sukuna is not happy about piercing your daughters ears :c
(reposted from mimuju! art by @/sgtbake_r on X)
"no. absolutely not. you're not touching her."
sukuna's voice is a low growl, his massive arms wrapped protectively around your toddler daughter in the piercing chair. the lady with the piercing gun pauses, eyes wide at the tattooed giant glaring daggers from his spot beside you.
she's tiny, maybe 2, all chubby cheeks and wild pink hair like her dad's, dressed in a frilly dress you picked out for her "big girl day," complete with little mary janes. you've been hyping it up for weeks—tiny sparkly studs, nothing crazy, just simple diamonds to match her eyes. but sukuna? he's been grumbling since you suggested it, muttering about "barbaric customs" and "ruining perfection."
"baby, it's just earrings," you say softly, squeezing his knee under the counter. "she'll look so cute! and it'll heal fast. millions of girls get this done."
he shoots you a look, all four eyes narrowing under those sharp black brows. "she's a baby. babies don't need holes poked in their heads. what if it gets infected? what if she hates it?" but he doesn't move, holding her steady on his lap, her little hands clutching his black shirt, babbling happily at the shiny gun like it's a toy.
the piercing lady smiles nervously, gun ready, trying to lighten the mood. "it'll be quick, sir. one little pop on each side. she's been great so far."
sukuna huffs, his breath ruffling your daughter's hair, but he nods once, jaw clenched so tight you see the muscle tick. "fine. make it painless or i'll make you regret it. i am unlike my wife, i have no mercy for mortals."
you bite back a laugh, watching him brace like he's facing a battlefield. the lady counts down—three, two, one—and pops the first stud through your daughter's earlobe. instant wail. a piercing cry that echoes in the small shop, her face scrunching up beet red, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, little legs kicking wildly.
sukuna freezes, body going rigid, then twitches like he's been shot himself. "what the fuck was that?!" he snarls, his free hand slamming the counter hard enough to make the jewelry displays rattle, tattoos rippling across his skin like living shadows. all four eyes lock on the lady like he's about to curse her into oblivion right there. "do that again and you're fucking dead, you hear me?"
the poor woman stammers, the cheap piericng gun trembling in her hands, face paling. "i-it's normal! just the shock! she's fine, look—the second one's done already, see?" she pops the other ear quick as lightning, and your daughter's tiny fists flailing at the air, her cries turning into quiet hiccups.
you can't help it—you burst out giggling, hand over your mouth, tears in your eyes from laughing. "kuna, oh my god— she's fine! look, sparkles already! she's got her earrings, see how pretty?"
he ignores you completely, scooping her up fully into his massive arms, cradling her against his broad chest like she's made of glass. his glare stays pinned on the lady for a long beat, utterly murderous, promising vengeance, before it softens instantly on his girl.
"shh, shh, my little princess. daddy's got you. that mean lady's gone forever, i swear it." he rocks her gently side to side, his huge hand patting her back in slow circles, the other stroking her wild pink hair with surprising tenderness. her cries taper to sniffly hiccups, soothed by his deep rumble of a voice humming some ancient, gravelly lullaby from his cursed past, the kind only you know about.
you lean in, kissing his stubbled cheek, still chuckling softly. "she won't even remember this tomorrow. but you'll be telling the story for years, won't you, kuna?"
he grunts, still shooting one last glare over his shoulder at the lady as you pay and gather her things. "no more piercings. ever." but he presses a soft kiss to her tiny forehead, her sparkly new earrings catching the shop lights like stars, and you know he's already melting inside, utterly whipped for his perfect little girl.
when your husband is supposed to be the calm, rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand, whining into the dark like he’s about to fall apart.
but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging useless from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough, punishing strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time—at the soft curve of your hip under the sheet, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.
and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.
the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales like he’s drowning, shuddering so hard the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose. your warm, musky scent has him sobbing out a noise that doesn’t sound human.
“fuck, baby—” it rips out of him, pitched way too high. “smell so good... oh fuck, i can’t—can’t stop.”
his cock is obscene. flushed dark, fat veins raised under the skin, the head so slick it shines even in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him, messy, frothing and too loud. schlick, schlick, schlick.
he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnghm!—if i just had the chance.”
his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods in obscene drops.
disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.
but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad—fuck, want to fuck you on my knees, i’d worship you, i’d never stop—”
he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is actually humiliating— a high, euphoric whine. his thighs shake.
then, he breaks.
cum spurts out in heavy ropes, hot and endless, painting his stomach, his abs, his fist, the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock twitching uncontrollably, as if even his own body doesn’t know when enough is fucking enough.
“ah—mnhg—fuck, t-too much, i can’t...” his voice cracks, strangled, but his fist won’t let go. more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.
when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still twitches against his stomach, still half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.
and you’re still asleep. lashes fluttering, lips parted, beautiful and soft while he stands there wrecked.
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ ✿ GOOD @ GOODBYES ! ㅅ `͈ 𓏼 )ა
first kiss 𝑤. ͏͏ sukuna ac. su2kuna ಎ
⎯⎯ ✉️ awky ⨍ reader 2.2k
the only shocking thing about ryomen sukuna was that he was a surprisingly good boyfriend. like, embarrassingly good to you.
he was still the occasional dickhead, obviously. but at least he nice about it. he always went at your pace, never pushed when you got shy or overwhelmed, never made you feel stupid for needing reassurance. hell, he even showed up with a bouquet of lilies for your first “official” date with him.
and the date itself wasn’t anything extravagant either. no fancy rooftop reservation, no over the top attempt to sweep you off your feet. just a quiet little restaurant tucked between buildings, warm lighting spilling across wooden tables while soft music played somewhere overhead.
simple. intimate. perfect for you.
a secluded booth in the corner, sukuna sitting across from you with an unfairly soft look in his eyes whenever you got shy and toyed with your food.
and you were doing fairly well. right up until the date ended that is.
because now here you were, heart hammering violently against your ribs, butterflies wrecking your stomach as you hurried, nearly ran, toward your apartment door, leaving behind one very confused sukuna standing a few steps away.
which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the smoothest way to end a date with your boyfriend.
“oi.”
you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.
yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.
“. . . what?”
he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”
your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.
lip gloss.
receipt.
wires.
a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?
everything but your keys.
normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—
“you regret comin’ out with me?”
oh . . .
for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.
“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.
sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.
“you heard me.”
your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.
his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.
“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”
“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”
“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”
well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.
“well, no! i just—” what an insufferable man. “i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”
“just nervous.”
“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”
your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.
sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.
“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”
you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”
sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.
“your call.”
and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.
“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.
“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”
“platonically,” you added after a moment.
. . .
his brows lifted slowly.
“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”
“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”
“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”
“that too.”
silence.
then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.
“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”
your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”
he kept walking.
not far. just enough to be annoying.
