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[nanamincreampie]

Surprise for the King

Sukuna Ryomen x Black plus size reader

Warnings: suggestive, Sukuna loving tf out of his queen

(inspirations for this little thing right ere)

The court had not expected their king to soften. When Ryomen Sukuna wed, it had been for politics: a marriage arranged to seal an alliance, to quiet rivals, to bind wealth and power to his throne. His bride had come from across the sea, a woman unlike those who filled his court with brittle laughter and sharp-edged beauty.

She was lush where they were narrow, her skin rich and deep as polished mahogany, her hair a natural crown, an afro with curls that framed her face with quiet defiance. They whispered when she entered the hall, but Sukuna had only listened once. After that, no one dared.

What had been meant as a union of strategy had, against all expectations, become something far more dangerous. The king, feared by his enemies and respected by his men, found himself undone not on the battlefield but in the private warmth of his queen.

One evening, while her maid loosened the laces of her gown and brushed fragrant oil into her curls, the queen sighed.

“His birthday nears,” she murmured. “And still I have nothing to give him. What can a man with everything desire?”

The maid smiled, lowering her eyes. “Perhaps not gold or jewels, my lady. But something no other can place before him.”

Her brow arched. “Go on.”

“There is a painter in the village. Isabelle de Montfort, who is said to capture more than likeness. She could make portraits of you, not stiff ones for the court, but something only his majesty should see.”

The queen’s laughter was soft but thoughtful. “ Portraits, you say? As if he could ever tire of staring.”

The maid only smiled knowingly, and that night the queen turned the thought over and over until it became certainty.

At dawn she cloaked herself, slipping through the gates with only one trusted guard. The village streets smelled of bread and smoke when she arrived at a modest studio.

Isabelle's hands stained with pigment, eyes bright. She nearly dropped her brush when she recognized her visitor.

“My queen,” she whispered, bowing low. “What honor—”

“This must remain between us,” the queen interrupted gently. “I wish to commission portraits. Four. A gift for my husband.”

The painter’s lips parted. “Of you?”

“Yes.”

Her awe softened into determination. “Then let us begin.”

The first session, the queen wore rose-colored silk that slid over her curves like water. She shifted uneasily, aware of her soft belly, the fullness of her thighs where they pressed against the chaise, the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric.

“Do not hide yourself,” Isabelle said firmly. “Your stomach, your thighs, your breasts, they are not flaws, they are abundance. Your king will not see imperfection. He will see plenty.”

The queen’s cheeks warmed. “You flatter me.”

“I only paint truth. Now, tilt your chin. Let your hair catch the light.”

The brush moved swiftly, capturing the halo of her afro against the blush of silk, the strength in her shoulders, the curve of her waist that seemed to invite touch. Each session draped her in new shades: lavender, sky blue, ivory. Each time the painter whispered like a prayer: “Magnificent. Divine. Worthy of devotion.”

By the third week, Sukuna noticed.

He watched her rise before the sun, cloaked and secretive, returning at noon with color high in her cheeks. She smelled faintly of oils and pigments.

At first, he said nothing. He was a king, and kings did not beg for answers. But suspicion gnawed at him, not of treachery, never that, but of being left outside her secrets.

One morning he caught her in the corridor. His hand closed around hers, firm but not cruel.

“You vanish at dawn,” he said lowly, eyes narrowing. “You return at noon with shadows in your smile. Should I worry?”

Her heart raced, though her lips curved. “Do you not trust me?”

Sukuna studied her. Even suspicion could not mask the devotion in his gaze. “I trust you more than any soul. But you are mine, wife. I have a right to your secrets.”

She touched his jaw, fingers soft against scarred skin. “It is no betrayal. Only patience I ask. In three weeks’ time, you will understand.”

His frown lingered, but he released her, murmuring, “Then I will endure. But do not test me too long.”

The day of his birth dawned with celebration. Nobles poured into the throne room with silks, jewels, and beasts. Townspeople offered bread, wine, and gold coins. Sukuna sat upon his throne, two arms resting on its carved arms, his face carved in stone.

None of it moved him.

Until his queen approached.

She took his hand boldly, ignoring the murmurs, and whispered, “Come with me.”

The king rose. Not even his advisors dared protest as she led him away from the throne room, through gilded corridors, into the sanctuary of their chambers.

There, beneath velvet drapes, four canvases waited.

She drew back the cloth.

Sukuna’s breath stilled.

There she was, his wife, his queen, immortalized in paint. Draped in rose silk, her hair crowned with gold light. Reclining in lavender, her soft stomach and full thighs displayed with reverence. Wrapped in pale blue, her breasts heavy beneath sheer fabric, her gaze smoldering as though she looked at only him. In ivory, she stood regal, every curve a testament to power and beauty.

The king, conqueror of kingdoms, was silent.

“You…” His voice caught, rough. “You gave me this?”

She smiled softly. “The world gives you treasures. I give you myself.”

Sukuna stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the portraits. His hand lifted, cupping her cheek with surprising gentleness.

“Do you know what you have done to me?” he murmured. His thumb brushed over her lips, his other hand pressing against her waist, feeling the curve the painter had immortalized.

“I only wished to honor you,” she whispered.

He shook his head, lips pressing to her temple, then her cheek, then her mouth. “No, wife. You’ve undone me. Gold means nothing. Armies mean nothing. But this—” he glanced at the portraits again, eyes dark with hunger and awe “—this I will guard like my life.”

He drew her against him, his hands lingering at her waist, her hips, the softness of her stomach as if memorizing her all over again. His kisses deepened, heated, as though the paintings had awakened something primal.

“Your hair,” he breathed, fingers brushing her curls. “Your thighs, your belly, your breasts, woman, you are the masterpiece. And you are mine.”

Her laughter trembled against his lips as he pressed her to the bed. Not hurried, not hungry with conquest, but reverent, like a man at prayer. His mouth mapped the path the painter’s brush had taken, pausing at her collarbone, her shoulder, the swell of her chest.

She gasped softly, clutching at his tunic. “So you are pleased with your gift?”

“Pleased?” His mouth curved into a rare smile against her skin. “Wife, I am conquered.”

That night, beneath candlelight and the painted gaze of her likeness, the king did not think of crowns or wars. He thought only of her, the woman who had turned a political marriage into love, who had given him not gold or power but a vision of herself eternal.

And Ryomen Sukuna, ruthless king of curses, laid down his suspicion, his throne, and his pride, because his queen had already claimed every part of him.

[splurtz]

when dadkuna gets the call that his son’s suspended for fighting at school

the call hits at 3:17 pm. the school number on the cracked screen of your phone. you swipe to answer before it can ring twice.

“hello?"

“mrs. ryomen? we need either you or your husband to come down to the office. your son was involved in a physical altercation. he’s suspended for three days pending further review. he’s waiting here now.”

you press two fingers to the bridge of your nose, already feeling the headache bloom. “wha—okay. we’ll be there in twenty.”

sukuna’s in the garage, hunched over the old harley he’s been rebuilding for months. black tank clinging to his back from the heat, grease streaked across his forearms where his tattoos peek out. he doesn’t look up when you step into the open bay.

“hey kuna?” you softly call, “school called.”

he keeps wiping the carburetor with a shop rag. “what now.”

“he got into a fight and they’re suspending him. we have to go pick him up.”

the rag stops mid-motion. his jaw flexes once, visible even from the side. “he start it?”

“they didn’t say over the phone.”

“figures.” he tosses the rag onto the cluttered workbench. his tools scattered, half-empty beer can sweating beside a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “let’s go.”

the drive is quiet except for the sound of the truck and sukuna's knuckles white on the wheel. you know better than to fill the silence with platitudes. he hates that shit.

ren, your son, is slouched in one of the orange plastic chairs bolted to the wall outside the principal’s door. his split lip already swelling, fresh bruise blooming purple under his left eye, knuckles split and crusted. blood’s dried in a thin line down the front of his gray hoodie. he looks up when the door swings open, meets sukuna’s stare straight on. no ounce of apology in his eyes. just the same stubborn set to his mouth you’ve seen a thousand times in the mirror.

he was looking exactly like sukuna at that age in the old photos you've seen.

not only does he look like his dad, he for sure got his temper too.

"you better have a damn good reason." sukuna stops in the doorway, boots planted. “what the fuck happened.”

“some kid wouldn’t shut up about mom,” ren says, “said shit i wasn’t about to let stand, so i handled it.”

ahhh fortunately for him, that's enough of an excuse to sukuna.

you feel sukuna’s temper rise and you just sigh knowing he’ll most likely tolerate this behavior again. you move first, moving pass them into the principal’s office ready to get this over with so you can have a talk with your son properly.

the principal’s a nervous-looking guy in a polyester suit two sizes too big. he looks ridiculous, you and sukuna once had a good laugh talking about him. he stands when you enter. sukuna follows, shoulders filling the narrow doorway. he doesn’t sit. just crosses his arms and leans against the wall, tattoos catching the harsh overhead light.

he clears his throat twice. “mr. and mrs. ryomen thank you for coming so quickly.”

sukuna stays silent as the principal fidgets with a pen.

“your son initiated the physical contact,” he starts. “the other student sustained a mild concussion. we’re recommending–”

“he said something about my wife,” sukuna interrupts. "that true or what?"

the principal lets out a nervous chuckle. “be that as it may, we maintain a zero-tolerance policy toward violence–”

sukuna’s voice cuts in again, “say that part again. what exactly did the other kid say about her?”

the room goes still, you don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or proud that both your husband and son are standing up for you like this. ren shifts his weight, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

“called her a gold digger,” ren says. “said she only married you for the cash and that you’re just some ex-con tattoo artist who knocked her up... that pissed me off."

sukuna’s gaze flicks to you for half a heartbeat. you shake your head the smallest amount—no. he exhales loudly, the frustration in him growing more.

“so my kid put his hands on a loudmouth who was talking shit about his mother,” sukuna says. “and you’re punishing him for it.”

“school policy is clear—”

“your policy’s obviously shit.” sukuna pushes off the wall. “you let these kids talk whatever trash they want all day, but the minute someone actually responds, you clutch your pearls?”

“mr. ryomen, i’m going to have to ask you to—”

you can't stand this.

“me and my husband understand the suspension. we’ll take him home. do we need to sign anything?”

the principal hesitates, then slides the forms across the desk. you sign quick while sukuna keeps staring at the motivational poster on the wall like he’s imagining putting a fist through it.

the parking lot’s baking under the late-afternoon sun, shadows stretch long and jagged from the chain-link fence and the row of staff cars, a couple seagulls wheel overhead, crying once before banking toward the football field. the truck chirps twice when sukuna thumbs the fob, the doors unlock with that familiar pop.

sukuna's ready to hear whatever lecture you have to give this time.

“backseat, ren,” you say flatly.

he doesn’t argue. he ducks his head and slides into the back without a sound. the leather creaks under your guys weight as sukuna fires the engine.

“you don’t get to decide what’s worth fighting over at school,” you start. “i don’t care what he said about me. you don’t put your hands on someone because words hurt your feelings. that’s not how this works.”

ren stares down at the rubber floor mat.

“you’re grounded. two weeks. no phone, no going out, no friends over. you come straight home after school when the suspension’s up. you do your work, you help around the house, and you think about why throwing punches isn’t a solution. clear?”

ren nods once, slow. “yeah.”

“say it.”

he lifts his eyes just enough to meet yours in the rearview. “it’s clear. i’m grounded two weeks. no phone, no nothing.”

you hold his gaze another second, then turn back forward. “good.”

the rest of the drive unspools in thick silence. traffic thins as you leave the school zone, the sun dipping low enough that the dashboard glows faintly orange. you keep your eyes on the road, fingers laced loosely in your lap, while sukuna’s grip on the wheel stays steady but no longer bone-white.

when the truck finally rolls into the driveway, sukuna kills the engine with a twist of the key. the sudden quiet is awkward.

you unbuckle first, turning halfway in your seat. “i’m starting dinner. kuna,” you pause facing your husband, “talk to him.”

sukuna exhales through his nose when you enter the house. he reaches over and twists the key back just enough to kill the accessory power, plunging the cabin into near-darkness except for the faint streetlight spilling through the windshield.

ren’s voice comes out low, a little nervous now that it's just his dad with him, “you mad at me?”

sukuna laughs in response. “mad?” he echoes. “nah, not mad. you did what you had to do.”

"wait really??"

“kid talked shit about your mom,” sukuna continues, “you handled it. part of me gets that—hell, most of me does. but your mother just laid it out plain, she's right, you don’t swing first at school. not because defending family is wrong. because getting caught makes it useless. next time you decide something’s worth handling, make sure no one sees. or better yet, walk away and deal with it where cameras don’t reach and mouths don’t run to teachers.”

ren nods slowly, throat working like he’s swallowing everything he wants to say. “she’s pissed.”

“she’s pissed because she doesn’t want you turning into me at sixteen.” sukuna finally flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror, meeting ren’s gaze head-on. “look just take the grounding, do the time, don’t argue with her. she’ll cool off faster that way.”

ren rubs his jaw, careful around the swelling bruise. “yeah… okay. i get it, thanks dad.”

sukuna pops his door open, the dome light flooding the cab with weak yellow. “come on. go help her with whatever she’s doing in there and ice that face before it swells completely shut.”

ren climbs out first, shoulders hunched a little like the weight of the day is still sitting on them. sukuna follows a second later, pocketing the keys as he exhales once more.

later that night when the house quiets down, ren’s already shut himself in his room, lights off early for once.

you and sukuna are both in bed too.

sukuna’s sprawled face-down on the mattress, shirt gone, the wide map of his back exposed.

he groans low when you climb onto the bed behind him, knees bracketing his hips. your hands settle between his shoulder blades first, thumbs digging slow circles into the knots that live there permanently.

“fuck—right there,” he mutters into the pillow.

massaging him is one of the routines you guys do before sleeping, sukuna claims it completes his day no matter how shitty it went.

you keep the pressure steady, working down the length of his spine. the room smells faintly of his soap and the arnica gel you rubbed into ren’s face earlier.

after a minute you lean forward, hair brushing his shoulder.

“sooo you two talk in the truck?”

“yeah.”

your palms slide up to his traps, kneading deeper. “and???”

“told him he did good putting the kid in his place.” sukuna shifts his head to the side so he can talk properly. “but that he can’t be dumb about it next time. school cameras, witnesses, snitches—whole system’s built to catch the guy who actually swings. told him if he’s gonna handle shit, handle it clean. or don’t handle it at all.”

you pause for half a second, glaring at him. “so you basically told him it’s fine to fight… just don’t get caught.”

he snorts. “i told him reality ain’t the same as the lecture you gave. sweetheart, you want him safe and i want him smart. both can be true.”

your hands start moving again, tracing the ridges of muscle along his ribs. “you’re enabling him.”

“i’m not telling him to start fights.” sukuna turns his head the other way, cheek pressed flat to the pillow so he can see you out of the corner of his eye. “i’m telling him the world doesn’t run on zero-tolerance posters. kid talks about you like that again? someone’s gonna feel it. might as well be someone who knows how to throw properly. i just don’t want him suspended every other week or expelled before he graduates.”

you press your thumbs into the base of his skull, he hisses softly, sounding pleased.

“he looks so much like you in those old pictures now,” you say quieter.

“he’s got your eyes though. softer when he’s not pissed. he’ll figure it out.”

you lean down, lips touching the warm skin behind his ear. “you really not mad at him?”

