it only makes you laugh softly, reaching out to poke his knee with your foot. He’s making the effort, trying this for you, and that is enough.

This time, you have a small advantage as he already drilled the basics into your head: how to move, use items and so on. Now, with no enemies trying to shoot you, no pressure from being on the bottom of a scoreboard, and absolutely zero competitiveness, you learn quickly.

Sukuna easily falls into your rhythm. He allows you to take the lead, patiently listening as you outline your plans which include what part of the overgrown farm you want to clear first, and exactly which seeds you want to prioritise. 

The first few in game days are slow, both of you clearing and tilling the land exactly where and how you wanted it. He likely already has a more efficient and optimised plan in his head, but if that’s the case, he keeps it to himself.

And since games make sense to him instinctively, even without playing anything like this before, he’s able to explain to you every aspect you aren’t familiar with, like how to craft new items or where to find specific resources. 

Slowly, the two of you settle into a rhythm, and the coordination between the two of you comes naturally. You’re fully focused on the farm, planting the crops, harvesting, and caring for animals. Sukuna, predictably, dedicates himself to the mines, killing monsters and gathering ore without a fuss, perfectly content with the action of the otherwise tranquil game.

You’re smiling a lot while playing, because the game is beautiful and because whenever you talk through plans out loud or suggest what to plant next, he always meets you halfway and agrees to everything you propose.

And since it isn't a game you can finish in a single sitting, you play whenever both of you have time. Some days, it’s a quick half-hour before dinner; other times, it consumes your whole evenings because neither of you can bring yourselves to log off; and some days, you don’t touch it at all.

More often than not, Sukuna takes a brief break from whatever he is doing in game, turning his chair slightly to watch you play. He observes the choices you make, the care you put into arranging your crops, and the attention you give to details that are, strictly speaking, irrelevant but somehow feel deeply important to you.

He pretends not to be invested, but one day when you went to bed early, he spent most of his evening researching what materials you’d need later to upgrade your barn and coop, which crops are the most profitable per season and countless other optimisation details. 

And he finds gentle ways to tease you about how seriously you take your crops, how offended you get when a villager doesn’t like a gift, and about how you insist on symmetry even when the game doesn’t require it. You shoot back just as easily, pointing out that he’s the one optimising clearing every run in the mines and treating the combat like it is a competitive sport.

“I like winning,” he says, unapologetic, eyes fixed on a mineral node he is about to smash.

“Yeah and I just like the animals,” you counter, petting one of the cows. The fact that petting raises the friendship level with an animal, which in turn means better quality of produce and more money, is not important, because you’d do it even without any benefits.

He hums in amusement, and without looking away from his screen, he reaches out and grabs your ankles, pulling them onto his lap and begins to rub slow, comforting circles on your skin. “See? That’s exactly why we work so well together.” 

You laugh brightly, warmth spreading fast in your chest. You love everything about it: the game, the peaceful calm it brings, and your favourite part of it all, him doing something you know he didn’t initially want to do, but you wanting it was enough to convince him. And the truth is, he likes it far more than he ever expected.

If it wasn’t for you, he’d dismissed this kind of game outright and never touched it. But somewhere along the line, he finds genuine enjoyment in shared routines, planning, and the satisfying way you both work toward a common goal. It quickly became a constant in your life, a thing you could do together without either of you feeling like you’re compromising. Most of all, he enjoys the sheer happiness it brings you, the way you laugh, and the pride with which you show him every small accomplishment.

And Sukuna wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t find a way to make the game even better for you.

It is your favourite season, both in the game and in real life: autumn. You are wrapped in a fluffy blanket, your legs stretched out comfortably on his thighs, absently telling him a story about something unrelated to the farm, tending to your crops and smiling at the beautiful colours of the trees in game while you speak.

His character approaches yours, standing right next to you in the field. A notification suddenly pops up on your screen that makes you stop mid-sentence and freeze completely.

Sukuna has asked you to marry him. Will you accept his offer of marriage?

Stunned, you slowly raise your eyes, looking up over the edge of your laptop screen to meet his.

“Figured you’d like it.”

“I didn’t even know we could do that…” you mutter, utterly floored.