“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”
a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”
your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”
his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”
“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.
his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.
before you could overthink, your lips meet his.
it’s quick. chaste. shy even.
his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.
he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.
you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.
your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—
“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”
you pant, “what does that even mean?”
his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.
the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.
a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”
you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.
except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.
his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.
you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.
it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.
the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.
then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.
“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.
he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”
“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.
your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.
“here.”
you pause.
and there they were.
your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.
“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”
he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”
you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”
his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”
you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.
“…thanks,” you mutter.
“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”
and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.
you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .
“you alright?”
“yes.”
“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”
“i know!” you shoot back immediately.
the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.
“ okay . . . ” you hummed.
“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.
but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.
a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.
despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.
you liked it.
you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.
“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.
except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.
“fuck—”
you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”
and then, you’re gone.
the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.
outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.
instead, you stopped in the doorway and forgot how to move.
the room was quiet almost fragile. pale afternoon light leaked through the curtains in soft stripes, painting the sheets gold.
and there they were.
baby!yuji was sprawled across sukuna’s chest like a starfish, one chubby cheek smushed against bare skin and tiny fist tangled in the collar of your husband’s shirt.
and sukuna..looked devastatingly human half-asleep.
his face was softened with exhaustion, eyes still closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks.
both their heads were a soft messy tuft of pink.
you felt your heart physically hurt.
and for a moment, neither of them noticed you.
until the floor creaked.
yuji stirs first with a tiny whine, blinking blearily. his little eyes are unfocused, heavy with sleep, and the second he spots you standing there his entire face lights up.
“mama…” it comes out all raspy and small his little hands reaching for you immediately without even sitting up properly.
and your husband, still barely conscious, tightens his arm around his son on instinct, protective even in slumber. his eyes crack open slowly.
“what..” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
he sounds offended by consciousness itself it could not get more ridiculous and adorable than that.
you simultaneously want to laugh and pounce at him because he just looks so soft!
yuji continues make grabby hands at you and unable to resist you walk over, perching on the edge of the bed making the mattress slightly dip.
bad decision.
because suddenly both of them gravitate toward you like magnets.
yuji crawls directly onto your lap with all the coordination of a sleepy toddler, burying his face into your stomach while sukuna exhales deeply beside you, eyes already falling shut again as he tucks you close to his side almost pulling you on top of him.
someone is being clingy..
his cheek is warm against your neck, hair tickling your skin. he smells like sleep and something comforting you can never name properly.
“you’ve both been napping for so long” you whisper, “it’s time to wake up” while both of them grunt a daft refusal and curl into you tighter.
yuji is already dozing off again, tiny fingers curled into your shirt.
sukuna shifts quietly before mumbling, barely coherent, “cold without you”
you blink at him.
then at the child asleep in your lap.
then back at sukuna, who seems to realize what he admitted a full three seconds too late because one eye opens again, glaring weakly.
“don’t”
“i didn’t say anything”
“don’t let it get to your head”
“oh it’s getting to my head alright”
he groans.
“too late” you grin.
despite the threat in his voice, he presses closer anyway, half asleep again before the conversation even finishes.
and somehow you too fall asleep surrounded by tangled blankets and warm bodies and terrible bedheads.
firefly; i just LOVE soft sleepy nap time fics it’s the most domestic thing ever RAHHH (do u guys want me to write longer fics? i kinda like the bite-sized format but lmk!)
Yuji knew he messed up the second the screen went black. Not normal black either. Cracked black, the kind with weird rainbow lines crawling across it.
Sukuna’s phone slipped right out of his tiny wet hands and smashed against the bathroom tiles with a horrible crack. Yuji stared at it in horror, water dripped from the sink, soap bubbles still clung to his fingers.
“…oh no.” His little voice came out tiny. The bathroom suddenly felt way too quiet.
All Yuji wanted to do was clean Sukuna’s phone. He just wanted to do something nice for his big brother after noticing fingerprints and little smudges all over the screen. So, to a five-year-old, the only logical solution was to wash it…in the sink. But as luck would have it, phones and water aren’t exactly a good combination, especially when you add dropping it onto hard bathroom tiles into the mix.
Yuji slowly picked the phone up, and water literally poured out of the charging port.
His eyes widened. Then he heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Yuji’s soul practically left his body. Sukuna walked down the hallway with grocery bags hanging from one arm already looking irritated.
“Oi, brat, where’s my pho—”
He stopped. eyes landing on Yuji, then the running sink, then the soaked phone in Yuji’s hands.
Silence. A really bad silence.
“…what the fuck did you do?”
Yuji froze, his tiny shoulders shot up to his ears. “I-I didn’t mean—”
“The hell happened to my phone?”
Yuji’s lip immediately started wobbling. Sukuna stormed forward and ripped the phone out of his hands. Water dripped all over his fingers. His face twisted instantly.
“You put my phone in water?!”
“It had fingerprints—”
“ARE YOU STUPID?”
Yuji physically flinched.
“I was cleaning it—”
“With SOAP?!” Sukuna snapped. “Who the hell washes a phone in the sink?!” Yuji looked seconds away from crying now.
“I didn’t know…”
“This was a brand new fucking phone.”
Tiny sniffle.
“You can’t just throw electronics into water because they’re dirty, dumbass.”
Yuji’s eyes filled immediately, but Sukuna was still too pissed to notice.
“You know how expensive this shit was? Huh?”
“I’m sorry…”
“Sorry doesn’t magically fix it.”
Yuji’s breathing started getting shaky. The second Sukuna saw that trembling little face, his expression flickered for half a second, but he was still angry.
“So now I gotta waste money replacing it because you decided to play housekeeper?”
Yuji’s chin crumpled. That was it, he turned around and bolted. Little socked feet slapping loudly against the hallway floor while Sukuna stood there holding the dead phone.
“…oh, for fuck’s sake.”
A second later your bedroom door slammed open. You looked up from your phone just in time to see a tiny pink-haired blur launch himself onto the bed.
“Save me!”
Yuji crashed into you and immediately tried climbing into your lap.
“What happened?” you laughed softly, already rubbing his back.
“Sukuna hates me,” Yuji whispered miserably. You frowned a little.
Then Sukuna appeared in the doorway looking furious, soaked phone still in his hand. “He washed my fucking phone.”
Yuji hid his face against your chest instantly. “It was a accident…”
“He put it under running water.”
“It had fingerprints…”
Sukuna stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“IT’S A PHONE. NOT A PLATE.”
You bit the inside of your cheek trying not to smile. “He was trying to help.”
“I don’t give a fuck, he broke it!”
Yuji squeezed your hoodie tightly.
“…are you gonna throw me away?”
The room instantly went silent, Sukuna’s anger visibly cracking. Yuji looked genuinely terrified now. Like he actually thought he’d ruined everything. Sukuna stared at him for a long moment before swearing quietly under his breath.
“…kid.”
Yuji sniffled.