“nah.” his voice drops lower. “‘m feeling proud. some punk runs his mouth about my wife and my kid lays him out without blinking? that’s blood. that’s mine.” he exhales again. “but i hate seeing his face fucked up. hate even more that he’s gonna carry my reputation around like a target. they already look at him sideways because of me.”

your hands slide down his arms now, working the tension out of his forearms, the same ones that were covered in grease earlier. “he’s not you at sixteen. he’s got us. both of us.”

sukuna turns over suddenly. quick enough that you have to brace on his chest to keep balance. he catches your wrists and tugs you down until you’re half sprawled across him. his eyes flick over your face, looking tired.

“c’mere,” he mutters, already reaching. "didn't i just get lucky?"

his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers curling into your hair just enough to guide you down. he pulls you in like it’s the most natural thing after a day like this.

the kiss lands soft, lips pressing slow against yours. you taste the faint mint from the gum he was chewing earlier, mixed with whatever’s left of the day on his breath. his other arm loops around your lower back, palm flat and heavy, dragging you closer until there’s no space left.

your chest against his, heartbeat thumping steady under your hand.

he angles his head to deepen the kiss. tongue brushes yours lazily like he’s savoring it, you feel his fingers tighten slightly in your hair before loosening again.

you pull back after a minute, just enough to breathe. noses still touching, foreheads pressed.

he doesn’t open his eyes right away. just stays close, breathing you in.

“better?” you whisper.

“mm yeah.”

his thumb strokes along your jaw then he leans up and kisses you again. it's shorter this time like he’s saying shut up and stay here. lips linger a second longer before he drops his head back to the pillow with a tired exhale.

arms stay wrapped around you, one hand settling low on your back, the other still loosely in your hair.

“stop thinking about it, kay? he’ll be alright,” he says eventually. “yer a great mom and 'm trying not to screw up too. he got time to fuck up and figure it out. more than i ever did.”

A/N: genuinely. what is this. art by _avecot on x. also vote

[rosiestrudel-deactivated2026052]

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ this just a snack

heian era!sukuna x concubine!reader

wc : ≈ 1.8k words

the sun filters through the paper screens in lazy golden streaks, painting the tatami in soft patterns that look almost like spilled sake. you kneel on a cushion that's seen better centuries, adjusting the layers of your jūnihitoe—silk upon silk upon silk, colors chosen because sukuna once grunted that the pale pink reminded him of fresh entrails. romantic, in his way.

"woman," his voice rumbles from the low platform where he sprawls like a particularly lazy mountain. four arms, two faces, tattoos crawling over skin like living ink. he's wearing that ridiculous white robe again, open at the chest because why not? "fetch the brush. the one made from fox bone."

you blink. "the fox bone one? you used it to pick your teeth last week."

he cracks one eye open—the lower one on the second face, because of course it's the creepy one that wakes up first. "precisely. it has character now."

you sigh, the sound lost under the weight of approximately eight kilograms of silk, and shuffle over to the lacquered box. the brush is there, stained, looking vaguely judgmental. you hand it over without comment.

sukuna takes it with his lower left hand, twirls it once, then uses it to scratch behind one ear like a very large, very dangerous cat. "better."

you're his only concubine left. the others... well. he got a little hungry last month. the court ladies whispered about it for months until he ate the whisperers too. now the halls are quiet. too quiet, sometimes. but he keeps you around because, as he puts it, "you don't bore me to immediate death, woman."

high praise.

he yawns—wide, showing too many teeth—and stretches all four arms at once. the room seems to shrink. "nap time. unsleep me in an hour. or two. whenever the sun moves enough that it's annoying."

you tilt your head. "unslee— what??"

"unsleep me." he says it like it's obvious, already closing his eyes. both sets.

"un... sleep you?" you repeat slowly. the word feels wrong in your mouth, like chewing on poetry written backward.

he doesn't open his eyes. "yes. unsleep. poke me. sing. recite bad poetry. threaten to leave. i care not. just make the boredom stop."

you stare at the ceiling beams for a long moment. "that's not a word."

"it is now." a lazy smirk curls across the mouth on his stomach. creepy bastard. "you're clever. invent it properly if you must."

you consider inventing several new words involving sharp objects and his anatomy, but decide against it. instead you settle beside him, careful not to disturb the careful arrangement of his limbs. he naps like he fights—like everything might explode if you breathe wrong.

an hour passes. maybe two. the incense has burned low, smelling faintly of sandalwood and charred dreams. you lean over, poke his shoulder with one finger.

nothing.

you poke harder.

a grumble.

"woman. that was pathetic."

"you said poke."

"i said unsleep. put effort into it."

you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see last week's dinner. then, because why not, you lean in close to the ear on his right face—the one that actually listens sometimes—and whisper, "the kitchen just received fresh river fish. the kind you like to eat raw while complaining it's not human enough."

one eye snaps open. "you lie."

"maybe." you shrug, silk rustling. "but now you're awake. congratulations. you're unslept."

he stares at you for a long beat. then the stomach mouth laughs—low, rolling thunder. "you're insufferable."

"you're welcome."

he sits up slowly, joints popping like dry branches. "feed me."

"you ate the last cook. and uraume's busy"

"then cook."

"i'm a concubine, not a scullery maid."

"you're whatever i say you are today." but there's no heat in it. just that odd, lazy amusement he reserves for you alone.

you stand—gracefully, because layers—and pad toward the low table where servants used to leave trays before they learned better. there's rice, pickled radish, some grilled eel that looks suspiciously like it fought back. you arrange it with the care of someone who knows refusal means becoming dessert.

sukuna watches, chin propped on one fist, another hand idly tracing patterns on the tatami. "you move like you're plotting murder."

"only on mondays."

he snorts. "good. keep that spirit. dull women get eaten faster."

you set the tray before him. "eat. before i decide you're the dull one."

he picks up a piece of eel with two fingers, examines it like it's an ancient scroll, then pops it into the stomach mouth. the main face chews something else. multitasking cannibalism. charming.

"tell me something amusing," he says around a mouthful.

you sit across from him, knees tucked properly because court manners die hard. "the fujiwara sent another poem this morning. something about cherry blossoms and fleeting life."

sukuna's upper lip curls. "and?"

"i burned it. the ink smelled like cowardice."

he barks a laugh—genuine this time. "that's my woman."

not lover. not wife. just woman. possessive in that ancient, casual way of his. like claiming the sky claims clouds.

you watch him eat. it's oddly mesmerizing—terrifying and mundane at once. when he's done he licks his fingers, all four hands moving in sync, then leans back.

"bored."

"already?"

"entertain me."

you consider. poetry? music? dance? all the things concubines of normal men are supposed to do. but ryomen sukuna was anything but normal.

instead you say, "arm wrestle me."

he blinks—all four eyes in sequence. "what."

"arm wrestle. you have four. i'll use both of mine on one of yours. fair odds."

he stares like you've suggested he become a monk.

then he grins. wide. dangerous. delighted.

"very well."

you kneel closer. he extends his lower right arm—thick, corded, tattooed. you grip it with both hands. his skin is warm. too warm. like holding a furnace.

"ready?" you ask.

"begin when you cease stalling."

you pull.

nothing happens.

you pull harder.

his arm doesn't budge. but his mouth—the stomach one—starts laughing again.

"pathetic," he says fondly.

"cheater," you grunt, leaning your whole body weight.

slowly—very slowly—he lets his arm move. inch by inch. like indulging a child. when your hands hit the mat he releases suddenly, sending you sprawling backward into silk pillows.

"i win," he announces.

"you let me win the losing part."

"semantics."

you sit up, hair falling out of its pins in dark rivers. heian beauty standards demand long hair, pale skin, mystery. you look like a disheveled crow spirit.

he reaches out—one hand cups your chin, thumb brushing your lower lip. "you amuse me."

"high praise from the king of curses."

"don't get used to it." but his grip is gentle. oddly gentle.

you lean into it anyway. "nap again?"

"perhaps." he pulls you closer until you're half in his lap, silk tangling with his robe. "but first—unsleep protocol."

"what?"

"if i doze, you have permission to bite me awake."

"bite?"

"teeth. preferably neck. make it interesting."

you stare. "you're deranged."

"and you're still here."

true enough.

the afternoon drags into evening. incense smoke curls like lazy ghosts. sukuna dozes—eventually—head tipped back, mouths slack. you wait the required hour (or two), then lean in.

hesitate.

then gently—very gently—nip the skin at the base of his throat.

his eyes snap open. all of them.

"woman," he growls, but it's amused. hungry in a different way.

"unslept," you say primly.

he pulls you flush against him. "good girl."

outside, the capital hums with poetry and politics and fragile human schemes. inside, it's just you and the monster who ate everyone else because they weren't interesting enough to keep.

and somehow—you're still here. still sassing him. still alive.

he calls you woman like it's a title.

you call him idiot when he's being particularly dense.

and somehow, in the golden haze of heian-kyō, that's enough.

the next morning—or what passes for morning when the king of curses decides time is optional—you wake to him staring at you. intently. like you're a puzzle he hasn't solved yet.

"what?" you mumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

"you snore."

"i do not."

"like a small angry boar."

"charming."

he smirks. "i like it. keeps things lively."

you throw a pillow at him. it bounces off his chest harmlessly. he catches it, tosses it back—harder.

you roll your eyes. get up. start the ritual of layering silk again because apparently even monsters appreciate aesthetics.

"today," he announces, stretching, "we visit the gardens."

"the ones you set on fire last month?"

"new ones grew back. nature fears me."

"everything fears you."

"except you." he says it casually. too casually.

you pause mid-knot. "someone has to keep you humble."

he laughs—low, rolling. "foolish woman."

"arrogant curse."

he stands. towers. offers a hand—two, actually. "come."

you take them. because why not.

the gardens are quiet. rebuilt with eerie speed. lotus ponds reflect sky like mirrors. cherry trees pretend nothing happened.

sukuna walks beside you—slow, for once. no stomping. no destruction.

"peaceful," you note.

"boring," he counters.

"you could destroy it again."

"tempting." he glances sideways. "but then you'd scold me."

"damn right."

he chuckles. "stay interesting, woman. or..."

"or you'll eat me?"

"no." quieter now. "i'd miss the scolding."

you stop. look up at him—all four eyes, all that power, focused entirely on you.

"then don't give me a reason," you say softly.

he doesn't answer. just reaches out, tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising care.

"deal."

back inside, the day unwinds slow. he practices techniques—cursed energy crackling like summer lightning. you watch from a safe distance, chin in hand.

"show off," you call.

he flicks a spark your way—harmless. it lands on your sleeve, singes a tiny hole.

"hey!"

"oops."

you throw the singed sleeve fabric at him. he catches it in his teeth. spits it out.

"disgusting."

"your cooking is worse."

"you ate three bowls yesterday."

"i was hungry."

"you're always hungry. fatass."

"true."

evening comes. lanterns glow like captive fireflies. you play the koto—badly. he doesn't complain. just listens, eyes half-lidded.

when you finish he says, "again."

"no."

"yes."

"make me."

he does—by pulling you into his lap. "play."

you do. fingers stumbling over strings. his chin rests on your shoulder. warm breath on your neck.

"you're terrible," he murmurs.

"you're listening anyway."

"someone has to."

you lean back against him. silk and skin and something almost tender.

"don't eat anyone else for now," you say suddenly.

he stills.

"why?"

"because then i'd be alone with you. and you'd get bored eventually."

silence.

then—quiet, almost gentle—"i won't."

promise? threat? who knows.

you turn. kiss the corner of his mouth—the one that doesn't have extra teeth.

he freezes.

then kisses back. careful. controlled.

when you pull away he says, "woman."

"yes?"

"stay interesting forever."

you smile. small. real.

"only if you stay annoying forever."

"deal."

and in the flickering lantern light, with the capital sleeping beyond paper walls, the king of curses and his only concubine—best friend, pain in the ass, survivor—settle into something that isn't quite love.

but it's close enough.

and no one's getting eaten tonight.

[nilla03]

𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘’𝐒 𝖥𝖳: 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𑄻𑄾

𑄻𑄾—“Sit pretty, again,”

You feel it before you even settle—his stomach mouth opens again beneath you, wide and wet and starving, tongue snaking up between your legs like it remembers the shape of your cunt. It flicks up, impatient, like it missed you.

You arch your back instinctively, but his lower hands are already on you—one shoving your hips down, the other spreading your ass to give that greedy tongue everything it wants. Your face is flushed against his chest, sticky with his earlier cum, but you moan loud when the tongue starts lapping at you again, deeper, messier, wetter than before.

And he’s still jacking off.

You can feel the sharp tug of his movements above you—his two top hands, each wrapped around a thick dick, stroking furiously as he watches your body twitch over his mouth. His groans echo through his stomach, vibrating your pussy like a toy.

“You’re fuckin’ sick, y’know that?” he pants, grinning down at you, veins in his neck popping from effort. “Bent over my tongue while I beat my dick like a slut.”

You sob into his skin, but your hips won’t stop rocking. You’re grinding back against that monstrous tongue now, messy and reckless, while it slathers you in hot spit, thrusting in and out of you with obscene sounds.

“Ohhh, that’s it—ride it like a good little toy,” he snarls. “You feel that? My stomach’s fuckin’ moaning for you. Dripping. Bet you’d let me fuck you with it if I had a dick there too.”

Your whole body spasms. That should sound horrifying, disgusting—but your mind’s gone fuzzy with overstimulation and the only thing that comes out is a wrecked little whimper.

“Goddamn,” he groans, both his cocks twitching, leaking as he fists them faster. “You’re squeezin’ my tongue like you wanna make it cum. You want me to shoot all over your back again, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, cunt fluttering.

He laughs—low and dark. Then he leans over you, one hand still jerking himself, the other gripping your ass as the stomach tongue fucks into you harder.

“You’re not gettin’ off this thing ‘til I see you shake. Squirt on it.”

Your moans turn into screams. Your body trembles. Your slick gushes out in waves down his waiting tongue—

And then Sukuna explodes above you, twin streams of hot cum shooting across your back and thighs, while he growls your name through gritted teeth like he’s branding it into your soul!

[aransmind]

team ferrari

[w0rm3y]

After finding you in the present, Husband!Sukuna tries to apologize for leaving you back in the Heian Era...

This is part 2 of this drabble :) ════════════════════════════

“These won’t do,” Sukuna chimed in, manifesting a mouth on Yuji’s cheek while the two of them perused the flower shop–the second one they’d been to that day, since Sukuna was picky about the flowers he wanted to gift to you. “None of these would be to her liking.”

“Are you sure?” Yuji questioned, wanting nothing more than to just go back to the dorms and forget that he was harboring an ancient evil curse. “These are pretty-”

“I couldn’t care less what you think looks pretty or not. I know my wife, and these are below her standards. Look at the lot of them–wilted and dreary. Giving her a bouquet of these would surely send the wrong message.” 

What an odd statement for the King of Curses to make, Yuji thought. How did Gojo go on to describe Sukuna to his vessel?

‘...Ryomen Sukuna is a fierce imaginary god with four arms and two faces. In the Golden Age of jujutsu, sorcerers gathered up all their might to challenge him and failed…’

That’s right–and Gojo’s explanation of Yuji’s parasite depicted a mental image of some ruthless monster, not a self-proclaimed botanist that would jump through hoops to suck up to anyone, not even his wife. 

But, while the boy was irritated to be forced around to flower shops on his one day off, he had to admit that it was nice to have a break from the murderous mental images and constant negativity supplied by Sukuna. He’d rather listen to the King of Curses ponder flowers and their meanings any day.

“I think you sent the wrong message when you abandoned her back in the Heian Era,” Yuji grumbled as he ventured toward the front of the store. 

“And I think you should stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The boy scoffed, “It wouldn’t be somewhere it doesn’t belong if you hadn’t-”

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” Yuji listened, falling silent while Sukuna contemplated his options. After a few moments, he had an idea. “Plum blossoms should suffice.”