He lets out a low, deep chuckle, a sound of a man thoroughly pleased with himself. “That was the point.” He’s already loving your reaction, satisfied from the fact it all worked out before you read about it online. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You planned this?” Your voice comes out soft, almost cracking with emotion before you can finish.

“Yeah.”

And just like that, you beam at him, your eyes growing immediately teary. You drop your gaze back to the game, giving your answer with a hand that suddenly feels shaky. A new notification shows up, this time on his screen, confirming that you did accept and that the ceremony would take place in 3 days.

The gaming chair swivels and he faces you fully. The smug smirk is still there, but his eyes tell you a different, more tender, story. He says, almost offhand, “Feels right."

Slipping your legs off his thighs, you quickly push your laptop aside and drop into his lap, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. His chest vibrates under you with the deep rumble of his laugh, and his arms wrap gently around you, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilts your chin up, leans down, and kisses you gently.

And in that moment, you realise that in his own way, he’s proposed to you twice now, and the knowledge that making this grand, goofy gesture in a little pixel game, genuinely made him happy, might just have been the best part of all.

unghhhhh i love soft!sukuna so much

part 1 ◦ part 2 ◦ part 3 ◦ part 4 ◦ domestic sukuna masterlist

[beaniesayshi]

boyfriend!Sukuna lets you drag him into your skincare routine | wc: 3k

The bathroom is too small for both of you, which has never once stopped either of you from using it at the same time.

You stand barefoot on the cool tiles with your hair clipped messily back from your face. The oversized tee you snatched from his side of the closet hangs loose on your body, and its wide collar keeps slipping off your shoulder whenever you lean forward to examine your skin in the mirror more closely. 

Next to you, Sukuna, whose pink hair is still slightly tousled from his quick towel-dry, is brushing his teeth. He’s wearing only those worn grey sweatpants that always make your heart race, and his eyebrow piercing catches the light, grabbing your attention every now and then. 

He's huge, but somehow, his massive body fits perfectly into this cosy moment, even though he'd scoff if you ever said how domestic he looks.

But what really gets you is how he's watching you, not even pretending to hide it. His crimson eyes are locked on your reflection as he scrubs at his molars, and his toothbrush pauses mid-stroke every so often because, apparently, the sight of you doing something basic like washing your face is more fascinating than any game he's ever played. 

You can't help the small smirk because you know that look. It's the one that says he's just happy existing right there with you, soaking up the intimacy of it all.

Meeting his eyes in the glass, you raise an eyebrow playfully and say, "If you stare any harder, you're gonna burn a hole through me."

He pulls out the toothbrush, foam clinging to his mouth, and grunts, “I’m not staring.”

“You are totally staring.”

He just shrugs. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“That doesn’t explain it.”

“It does for me.”

You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling, and he watches you, with the toothbrush back in his mouth, for another long ten seconds, before he finally speaks again. “What are you even doing right now?”

"Hydrating," you reply, leaning a bit to assess your reflection.

“You weren’t hydrated five minutes ago?” he questions, raising that pierced brow.

You sigh dramatically, pretending he's truly let you down. “Skin hydration isn’t a one-time thing, Sukuna. It’s a whole process. A continuous journey.”

He squints at you in the mirror, clearly not buying it. “So you’re saying your face needs maintenance.”

“I’m saying,” you turn towards him slightly, shooting him an offended look, “that everyone’s face needs maintenance.”

He lets out a low, sceptical hum, and you tilt your head, studying him more closely. His skin is annoyingly flawless, smooth and even, despite the fact that he does absolutely nothing for it. It irritates you on principle, and you can't resist teasing him a little because of it.

“So? You gonna stand there watching me all night, or are you gonna join the fun and let me fix that face of yours?”

Sukuna forcefully spits into the sink, rinses his mouth, and straightens up to his full height. He wipes his lips with the back of one hand, causing his armbands to move as his bicep flexes. Leaning slightly closer, he gives you that classic scowl you know is half amusement and half offence, and the tattooed eyes below his real ones seem to narrow right along with the real ones.