“I didn’t mean to…”
Sukuna rubbed hard at his face with one hand. When he spoke again, he still sounded rough, but not nearly as sharp.
“I’m not gonna throw you away, idiot.”
“You yelled really loud…”
“Yeah, cause I was pissed off.”
Yuji flinched again, which made Sukuna immediately look annoyed at himself now.
“But not at you,” he muttered. “At the phone.”
Yuji peeked up carefully.
“…really?”
“Yeah, really.”
You watched the anger slowly drain from Sukuna’s face the more he looked at Yuji trying not to cry. His shoulders dropped a little.
“This is why kids shouldn’t touch expensive shit,” he grumbled.
Yuji sniffled harder. “I can give you my piggy bank…”
Sukuna snorted before he could stop himself. “…you have twelve dollars in there.”
“It’s thirteen now,” Yuji whispered.
“You’re not paying me thirteen bucks for a thousand dollar phone, dumbass.”
Yuji crawled a little closer toward the edge of the bed. “You still mad?”
“A little.”
Yuji immediately hid again.
“But,” Sukuna sighed, reaching over to flick Yuji lightly on the forehead, “I’m not mad enough to stop loving you. So quit lookin’ at me like I’m gonna put you up for adoption.”
Yuji blinked. “…what’s adoption?”
“You ask too many questions.”
You laughed quietly while Yuji finally gave a tiny giggle into your shoulder. After a minute, Yuji carefully held his arms up toward Sukuna, a silent request. Sukuna stared at him.
“You were just hiding from me.”
“Carry me pwease.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Still, Sukuna scooped him up with one arm. Yuji instantly wrapped around him like a baby monkey.
“…you still love me?” Yuji asked quietly.
Sukuna looked offended. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Unfortunately.” Yuji giggled softly against his shoulder. Sukuna adjusted him higher on his hip before muttering, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I said sorry…”
“You also broke my phone.”
“It was dirty.”
Sukuna stared at the ceiling for a long moment like he was asking for strength. Then he sighed and pressed a quick rough kiss to the top of Yuji’s pink hair. “Next time,” he muttered, “you ask before cleaning expensive shit.”
Summary: Sukuna is tired of seeing his favourite bartender upset over her bum ass boyfriend
“Whiskey,” Sukuna said, dropping into his usual stool, the seat with the best view of you while you worked. “The expensive one please.”
“You don’t tip enough for the expensive one,” you teased.
A low laugh rumbled from him. “There she is.”
The bar was quieter tonight; rain against the windows, old rock humming from the speakers, neon signs buzzing dimly overhead. The kind of night that dragged exhaustion into your bones.
Sukuna watched you the whole time. He wasn’t subtle about it either.
“You look annoyed sweetheart,” he said.
“I’m working, so duh.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
You slid the drink toward him. “Maybe drink instead of psychoanalyzing me.”
He took a sip without breaking eye contact.
“Boyfriend piss you off again?”
Your jaw tightened for half a second and that smug bastard noticed.
“Mm.” He leaned back on the stool. “So that’s a yes.”
“He forgot to pick me up after my shift yesterday.” You regretted saying it immediately.
Sukuna snorted. “Again?”
“He was busy,” you broke eye contact knowing Sukuna can read you like a book.
“Let me guess; he was drunk or out partyin.”
Silence.
Because he was.
You started wiping down an already clean section of the counter just to avoid answering the question.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly, tattoos shifting against his sharp cheekbones as he studied you.
“You make excuses for him a lot.”
“Yeah… sometimes that’s what it’s like being in a relationship, also you don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.” Another sip. “Saw him in here last week hanging off some blonde in a red dress.”
Your stomach twisted. “He wasn’t—”
“He was.”
You hated that he noticed everything. Hated that some reckless little part of you liked being noticed by him, that it felt like he cared.
“You know,” he continued casually, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “if I had my girl waiting for me after her long shitty shift, I wouldn’t forget her…definitely not if it was you.”
Your hands paused. “Sukuna—”
“No, really.” He leaned forward now, elbows resting on the counter. “I’m trying to figure out what exactly this idiot offers that’s worth all this disappointment.”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
Heat crawled up your neck. He grinned slowly when he noticed.
God, that grin was dangerous.
“You work double shifts,” he continued. “You remember his birthday, your anniversary, probably his coffee order too.” His eyes dragged over you lazily. “Meanwhile he can’t stay sober long enough to pick you up on time.”
“You’re drunk right now.”
“I barely finished my first drink…but even drunk I could never forget such a pretty face.”
That shouldn’t have affected you.
But then he reached across the counter — slow enough for you to pull away if you wanted — and placed his hand over yours.
The touch felt unfairly warm.
“I’m serious,” Sukuna murmured. “You keep wasting yourself on men who don’t know what to do with you.”
Your breath caught. His thumb brushed against your pulse.
“I would.”
Your breath hitched, and you pulled your hand away slightly; shocked by Sukuna’s confession.
“Think about it sweetheart,” he said tapping your hand lightly before pulling away to pay for his drink.
Ryomen Sukuna was having the kind of day that made him want to commit a felony.
Work had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster. His clients were being brain-dead idiots, his emails had been piling up since 6:00 AM, and his boss had the audacity to drop a massive, last-minute project on his desk right as he was packing up to leave. By the time he finally unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He was exhausted, he was pissed off, and he was fully prepared to pour himself a massive glass of whiskey and not speak to a single soul for the rest of the night.
He pushed the door open, dropping his keys into the bowl by the entrance with a loud, aggressive clatter. He shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening his tie with a harsh yank.
“I’m home,” he called out, his voice a low, gravelly grumble.
He expected you to be in the kitchen, or maybe curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show. He expected you to ask him how his day was, which would inevitably lead to him ranting for twenty minutes straight.
Instead, there was silence.
Sukuna frowned, his bad mood spiking just a fraction. He walked down the hallway and stepped into the living room.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table. The entire surface was completely covered in hundreds of microscopic, brightly colored plastic bricks. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was slowly falling apart.
But the best part? The absolute most ridiculous, endearing part?
You were squinting so hard your nose was scrunched up, and the very tip of your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth in pure, unadulterated concentration. Your fingers, which were currently trying to snap a tiny, translucent green piece onto a microscopic brown cylinder, were trembling slightly from the effort.
You hadn’t even heard him come in. You were entirely, completely consumed by your task.
Sukuna stood there in the doorway, his suit jacket dangling from his fingers. He didn’t say a word. He just watched you.
You were a serial hobbyist. Every month, it was something new. Knitting, painting by numbers, making weird little clay frogs that currently haunted his nightstand. He usually just rolled his eyes, funded your little hyper-fixations, and let you do your thing.
But this? This tiny, intricate Lego flower shop you had apparently bought today? It had you in a chokehold.
Snap.
The tiny green piece finally clicked into place.
You let out a massive, dramatic gasp of victory, throwing your hands up in the air like you had just won the Super Bowl. “Yes! Take that, you stupid little plastic bitch!”