Yuji’s face curled up in a confused grimace. “Plum blossoms?”

“That is what I said, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…why?”

“Why I do anything is none of your concern.”

Yuji rolled his eyes, tired of Sukuna’s antics already, but seeing as the curse wouldn’t leave him alone until he was sure that you were satisfied, he caved. “Alright. But we might have a problem. I don’t think the flower shops sell those.”

Sukuna huffed, “Forget the flower shops, brat. Take me to a plum tree.”

* * * 

“Bind the branches the way I told you,” Sukuna chided, watching as Yuji struggled to bind said branches into a bouquet–he was failing, miserably so. “Are you so incompetent that you cannot tie a simple knot? Do not tie it as you would a shoe–that’s tacky, tie it-”

“You know what,” Yuji began, tossing down the plum branches on the table, “If you want it done a certain way, you do it yourself-”

“What a perfect idea–if only someone had suggested it before you tangled the string. Oh, wait, I did. Switch with me.”

With his frustration easing up, naturally, Yuji hesitated to agree to his own offer. Sukuna might be focused on you at the moment, but he was still Sukuna.

“Promise you won’t do anything bad-”

“Yes, I promise,” he snapped, and waited a few moments for his vessel to loosen control enough to allow Sukuna to front in the body. 

With the knotted ball of twine in his hands, he cursed Yuji’s name before getting to work untangling it, which took him far longer than he had anticipated.

Despite being caught up in the task at hand, Sukuna didn’t miss the shift of energy around him and didn’t need to even look up to know who was peering over his shoulder. 

“Something I can help you with, Six Eyes?”

Gojo exhaled a laugh before rounding the table to take his place across from Sukuna. “Well, it seems like you’re busy, and I’d hate to push your focus onto something else that is far more destructive than… cherry blossoms?”

“Plum blossoms,” he corrected him with a huff. “And don’t worry. My destructive habits shall return shortly to entertain you all. Just as soon as my wife accepts my apology.”

“Hmm…” Gojo hummed, pulling down his blindfold to make sure he was seeing it all correctly. Sukuna’s eyes flicked to the other and held contact, narrowing in his direction. “Ryomen Sukuna can grovel? How interesting. Even more than the fact that you have a wife to begin with, which is very shocking. I thought you were too powerful for that.”

“First, your interests matter very little to me, and so do your useless assumptions, so keep them to yourself.” Sukuna’s eyes fell back to the bundle of blossoms in his hands as he began tying them up again. “Second, I'll have you know that strength and power have nothing to do with why I procured a wife.” 

“So, why did you? Decide to settle down, I mean.”

He gave a pause before answering in total honesty. “We did not settle down–at least not the sense you’re referring to. She had been my companion since our childhood, so marrying her was the obvious next step. After all, she is the only one who truly understands my outlook on the world, and isn’t afraid to admit it, no matter how many self-righteous bastards, preaching about morals, she finds herself standing in front of.”

Gojo made another humming sound as he processed Sukuna’s words. “Does that mean she’s just as crazy as you?”

“Depends on your definition of crazy. While the woman would not hurt a fly, she is crazy enough to have an attitude with me. Even crazier to assume that I’ll cave in and create her a bouquet of flowers to make up for my wrongdoings. But what does that say about me, if I’m caving so willingly?”

Gojo clicked his tongue, smoothing his blindfold back over his eyes. “At least you can acknowledge that this is out of character for you.”

“Not entirely. But I wouldn’t expect you to know more than what you’ve been told by the masses–not that I mind the rumors. If the others knew I spent quite a bit of time binding flowers and erecting shrines in the name of a woman, I’d no doubt lose my reputation, which would be a detriment to her safety.” 

“So, the bloodthirsty mannerisms are only a front to keep her safe?”

As Sukuna wrapped the last piece of twine around the bundle of sprigs, he chuckled, “Don’t sound so hopeful. Being feared has kept her out of harm's way, yes, but people feared me long before she became my wife. There’s a reason for that, and I don’t intend to change my ways. I only meant that there is an upside to being a monster.”

“Sounds to me like she’s a weakness of yours. What if someone like me decided to take her? To use her against you?"

“That would be your mistake. I’d kill you before you even had a chance. And you’ve no reason to touch her anyway. She’s too good.” Sukuna held the bouquet out to inspect it, spreading the stems to make it look fuller. “Now, the brat has mentioned that you’re a wealthy individual.”

“Has he?”

“He has.” Sukuna stood from his chair, flowers in one hand, while extending his other to Gojo. “I’ll require extra money to purchase a few gifts for my wife.”

A little confused, Gojo motioned toward the flowers. “What are those for then?”

“The woman has had a thousand years to be angry with me, and if you think flowers are enough to repent for my mistake, you are an idiot who has never interacted with a woman before in your life.”

“Ouch…” Begrudgingly, Gojo reached into his pocket to pull out a wallet while muttering, “I didn’t realize the Queen of Curses was materialistic.”

Sukuna snatched up the card with quick fingers. “I’ll return this to you shortly.”

He was only a few paces away before Gojo called out to him again, realizing that he basically gave Sukuna the chance to mingle with society without a babysitter. “Wait. You can’t go alone-”

“I believe I can manage without an escort. I’m a grown man.”

And Gojo was beside him again, peering down at him with an arrogant grin. “Technically, you’re not, and even if you were, I still can’t let you roam around in public on your own. Not in good conscience, anyway.” When Sukuna’s death glare didn’t let up, Gojo rolled his eyes. “If you want to buy her nice, expensive things, I can show you some places that you couldn’t get into on your own. My name has leeway, you know?”

* * * 

“Um…” You frowned at the boy standing in the doorway of your apartment, eyes flicking to the bouquet he was holding out for you, then to the box he held under his other arm. “Yuji?”

He sighed, “They’re not from me. They’re from Sukuna.”

“I should hope so.” Still confused, you pulled the door open wider to lean against the archway. “But why are you giving them to me instead of him?”

“He’s scared-”

“That’s not true,” Sukuna argued through the mouth of his vessel’s cheek. “I was hoping to mitigate the chances of your anger.”

Your mouth curled into a grimace. “How unfortunate for you. No matter your form, I’m still angry.”

“But you will not take your anger out on the boy.”

You glanced at Yuji’s face, then back to Sukuna’s eye–he was right. You wouldn’t take out your anger on the boy, for he’d done nothing to you.

You scoffed, “Your cowardice is only making me angrier, you know?”

“As expected, but-”

“But nothing. I don’t want your gifts; I want an apology. From my husband, and only my husband. Do better, Ryomen, or stop trying. It’s pathetic.” 

With that, you slammed the door, leaving your husband and his vessel in the hallway to stew in the awkward silence you’d left.

“Well…” Yuji began, trying his best to hold back his laughter. “What should I do with the gifts?”

Sukuna grunted, “Leave them in front of the door for her. She’ll like the kimono.”

Upon returning to the dorms, Gojo caught his student in the hallway. 

“How’d it go?” he asked, already having a feeling that the ordeal had fared poorly, since Yuji looked so amused. However, before Yuji could answer, Sukuna did.

“She is still angry.”

“Shocker,” Gojo sarcastically replied, holding out his open palm for the card Sukuna had yet to give back to him after their impromptu shopping trip earlier in the day. “Better luck next-”

“Actually, I have another plan.” Sukuna’s interruption had Yuji groaning. 

Gojo chuckled and motioned for the curse to continue. “What is it this time? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of building another shrine for her.”

Shamelessly and without hesitation, Sukuna said, “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

════════════════════════════ tag list : @shrewdreader

[himezoro]

𓂃⋆.˚ girl dad! ryomen sukuna, wrapped around his precious daughter's finger, learns terrible news...

when the king of curses, your husband, the infamous ryomen sukuna, thought he had known it all and was prepared for it all, life sent a reminder of the perfect opposite on a random tuesday night at the dinner table.

he was completely stunned. staggered. dumbfounded. flabbergasted. even an infinite list of adjectives could not grasp the reality of his current state.

the cause of it all? the statement of his three year-old precious treasure. his most perfect creation. the one he'd wander through eternity to find gold to adorn her in. the one he'd crush centuries for.

his only weakness in this whole wide world.

"dada, i got married today!"

his daughter.

not a hint of light could be seen, nor pass through his ruby-eyes that you swore turned into the deepest shade of black.

holding back a giggle by sipping your drink, knowing your reaction would not only fuel his inner rage but trigger it, you simply watched the scene unfold as your excited daughter shared the details of her glorious ceremony by the tallest slide to her scorched father, whose body stood motionless, his eyes still facing her perfect round face.

as if, even in this critical situation, he could look anywhere else, not when his beloved child was asking for his attention (not that he'd ever admit it in these specific terms).

"so then gojo gave me a ri-"

"enough. this instant."

there it was.

the growling, aggravating thunder for a tone only ryomen sukuna held the secret to. the tone that brought terror upon generations and pierced the skies. the tone that had hundreds of souls cower under. the tone that sent a dangerous, lethal warning.

this particular tone your daughter was completely unaffected by.

"dada-" she pauses, sipping on her drink in her sparkly hello kitty cup, looking at her father expecting almost obediently, with a hint of authority in her lighter red eyes, "-mama says it's not good to interrupt people."

"pathetic rule, i do as i please in my estate." he responds, his matching kuromi cup staring at him.

"speaking of doing as i please-" he turned his large body towards her, his imposing stature casting a shadow on her adored features, his tone bearing desdain all the way "- i do not approve this union. this gojo kid is gojo satoru's offspring, is it not?"

your daughter excitedely nodded, looking at you with sparkles in her eyes.

"mmh-mmh! mama said he was rich and could buy me squishmallows."

he turned to you, his piercing eyes sending an army of thousands soldiers your way.

oh you were in trouble—not that you disliked any of it.

"woman, you knew about this?"

your daughter stared at her father, frowning and puffing her cheeks upsettingly. "dada, do not call mama "woman", her name is mama!"

your husband sighed. after the thousands of battles he led, this one held a particular difficulty he certainly did not enjoy.

he defensively crossed his arms. "you will divorce this instant. i order it. my child will not be associated with mediocre bums of his genre."

"but dada! he gave me a ring, look!" she extented her tiny hand, the only one he'd bow to, adorning a chunky, greenish candy ring.

with adoring delicacy he would never admit to, he took your daughter's hand, swiftly removing the candy ring from her tiny finger and simply ate it, ignoring your daughter's horror screams.

"there-" he spoke, his mouth still chewing the poorly taste candy, "-wedding's over".

at the sight of his daughter's eyes filling with tears, his heart sank. gently ruffling her hair, he could not help but comforting her.

"tsk. i will have carved for you the most magnificient ring the world could ever witness. i will even search for the diamond myself."

your daughter let out small, timid sniffles, her eyes soon regaining hope and excitement. "and squishmallows?"

your husband nodded, taking notes of her will. "and squishmallows."

indeed, though ryomen sukuna was the feared king of curses, there was no battle more glorious to him than the one he'd conquer for his daughter's happiness.

meaning being wrapped around her little, precious wedding-ringless finger.

(when your daughter hugged him, he looked at you above his shoulder with burning eyes, mouthing "i'll deal with you later.")

©himezoro! - please do not steal, copy, translate or feed into ai my works - i'll sue you.

[satoruined]

18+ sitting on trueform!sukuna’s face to shut him up

riding your husband’s face is supposed to shut him up. that’s the plan. thighs locked securely around his head to put an end to the unsolicited commentary he’s been tossing out ever since your clothes hit the floor: first your posture, then your stamina, then a sweeping insult about your generation’s collapse in pelvic discipline. a man who slaughtered jujutsu sorcerers in droves apparently thinks that qualifies him to critique your pussy.

so you climb up and sit on his face.

crimson eyes gleam in foul delight. the king of curses lies back, arms tucked behind his head, grinning like he’s lounging on a mountain of corpses. he hums against you, pleased. the vibration jolts through your core.

for three glorious fucking seconds: silence.

then— “if you want to come, adjust your angle. i can’t get proper suction like this.” not from the mouth between your thighs. the other one. on his stomach. leering up at you, toothy and smug.

“i’ve had temple virgins with better muscle control.” it drawls. you squeeze your thighs harder around sukuna’s head in pure malice. he groans into your cunt as if you’ve done him a favour. his tongue curls upward, hitting a spot inside you that feels evolutionary. “now you’re overcompensating. with stamina like yours, you’ll burn out halfway through.”

what a special grade douchebag. you slap a palm over the mouth. the tongue licks it. “but you’re trying. i’ll give you that.”

“oh my god,” you hiss.

“your god, indeed.”

you stop moving completely. maybe he’ll take the hint.

“don’t be shy. i’ve devoured my share of people. you think i can’t handle one needy little brat with control issues?” he knows your body too well. and he’s using all of it to be a fucking asshole. you want to smother him. you also want to come. violently.

he teases with the false opportunity of both. delivers on neither.

[animeficsworld]

In Spite of Me

Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

Summary: Sukuna doesn’t believe in love, until you, reckless and fearless, crash into his life. When you’re nearly taken from him, his rage reveals a terrifying truth: there’s nothing he won’t do to protect you. Not even love you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

You weren’t supposed to matter.

He told himself that every time you walked into a room, bright-eyed, reckless, never flinching from him like the others did. 

You spoke to him like he was a man, not a monster. 

You looked at him like he wasn’t made entirely of blood and hate.

And he hated you for it.

Except, not really.

“You’re staring again.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow. “You’re imagining things, brat.”

You lean back against the stone wall of the old shrine, arms crossed, unafraid as usual. “You’ve got a weird way of pretending you don’t care. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were interested.”

He bares his teeth in something like a grin. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve ended civilizations for less.”

You snort. “Yeah, and yet, here I am.”

And there you were, always there. 

Taunting him, challenging him, walking beside him like he wasn’t cursed, wasn’t ancient, wasn’t ruined. 

Sometimes he thought you might actually be insane. Other times, he thought you were the only one alive who saw him, not the title.

You learn early that Sukuna doesn’t “talk” so much as command. 

His affection, if you can even call it that, comes in the form of half-spoken threats and unblinking protectiveness. He lets no one touch you. Not even those he pretends to trust.

He watches you like a dragon watches its hoard. 

Dangerous. Possessive.

But not... cruel. 

Not to you.

He speaks sharply, always. 

But never to cut you. Never to wound.

At least, not until the day you get hurt.

It wasn’t supposed to be serious.

A mission gone wrong, a cursed spirit you didn’t see coming. Just one second of vulnerability, and you’re slammed into the wall, ribs crunching under the weight of something foul and ancient.

Sukuna arrives two seconds later.

And he loses control.

The ground splits with his scream. 

His domain expansion shreds the air like paper. The cursed spirit doesn’t even get a chance to speak, it’s reduced to nothing in under a second. Blood sprays across the floor like ink. 

The walls tremble. Trees outside snap in half from the force of his rage.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps destroying. 

The ruins. 

The ground. 

The air.

Until he sees you, collapsed, bloodied, eyes half-lidded.

And suddenly, it’s too quiet.

“Don’t you dare.”

You hear his voice like thunder in a cave, low, choked.

You try to smile, blood on your lip. “Relax, I’m not dying.”

He’s at your side in an instant, crouched low, hands ghosting over your injuries like he doesn’t know where to touch. 

And maybe he doesn’t. 

Maybe Ryomen Sukuna has never cared for anything fragile in his entire long, cursed life.

His fingers twitch. He clenches them into fists instead.

“Who did this?”

You blink slowly. “Does it matter? You already killed it.”

“It matters,” he growls, “because you’re mine.”