“The hell you mean fix my face, brat? This face is a work of art—tattoos and all. You’re the one who always says so.”

A bright and a little disbelieving laugh bursts out of you. “Work of art my ass. Your skin’s been through boxing sweat, garage grease, and whatever you use on engines. It's basically begging for mercy.”

“You suggesting I slap on some of that girly crap? Nah, I'll pass. Go pamper yourself and let the real men keep their dignity." 

His voice is rough, with that familiar, slightly teasing tone that always makes you grin, but you know him well enough to realise he’s not annoyed at all. Even as he says it, he doesn’t step away; he just leans against the counter, watching you pat your face dry with a paper towel like it’s the most interesting thing he's seen all week.

You roll your eyes, but the huge smile on your face gives away how much you love it. This is how it always goes—you push his buttons just a little, and he acts like he's resisting while secretly loving every second of being the centre of your attention. Tonight, though, you aren't letting him off the hook so easily.

You turn towards him fully, reach out, and close your hand around his wrist.

"Oh, come on, it's not girly—it's self-care, you dork. You put in all that gym time making yourself look like that—” you gesture wildly towards his upper body, “—but your skin’s gonna revolt one day from all the oil and sweat. Just sit your ass down before I make you.”

Sukuna snorts, but when you tug, he lets you pull him along, moving with exaggeratedly slow and reluctant steps, like his two metres of solid muscle is just humouring a child.

His free hand rakes through his short hair as he mutters under his breath about how "this is beneath a guy who gets punched in the face for fun" and "what's next, you gonna paint my nails too, woman?" but there's a spark in his eyes. He'd sit through a thousand silly routines for you if it meant seeing that look of wicked delight on your face.

“Keep complaining, and maybe I will.” 

You lead him to the closed toilet lid, and he drops onto it with an exaggerated groan, spreading his thighs until you nudge them even farther apart with your knee so you can comfortably stand between them. You're close enough to feel the heat coming off his bare chest, and the hem of his your tee brushes against his sweatpants. He uncrosses his arms to let you settle in, though he quickly recrosses them with a pointed, but clearly affectionate, glare.

“You’ve got thirty seconds to make this worth my time,” he warns in a low, rumbling voice, “before I stand up and drag you to bed the old-fashioned way.”

Ignoring the empty threat, you pump a generous dollop of cleanser into your hands, warm it between your palms, and then gently press them to his face. He flinches a bit at the unexpected coolness, frowning at the same time. You start massaging the foam in, tracing the familiar ink lines with your fingers, carefully avoiding his eyes and piercing.

“The fuck is this?”

“It’s just cleanser—gets rid of all the grime from the shop and the gym.” 

“I washed my face in the shower.”

“With what?”

He pauses, and a flicker of hesitation crosses his eyes before he hides it. “…water.”

You simply give him a long, silent stare, and he stares right back with defiant innocence.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally mumbles.

Shaking your head with a silent laugh, you keep working the product in slow circles, your thumbs smoothing along his sharp cheekbones. Despite the grumbling, he actually tilts his head just slightly, giving you better access to his jawline. 

“See? Not so bad.”

He blinks once, unimpressed, but he stays perfectly still as you rinse his face clean. You cup warm water from the tap, careful not to splash him too much, then gently dry him with a fresh paper towel. As you reach for the small bottle by the sink, you can feel his suspicious gaze following each of your movements. 

“What now?” he asks, sounding done already.

“Toner,” you reply, soaking a cotton pad until it’s damp, before bringing it close to your boyfriend’s face.

He nods like he gets it, but then frowns in confusion. “And what’s this stuff supposed to do, exactly?”

You start at his forehead, pressing the pad gently before moving down the bridge of his nose. His brows twitch once, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he watches you through half-closed eyes.

“Make you soft. Like the rest of you pretends not to be when I’m around.”

That earns you a low, throaty chuckle, and his arms finally uncross. His large, warm palms land on your hips, fingers spreading wide under the hem of the tee, lazily brushing the bare skin with his thumbs. “Keep talking shit, brat. See where it gets you.”

“Toner balances the skin, Kuna.”