Sukuna let out a sudden, loud snort.
You jumped, spinning around so fast you nearly knocked over a pile of pink bricks. When you saw him standing there, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The sheer, radiant joy on your face was blinding.
“Babe!” you squealed, scrambling up onto your knees. You carefully scooped up the tiny, completed structure in your hands and held it out toward him like it was the Holy Grail. “Baby, look! Look what I did!”
Sukuna slowly walked over, dropping his jacket onto the sofa. He looked down at your hands.
It was a tiny, incredibly detailed Lego flower shop. And sitting right in front of it was a single, slightly lopsided plastic rose that you had clearly customized.
“I made you this one,” you beamed, your chest puffing out with pride. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s for your desk at work! Because you said your office is depressing! Do you like it?!”
Sukuna stared at the tiny plastic flower. Then, he looked at you.
You had a faint smudge of left over dinner on your cheek. Your oversized shirt was slipping off one shoulder. You were looking up at him with such pure, unfiltered adoration and excitement over a piece of plastic that it actually knocked the breath out of his lungs.
And just like that, it happened.
The stress of the last fourteen hours? Gone. The anger at his clients? Evaporated. The tension in his shoulders, the pounding headache behind his eyes, the overwhelming urge to burn his office building to the ground? It all just melted away, completely washed out by the sheer force of your ridiculous, beaming smile.
He didn’t just love you. That wasn’t a strong enough word anymore.
He looked at you, sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic bricks, offering him a fake flower to make his bad day better, and a single, crystal-clear thought rang through his head like a bell.
I need to marry this girl.
Not ‘I want to.’ Not ‘someday.’ Need. He needed to marry your crazy ass. He needed to lock this down permanently, because if he had to go through the rest of his miserable, stressful life without coming home to you poking your tongue out over a Lego set, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
“Sukuna?” you blinked, your smile faltering just a little when he didn’t immediately respond. You lowered your hands slightly. “Do you… not like it? I know it’s kind of dumb, but—”
“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice thick.
Before you could even process the command, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, completely ignoring the fact that he was crushing at least ten Lego pieces under his expensive suit pants.
He reached out, his large hands gently cupping your face. He didn’t even look at the flower shop. His red eyes were locked entirely on yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.
“Babe?” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Are you okay? Was work bad?”
“Work was a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “But I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of his stress leaving his body. “I love it, baby. It’s perfect. I’m putting it right in the middle of my desk.”
Your smile instantly returned, brighter than before. “Really?!”
“Really,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. It wasn’t heated or rough; it was incredibly soft, filled with a kind of overwhelming reverence that made your toes curl.
When he finally pulled back, he kept his face inches from yours. He looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.
It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of absolute, undeniable fact. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but the weight behind his words was heavy enough to anchor a ship.
Your brain short-circuited. You sat there, frozen, the tiny Lego flower shop still clutched in your hands. “What?”
“You heard me,” he smirked, his usual arrogant confidence bleeding back into his tone. He leaned in and pressed a loud, wet kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m gonna marry your crazy ass. Put a ring on your finger so big you won’t be able to lift your hand to build these stupid little toys.”
“They’re not stupid!” you squawked, your face flushing bright red as his words finally registered. “And you can’t just drop that on me while I’m holding a Lego!”
“I just did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, completely ruining your posture. He buried his face in your neck.
You let out a breathless, watery laugh, carefully setting the flower shop down on the table before wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You ran your fingers through his pink hair, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of his muscles.
“Okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, Ryomen.”
“Good,” he mumbled against your skin. He shifted slightly, his knee crunching against a pile of plastic. He winced. “Now, help me up. I think a fucking Lego is embedded in my kneecap.”
There is a very specific, highly entertaining phenomenon that occurs whenever you take your husband out in public. You like to call it the “Terror and Thirst” effect.
Today, at the crowded public beach, it is in full swing.
You are currently lounging under the massive shade of a navy blue beach umbrella, a trashy romance novel resting on your lap, watching the spectacle unfold at the shoreline.
Ryomen Sukuna is, objectively, a masterpiece of a man. Standing at a towering 6’4”, he is built like a heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a torso carved out of solid granite. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, black board shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips, putting the intricate, sprawling black tattoos that cover his chest, arms, and stomach on full, glorious display.
He is hot as fuck. It’s a fact that is currently not lost on the group of college girls sitting on a blanket about twenty yards away. They haven’t stopped staring, whispering behind their hands, and aggressively adjusting their bikini tops for the last half hour.
But here is the catch: Sukuna is also terrifying.
He has this natural, resting aura of absolute disdain for anyone who isn’t you or your son. He’s a snob, plain and simple. He doesn’t smile at strangers, he doesn’t make polite small talk, and if someone stares at him for too long, he gives them a dead-eyed, chilling glare that practically drops the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.
Case in point: one of the girls giggles a little too loudly, pointing in his direction. Sukuna, who is currently standing ankle-deep in the surf, slowly turns his head. He doesn’t say a word. He just narrows his crimson eyes, his face completely blank, and stares her down.
The girl visibly pales, her hand dropping instantly. She quickly turns around, suddenly very interested in the contents of her cooler.
Sukuna lets out a quiet, dismissive scoff, turning his attention back to the water.
“You’re going to give those poor girls a complex, babe,” you call out, unable to hide your amusement.
Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, and the transformation is instantaneous. The cold, intimidating mask melts away, replaced by an expression so incredibly soft and devoted it makes your chest ache. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small, fond smile.
“Not my problem that they are annoying,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves. “Besides, I only want one woman looking at me.”
You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Smooth, Ryomen. Very smooth.”
“Dada! Splash!”
A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupts the moment. Yuji, currently sporting a pair of tiny black swim trunks that perfectly match his dad’s, is waddling furiously through the shallow water. He’s got a pair of bright orange floaties strapped to his chubby arms, his pink hair plastered to his forehead from the ocean spray.
Sukuna’s attention snaps to his son. He doesn’t say anything, just calmly wades deeper into the water, his massive hands reaching down to scoop the toddler up under the armpits.
“You want to splash, little man?” Sukuna asks quietly, his tone a low, soothing rumble.
“Yeah! Big splash!” Yuji cheers, kicking his little legs.
You watch, completely mesmerized, as your terrifying, snobbish husband hoists your two-year-old high into the air. Sukuna tosses him up—just high enough to make Yuji squeal with delight—and catches him effortlessly, dipping him down so his little toes drag through the water.
It’s a beautiful, chaotic contrast. The giant, tattooed wall of muscle, gently playing in the waves with a giggling, chubby-cheeked toddler.
They play in the water for another twenty minutes. Sukuna is quiet, mostly just listening to Yuji babble about the “big fishes” and the “salty water,” occasionally offering a calm nod or a soft chuckle. He is completely in his element, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.