You raise a brow, weakly. “Am I?”

His jaw flexes.

You almost laugh. “You sound jealous.”

“I am.”

That shuts you up.

His breath is shaky. His voice, even more so.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care. You were nothing. A mortal. A brat with a sharp tongue and a death wish. And still...” He grabs your chin, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his. “You crawled under my skin. In spite of me. In spite of everything.”

You reach up and touch his cheek. His eyes flash, but he doesn’t move away.

“Sukuna…” you whisper. “It’s okay. I already knew.”

His voice cracks. “Then why the hell did you stay?”

“Because I saw what you didn’t want me to. And I wasn’t afraid.”

He heals you himself.

It’s messy. Angry. 

But his hands tremble less by the time your wounds begin to fade. He doesn’t let you walk for two days, keeping you in the shelter of his domain where no one can reach you. 

Not even your own thoughts.

When you wake fully, you find him sitting beside the bed, head bowed, fingers loosely curled around your wrist.

Watching.

Waiting.

“Say it,” you whisper, breaking the silence.

He scowls. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

A long pause. 

A flicker of emotion behind his eyes.

“I’d burn the world,” Sukuna says quietly, “if it meant keeping you alive.”

You smile. “Close enough.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

[whorexis]

-> To have found you was the world's regret, not mine

trueform!ryomen sukuna x reader

summary: born with two too many limbs and faces, he was abandoned, left for the nature to bury him in a grave at the mere age of six. apparently, there was one enemy to the nature of the world, who seemed to go against every rule of survival; you.

warning/s: heian era, smut at the end (skipable), sukuna has two dicks, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, p in v, creampies, slight breeding kink, praise and degrading kink, overstimulation, aphrodisiacs, angst, mentions of blood, nearing death (no actual death though), sukuna's villain arc, he was a monster you'd never despise, growing up together, they were both doomed from the start, fluff so i don't end it all, sukuna using you as a weight for training

a/n: i have no words. this man awakens something inside of me.

The rumors had spread like wildfire.

The child born with too many eyes, too many limbs, had devoured his twin in the womb. A demon cloaked in human skin, they whispered. He was evil incarnate, an abomination that would only grow stronger if left unchecked. But killing him outright would be a sin too great for their souls to bear. So they left him to rot. On the desolate side of the country, where even the air could be considered poison, they abandoned him.

They thought they'd washed their hands clean.

They thought starvation would take care of what they couldn't.

But death didn't come as quickly as they had hoped.

Sukuna was nothing more than a husk of a boy now, his four arms limp at his sides, his ribs threatening to pierce through his skin with each shallow breath.

Nature, just as cruel as mankind, had left him no mercy.

And then you appeared.

"Hi,"

The sound was soft, almost too soft for his dulled senses to catch. He barely mustered the strength to crack open one eye, a faint glint of crimson meeting yours.

"What?" he rasped.

You didn't answer right away, instead stepping closer to the monster that the land itself seemed to despise. There was no hesitation in your movements, no fear, no disgust.

"You.. you're just like me," you murmured.

Sukuna's lower right eye twitched, barely enough to take you in. You were as battered as he was—maybe worse. Wounds marred your body, some barely crusting over due to the lack of vitamins, others oozing sluggishly with infection. Your skin looked like it could rip at any given moment, stretched too thin over bones that jutted out in sharp angles.

You looked truly pitiable.

But Sukuna didn't care. Or at least, that's what he thought.

He was going to die anyway. Forming a bond would be useless.

He scoffed, his head lolling back against the harsh, cracked tree he was leaning on, waiting for death to take him away at the mere age of six.

"We're both dying,"

You said what he couldn't, spoke his mind instead of plastering him with questions.

You were younger than him, yet knew such harsh reality to come.

Your lips quirked in something resembling a smile, though it faltered under the weight of your exhaustion.

The boy hummed in return.

With that, Sukuna let his eyes fall shut, deciding to fade out the world— and you— with it.

Hours later, a sharp scent cut through his haze.

Sweet.

Fruit.

His eyes snapped open. He turned his head and found you kneeling beside him, holding a piece of overripe fruit out to him.

"Eat," you simply said.

He snarled— or at least tried to— but his voice came out weak and hoarse, "Don't… pity me."

Your brows furrowed, frustration taking over you. Without a word, you leaned closer, your small hand pressing against his chest. His eyes widened, alarm breaking through his mind.

"What are you—"

Before he could stop you, you raised the fruit to his stomach mouth. Its sharp teeth parted instinctively, and before Sukuna could refuse again, you fed him.

Your fingers brushed against his canines, but you didn't flinch. You didn't so much as blink as the beastly maw devoured the offering, juice dribbling from its corners.

His lower eyes narrowed, glaring at you even as the sweet taste spread across his tongue.

"Stupid brat," he muttered, but his voice lacked any true hatred. Towards you, that is.

You didn't respond, only settling back into your spot beside him, already reaching into a cloth bag for more.

"Wh-what's your.. ah- your name?" you mused as you revealed another fruit to him, guiding it to his stomach.

Unlike him, the maw ate gratefully.

He seemed to think, his body relaxing at the feeling of it getting taken care of.

Truthfully, the boy didn't have a proper name. He was named Ryomen due to his two faces— that was all to it.

He grunted, "Sukuna."

You smiled, repeating the name. With a grin, you revealed your name to him.

And surprisingly, he did the same thing.

He repeated it.

This became your routine.

You, a ghost of a child, scavenged for what little life had to offer. Sukuna, the boy they had condemned as a monster, became your charge.

Each day, you'd sneak into villages, weaving through the shadows like smoke. You stole food, medicine, anything you could carry with your frail form, and brought it all to him.

You hardly ate yourself.

No one knew who you were, only that you'd often show up and steal relentlessly.

"That stupid brat! Don't let her get away next time; she needs to be punished properly!"

"Sinning at such a young age is so unfortunate. May she find the right path."

"—there's no right path for her! The devil's captured her soul— we should finally burn this brat for good!"

Sukuna could say the same about them.

Those 'saints' who left you with infection-littered wounds.

Those 'saints' who chased after you for simple fruit.

A little girl, with more bones than meat.

Was Sukuna really the disgrace of the world when this was the way other people thought of innocent life trying to survive?

Whatever. He didn't have the time to think about it.

Not when he'd hold you with his lower arms to stop your squirming.

He discovered reverse cursed technique at a very young age, which became good use. He'd heal you, acting as if he couldn't hear your sobs.

Sukuna's touch wasn't gentle, nor was it kind, but it was efficient. His hands, rough and calloused despite his young age, pressed against your frail frame, glowing faintly with cursed energy as it stitched together your wounds. He worked silently, his expression unreadable, but his lower eyes betrayed the tiniest flicker of something foreign. Something he wouldn't dare acknowledge.

"You cry too much," he muttered, his voice gruff as if to mask the faint twinge of unease your sobs caused him.

—that, unfortunately wasn't a lie. You'd cry a lot. So much, the beast wondered when you'd ever run out of tears.

But in no sense were you a dramatic little crybaby. You'd cry a lot, but not often. When you did, you usually couldn't stop it anymore, and it would go on for hours— the monster had no idea what to do in that case. He figured he wouldn't kill you for the simple act, since you were so useful.

But that weeping would go on his nerves. It replaced the warm feeling in his organs— the one sitting slightly beneath the sternum— with a cold one. It'd feel like it was clutching, singing a melody of helplessness.

That must've been his nerves, he figured.

You were annoying him, he figured.

You sniffled, your thin fingers clutching at his wrist. "hurts," you whimpered, your face streaked with dirt and tears.

And there it was again— that feeling. Something in his chest was crinkling together.

"Then stop getting caught, idiot," he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. He focused on his work, forcing himself to ignore the wetness in your eyes. "Be faster. Smarter."

"I am fast," you argued weakly, your lips trembling, "they're just... mean."

The feeling in his chest was getting worse. Sukuna frowned, it almost resembled to actual pain.

A rare snort escaped him, bitter and sharp. "The world's mean. Get used to it."

You didn't respond right away, your small body trembling under his hands as he finished patching you up. Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost inaudible. "Why do you help me then? If the world's so mean?"

Sukuna froze for a moment, his hands hovering just above your skin. His crimson eyes narrowed as he stared at you, his jaw tightening.

"Because I don't like broken things," he said simply, his tone cold and dismissive. "they're useless."

You blinked up at him, your expression unreadable. "Then why not let me die?"

He didn't answer, couldn't answer. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled his hands back, the glow of cursed energy fading.

"You didn't let me die either. Now shut up and eat," he snapped, shoving a stolen piece of bread into your hands.

You obeyed, gnawing at the stale crust despite how it scratched at your throat. You were used to it by now.

Sukuna leaned back against his usual tree— the one he almost died on— his multiple arms folding across his chest. He stared at you as you ate, his gaze deciphering, as if trying to solve a puzzle he didn't even want to admit existed.

"You're too small," he muttered after a while, breaking the silence.

You looked up, crumbs clinging to your lips. "Huh?"

"You're weak," he clarified, his tone blunt, "pathetic, even."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"But," he continued, ignoring your sarcasm, "you're still alive. That means you're stubborn. Maybe too stubborn for your own good."

You tilted your head, watching him curiously. "And what about you? You're alive too."

He smirked faintly, a sharp, cruel thing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's because I'm stronger than them. Stronger than everyone. I just haven't gotten the chance to prove it yet."

"Then why didn't you leave?" you asked, your voice soft, "If you're so strong, why didn't you leave this place? Why are you still here? Feeding off fruit instead of hunting the animals to the north."

His smirk faltered, his expression hardening. "Because I have something to prove," he grunted, "to them. To the people who left me here to rot. To everyone who thinks they can decide what I am."

He was going to prove that the place they abandoned him to was the reason he was going to turn into a real monster. His career shall start from the place his realization begun. He would tear them apart, and only after this, shall he enjoy his own brought food; his victims.

You didn't respond right away, your gaze dropping to the bread in your hands. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "I think you're just lonely."

His head snapped toward you, his red eyes narrowing dangerously. "What did you say?"

You met his glare head-on, your expression tired, and yet still stubborn, "I said you're lonely. That's why you don't want me to die. You don't want to be alone again."

For a moment, the air between you grew tense. Sukuna's hands twitched, his fingers curling into fists as if he were contemplating smashing your fragile frame into the dirt.

But he didn't.

Instead, he leaned back, closing his eyes with a huff. "You talk too much," he muttered, his tone laced with irritation.

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite the exhaustion etched into your face. "And you don't talk enough."

Another silence fell between you, this one less heavy, less suffocating. The two of you sat there, side by side, two broken children in a world that had already decided you didn't belong.

But for now, you weren't alone.

Then days started to turn into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months.

Sukuna grew stronger, his body filling out with lean, wiry muscle as his cursed energy became sharper, more controlled. You were still frail, still weak, but you had learned to move like a shadow, to steal like a raven amongst the humans.

Sukuna didn't understand it. Didn't care to, at first. You were wasting your energy on a lost cause. You should've run far away from him, left him to rot like everyone else had.

But you hadn't. Didn't.

And that caused him to grow over the years.

He grew rapidly, mainly because of his genes— but his muscles weren't something he simply got. He earned them by training.

What to understand under training? Well— he used you as weight, most of the time. You sat on his back when he did pushups or his arm when he trained his biceps. You were useful to Sukuna; that's why he kept you around.

Definitely for no other reason, though.

Nope.

Not because your voice relaxed him, lulled him to sleep.

Not because you smiled at him the day both of you were supposed to be left as nothing more than rotten bodies in this cruel world.

Not because you were so fearless of his anatomy— of him.

Not because you cared for him, so unnaturally much.

Not because you were a complete idiot for doing so.

And to keep things around meant taking care of them, unfortunately. He couldn't risk you dying on him. Not that he'd feel guilty.. sad or anything, but you were useful, could steal. And besides, he had spend a lot of years together with you. You'd grown into young adults together. He got used to your company.

So he never wasted any time when he healed your wounds. You usually had a lot of them, considering villages were basically hunting for you by now.

You even found a little shelter, good enough to hold the two of you. It was an abandoned temple, plants overgrowing the place— but it was enough.

The villagers were growing restless, their whispers turning to shouts, their torches raised.

"The girl's still out there!"

"She steals more than she can eat— she's bringing offerings to the devil himself!"

"We have to end this before they destroy us all!"

Sukuna listened to their cries from the shadows.

"Let them come," he muttered, his voice a low growl.

You glanced at him, worried, "Sukuna…"

He turned to you, his smirk sharp and merciless. "They wanted a monster," he grinned, "I'll show them one."

And for the first time, you weren't sure if you could stop him.

From the day Sukuna decided to show himself to the villages, things changed.

You didn't know what he was doing there. He wouldn't tell you, and you didn't ask. But every evening, without fail, he'd return to the little temple the two of you had claimed. Bloodied.

Always bloodied.

It was never his blood.

His steps would echo against the cracked stones, his frame filling the entrance. He wouldn't say a word, just slump down into his usual spot, waiting for you to do what you always did.

You'd kneel beside him, a bucket of water already at the ready, and begin cleaning him. Your hands worked methodically, scrubbing away the blood that painted his arms, his chest, his face. It didn't matter how much there was or how long it took— you cleaned it all, sitting in silence as the water turned red.

He never flinched. Never winced.

You didn't ask what had happened, and he didn't offer an explanation.

This was your routine now.

You decided you didn't like it.

You were getting left out. He was going cold— you couldn't care less if it were towards the village and the world only— but what about you? You wanted to hear his voice, to talk to him, to be with him.

It was only weeks later that you began to notice them. The marks.

The first time you saw one, it was faint, almost invisible against his skin. A single black line curling along the biceps that met the shoulder. You didn't say anything, even as more began to appear, making their way up his limbs, across his chest, spreading like a dark disease.

You knew what they were.

You didn't need to ask.

Each mark was a crime— a sin carved into his flesh, branding him for the world to see. Murder. Destruction. Chaos.

You knew that.

He knew you knew.

At first, he acted like it didn't matter. Sukuna was stubborn like that, always pretending nothing could touch him. But you saw it, the way his gaze would flicker to you when he thought you weren't looking. The way his hands sometimes twitched when you got too close, as if he expected you to pull away.

He was scared.

Scared that you, out of all people, would abandon him.

But you didn't.

You didn't say a word when the marks began to spread across his shoulders, his back, his neck. You didn't flinch when the blood he came back with multiplied. You didn't recoil when his smile started to look more like a snarl, his eyes gleaming with something you didn't want to name.

You didn't support what he was doing.

But you would never stop him.

For the world had done the same to him.

Because no one stopped when they left him to rot, when they whispered behind their hands and turned their backs and called him a monster before he even had a chance to be anything else.

Because even though you didn't agree with him, even though you hated the blood and the way he was slipping further and further away from whatever humanity he had left…

You would never abandon him.

So you stayed.

Even as the marks spread like a curse, even as the villagers' cries grew louder, even as Sukuna's laughter began to echo like something bad had won against the world, you stayed.

Because that's what you'd always done.

And maybe that's why, when the marks started creeping toward his face, curling along his jaw and across his lower eyes, Sukuna never stopped coming back.

No matter how bloody he was.

No matter how much darker he seemed.

He always came back.

To you.

After Sukuna had received all possible markings on his body, you found yourselves wandering off the place it all started with.

He'd proven himself.

It was time to take over his own estate now. He shall be the god amongst the mere humans whom despised him, with you by his side.

Sukuna found an estate on a whim.

It was a massive structure, sprawling across the countryside like a symbol of decadence. It belonged to a king, or at least someone who thought themselves important. Sukuna didn't care who— it didn't matter. All he saw was an opportunity.