He lets out a short puff of air that’s almost a laugh. “Didn’t know my face was unbalanced.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“Mm.” He tilts his chin up slightly as you swipe the damp cotton along his jaw. “Feels like water.”

“It’s not water.”

“It feels like water.”

“Then let it be water,” you give in, knowing better than to argue semantics with him.

He watches you patiently, though you know he’s ready to object any second. When you reach for the little glass bottle of hyaluronic acid serum, you can sense the protest before he even opens his mouth.

“Another one?”

“Yep.”

“What’s that for?”

“Hydration,” you say, uncapping the bottle.

He pauses, glancing briefly at the neat line of products on the counter, then back at your face. “Same stuff you used before?”

“Mhm!” You smile brightly and lean in to give him a quick peck on his lips.

He exhales slowly, leaning back like he is gearing up for a long argument, but the small, satisfied smirk after getting a kiss absolutely gives him away. 

“You know, you could’ve just said you wanted to put stuff on me.”

“I am putting stuff on you, so it worked either way, didn’t it?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly as your fingertips glide over the delicate skin under his lower lids. “How much of this shit do you even need? You do all this every night?”

“Pretty much. Not always the full routine, but yeah—cleanser, toner, serum, moisturiser, sometimes a mask, like tonight. I usually do it when you’re still gaming.” You dab a little more serum onto his forehead, smoothing it in with your fingertips, unconsciously tracing the symmetrical tattoos down his face. “You have good skin under all the ink. This just makes it better.”

He closes his eyes and huffs through his nose but doesn’t argue. His hands grip your hips more firmly, pulling you a half-step closer until your thighs brush against his.

“You really believe all this works? Or is it just… something to do?”

“It works. But, yeah—it’s also nice to take a minute and do something just for myself. And right now… feels like I’m taking care of you for once, instead of the other way around.”

His eyes open slowly, dark and intense for a second, then he lifts one hand from your hip to catch your wrist.

“You take care of me plenty, woman. Don’t need fancy goo to prove it.” He lets go almost immediately, like he’s embarrassed to have said anything, and drops his hand back to your waist, changing the subject, “That all?”

“Almost.”

He groans, but without any real complaint. You reach for the clay jar you’ve set aside earlier, twist it open, and the colour immediately gives your plan away.

“No,” he says flatly.

“Yes.”

“You’re absolutely not putting that on me.”

“It’s just a mask.”

He scowls in a truly spectacular display of annoyance that only makes you laugh harder. “You realise this is already humiliating,” he says, even as you dip the flat brush into the thick paste.

“Then close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t see the humiliation.”

He exhales through his nose but does as he’s told. “Fine. Slap the green shit on already. Let’s just get this over with.”

You grin, knowing that’s as close to surrendering as he’ll ever come. The thick green paste goes on in careful swirls of the brush across his forehead, down his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose.

He sits still, but when you stop to scoop more, he mutters, “I bet I look like a fucking lime.”

It dries quickly, turning a dull, greyish shade, and when you finally step back to look at him properly, you realise he’s both right and wrong, and something in your chest twists with laughter that you desperately try, and fail, to hold in.

He opens one eye slowly. “What?”

“You look… great,”  you manage to say, shaking as you try not to completely lose it.

He squints the exposed eye at you. “You’re lying.”

“I’m absolutely not lying.”

“Don’t.”

But the sound breaks from you before you can stop it, bright and helpless, causing him to shake his head once, though the corners of his mouth lift against the drying clay.

“Go on,” he mutters in defeat. “Get it out.”

You manage to pull yourself, reach for the jar again, scoop a little more onto the brush, and, looking in the mirror, spread it across your face, letting the laughter fade into a soft, happy hum. He watches silently this time, until you both look like ridiculous, matching disasters.

“Don’t,” he warns again when you reach for your phone on the counter.

“It’s for us, Kuna. Nobody else.”

“You said that last time.”

“Oh, shut up. You’ll survive.”

Sukuna snatches it from your hand before you can open the camera, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you right up against his chest. As you lean into him, he snaps the selfie, catching the absurdity of the two grinning green-faced idiots.