Eventually, Sukuna wades out of the water, carrying Yuji on his hip. Water is dripping from Sukuna’s pink hair, running down the hard planes of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos. It is a sight that should be illegal.
He walks over to the umbrella, grabbing a towel with his free hand and tossing it over his shoulder. He sets Yuji down on the sand.
“Go to mama, buddy. Let her dry you off,” Sukuna murmurs, running a hand through his wet hair.
But Yuji has other plans.
He shakes himself off like a wet puppy, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He takes two steps toward you, stops, and then his head snaps to the left.
You follow his gaze. A new group of girls—three of them, looking like they just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog—have set up their chairs near the shoreline.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, dropping your book. “Not again.”
Yuji’s eyes go wide. He completely ignores you, turning on his heel and marching straight toward the girls. His little chest is puffed out, his arms swinging with an unearned amount of swagger for a kid who still wears pull-ups at night.
“Sukuna,” you warn, pointing at your son. “Stop him.”
Sukuna doesn’t move. He just stands there, drying his chest with the towel, watching Yuji with a quiet, amused smirk. “Why? He’s on a mission.”
“He is two! He is literally a baby!” you hiss, standing up. “Why does he act like a frat boy on spring break?”
“Son't ask me,” Sukuna replies, clearly avoiding your eyes, he took a sip from the bottle of water. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the lingering amusement in his voicd. “Let the boy have fun, babe.”
You groan, watching helplessly as Yuji reaches the girls.
He stops right in front of their beach chairs. He puts his chubby little hands on his hips, tilts his head, and unleashes the weapon: your bright, disarming smile.
“Hi!” Yuji chirps loudly. “I Yuji!”
The girls immediately stop talking. They look down at the tiny, pink-haired toddler, and the collective swoon is almost audible.
“Oh my god, hi!” one of them coos, leaning forward. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”
“Pweety,” Yuji says, pointing a tiny finger at the girl’s sparkly bikini top. He then flexes his little arm, showing off a completely non-existent bicep. “Look! Strong like dada!”
“I can’t believe this,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands. Sukuna lets out a low, quiet chuckle next to you.
“You are a terrible influence,” you glare at him.
“Babe, I didn’t do anything,” Sukuna says, his voice completely deadpan, though his eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’m just standing here.”
Down by the water, the girls are eating it up. They are giggling, offering Yuji a plastic beach toy, which he graciously accepts. But then, one of the girls looks up. Her eyes scan the beach, looking for the parents, and she spots Sukuna.
You can practically see the cartoon hearts pop out of her eyes.
She stands up, brushing sand off her legs, and walks over to Yuji, taking his little hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad.”
She leads Yuji back toward your umbrella, her eyes locked entirely on Sukuna. She has that look—the look of a woman who thinks she’s about to shoot her shot with a single dad.
“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she approaches. She completely ignores you, standing right in front of Sukuna. “Is this little guy yours? He wandered over to us.”
Sukuna stops drying his hair. His smilr vanishes, instantly replaced by that cold snobbery. He looks down at the girl, his expression completely blank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
He doesn’t say a word to her.
Instead, he steps forward, completely invading her personal space with his massive frame, forcing her to take a nervous step back. He reaches down and scoops Yuji up into his arms.
“Dada! Pweety girl!” Yuji babbles, pointing at the woman.
Sukuna looks at the girl for one more second. It’s a look that clearly says, You are entirely beneath my notice.
“Thanks,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, but it carries a heavy, chilling finality that makes the girl flinch. “Come here buddy lets go to mama”
He turns his back on her without another word, walking the two steps over to you. The girl stands there for a second, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, before she quickly turns and scurries back to her friends.
You are trying very hard not to laugh. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her.”
“I wasn’t,” Sukuna scoffs, setting Yuji down on your beach chair. “I just didn’t care to speak to her.”
“She was totally hitting on you.”
Sukuna finally looks at you, and the ice in his eyes melts completely. He steps into your space, his large hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones.
“Whatever,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register. “I'm married”
Your breath hitches, your heart doing a familiar, stupid little flip in your chest. Even after all these years, he still knows exactly how to render you speechless.
“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.
“Only for my wife,” he replies, leaning down to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s a possessive kiss, one that clearly communicates to anyone watching exactly who he belongs to.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Mama!”
You both look down. Yuji is standing on the beach chair, holding up a slightly crushed, sandy seashell. He shoves it toward you, his big golden eyes shining.
You melt. You absolutely melt. You take the sandy shell, pulling Yuji into a tight hug and kissing his salty, sun-warmed cheek. “Thank you, baby. It’s beautiful.”
Sukuna watches the two of you, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See?” Sukuna says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Yuji’s pink hair. “The kid might have my charm, but he knows the truth.”
At the end of the day, despite the playboy genes and the endless chaos, they were yours. And you were theirs.
And mom was, undeniably, still the best.
an: we're close to 1k what the hekk!!! what one shots do you wanna see next? i can't write smut for the life of me, english is saurrrr hard!! divider by: @pxrce-lain | the art and gif i got from pinterest! feel free to comment who is the orig art creator pls 🙏
18+, zuko's a big ole freak for reader | zuko masterlist | main masterlist
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤঌ
"Send for one of the concubines." Zuko all but barked at his male servant, frustration lacing his voice as he entered his chambers and slammed the door behind him.
He didn't often send for one of his many lovers but when he did, it was usually when he was worked up from a council meeting or the many documents requiring his immediate attention. So when he found himself overwhelmed and in need of a release, he'd remember he had plenty of women waiting to fulfill his every need.
He rubbed at his temples, attempting to soothe the incoming headache before taking off his robe and shirt, and tossing them both onto his bed. He made his way to the red and gold chaise to the left of his room and stretched out on it, one leg was on the ground while the other laid in front of him.
He sighed and laid his head back, telling himself he wouldn’t fall asleep until it was ten minutes later and you walked in, looking shy as ever and entirely too fucking hot in your near see through robes and a thin strapped gown underneath it.
He swallowed hard, his cock already starting to strain against his pants. You often drew this response from him, his favorite concubine and he hated it. It made him feel as if he had no control over his emotions and really, he didn’t. Not when it came to you.
The other women were great. Wonderful in bed, nice enough to be mothers to his children, and overall pleasant to be around. But they weren’t you. They didn’t make his heart triple in speed or make his head dizzy with pure obsession. You had the one thing they didn’t: a personality.
While he could appreciate that his concubines were raised to serve him and that’s why they had cookie cutter identities, he would trade all twelve of them for just one of you.
“My lord.” You hummed, bowing until he gestured for you to rise.
“I trust you’re being treated well?” His finger tapped the arm of the chaise, which his arm was propped up against. When you only nodded with your eyes locked on the ground, he chuckled lightly and titled his head, bangs falling to the side from the movement.
“Look at me.”
Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you realized your slip up: always look the firelord in his eyes when he speaks to you. Though he didn’t care about that, he only wished to see your face to determine if you were being truthful.