He stalked through the gates, dragging you behind him by the hand like a silent shadow. You didn't ask questions, didn't protest. You trusted him. Perhaps a bit too much.

He wasn't sure what pissed him off more; the way you clung to his side so willingly or the fact that you made him hesitate.

Sukuna had stormed into that estate ready to kill— prepared to cut through guards, nobles, anyone who dared stand in his way. But the moment he stepped inside, the warmth of your hand in his made him pause. Just for a second.

He grumbled, the sound low and guttural in his throat.

"Brat," he muttered under his breath.

You blinked up at him, confused, but before you could ask, three of his arms moved. Two hands covered your ears, and the third wrapped protectively around your head, shielding and blinding you from what he was about to do.

The remaining arm was the one he used to guide his slashes, cutting through flesh and bone as if it were paper.

Guards rushed at him, swords raised, and fell just as quickly. Blood splattered the polished floors, the walls, the pristine decor meant to show off the king's wealth. Sukuna moved like a storm, calculated and ruthless, cutting down anyone who dared oppose him.

But there were some who didn't fight.

Some dropped to their knees without question, trembling as they bowed their heads.

Sukuna's grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

"Swear your lives to me," he commanded, his voice a deep, menacing growl that echoed through the halls, "pledge your loyalty, or join the rest of them."

And they did.

One after another, they vowed their lives to him, fear etched into every syllable. Those were the ones he let live.

By the time he finished, the estate was his.

Blood soaked the floors, the stench of death heavy in the air, but it was done. Sukuna had claimed his place.

Servants began arriving the next day, desperate for shelter. They came from villages he'd decimated, from towns that whispered his name with equal parts fear and reverence. They gave their lives to him willingly, swearing fealty in exchange for protection.

Because that's what you had always done.

There was one habit Sukuna had carried with him since childhood— a strange, unspoken thing neither of you dared to label or even fully acknowledge. Whatever it was between you two, it wasn't something the world could define.

Certainly not a couple. That wasn't the right word. No.

But also… not not that.

It didn't matter. No one dared lay a thought on it.

The habit in question? Sukuna couldn't sleep unless you were right there. Not just near him, but with him. On him, preferably.

From the time you were small, he'd insist you lay against his chest, your frail frame curled up against him like you were the only shield he needed. As you grew, it became more than that— skin to skin contact. He craved it, though he'd rather rot in hell than admit it.

When you'd press your cheek against him, limbs tangled together as if the world wasn't constantly trying to tear you apart, Sukuna could actually relax. When your warmth pressed into his, he could let his many eyes close, feel his breathing even out. He swore he didn't care about the way your fingers would clutch at him in your sleep, or how you'd bury your face in the crook of his neck.

Didn't care that you drooled on him, for God's sake.

He definitely didn't admire that.

But there were nights when you'd wake up to find him staring at you, his eyes soft in a way you rarely saw. And he'd smirk, teasingly so, just enough to throw you off.

"You drooled all over me again," he'd mutter, pretending to be annoyed as he wiped at his skin, though the smug tilt of his mouth betrayed him.

You'd groan, shoving at his chest, "Then stop using me as a pillow."

"Who's using who?" he'd reply, wrapping his arms tighter around you so you couldn't escape.

It was stupid. Pointless. But also… it wasn't.

Because in those moments, when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world could burn for all you cared, Sukuna wasn't the bloodied monster that came home to you. And you weren't the ghost of a child stealing scraps to survive. (Which, frankly, you didn't need to anymore, since Sukuna took charge of that. However, the villages contained a.. feeling.. you liked to experience. The bits of humanity. Sukuna didn't stop you, for he didn't understand, but he trusted you.)

There was once, when Sukuna had never experienced you like this. Not once in all the years he'd known you.

You came back from the village as usual, empty-handed this time, but without so much as a scratch on you. At first, he thought nothing of it— maybe you'd been lucky, maybe the villagers were slacking, maybe...

But then, you didn't say a word. Not one.

You were always the one to start conversations. Always the one filling the empty silence between the two of you with your endless chatter, your stubborn questions, your little quips that only made him smirk. So why the hell were you quiet now?

It irritated him.

"Oi," Sukuna barked, his sharp tone bouncing off the temple walls, "say something."

You didn't respond.

He narrowed his eyes, his arms crossing over his broad chest. This was weird. Really weird. Then he got a good look at your face, and something about it made his stomach twist, and the feeling in his chest cold.

You looked sad.

Why did you look sad? You weren't supposed to look like that. That wasn't you.

"Stop making that face," he snapped, scowling to cover the strange unease rising in his chest.

You still didn't respond, huffing and walking away to another room— that definitely was not the one you'd share with Sukuna. For mere sleeping habits, obviously.

Then he noticed you weren't eating either. That was the final straw. Sukuna was no saint— far from it— but when he was half-dead, starving, and barely able to move, you'd shoved food down his throat whether he wanted it or not. You fed him, cared for him, even when he didn't deserve it.

So maybe, he thought, he should do the same for you.

Yes. Yes, that was the answer.

Of course, Sukuna had never been great with the whole 'gentle' thing. Or 'patient.' Or 'subtle.'

So when you didn't eat the dried meat he shoved into your hands, he huffed and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Literally.

"Open your damn mouth," he growled, his lower arms grabbing your face with surprising force. Servants around the room stilled, their eyes widening. They knew you as the King's treasure— they never expected him to care, whatsoever.

You blinked up at him, startled, but still didn't say a word.

"Don't just stare at me— eat!" he barked, attempting to shove the food toward your mouth. When your lips remained stubbornly closed, his frustration boiled over, "Fine, you wanna be a brat? Then I shall make you—"

Without thinking, Sukuna grabbed your jaw, prying your mouth open with way too much force. His grip was rough, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he tried to shove the food in.

"Stop being so damn stupid—!"

Before any of the shocked servants could even dare to say anything, your muffled protest and wide eyes finally registered in his brain. He froze mid-action, realizing he was practically choking you.

"..Oh."

He pulled his hands back abruptly, the dried meat dropping to the ground between you. You coughed a little, your eyes watering, and for a brief moment, Sukuna actually felt awkward.

Which pissed him off even more.

"Whatever," he grumbled, crossing his arms again and glaring at the wall, "you're lucky I even bothered, fool."

You finally spoke then, your voice soft and hoarse from disuse. "…Sukuna?"

"What?"

Your lips trembled, and you looked up at him with that same sad expression that made his chest ache. "Thank you."

He scoffed, turning his head away so you couldn't see the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck. "Don't thank me. Just eat next time."

But you didn't.

And Sukuna, for all his glory, didn't know how to fix you.

And that terrified him.

He didn't know what was wrong, didn't know how to make you better, and the longer you stayed like this— silent, withdrawn, not you— the more it ate away at him. He wasn't used to fear, not like this, and it pissed him off.

So the next time you went into the village, he came with you.

It was a rational decision, he told himself. If he could just see what was going on, maybe he could figure out how to fix it. Plus, he'd make sure nothing happened to you while you were out.

The villagers, of course, noticed immediately. Sukuna wasn't exactly subtle. A hulking figure with four arms and marks that practically screamed danger didn't exactly blend into the background.

This was no longer just you, the lone thief darting through shadows.

No.

This was you and Sukuna, the two of you together.

A pair.

You were the reason Sukuna had survived this long. He knew that. Knew that now the villagers would too. They'd hunt you harder, piece together the truth of how you'd kept him alive, how you'd made him the monster they feared.

He didn't care.

He wasn't going to leave your side anyway.

You were safest with him. No one would dare lay a finger on you while he was there. That was the message he sent, loud and clear, as he walked beside you through the village, your hand clasped firmly in his.

But then he saw it.

The way your expression shifted.

You stopped, your gaze snagged on a group of children sitting in the dirt, their little hands busy smearing bright colors inside simple lines drawn on scraps of parchment. They were laughing, giggling, so blissfully unaware of the two of you.

Your frown deepened.

And that's when Sukuna realized.

This— this— was the reason for your depressive episode.

He froze, staring at you for a moment before he let out a loud, echoing cackle. He laughed so hard his sides ached, his upper hands clutching his stomach while his lower ones rested on his hips.

"That's what's got you sulking?" he sneered, "This? A bunch of brats smearing colors like idiots?"

You turned to him, cheeks hot with embarrassment, lips tugged into a pout. "Shut up."

He barked out a low, mocking laugh, leaning closer as his sharp teeth glinted. "Oh, don't tell me you're jealous of that? You wanna crawl around in the dirt and finger-paint too? What's next, you gonna cry about it? Pathetic."

You huffed, crossing your arms with a glare. "Hey! I haven't cried about such things since.. forever now— you can't bring that up!"

But you weren't mad.

Just pouty.

And he found that absolutely hilarious.

Back at the estate, though, Sukuna couldn't shake the image of your face in the village. That look of quiet longing, of sadness. It stuck with him, crawling under his skin until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

So, begrudgingly, he thought about it. Really thought about it.

And then, with a dramatic sigh, he sat down beside you, crossing his lower arms over his lap while the upper ones gestured at his body.

"Here," he said gruffly, as if this were a full sentence made to understand immediately.

You blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"My marks," he muttered, already annoyed at how awkward he felt, "use them. Color inside the lines or whatever. Just— stop looking like that. It's annoying."

Your mouth fell open in surprise, and he immediately regretted it. "Don't make a big deal out of it," he snapped, scowling, "if it'll stop you from sulking, then fine. Go ahead. You can even add new ones if you want."

Your face lit up, a spark of your usual self finally flickering back to life. "Really?"

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?" Sukuna grumbled, pretending to be annoyed even as relief washed over him, "Just don't mess it up."

You grabbed a piece of charcoal from your stash with a grin, leaning closer to him. "Don't worry, S'kuna. I'll make you beautiful."

He rolled his eyes.

"To think of it, you're already really beautiful.."

He scoffed, his lips curling up, "I am no such thing."

"To me, you are."

"..."

Your relationship was fine. There wasn't much else you could say about it. You weren't ready to ruin anything, and being in his arms made you content enough.

But there was this constant urge to have more.

You didn't understand these feelings fully, but you did know there were times when you wanted to please him desperately.

That's why you started training. A lot.

Obviously, you'd never live up to the King himself, but there was no denying the fact that you did… bloom. You didn't run anymore— not when you were able to take out people on your own.

And while you did all of this with the intention of keeping yourself safe, you somehow got another reward out of it.

His praise.

Your guilty pleasure.

You tried not to let it show, but you were desperate for it. Almost like a dog wagging its tail, ready for a reward after performing a trick.

And while Sukuna hadn't noticed that you specifically craved his praise, he had noticed that you'd grown a lot more obedient. You'd follow his orders without snarky remarks, without hesitation.

Take eating, for example.

Back then, Sukuna would've been fuming because, despite your circumstances and how you grew up, you were a picky eater. And Sukuna had actually been trying his best to break that habit.

Now? Now you ate without another word. No sarcastic quips. No fights. No using the King of Curses as your personal climbing material to escape his four arms.

Nope.

Just you, grimacing after each bite of whatever questionable food you'd been handed.

Sukuna was confused.

Hence why you didn't get the praise you'd been so desperately hoping for.

Well, fuck you, you cunt. What did I eat this fucking piece of shit for?

As you sat picking at a particularly unappealing piece of food, Sukuna finally snapped.

"Alright," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest, all four of them. "What's your deal?"

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me." His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in the dim light. "You've been acting weird. Eating whatever garbage you're given, training like a lunatic, not mouthing off— what's going on with you?"

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your food. "I'm just… trying to pull my weight, that's all."

"Bullshit," he said flatly.

You flinched, your grip tightening on your fork.

Sukuna leaned forward, "Out with it," he demanded. "what are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are."

You hesitated, biting your lip, and Sukuna's frustration grew. He hated when you shut him out.

"I just…" You took a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to make you proud, is all."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable.

And then, to your utter shock, he let out a low, rumbling laugh.

"That's it?" he said, his tone mocking but not mean, "You want to make me proud? You're such an idiot."

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna cut you off.

"Listen," he begun, "You don't need to break yourself to impress me. You're already here, are you not? That's enough."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide.

"Now eat," he barked, his tone snapping back to its usual gruffness. "And stop making that stupid face. It's annoying."

A small grin tugged at your lips.

"Yes, your Highness," you said, mockingly formal as you took a big, dramatic bite of your food.

Sukuna rolled his eyes but didn't bother hiding the smirk that spread across his face.

When letters started to come in, no one really knew how to address you.

You weren't his queen. You weren't his wife. You weren't his servant, and you certainly weren't his concubine.

You were you.

A force unlike anything the world had ever seen. The only soul who dared to hold Sukuna's gaze without fear, who could make him snarl one moment and laugh the next.

If there was one thing everyone knew, it was this; Sukuna respected you. A respect so profound that it bordered on reverence— something not even gods themselves could hope to achieve.

One day, another letter arrived.

It was addressed to you, though the sender didn't dare write your name. Instead, it bore a simple title,

The Crow.

The name wasn't unfamiliar. After all, it wasn't far from the truth. You had once been the solitary figure scavenging food for Sukuna, feeding him when the world left him to rot. Always flitting in and out of danger, quick and clever, much like the bird they now associated you with.

Sukuna scoffed at the name when he looked over your shoulder, your legs dangling off of his lap, a sharp smirk tugging at his lips. "The Crow, hm? How poetic."

You rolled your eyes. "What else would they call me? It's better than 'Bearer of Death' or 'The Pest', no?"

He barked out a laugh, leaning back on his throne, "I'd kill them myself if they dared to write something that pathetic."

The letter was an invitation from a village requesting your presence. It was worded carefully, dripping with false flattery and desperate pleas.

"They need you," Sukuna read aloud mockingly. "Right. As if this isn't a trap."

You knew it, and so did he.

But still, you folded the letter neatly and tucked it away.

"I'm going."

Sukuna's expression darkened instantly. His gaze bore into you, sharp and unrelenting. "No, you're not."

You raised a brow, "You're not my keeper."

"Correct. I'm your king," he snapped, hands finding their way to your waist, almost as if silently stopping you from an escape, "and I forbid it."

"Then come with me,"

He stilled, his gaze narrowing as he weighed your words.

"if it's a trap," you continued, "they won't expect you. In that case, we— you don't have to worry about dinner tonight."

Sukuna grunted, a smirk blooming on his face, "You're insufferable."

"So I've heard."

The two of you arrived at the village a few days later, Sukuna at your side.

The air was thick with unease as villagers scattered like mice at the sight of him. His reputation preceded him, the stories of his cruelty and power leaving no room for doubt.

What confused them most was him.

Why was he here? Only you were invited.

The village leader greeted you hesitantly, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"We… we didn't expect both of you to come."

"Clearly," Sukuna drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. His lower arms crossed over his chest while the upper ones rested at his sides, ready to strike if needed. "You thought you'd lure her here and what? Take her from me? Did you think you could threaten me in this way?"

The leader paled, stumbling over his words. "N-no, my Lord, we—"

"Enough." Sukuna's voice silenced the man immediately, "Speak. Why did you call her here?"

The village leader fumbled, his gaze flickering nervously between you and Sukuna. "W-We need her help," he stammered, voice quivering as he addressed the King. "A newborn… was recently b-born here." His words faltered, his fear evident as he glanced up at the King, "He's… different. B-Born with two faces."

The man swallowed hard, his trembling hands clasped together in desperation. "He's sick. None of the doctors outside the village will touch him," he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his plea. Then, his eyes turned to you, filled with a desperate kind of hope, "We heard the stories— how she saved you— and we thought…"

"You thought wrong," Sukuna growled.