—

The next night, you’re already in the bathroom when Sukuna appears in the doorway with his arms loosely crossed over his pecs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes lock on you at the sink in nothing but one of his old band tees again, with a focus he never bothers to hide, and for a long moment, he just watches.

“You doing that face again or what?” he asks casually.

You glance over your shoulder in the mirror, catching the faint smirk, and your lips lift into a smile. "Yep. Why? Miss your turn already, big guy?”

He pushes off the doorframe with a relaxed shrug and steps inside, closing the gap until he’s right behind you, his chest brushing your back. His hands find your hips as he leans down, so his chin is on the top of your head, watching your reflection look at him.

“Don’t get cheeky, angel. Just making sure you’re not slacking after all that lecturing last night. Consistency, remember? You were real big on that.”

His tone stays gruff and dismissive, but the way his fingers squeeze you once, pulling you closer, says everything he won’t: he spent the day at the shop noticing how his skin felt different and less irritated after hours of sweat and grease, and hating that he even cares. 

And Sukuna’d sooner eat glass than admit he’s here because he wants the attention, the warmth, the touch, the stupid little ritual of yours that makes him feel looked after in a way no one else has ever bothered with.

You tilt your head back against his collarbone, smirking at him in the mirror. “Just admit it. You missed the pampering. Couldn’t wait twenty-four hours.”

He snorts into your ear, sliding one hand to your stomach while keeping the other firm on your hip.

“Missed it? Nah. Just don’t want you skimping and then whining tomorrow that your face feels like sandpaper. Someone’s gotta keep you in line, brat.” But he doesn’t budge, staying glued to you, watching your careful movements like they’re the only thing worth his attention tonight. After a few seconds, his voice drops lower. “What step are you on? Serum again? Hurry up. I’m not standing here all night.”

You chuckle softly, because that means he actually listened yesterday, and reach for the bottle, knowing he isn’t really going anywhere. 

“Sit down then. And stop pretending you’re doing me a favour—I know you’re dying for me to touch your face again.”

Sukuna huffs, but he’s already moving, lowering himself onto the lid with that same dramatic groan he used last night, spreading his thighs wide enough for you to step between. As you do, his hands instantly find your waist, thumbs gently circling under your shirt. 

“Keep talking shit,” he mutters stubbornly just like the night before, in a tone that’s somehow rough, dangerous, and incredibly soft all at once. He tilts his chin up to give you access, silently, so obviously here for the pampering he’ll never own up to.

—

A few weeks later, you stumble through the front door together well past midnight, completely wiped out after a long night out with friends. Your shoes come off in the hallway, his heavy boots kicked aside, and you’re already yawning as you head towards the bedroom, mumbling something about how you’re too tired to bother with anything, just wanting to collapse face-first into the pillows and call it a night. Sukuna follows silently, thinking harder than he lets on as you start taking off your clothes in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

You’re halfway to the bed, dropping your jeans to the floor, when his mock-offended voice cuts through the quiet. “Hold up. You tryin’ to sabotage my glow or what?”

You stop, turning slowly to find him leaning on the dresser with a raised eyebrow. His expression is dead serious, though a faint smirk is fighting to break through, and you can't help the tired, fond laugh that escapes.

“Your glow? Since when do you care about glow, Mr I-Hate-Face-Things?”

Sukuna pushes off the dresser, closing the distance until he’s towering over you again, reaching one big hand past you for the bathroom doorway. 

“Since you turned me into a goddamn addict, woman. You think I’m letting all that work go to waste because you’re feeling lazy?” His tone stays gruff, almost scolding, but his free hand catches your wrist gently, brushing his thumb over your pulse point in his usual touch obsessed way, before he tugs you towards the bathroom. “C’mon. We skip tonight, and tomorrow I’m waking up looking like I fought with a cheese grater. Not happening. So get over here, brat. We’re not skipping shit.”

You let him pull you along, grinning despite the exhaustion. After he flips on the vanity light, his reflection meets yours in the mirror as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

And just like that, the late-night ritual starts again with his hands steady on your hips and the quiet sounds of water and soft laughter filling the space between you, another small, stupid, perfect secret locked away where no one else will ever find it.

 

a/n: domestic sukuna masterlist