“Speak with your words, not your head.”
You bit your lip and he swallowed an embarrassing groan, his eyes following the movement, completely infatuated with the way you slowly released it from your teeth.
“All is well, my lord. Thank you for asking.”
Good, that’s good. Zuko mentally scratched the dialogue he already had prepared for his chamberlain if you had even the slightest of inconveniences. His favorite concubine deserved nothing but the best.
But you were still dressed and that just wouldn’t do. How else was he supposed to admire and worship your body with that useless piece of fabric in the way?
“Very well. Strip.” He commanded, leaning further back into the chaise, pretending like his fully hard cock wasn’t about to rip through his pants.
You hesitated for only a moment before very slowly lowering the robe around your shoulders. You took your time, allowing your fingers to trail across your skin as you made work of the fabric. The way his breath hitched told you that you had him exactly where you wanted him.
In your five months of service to the firelord, you discovered Zuko’s utter weakness to innocence. The way he always grew rock hard the moment you walked in with practiced shy eyes, his deep gutted concern for your comfort as if he had to protect you, and his insistence on being gentle with you as if you were fragile porcelain, though the other concubines mentioned he was quite the rough lover.
Once it was far enough down your body, you let the robe fall to the floor with a whoosh as it spilled around your feet. The smirk Zuko gave you had your body heating, skin crawling with need. You wish he called for you more than once every two weeks, though that was more than any of the other concubines had ever been retrieved.
They were growing jealous of you, always giving you side eyes and calling you “the firelords pet,” as if that wasn’t what you literally were. You didn’t take it personally when they started isolating you from conversations, knowing they had trained their whole lives to get here.
You did let it inflate your ego though, which is why you were now slowly playing with the straps of your gown with one hand, the other running up your thigh and slightly lifting the dress. Seducing your way to being not only Zuko's favorite concubine, but his only one.
You pushed the thin strap down your arm, your other hand snaking its way from your thighs and up your belly until you reached your left breast and lightly squeezed.
"Fuck." Zuko groaned, pushing his hips into the air as if to relieve pressure from between his legs. His eyes were hazy and locked dead on yours, jaw clenching and his hand squeezing around the edge of the chair, knuckles turning white from the force. He looked as if he was going to pounce on you at any moment and this was his attempt at controlling himself.
"Like this, Firelord Zuko?" You asked, batting your eyelashes at him as you moved the other strap down your arm, letting the gown fall to the floor. You stood in front of your monarch, naked as the day you were born and aching for his hands to touch your skin.
"Fucking hell. Yes beautiful, come here." He patted his leg, moving to sit with his back to the cushions as he palmed his cock, squeezing and pulling over the fabric of his pants with absolutely no shame.
You shook with each step you took, nerves dancing with your fading confidence and Zuko would have laughed at the way your body reacted to him if that little stunt you pulled hadn't damn near stripped his sense of reality. Where did you get off teasing him like that? Perhaps you weren't as innocent as he thought, perhaps he would have to teach you a lesson about keeping him waiting.
"On your fucking knees." He ordered you once you stood in front of him, and you were ever the obedient concubine as you dropped to the floor between his legs, staring up at him with those glossy innocent eyes. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.
He reached a hand down to your chin, pulling your face forward slightly and tilting your chin up. He felt his body growing hot at the way you stared at him, a rare side effect of him losing control of his powers when he was distracted. He gathered himself only a little and smirked devilishly at his favorite.
"Look at you, on your knees like a good little girl for your Firelord. Open wide, concubine."
You obeyed, mouth open and tongue out as your pussy grew wet. Zuko never talked to you like this, and you had been wanting to experience this rougher side of him you kept hearing about.
Zuko groaned before leaning over you and allowing his spit to fall into your mouth. You caught it, swallowing greedily and putting on your best shy smile.
"Good girl." And then he was pulling you up, turning you and sitting your ass on his lap, back to chest, hand reaching to your chin to pull your mouth against his. He had never kissed his other concubines, only you. Never kissed anyone as passionately as he did now, only you.
His tongue danced with yours, both trading spit as he used his hand to spread your legs, fingers moving until he was rubbing circles on your clit and biting your lip.
"Oooh Zuko, that feels amazing." You started grinding your hips against his fingers, mouth directly against his as you breathed each other's air. Your eyes were squeezed shut but his were locked on you, making sure his fingers moved just right to get the reactions he wanted from you.
"Hmm, take what you need, princess. Squirt all over my fingers." His voice was low and husky, teeth nipping at your neck as his other hand squeezed your breast and played with your nipple.
Your hips started to speed up, stomach coiling as your orgasm neared and he hadn't even put his fingers inside you yet. You couldn't tell who was seducing who but just as you felt you were about to fall off the edge, he stopped. Completely moving his fingers and nipping at your ear lobe.
You groaned and tried to move his fingers back but he forbade it, using his strength to overpower you and pull his hand away, laughing at your desperate state.
"Doesn't feel good to be teased does it? On your knees again. You're gonna suck my cock until I cum down your throat, understand?"
Holy shit, you were actually shaking with excitement. Who was this man and what did he do with the soft spoken Firelord who treated you like you would break if he grabbed you too hard.
Now wasn't the time to ask questions. You got on your knees, positioning yourself between his legs, hands on his thighs as you waited for him to command you.
"You're gonna swallow every drop, aren't you concubine?" He started moving his pants down his hips, letting his cock spring free and smack against his lower stomach. The tip was red and leaking with pre cum, the sheer length of him making your mouth water. You didn't know how you would take him completely.
"Yes, my lord. I'll show you that I can be a good girl, how sorry I am for teasing you."
He only groaned and sat back, watching with a brow raised and his arms against the back of the chaise. You wasted no time, pulling his pants down the rest of the way to his ankles and grabbing his cock with both of your hands. You started slowly, licking from base to tip while keeping your eyes on him. He didn't break contact, swallowing hard but holding your gaze anyways.
You let your tongue swirl around the tip, licking up all the pre cum and giving a little suck and popping off while the man above you groaned and bucked his hips. You ignored him and started licking around his cock, sucking the veins, never actually putting him all the way in your mouth.
Not until a few moments later when you looked at him again and he gave you a 'do i have to punish you even more' look and you lowered your mouth around him. You went as far as you could, gagging when he grabbed the back of your head and started pushing you further.
"F-fucckk baby, you can take more. Swallow my fucking cock."
Spit was pooling out the sides of your mouth as he forced his way down your throat. You were squeezing his thighs, holding on as he bucked his hips up, eyes rolling back while he brutally fucked your mouth.
"T-That's it, such a good little concubine, ngghhh."
He was holding your head with both hands now, hands tangling through your hair, fucking into your mouth as he chased his release. Your cunt was so wet, juices dripping down your thighs as you pressed your fingers against your clit and pressed with extra force.
You slurped on his cock, moving your head up and down and meeting his movements, rubbing your pussy at the same pace he was fucking your throat.