But before he could end the man's life with a single swipe, you stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm.

"Let me handle this," you said softly.

His gaze flickered to you, his jaw tightening. After a long moment, he relented, stepping back with a low grunt.

You let the villager take you to the hut where the newborn was.

You knelt before the makeshift crib, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to the newborn. He was tiny, frail— two faced.

One face contained of nothing more than fear, whilst the other cried out in pain. Yet, when your arms wrapped around his fragile body, he quieted, though soft whimpers still escaped his lips.

"Shh, little one," you murmured, your voice as gentle as a breeze. Sukuna watched silently from the corner, his arms crossed.

Carefully, you checked the baby's temperature, your fingers brushing over his small, fevered forehead. You examined his tiny body for signs of illness, taking note of the unnatural features that made the villagers so fearful. His two faces twisted slightly as he squirmed in your arms, but he didn't cry out again.

Turning to the trembling leader and a few others standing nearby, you, usually being considered nice, spoke firmly, "He needs specific care. His fever has to be brought down immediately. You'll need fruits rich in vitamins— papayas, bananas, oranges. Vegetables too. Carrots, spinach. And a steady supply of milk." Your gaze hardened, daring them to question you. "If you fail to provide him with these, he won't survive the month."

The leader nodded rapidly, almost stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to fulfill your demands.

Meanwhile, the baby's tiny hand gripped weakly at the fabric of your sleeve, his innocent gaze drifting up to meet yours. His other face, half-formed but expressive, mirrored the longing in his eyes. He clung to you like you were the only safe haven in his fragile world.

But then his gaze shifted, catching sight of Sukuna looming nearby. The King's lower set of eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his lips twitching into something between a pout and a scowl. The baby's hand hesitated, releasing its hold as if sensing Sukuna's displeasure.

You glanced at Sukuna, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous expression. What was he? Jealous? Of a baby?

Biting back a laugh, you turned your attention back to the infant, cradling him closer and pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead. "Don't mind him," you whispered, though loud enough for Sukuna to hear, "he's just grumpy because he's not the center of attention for once."

Sukuna scoffed, his arms tightening across his chest. "Tch. Keep your bratty comments to yourself."

You grinned at him, unbothered by his tone. "Aw, is the mighty King pouting? You're really going to compete with a newborn now?"

"I do not pout."

"Oh, you absolutely do," you teased, hugging the baby close for emphasis. The infant snuggled into you, his soft breaths warm against your skin. He reminded you so much of Sukuna, except Sukuna's beginnings had been so much harsher, so much crueler.

Your smile softened as you glanced over at the man, "You were like this once, you know," you said quietly, "but worse off. No one held you like this, did they?"

"That's irrelevant," he muttered.

You turned back to the baby, rocking him gently. "Not to me,"

Sukuna didn't respond, but he didn't look away, either. Even in his silence, you knew he was watching, remembering.

He hated this.

Hated the way they looked at you, as if you were their savior. As if they had any right to ask for your help after the world had abandoned you. For no reason, might he add. You were not the devil's incarnation, you hadn't been a bad child, hell, for all he knew, you could be considered an angel. And yet, you were in the same state as he was the very day you two met. The world treated you so harshly for your mere existence. And Sukuna hadn't forgotten.

He stayed silent, letting you work.

When the day ended, you returned to his side, hands stained with herbs. He said nothing.

And yet, the villagers had the audacity to offer you flowers— an attempt at gratitude.

They were beautiful.

They promised you they smelled even better.

Who were you to decline?

But beauty has a cost.

The flowers— so innocent-looking, so sweet-smelling— were anything but.

The trouble began not long after.

At first, Sukuna noticed how clingy you became, latching onto him even more than usual. You'd run your hands through his hair (despite his scowls and harsh hushes), trace the tattoos along his arms, or rest your head on his chest longer than necessary. He didn't mind— not that he'd admit it— but it was odd. It was unlike you to be so needy.

Then, just as suddenly, you pulled away.

Your skin flushed, your breathing uneven. You seemed distant, yet restless, quirking around like a lost little thing.

And in the blink of an eye, you stormed off to the room you shared with him. No explanations. Just silence. The servants barely had time to question your behavior. You disappeared before they could even open their mouths.

Sukuna pretended not to care. You were probably sulking, he told himself. Maybe something the villagers said had gotten under your skin. But the longer you stayed locked in that room, the more agitated he became.

He wasn't going to check on you— not immediately, anyway. That would mean admitting he cared, and he wasn't about to give anyone that satisfaction.

Instead, he sent servants.

The first returned looking pale, as if they'd just seen a ghost.

"What's wrong with her?" Sukuna growled, standing at an intimidating height.

The servant stammered, failing to form a coherent response.

Useless.

A single strike ended their misery, and Sukuna turned to the next.

One by one, the servants were sent to your room, and one by one, they returned looking worse for wear— shaken, nervous, almost beaten down mentally. None of them gave him a straight answer. And that annoyed him beyond hell and earth.

By the third corpse, he was growing impatient.

Finally, one brave— or perhaps foolish— servant stepped forward, bowing low to avoid her wrath. "My Lord… it's not our place to say. You… you should see for yourself. But she… she needs time. Give her a moment, then go to her."

The King's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a snarl. Time? You needed time? For what?

Still, the servant's trembling voice and the hint of genuine concern in their words stopped him from storming in immediately.

"Fine," he grunted, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand, "half an hour. If she's not better by then, I’ll deal with it myself."

The servant bowed deeply, sharing a concerned look before retreating as quickly as they could.

And so, Sukuna waited.

What was wrong with you? And why the hell hadn't you told him?

Inside the room, you were fighting for your life. You were left dizzy and overwhelmed. You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. The sensation was maddening, your body betraying you in ways you couldn't explain.

Your abdomen burned. It felt too hot for your body, and you were desperate. Desperate to get rid of it, to loosen it, to feel pleasure.

You cursed under your breath, glaring at the damned flowers on the bedside table. They were the culprits. Had to be. Their sweet, heady scent lingered in the air, mocking you.

And then it dawned on you.

They were aphrodisiacs.

You yelped, mewling in, what you could consider, pain. Pain of the lack of touch.

One thought after another paced into your mind, but the one that stung the most must've been the simple question; why?

Why did the villagers do this? Hadn't you helped them well enough? Weren't you good?

Were they still, after having received your help, desperate to damage the King's property? In order to weaken him?

You scoffed at the thought. Yeah, as if.

The more disgusting thought probably had to be that they weren't in disgust of you, no, they wanted you to reproduce. They wanted more of Sukuna's kind, for the man also had worshippers, not only enemies. And this village had been such as those, you hadn't missed their eyes lingering on the King's large form.

What had you done to deserve this?

You'd have to tell Sukuna eventually.

And that would mean the death of the villagers.

You didn't want that, either.

But it was only a matter of time until said King would find out about your condition.

You thought, maybe he'd find out by the use of his enhanced senses. He'd smell the aphrodisiacs, and know what had happend to you. Or maybe he already knew these type of flowers, and he'd be able to tell by the mere look of them.

What you hadn't expected was for him to find you hopelessly humping a pillow.

The one placed in the bed you shared with him.

You had thought he went hunting— and no other servants dared to enter his room without knocking and getting an approval.

And for his sake, you would've been embarassed to see him standing there, his upper arms crossed, his expression fading from surprised to.. amused? Whatever. The King could never be surprised, could he?

You would've been embarassed, if it hadn't been for the high effects these flowers had casted upon you.

You felt like you were in heat.

You couldn't stop. A mess of whimpers, mewls and moans was what you were.

"..m-m ngh- haa- 'm s-so.. s.. sorry— 'kuna—!"

To Sukuna, you were a sight worth millions.

What could he say? Your tits, once hidden behind your kimono, were out, bouncing along to your hopeless humping. Your hair was messy, your eyes droopy, but open enough for him to catch your blown out pupils— not to mention the fact that you looked up at him as if he were your savior. Your breaths came out shallow, and your moans.. your moans were what he could consider a masterpiece. It only added to his own arousal when you moaned his name. Well, petname now, apparently.

He wanted to touch you.

To demolish you himself.

"They've drugged you. I see. Their village shall burn to the grounds—"

"N-no! -kuna p-please don't leave meee!—" you panted, desperately rubbing your clit now.

He wasn't planning to leave, however hearing you beg for it was a little cherry on top. He smirked, nearing you as he yanked your hand off of your poor bud.

And shit, the way you looked up at him— your eyes glossy, partly embarassed and partly so deep in the haze of your own arousal.

His other hand tangled into your hair, snapping your head up to look up at him.

He spoke lowly, his voice a mere rasp,

"Tell me what you desire, my dove."

"You."

No hesitation.

Well fuck, if that didn't make Sukuna rock hard, then he'd be doomed.

"Hm. Stop your humping on that thing. Come here."

His hold on your hair guided you up. You whimpered, the loss of friction and close release could've been enough of a reason for you to have started sobbing.

"Your body is truly pathetic. You can't even withstand a mere aphrodisiac. How are you to survive in this world without me by your side?"

He yanked you up, holding you with his lower arms by your thighs as he pressed you to the nearest wall. You whined, the little clothing you still owned slipping down your form, leaving you fully naked. He was already shirtless, never fond of any tops.

"Hm. A day ago you would've cried from embarrassment. How amusing."

That's when you felt it.

Your cunt was directly pressed to his stomach.

Exactly where his maw was located at.

He wasted no time, slithering the thick muscle from your thighs to your chasm, and into your folds. The dip was delicious, spreading your arousal all around as it began slipping inside of you.

Sukuna's actual mouth acted with thoughts, for he was the one controlling its actions.

His maw, however, acted on pure instinct. That's why on the day you fed him, it wasn't his actual mouth accepting your offer, but his maw, which knew what he had needed.

And it knew what you needed, now, because it was pumping inside of you like a real dick, stretching you out in ways that should hurt if it werent for the mixture of his spit and your liquid.

You moaned loudly, holding into the man as you squirmed. The canines of his maw brushed over your plush thighs, trying to savour your taste.

It was eating you.

Literally.

You gasped when you felt Sukuna's free hands groping your breasts harshly, running his thumbs over your hardened buds.

He pinched them.

And you cried out. Loudly, at that. It hurt, the overstimulation just adding to it as your breasts swelled.

And then he spat on them, meeting your druggen, almost passed out gaze with his grin.

His tongue, still pushing inside of you as if it were to devour you at any moment, was originally going to make you cum.. but..

"S-stop- 'kuna please! E- haah- enough!"

Said man stopped immediately, his tongue stilling inside of you, your walls pulsating around him.

"What is it, brat? You haven't even had your release yet. Don't tell me it's already too much."

You shook your head, blushing as your hands went around his head. He shot you a confused look before you leaned in to press your lips on his.

He was taken aback. A grunt left his lips as he accepted his fate, though he seemed to still, as if not knowing what to do.

But you giggled, actually giggled at him.

"Want you 'kuna. W-want you to feel good too,"

"Don't be silly. You will wither trying to take me."

"'n y-you'll just heal me then, no?"

"..."

He grunted, removing his tongue from you before placing you on the bed.

You looked so beautiful, spread out like a flower blooming. Your cunt was glistening, spread and messy from his tongue.

And yet, you had the audacity to feel shy at the moment.

Using your hands to cover what's his.

"Remove your hands at once, or I will not take any mercy on you, brat." He snarled, slowly pushing his pants down.

You obeyed.

And there he was.

There they were.

Standing at proud, over-human-sized inches, both of his cocks, glistening with leaking pre-cum.

He was right. You would wither trying to take him.

"Excited already?"

Oh, yeah.

How did you not notice the way you basically went on all fours within seconds, looking at his cocks as if they were treasures.

"S..so big—" your hands wrapped around his lower cock, experimentally giving a few pumps. The King, to all his glory, grunted, his eyebrows furrowed.

"So desperate, my dove. Tch."

Your mouth fell open as you went to take his upper dick, kitty licking over his tip, tasting his cum.

Fuck.

It didn't take long for you to wrap your mouth around his tip, pumping his other rock-hard, desperate cock.

And maybe, he was just as desperate— his hand wrapped around your neck, slowly inching his dick deeper into you.

You could cum on spot for what he said next;

"Good girl. F-fuck."

Not only did the big, bad King just do what you yearned for the whole time (praise you), but he also had stuttered (whimpered, really. But you'll take what you get).

You moaned around his large shaft, bobbing your head when you noticed you wouldn't be able to go any deeper. Tears were running down your cheeks, sobs escaping your full throat.

Your fingers engulfed him, your thumb rubbing his leaking tip while the other hand stroked his base, feeling the vein running underneath.

He was so perfect.

During your moment of bliss, you barely noticed his cussing, let alone his demands.

"G-get off— woman."

But you didn't.

You couldn't.

And he couldn't stop you, for the pleasure was way too great.

With that, he shot, not one, but two big loads onto you, one running inside of your throat and the other outside your throat, soaking your skin with white, sticky cum.

You were eager to swallow, and even more eager to continue, though your mouth was starting to get sore and tired.

"E-enough- for fuck's sake- off!" He groaned as he pulled you off forcefully, your mouth still connected to his dick by the mixture of cum and saliva.

Well fuck, if that wasn't a sight..

His dick remained hard, and you wondered how many releases he needed in order to soften.

"Real fuckin' minx. You think you can take both?"

You shook your head harshly, sobbing at the mere thought.

"Backing out? Already? How pathetic. I haven't even got the real chance to please you."

Without another word, he threw you on your back, gripping your legs and pressing them against your chest— literally folding you.

"'Kuna- Kuna haa!—" you cried out as you felt his tongue dive into your cunt again, his tip prodding the place right under your hole.

"Ca- can't take bo- ahh- both! Please!—"

He hummed, his tongue retreating.

"I suppose you can't, no."

"Huh?— Ah—!"

He entered you without another warning, without any time to adjust.

He was big.

He hurt.

But you did give him your promise that it'd be okay. And he said he'd heal you. So it should be okay if you could feel your walls clampering down on him, begging for a release and for him to stop his torture.

The pain easily mixed with the pleasure when he started thrusting into you, holding your legs with two of his arms, the other two keeping him steady above you. His other tip kept nudging your clit, making you cry out everytime your nerves got any kind of friction.

"Mhh. Such a glorious sight you are, my dove. So vulnerable.. can't even handle one cock, how are you ever supposed to take me?"

Ever?

You would've questioned it, if it weren't for the drool running down your lips, and the tears straining your cheeks. He chuckled, leaning down to you to lick away your tears and saliva.

His chest steadied your legs in position, and he used this as an advantage to run his hands all over your body.

You cried out when you felt multiple sharp teeth nibbling at your skin, some drawing blood, some sucking your skin.

He'd summoned mouths over his hands.

Moaning, you squirmed beneath him, his thrusts brutal enough to send you flying if it weren't for his grip.

"Ngh- ha- c-can't.. g'na cum-"

"Go on, little one. C-cum- fuck-" his breaths where heavy, and you could tell by his twitching cock inside of you that he was close aswell.

"Gonna f-fill you up, gonna fill you up so good— fuck- stop squeezing me like that, wo-hah- woman-!"

You came with a loud scream of his name, him following curtly after.

Hot, sticky cum filled your walls as he pulled out, his upper cock having spurt cum aswell. It coated your abdomen, up to your swollen breasts.

Shit.

"Haa- n-no! Enough-!" You yelped as you felt his fingers back in your hole.

He scoffed, "You're wasting my cum. Keep. It. In."

"Y-yeah as if I could do thaaa- holy shit!-" he filled you to the brim, knuckles deep inside of you, shoving every bit of his sticky substance into you.