"Oh- fuck! Take it love, right fucking there don't stop, haah." Zuko was panting like he just ran a lap, and you could have sworn you saw smoke coming from his mouth with little sparks of flame.
"Gonna cum now love, m'gonna fill your little throat okay?"
You hummed your approval, the vibrations pushing Zuko to shoot thick ropes of hot cum into your mouth with a loud groan. His cock was so deep that it went right down your throat, and whatever didn't, you greedily sucked down. The firelord was gripping your hair as he thrusted out the last of his orgasm, mouth dropped open but no sound coming out.
You drank every drop, still sucking until it became too sensitive and he was pulling you off with a grunt. You made sure to give one last suck, coming off him with a pop!, spit that was connected, stretching from his cock and your mouth.
You wiped it off and stared up at him with a smile. Still feigning righteousness, though your eyes and mouth shining with drool and drops of escaped cum, said otherwise.
You were going to drive him crazy.
"Sorry, was just stressed from meetings today. I didn't mean to be so rough-"
"Do it again." You had that look in your eyes that always drove him crazy, though Zuko knew now that you were far from innocent. He should have done this sooner.
His eyes darkened, cock hardening again before he smirked. "Get on the fucking bed."
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤঌ
note: guys imagine zuko laying just like he is in the fanart and being completely mesmerized by you, i'm sucking it crazy style.
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
zuko's lips parted in yet another moan as the glazed look in his eyes darkened. one hand flew to your hair, gently but firmly holding onto you by the roots. his thighs tensed under your soft palms.
for the past few weeks, you'd been worried about your precious fire lord. the calm and confident man who was so quietly sure of his words had been doubting himself increasingly often, whether it be to hesitate before avatar meetings, or simply keep quiet in areas you know he was qualified. this of course would not fly with you. after all, you were a very strong motivator and articulate speaker. you were his wife for a reason.
but when you first proposed the idea to lift his spirits, he couldn't possibly imagine that this was what you meant. he thought his smart, beautiful wife would give him a well earned pep-talk, but you didn't seem to be talking at all.
no, quite the opposite.
he thrusted forward involuntarily again, feeling the soft fluttering of your throat wrapped around his swollen cock as you sputtered and gagged. your nails dug into his thighs, leaving red crescent-shaped indents to remind him later of his motivation session.
you unstuck your throat from him, leaving his rock-hard erection with a wet pop! spit and slick dribbled down his length, accumulating at the base in an indecent puddle.
"who are you, baby?"
"t-the fire lor-ngh-"
your tongue continued its relentless teasing of the sensitive underside of his painfully flushed tip. taking him in your mouth again, you continued your descent until your eyelashes batted against the curly mess of his thicket of hair. he fucking whimpered.
he was going to learn his lesson damn well, even if you ruined his cock in the process.
thinking about firelord zuko who very quickly discards tradition as soon as you’re married.
he never walks ahead of you, always a few paces behind like he has a better view or he’s appreciating a sight only to be seen once in a life time. your fingers stay interlaced beneath heavy cloaks that bare the emblem of his home nation, but nowadays yours is stitched into the fabric with threads imported from your own. right above his. right above his heart.
zuko who’s shadow takes shape in the darkness, allowing your light to filter through a room full of opinionated others. he knows the extent of your capability extends beyond the wildest dreams, far greater than those who stand around you waiting for the crack in your visage. you’re strong, even if you stand a few heads shorter than him, your voice is loud and oftentimes the most correct in a room full of static and noise. he’d never let you feel less than, he never speaks for you, lips only parting to clear the buzz in the air and to allow attention to fall to you.
fire lord zuko who insists on being your right hand at every table — leaving you to take a seat at his head. he can’t stand the thought of eating meals at opposite ends — where the distance makes him feel lost, too far from home. he eats to your right where he can listen to the mundane up close, watch the way your lips curl around bites of food or a the words that make up tale from your tribe. he listens like the world has stopped for the two of you, like a nation in need of rule can wait another day for its lord and his princess.
in a similar fashion, he tends to you like a devout follower. even if there are handmaids and tailors and people to help. every door you’ve ever walked through is held open by him. for you. he lifts the straying edge of your train with a certain reverence, treating extra fabric like it’s an extension of you. zuko twirls the braids into your hair in the fashion that you like, undoes the lacing strings of your attire with fumbling fingers that only know the roughness of flames after a late night — because even though his mess of your garments is embarrassing, it makes you laugh in a way that warms him like honey notes in milk before bed.
zuko preps the water that laps at the tension in your shoulders and eases it away with hands that move like molten lava. rose petals bob along the surface, perform twizzles in the ripples of water that ebb around the lines of your body. worn down by work, diplomatic duties but tended to by unspoken love and adoration. zuko sinks into the tub behind you, bare and warm — his chin on your shoulder and face in your neck because that’s the only place he’s found safe enough to call home.
when you’re married to zuko, life is not instantly easier and the traditions of others still find their way into your relationship as performative duty… but he carries part of the load. he makes it simpler for you, because loving you, is simple too.
esteemed prince zuko has a thing for cramming his cock inside you to the absolute hilt, so much so that his balls are squished against your ass and there's absolutely no more room for him to fit inside you even if he could, then rubs the swollen, heavy head of his cock against your womb, watching as each time he ruts his hips forward, a little indent forms in your tummy.
sometimes, he won't even thrust anymore, just keeps his cock inside you so you're forced to feel each of the dull throbs his cock gives and the veins lining his cock squished against your tender walls, while rolling his hips so your poor womb and his big tip kiss, as he likes to call it.
his favorite part is how your walls cling to him as he does it, how your pussy sucks him in and is firmly adamant in keeping him in place, especially when he just thrusts as is, no pulling back, just bucking his hips to force his cock deeper, deeper, deeper. even though there's no more space.
and when he does pull back a little, agonizingly slow and only halfway, he watches as your folds cling onto him, muscles wrapped tightly around his cock and tugging him back for more when he tries to move. he can't bear to move any more than halfway before he's thrustinng back in even slower than when he was pulling out, letting you feel every single inch stretching you out before he repeats that motion again and again until both of you cum. and afterwards, too. he won't stop until your poor pussy is overflowing with his load and leaking rivulets onto his sheets.
"Where is my niece?" Iroh asks Zuko as he enters his study. He nods slightly at the attendants who bow in greeting. "There’s a new tea shop that opened in the city and I was hoping she'd accompany me."
"She may be feeding the turtle ducks," Zuko replies, reading through some documents. "And she won't be able to go with you today, she promised her afternoon and evening to me."
Iroh raises a brow, noting how Zuko's voice turned slightly childish. It reminds him of back when Zuko was young and a little possessive over the turtle ducks. He'd not allow anyone else near them, only his mother and very rarely, himself.
It's funny to see it now on an adult Zuko, who's a little—very—possessive over his wife and her time.