"'Kunaaaaaa-"

"Fuck. Fine. I'll let this slip this time."

His hands hovered over the open wounds he'd caused, though he really rather looked smug. He healed you, fixing all what had to be fixed while hoisting you up into his arms.

"..this time?.."

He tilted his head.

"You didn't think this was a one time thing, did you?"

Oh but you did.

Whoops.

Blushing, you looked away.

"I- I don't want to be a concubine."

"..You're a fool to believe I'd consider you as such."

Silence.

Oh. Wait. That meant?..

"You know I'll still end those who hurt you, right?"

"Yeah."

He hummed, "Very well, I'll be on my way tomorrow. If you wish to follow, you are free to do so."

Silence.

"Sukuna?"

"Brat."

"Just.. spare the children and their parents, will you? They just—" you stopped, sighing as you nuzzled further into him, "—they.. he reminded me of you. You were like him too, once. I-.. it surprised me, that they didn't abandon him. I'd like him to do what we couldn't."

And what would that be? You and Sukuna basically could do anything. Were you saying he might've been uncapable of something? He killed all his life, he survived, he lived. What couldn't he possibly do?

"You must be mistaken, little one. We've done everything. We're capable of everything."

To his surprise, your voice came out weak. Weak like he'd never heard before. Not even when the people started chasing you with torches and knives, and spat mean words at you for your mere existence.

"...I'd like him to grow up loved."

"..."

...but Sukuna had loved you, hadn't he?

masterlist

[slushycoookie]

Festival of Love

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Content: Heian era. TrueForm! Sukuna. Reader is his wife. Constant talk of festivals. Sukuna is...Sukuna. Although he is a little more affectionate so he might be a little OOC in some cases. I tried to make everything as authentic as possible, but it might not be accurate to the time period. Brief mention of murder and blood. Yes, he has two cocks. (If he doesn't this ain't me writing). Oral sex (fem receiving). Vaginal sex. P in V. Double penetration. Anal sex. Minors DNI!

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! I'm ending off my love list of my man. I hope you all enjoy and I hope everyone has a nice day today!

Cookie's Love List

“Is Lord Sukuna romantic?”

That question lingers in your mind.

Even as you say yes to your servants while you're getting ready. Romantic wasn’t in Sukuna’s dictionary.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well…” Your servant starts while helping you get dressed. “The festival of love is upon us. And anyone with a partner goes every year. You and our Lord would be pleased at such an affair.”

“There’s music, food, and plenty of activities.” Another pitches in. “And it lasts into the night.”

You can't see your husband enjoying any of these things.

You can hear him now at how these festivals are wastes of time. Him conversing among the rabble, turning his nose up at anything that was offered to him. Not having a good time therefore you won't have a good one.

“I'll…see if he wants to go.”

You hardly ask Sukuna for anything. He generally gets whatever you want without asking for it. Yet when you do want to ask your words don’t appear. Not managing to escape your lips as you sit across from him at the dinner table. He idly gorges on his food while you pick at it like a picky child.

He’s going to say no.

“Ryomen.” You capture his attention immediately. All red eyes hone to your form as he continues to eat. “I want to ask you something.”

“I’ve already requested for those plums you desire to be replenished in the kitchen. You can grab some after dinner.”

“Oh, no not that-”

“New silks for your robes will be here in three days time. They will not irritate your skin. I’ve made sure of that.”

“You did? No, wait that’s not it.” You adjust your seating, clearing your throat while your mind quickly went over what you had to say. “It’s about the festival.”

Sukuna’s chest rumbles and you can feel his aura change from peaceful to annoyed.

“They’ve got you too I see.”

“What?”

He settles down his chopsticks, wiping his hands off with a cloth. “For weeks, I’ve been hearing talk of this so-called festival of affection. I swore to myself if I heard one more person speak of that wretched event, I will slice them into tiny pieces and savor their flesh.”

Oh.

Well, this is it. You’ve only been Sukuna’s wife for over a year. The surprising harmony the two of you had together wasn’t going to last long. You should’ve eaten more before he tears you into a thousand pieces.

Your heart doesn’t race as his red eyes stare you down. Even before your impending doom, you love staring at them. Imagining they’re beautiful jewels, like the ones on the jewelry he buys you occasionally.

Nothing happens.

“I must break my vow since you are my wife. You are the exception.” That makes you smile. He huffs before folding his arms. “Why do you want to go to this foolish festival?”

“I think we would enjoy ourselves. You also haven’t been outside the estate for more than fourteen days. Not to raid a village or pillage the nearby people. It would be good for us.”

“I am still not seeing how this would benefit me. I enjoy being in my abode. With you.”

“As do I-”

“Then it is settled. We will not go.”

“Ryomen-”

“Enough.” He stands, moving the table slightly. “I have said my peace. If you are dying to have me go with you, then you must convince me. Beg if you have to.”

You scowl behind his back when he takes his leave, thunderous footsteps fading away, leaving you at the table. What little appetite you have is gone. You knew Sukuna wasn’t going to say yes. Truth is you didn’t like being cooped up inside the estate for weeks at a time. Besides enjoying your time reading, practicing your calligraphy, and learning about the wonders of the world. You’d occasionally spend your time in the garden, but Sukuna closed it off. For reasons unknown.

You also kept your husband company.

When he trains, he’d have you close by to be impressed by his skill in jujutsu and archery. Looking behind him when he pulls the impossible to see your face. You’re always impressed by his magnificence, it’s part of the reason why you love him.

When he’s receiving offerings at his shrine, you’re right next to him. Seeing what poor souls would get slaughtered in front of you as he manically laughs while being covered in blood. The screams and cries hardly disturb you anymore. Now, you just wonder how long he’s going to do that for.

Life with the King of Curses wasn’t boring. You just wanted to explore with him by your side. Not when he rampages a village, crushing people's bones and eating their flesh. You want to travel some place far, enjoy leisure activities while you’re within his presence. It’s all you truly wanted.

“I’m sorry, my Lady.” One of your servants say as they clean up the table. “He is cruel.”

“It’s alright.” You smile, “There is still time to convince him.”

The ladies look at each other in disbelief. Usually when Sukuna says no, he means it. No persuasion would work on him. But you’re wed to him. That should count for something.

Asking your husband to partake in the festival wasn’t going to be an easy feat. His mere presence frightens people and he’s hardly in a good mood to ask for favors. But you’ve observed him for some time and you know him well.

During training, he has you kiss his knuckles before and after a fight. For good luck. Not like he needs it. His eyes focus on your lips brushing along his knuckles, glancing up through your full lashes to make eye contact. His breath hitches at the sight of you, but it’s not enough to distract him.

After practically destroying the sorcerer he challenges, he comes back to you, hands bloody but not a single scratch or bruise on them. You smear the blood away a little with your thumbs, but you freeze.

“You fought well, my husband.”

Sukuna puffs out his chest, “As I always do.”

“Perhaps, you don’t need my kisses anymore. You’ve always succeeded before you needed my affection. Do I make a difference?”

You hold in a smirk when his eyes narrow at you. “What is this?”

“Nothing, my love. Since we cannot go to the festival together, I am wondering why I am here to watch you train. I hardly understand what’s happening half the time.”

“It is your duty to be by my side if I wish for it. Even for trivial activities such as these.”

You hum, letting go of his hands. “Some would say you can also do that for me at the festival.”

“I told you no.”

“Then…I am not obliged to accompany you during your trainings.”

Sukuna sneers while nearby servants gawk at your pushback. You’re the only person that can give their lord a hard time and not get torn to shreds. You say your goodbyes before going to freshen up. Your husband doesn’t call for you, but you feel his stare on his back. It makes you shiver in delight.

Of course, he doesn’t cave so you have to apply more pressure.

At his shrine, Sukuna starts getting bored during the middle of harassing his peasants. The fourth human he slaughters gets stale. When that happens, he beckons you forward to sit on his lap. Hold you close to his chest as if you're a prize he's won.

You see it as he needs you near. Sukuna loves touching you. Run his strong hands all over your body to keep him grounded. His way of wanting you without saying it.

The king calls you over with the curl of his fingers. The floor getting cleaned as people cower below, afraid of being his next victim. You raise in your seat, but you don't come any closer. Sukuna’s glowering doesn’t phase you.

“Wife. Come.”

“For what reason?”

He grumbles, “Your presence is requested on my lap.”

“I see. Another minor request.”

“Minor?”

Everyone goes silent at your defiance to his demands. You stand tall even as he stares you down.

“My command is not minor. You are to come when I call you.”

“For my husband who doesn't respect my miniscule request to go to a festival.”

“Who says I didn't respect your request?”

“No one, but it shows in your words.”

Sukuna stands. His cursed energy crushing down on you. You’re not a sorcerer, but you can feel when his cursed energy fluctuates. It’s swarming you in an attempt to strike fear into your heart. But you can’t remember a time when you’ve been afraid of your husband.

“You dare to defy me?”

“I’m your wife. Not a servant.”

No one says a word. The entire room silent. Sukuna’s nostrils flare and a part of you wonders if you did go too far.

He relaxes his shoulders before sitting back on his throne. “Fine. Do what you want.”

You smile as the servants jaw drops. He didn’t kill you, but he still didn’t say yes to going to the festival with you.

It’s time to pull off this last attempt.

You hope it didn’t have to come to this, but you wanted him to go with you.

Sukuna carries late hours. So you wait for him to come to bed every night. You preoccupy your time by reading under the candle light or doing an extensive beauty regimen. But as always he shows up at the same time.

Loud footsteps alert you of his arrival as you get ready for bed. His red eyes cut to you, lowered in unamusement. Of course, he wasn’t too happy about all of the other things you did prior. He’s such a child deep down.

“Wife.” He greets, gathering himself on his side of the futon.

“Husband.” You smile, batting your pretty lashes, “Are you retiring for the night?”

“Yes. I must get my rest.”

“Alright…”

Usually before he sleeps, you give him a gentle kiss on his lips before saying that you love him and goodnight. Sukuna is ready for the kiss, leaning forward towards you in waiting.

You don’t do that though.

Instead, you turn over, getting in a comfortable position to sleep. His growl shakes the bed and your body. You don’t focus on the pang of your heart.

“Wife.” He calls again, gritting his teeth. “Are you forgetting something?”

“Hmm, no? You said you are about to retire.”

Sukuna’s hand slams on the sheets. It doesn’t make you jump but you turn towards him.

“Do you not remember what you do and say to me every night before I rest?”

“I don’t…oh! You mean when I kiss you and say ‘I love you’-”

“Yes, precisely.”

He shimmies closer to you, getting in a lower angle for you to kiss him. You back away, clearing your throat.

“Ah, I didn’t think you need that anymore. It is not necessarily a requirement in our relationship.”

Sukuna huffs, “You are to deny me of your affection? Were not kissing my hands, not sitting on my lap enough for you?”

You shake your head and he sits up. His arms are folded, muscles tight. You want to kiss that anger away, but you needed to stay strong.

“All because I do not want to go to the festival…”

“You can change that.”

Sukuna's narrowing eyes lock on to you, “I can easily kill you and find another wife.”

“You don’t want to go through all of that hassle again. Finding a bride, arranging another ceremony…”

“I can pick up any woman from that worthless village.”

“She can’t do what I can.” You risk it by caressing one of his arms just for a moment. The most touch Sukuna has gotten since you started this endeavor. His muscles loosen and the angry aura fades away.

When he doesn’t say anything else, you turn over again. What you did still didn’t work. You might have to emphasize no sex, since he still wasn’t keen on taking you. Sukuna really won’t be happy about that.

“If we go to this...festival,” He spits, disgusted at the idea already, “Will you resume your affection and obey me?”

“If you mean kiss your hands, sit on your lap, and say ‘I love you’?”

“Yes.”

“I can. You know I won’t obey you though.”

You hide a smile when he sighs. “Of course. We shall…go to the festival.”

You sit up, hugging him and covering his face with multiple kisses. Sukuna looks annoyed at the sudden 180 of your affection, while he’s holding the small of your back and leaning into your touch.

“I love you, Ryomen.”

He grunts, “And I you.”

Sukuna allows you to express your love since he hasn't gotten it in a few days.

“Oh, I also have another request.” He tilts his head while you continue, “You can't kill anyone.”

“Now, you are ordering me around.”

“I'm not! This is a request.” You straddle his lap, all six eyes on you. “People cower in fear when they see you-”

“As they should.”

“But it makes going to the festival less exciting if people are shriveling at your wake.”

“I am what I am. I thought you accepted that.”

You place a hand above his heart. You don't want him to get discouraged because of your request.

“I have. I want to make sure we have the most extraordinary time. Can you at least go without harming people for a night?”

Sukuna grimaces, not making eye contact. You aren't asking for much. If you wanted to keep going, you should have told him to behave. He would've forgo going to the festival altogether.

“Fine. No blood shall be spilled that night.”

“Thank you.”

You give him a kiss of gratitude. A satisfied groan emits from his chest and under your lips.

“You are the only one I do this for.” He whispers against your lips. His breath tickling them, causing you to smile.

“I know.”

Now, the two of you make plans for the festival.

Sukuna heeds your every word when it comes to the event. You boast that you want to match with him so you spend half of the day looking at patterns, deciding what looks best. The seamstresses taking measurements. You're picking out accessories to highlight your appearance. Your husband just goes along with it.

He even allows talk of the festival along the estate. Whenever you turn a corner, you hear someone boast about it in glee. Making plans about what they're going to do during the event.

It makes you wonder if Sukuna has ever been to a festival.

His childhood is minimal in your memory. He hardly talks about it. You don't ask because he acts differently when you bring it up. Not angry, but distant. Far away past the room you two share.

Was it a mistake asking him to go? Did you bring up some childhood memories that he wasn’t fond of?

The thought crosses your mind as you're getting dressed in your robes. The kimono being a sleek black color, white flowers adorning the hem of your skirt. Your earrings glow in the setting sun, capturing what little sun rays are left. Sukuna might be upset if you suggest he doesn't have to go after all the work you did to persuade him.

You see him in the hall, his robe the splitting image of yours. It’s open, allowing a glimpse of his pectorals to peek through. And he's wearing shoes, so he is doing this right.

“The flowers don't compare to you.”

You smile shyly at the compliment, “The sun can't outshine you.”

Sukuna takes your arm and wrap it around his. Before making the descent, he tells Uraume to keep watch of the home. They give the two of you a bow in goodbye, taking the command seriously.

As the two of you make way past the rows of trees, following the path to the village, you think back to your spouse. If you wanted to know if he's ever been to a festival at all, you'd have to ask differently.

“The festival…” You begin, “You’ve expressed your disdain of not wanting to go, but was there a reason why?”

Sukuna grumbles, “The entire idea is trivial. Pointless.”

“You said that. But I still don’t understand why. If I’m unlocking memories that you didn’t want to experience I-”

“You are asking me these questions now when we’re close to the village.” He stops, but his arm doesn’t tear away from yours. “It didn’t cross your mind while you were pushing me to say yes to your demands. Now, you have a sudden change of heart?”

“It’s not that at all-”

“Then do not ask such foolish questions. We are going to this festival that you suggested.”

Sukuna pulls you along. You can’t even facepalm due to your words possibly making the situation worse. When arriving at the entrance of the village, he goes back to his normal stride.

You’re not completely inside and you see rows of carts down the path. People dressed in similar attire, glimpses of red, pink, gold, and white. They’re laughing, taking in the glorious sites of the abundance of activities and food. You can even smell the herbs and spices from here and you clutch your stomach.

“Hungry already?”

“No.” You purse your lips, “I am admiring from afar.”

“Admire up close.”

Sukuna leads you past the gate. Immediately his intimidating presence alerts anyone nearby. The villagers stop what they’re doing and lower their heads, trembling.