Iroh contemplates teasing his nephew about it.
"Oh?" He says. "But it'll only be for an hour or so and I know she's been excited to visit this place."
Zuko huffs. "I know. She's been talking about it since you told her." He sighs, lowering the paper in his hands so he can give his uncle his full attention. "You know I love that you and her are close. But let's be realistic, uncle. Your outings last longer than an hour and I probably won't see her until it's time for bed."
"I wouldn't keep her out that long."
Zuko stares at him.
"I promise!" Iroh laughs, amused by his nephew's disgruntled expression. "And you know there's a solution for this."
"And what's that?" Zuko asks, eyeing him warily.
"You can come with us."
"You know I can't," Zuko says, gesturing to all the work before him. "I have a meeting in the early afternoon followed by my counsel and—"
The doors to his study open, revealing a smiling you. Iroh smiles back, casting a glance at Zuko who immediately melts at the sight of you. Oh, he remembers what that was like—being that deeply in love.
"Hey," you greet happily, moving towards Iroh first who accepts the hug you give him. Then you're onto Zuko who stands and reaches for you, his arms locking around your waist as you lean into him, pressing a soft kiss against his scar. "How are my two favourite people doing?"
"Well," Zuko starts. "We were just—"
"—about to head out to the new tea shop that just opened," Iroh interrupts smoothly, ignoring the bewildered look on his nephew's face. "We were coming to look for you right now, actually."
"Oh really?" You ask, brightening up beautifully and turning your sunshine smile to Zuko. "You're coming with us? That's so exciting! We can spend the afternoon together."
"I—" Zuko looks towards Iroh, helpless, as his uncle grins. "I...yes, I'm coming with you."
"Wonderful!" You kiss his scar again and Zuko's melting again. "Let me just go and freshen up a little then we can go."
"We'll be here," Iroh replies, waving as you practically skip out of the room. Then he turns to Zuko. "Well, that was easy, wasn't it?"
"You've got to stop doing that," Zuko bemoans but there's an obvious upward curve to his lips.
adult fire lord zuko x wife!reader
warnings: 18+ nsfw, fluff, breeding kink, baby fever, daddy kink
summary: when fire lord zuko sees his wife holding babies, and with everyone constantly pestering for an heir, his mind can't help but reel to darker places.
“fire lord zuko! when can we expect an heir to the fire nation?”
“fire lord zuko! are you and the fire lady expecting?”
“who will take the throne as the prince now that you have been reigning for some time?”
the relentless questioning left zuko restless. he had hoped the weight on his shoulders would ease once he transitioned from prince to fire lord, but the pressure had only increased tenfold.
you, on the other hand, were as cool as a cucumber.
as the beloved fire lady, you were adored by the entire nation. while zuko was buried in council meetings and ledgers, you spent your free time at charities, local orphanages, and schools. to put it simply, you were constantly surrounded by families—more specifically, children.
zuko watched from afar as toddlers wrapped their chubby arms around your skirts, peering up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. parents took pride in seeing the fire lady cradle their infants, and even the fussiest babies seemed to settle the moment they were tucked into your arms.
“my! you would make such a wonderful mother,” one woman remarked.
“the fire lord is a lucky man indeed,” the citizens added. “a beautiful wife and a natural mother.”
while zuko often flushed with embarrassment, you took every remark as an opportunity to tease him.
“hear that, zuko? it means we’ve got work to do,” you joked, gently rocking a sleeping infant while the crowd erupted into laughter.
it wasn’t until you were talking to one of the elderly ladies from a distance that the conversation took a turn, her voice not-so-quiet as she described the struggles of pregnancy.
“pregnancy is a beautiful thing, but very, very tedious,” the elderly lady explained. “you’re constantly waddling around with a big, round belly. your feet are swollen and bare, and your…” she motioned to your chest, “always swollen and aching.”
your face flushed with embarrassment, but zuko, on the other hand, found his mind admiring the idea.
he wasn’t in a rush to have kids, but the image of you—his wife, waddling around the palace barefoot in nothing but a flowy dress. your belly, round from carrying his baby, and your breasts swollen with milk.
it was perfect.
and that was how you ended up here, sprawled across your shared bed with your legs hooked over zuko’s broad shoulders as he held you folded in a mating press.
his cock—thick and swollen—pounded into you relentlessly, the air filling with vulgar sounds that made your eyes roll back and your ears burn.
“zu—zuko!” you cried out in pleasure.
“gonna… get you…” zuko grunted, his hips drawing back as he drove into you deeper. “pregnant… gotta breed you—”
zuko was a mess of incoherent babbling, muttering about keeping you full of his seed and the image of you walking around barefoot. his heavy body completely enveloped yours, his hands tangling into your hair to pin you in place, keeping you trapped in that vulnerable position.
“gonna keep fucking you until it takes,” he promised darkly. “until our kids are running around the palace.”
you were a moaning mess beneath him, your legs dangling in the air as he pounded into you, forcing you to take every deliciously agonizing inch of your fire lord.
“how many do you think we’ll have? one? two?” zuko laughed raspily against your ear, the vibration making your body tingle. “or twins. that’d be nice—wouldn’t it?”
“so… so nice,” you managed to moan.
zuko laughed again, adjusting his angle so he could fuck even deeper into your warm, aching core.
“fuck. you gonna make me a daddy, baby?”
“yes, zuko!” you cried, nodding your head frantically against the pillows. “yes—i’ll make you a daddy—”
“shit,” he cursed, his body drawing tight as he felt himself ready to pump you full. “say it again.”
“daddy!”
daddy. daddy. daddy.
the sound of it was music to his ears. he tossed his head back, his long, dark hair damp with sweat against his bare skin as his cock pulsed deep inside you, pumping ropes of thick, hot cum into your aching pussy.
“god, that’s it,” he growled, peering down at you with lustful, golden eyes as his chest heaved.
“gonna make sure it takes. you’re going to give me an heir, aren’t you? my beautiful, perfect, sweet wife.”
mr big scary let me ask my wife firelord who always has to run things by you not because you’re controlling or demanding but because he wants you to know what he’s doing, wants you to be included and wants you to approve of his decisions because when you’re happy, he’s happy.
“ fire lord zuko, the earth emissary would like to have a dinner. when is suitable for you?”
“let me ask my wife and i’ll get back to you.”
“lord zuko, the festival of fire is coming up, will you be in attendance?”
“not sure. let me ask my wife.”
“sir. the avatar has requested your help. will you be going to lend aid?”
“if my wife grants me permission, yes.”
“my wife said we need more opportunities for women in government. lets look into that.”
“i cannot attend that meeting. i have lunch plans with my wife.”
even when doing the most mundane and tedious things like new gowns or new stationery for royal decrees, you’re there to give your opinion.
“does my wife like it?”
“what does the firelady think?”
“ask my wife, she has the final say. whatever she wants, goes.”
big scary i worship the ground my wife walks on fire lord