You knew this would happen. It’s one of the reasons you said he shouldn’t kill anyone tonight.

“My Lord, my Lady…we didn’t expect your appearance.”

“You should’ve.” Sukuna scoffs while you put on a friendly smile.

“It’s alright. Don’t mind us, we’re here to enjoy the festivities like you all.”

The area is still silent, obviously not believing you one bit.

“Listen to my wife!” He shouts at the crowd, “She won’t lead you astray.”

“O-Okay.”

Everyone raises their heads, slowly dispersing and going back to normal. As much as they can. Sukuna’s existence terrified people. The amount of eye glances over their shoulders, the air becoming tense and awkward. You didn’t like it. You needed to make them open up somehow.

It’s why you led your spouse over to one of the food displays. The sight of grilled chicken, covered in a sweet and savory sauce on a skewer made you hungry.

You ordered six sticks, two for you, four for him. Sukuna stares down the man hastily cooking the chicken skewers. Not missing every flip and every drizzle of sauce.

“You’re scaring him.” You whisper.

“I want to make sure he’s cooking it right.”

“Not everyone can be like Uraume when it comes to cooking.”

He huffs when the cook hands you the sticks. You roll your eyes at your husband sniffing the meat, before easily taking two pieces in his mouth. He’s chewing slowly, not caring that you and the cook are looking at him with anticipation.

“This is adequate.”

Without missing a beat, he puts a handful of money on the cart, not caring about the amount.

“M-My Lord, you gave me too much-”

“Nonsense! It is plenty. I want more.”

The cook follows his command, hurrying up on the next set of skewers. You chortle while enjoying your own, enjoying the tanginess of the sauce on your taste buds. It satisfies your hunger for now.

“You know, we have other carts to try too.”

Sukuna’s too busy cleaning his sticks to catch what you said. Meanwhile, there’s a line forming behind you. People anxiously waiting their turn while their King gorges on chicken.

“My love.” You tug on his robe, “We should move on.”

He finally sees the line after eating his last piece of meat. Licking his lips to get rid of any remaining sauce, “Of course, there would be a line. The man knows what he’s doing.”

“T-Thank you, my Lord.” The man bows and Sukuna grunts in response.

While you lead him away from the stall, he starts looking around, “What other foods can satisfy me?”

“Don’t tell me you plan on eating the entire time.”

“I do what I please, wife. It’s the least I can do since you dragged me here.”

This shouldn’t surprise you. Sukuna loves food after all. You might as well feed him as an apology on attempting to connect on a deeper level with him.

Part of your time at the festival involved your husband eating. Stall after stall Sukuna ate whatever was offered. Bean buns, takoyaki, soba, sweet potatoes. You got full halfway in, so the rest you watched him eat. While listening to his commentary about the food. It was all positive for Sukuna’s standards. Not one insult about how everything was disgusting. That he was tempted to cut down the cook who made the abomination he ate.

Your heart soared at him enjoying the food.

“What shall we do next?” Sukuna asks, “I know there is more to these things than eating.”

“Are you sure you want to stop eating?”

“Don’t tease me.”

You hold in a grin, “We can play some games.”

Sukuna raises his brows before following you.

You two first stop at a cart with a few tables next to it. Couples hunched over while scraping sounds filled your ears. The two of you were in line before hearing a snap and a woman crying at her candy being broken. Her partner quickly consoling her, forgetting about his own candy.

His groan causes you to give him a quick smile, lovingly.

“We are playing katanuki.”

“Yes. I thought it would be fun.”

“What do we win?” He’s speaking more to the cart owner who points at a few decorative lanterns. Sukuna tsks, obviously not pleased. “That is all?”

“It’s a nice prize.” You cut him off and watch the person make two pink colored candies. One having the shape of a flower, the other a squid.

Sukuna immediately grabs the squid, commenting on how easy it will be. You always thought the squid was one of the harder ones.

“This is supposed to be fun.” You try to remind him, “It’s okay if it breaks.”

“For you, maybe.” He grunts, “Mine will not break.”

Your husband sits next to you and with a needle he gets to work. It’s a sight to see with his ginormous hands along the tiny needle, carefully scraping away the candy. So focused in making sure it doesn’t break that it distracts you momentarily. Yours is considered one of the easiest since you only had two sections to remove.

Another snap takes you and Sukuna out of the candy scraping trance. The unlucky man slams his broken piece to the ground, creating more pieces everywhere. His wife tries to calm him down, but he storms off.

“We are better.” Sukuna whispers in your ear. His breath brushes along your earlobe, forming goosebumps on your skin.

“We are.”

You glance over and your partner is making his way to the legs. They’re thin, easily able to break with one wrong move. For some reason, it makes you nervous. You don’t want to think about what would happen if his candy breaks. If your spouse would go on a rampage, forgetting his promise to you and killing anyone for even seeing his mistake.

Another candy snaps. It’s much louder and closer. The couple in front of you manages to break their candy at the same time. Doubling the amount of disappointment. The woman doesn’t want to take the loss and goes back to the cart to try again, requesting an easier shape.

Sukuna snorts, “Fools. To prove their worth, they must try with the same shape they had before.”

“Some don't want to that.”

He merely scoffs while you manage to get the outside done, smiling wide when you show it to him.

“Good girl.” He smirks. Your cheeks start getting hot at his praise. “I knew I picked the right wife.”

“Yet you threatened me not too long ago about finding a new one.”

“Focus on the candy.”

He gets four out of eight of the legs done. There’s no sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the shape. Sukuna could have easily use his curse technique to slash the candy for himself and you, but he doesn’t. Focusing on doing it the “right” way.

“I got it.” You squeal when removing the circle in the middle. You want to show it to him, but he’s too busy working on the last leg. Dragging the needle as gently as possible to complete the shape. You’re holding your breath. He’s holding his.

When the final leg is done and the candy takes the shape of a squid, Sukuna lifts up his success high towards the sky. Showing it off to anyone nearby.

“That lantern is ours!”

You place your flower in his hands and he immediately goes towards the owner, presenting them as if they are prizes.

There’s one lantern that caught your eye. It’s red with a mix of gold. White flowers displaying around it, standing out amidst the others. Sukuna points to that one immediately without you saying a word.

“You were staring at this one the most.” He says while holding it in one of his hands.

You give him a chaste kiss on his jaw, “Thank you.”

“Thank yourself. You are a part of this victory.”

Running off of the katanuki high, Sukuna randomly points to another game. Now you’re following behind him.

There are more children than adults at this game. They’re laughing as they all try to take turns catching schools of fish in a giant tank. The net is very flimsy, not designed to carry many fish at once, but that is the point of this game.

“You want to play this one?” You ask and Sukuna nods.

“I always admired this game since I was a child.”

“So, you played this before?”

He merely grunts, eyes locked on the children trying and failing to catch the fish. When they lose again, Sukuna takes his turn. You’re holding the lantern as he’s handed a small net that can be crushed instantly under his palm.

“Wife. Tell me what you desire.”

You glance over at the list of items, a decorative hair comb, a few children’s toys, and a vase. One of the kids quickly go up to you, whispering for the comb. You giggle before making your selection.

Sukuna puffs out his chest, watching the fish swim around in the tank. The kids all stand by your side as he dips the net into the water. As swift as he can, he scoops as many fish as he can into the small bowl. Droplets of water get on his robe, but he doesn’t stop. Not until the paper breaks and your jaw is dropped as well as the children’s.

He holds up the bowl for the owner to count it, already satisfied when they tell him he’s collected enough fish. The kids jump with joy, hugging you when being presented the comb.

“Actually, it’s not for me.”

You hand it over to the little girl who gasps at the intricacy of the accessory. The comb is gorgeous with it’s array of jewels and gold lining over the forks. Sukuna’s eyes narrow when the girl takes the gift.

“Of course. You’re always a sucker for the little brats.” A collective ‘hey’ radiates from the children, as if he was an annoying elder. Sukuna scoffs, folding his arms. “I will not be used through my wife. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it.”

The children quickly switch up their attitude and point at the abundance of items that they want.

Sukuna ends up spending a bit at the tank, winning almost every item for the children. He huffs and sighs at their demands, but follows through. They all walk away with toys in their arms, thanking Sukuna for his kindness.

“That was nice of you.” You say, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He waves you away, “The brats would have bothered us to death. And you said I can’t kill anyone.”

Well, it’s the thought that counts.

Near the end of the festival, anyone with a lantern lights it up and send it high into the sky. While that happens, everyone receives an omikuji. Small pieces of paper containing fortunes that people can keep or tie it to a wish tree. You always tie yours to the tree, which is usually a large one centered in the middle of the village.

“What is the point of fortunes?” Sukuna says, “I don’t need anything random to tell me of my destiny.”

“Some people see it as a reassurance.” You explain, taking your piece before walking to the tree. “Others see it as spicing up their life. You bring up how you’re bored sometimes.”

“I do, but I find ways to fix it. Not ask a paper about what I should do with my life.”

“No wishing tree for you then.” You give him the lantern as you try and find a good spot to put your wish. All of the good branches you can reach are taken. Even after going around the entire tree. There’s times like this where you wish you had access to Sukuna’s height.

“I see a spot.”

“Oh where?”

Sukuna lifts you up, placing you on his shoulder. He keeps you steady with a hand on your side when he walks over to a branch why high in the tree. You tie up the paper with the string, making sure it’s secure before he puts you down.

“Your nice side is showing.”

He rolls his eyes while setting up the lantern.

With a light, you two light up the lantern and raise it with the others. The red and gold standing out in the night sky. You’re close to Sukuna while momentarily watching it fly away. Taking in his warm body. You’ll remember this night for as long as you can. Until you go with him again to another festival. Whenever that will be.

As the event dies down, the two of you slowly walk back to the estate. Sukuna is guiding you with the light, a gentle grip on you. It’s late in the night, but you’re still wide awake. You’re thinking about what happened at the festival. How your husband was having fun.

“I rarely went to festivals when I was young.” Sukuna’s voice shocks you, but you don’t say anything as he continues. “From what I choose to remember of my childhood, I don’t remember joy. I watched the children from afar when they played games. I never joined in.”

“Oh, Ryomen…” You lean further into him, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have made you went.”

“You’re too late.” He cuts you off, making you feel worse. “Besides, I already enjoyed myself.”

Your heart skips a beat, “You would go again?”

“I don’t want you to do what you did if I said no again.”

You giggled, patting yourself on the back for being top notch at persuasion.

Back at the estate, you expected Sukuna to lead you to the room. Instead, he takes you to the opposite direction. To the back of the home, right where the garden is.

“Isn’t the garden incomplete?”

“No. I finished it yesterday.”

Yesterday? He finished it yesterday? He was working on the garden?

Plenty of questions swirled in your head, not coming through your lips. When going past the doorway, you’re met with a field of flowers. Bell flowers to be exact. Their lavender-blue colors dancing across your eyes. You can’t speak. You’re not sure if you can breathe.

“They’re proof of how much you mean to me.”

You wanted to cry, but no tears can escape.

With what you can muster, you kiss him. It’s passionate, unwavering. A slew of feelings you wanted to express while seeing him earlier at the festival. How he is in day to day life. Right now.

There’s a reason why you love him. Why you don’t want anyone else but him.

Sukuna growls against your lips when you don't stop. You're tugging at his robe, desperate to feel his hot skin. To show how much you appreciate him. He nips at your bottom lip only to tear himself away.

“You know I'd have you anywhere. I admire your tenacity.” He tsks at your pouting, cheeks getting a little red. “But I'd rather ruin you in our bed than a bed of flowers.”

Sukuna takes your hand, pulling you back inside the estate. His stride gets fast when he's in a rush to get something done. In this case, it's you.

You can hardly hear your own breathing past the rapid heartbeat. You barely make it inside your personal chambers before his hand is on your shoulder. A small grip to tell you to stay there. With a slight whoosh, a slash is made on your robes. It causes them to unravel and fall down to your feet.

You're bare right before your husband. He's staring at you like a predator, ready to pounce. The slight bulge along his robes tell you everything you need to know. In one swoop, he tears open his shirt, letting the shredded fabric fall to the ground. Sukuna advances on you, requiring you to back away.

Your heart races in anticipation as his eyes trace your form with each footstep. Your breasts, your stomach, your cunt. Gazing upon you like it's the first time.

You lock eyes when he tears the lower part of his robe away as if it was nothing.

“Come.”

Sukuna picks you up, your legs around his waist. The embrace is more desperate, filled with wanting and need. His tongue explores yours while he traces his hands across your form. Pinching and squeezing along the fat of your skin.

Your hands sidling along that sakura colored hair of his, tugging it to make him groan. A whimper separates your lips when his nails dig into your skin. His self control is wavering. It's only a matter of time before he ravages you.

“Oh…” You gasp at a contact against your folds.

Sukuna’s stomach maw opens, starting to lick and suck at your core. The flat of his tongue dragging against your clit, prodding your hole. Your thighs squeeze together at the increased attention.

“Impatient.” He scolds himself. His tongue continues its exploration, rumbling along your sex due to your taste. Wetness coats your thighs as cool air makes contact.

Sukuna lies you down on the bed, having to tear his stomach away from you. He's watching you for a moment. Legs spread, cunt soaked, dazed out of your mind. With what little thought you have, you're beckoning him further. To have him take you like this.

He makes his descent, hovering above you. His stomach reaching out to taste you once more. All while he's buried in your neck, taking in your scent of the outside world. His breathing sends shivers down your spine and it makes his tongue on you even worse. Your toes are digging in the sheets. A large hand groping your breast, thumbing your nipple as if you are a play thing.

“You belong to me.” Sukuna states as your back arches from his tongue repeatedly flicks your clit. “You are lucky I allowed you to order me around like that.”

“Ryo…” His name falls short from your lips as your stomach burns.

“Should I let you climax?” His tongue goes slow, stopping your impending pleasure. “A punishment for my wife who tried to manipulate me into going to the festival?”

“Don’t.” You try to turn your head, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at all of his eyes.

“Do not tear your gaze away from me.”

His tongue goes back to that same pace, making you twist and turn. Your pussy clenching around nothing as he watches you orgasm. Trembling under his hold as he doesn't let go. Extending your pleasure as much as possible until you can't breathe.

Sukuna sits back, releasing a satisfied hum. His hands stroking both of his cocks. Pleasure written all over his face. He stares at you hungrily at your sex soaking the sheets.

“You will take both of me.”

You lazily nod while he makes his move. He's ready to flip you over on your stomach, but you stop him.

“I want to see your face.”

Your husband purses his lips, “Making another request?”

“The night isn't over yet.”

His cock twitches at your thumb making circles on his hand. Slow, sensual and gentle. Your eyes shining in the low moonlight.

Sukuna pulls you close, his lengths covered in a mix of cum and saliva, causing him to slide in easily. Your nails dig into his skin at the stretch. Your eyes roll back to your head.

The feel of Ryomen Sukuna is maddening. He doesn't give you time to get comfortable as he pulls back, the tips only remaining before he pushes forward. Whenever he fucks you two, it's always on your stomach. You rarely see his face when he pounds you into submission. Especially when you worked his last nerve.

You always picture him annoyed, frustrated at the idea of dealing with you. But now, he's pleased. A smirk on his features that fades away with each thrust. Not once does he take his eyes off you, relishing in the love you give him.

Your mouth gapes at a harsh thrust, eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me.” He demands and so you do. His teeth gritting, hands tight on your sides. “You close your eyes again and I'll remove them.”

You slide up his arms, grazing along his multiple tattoos before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Okay…”

The eye contact remains. His cocks splitting you open. Sukuna’s face now desperate, almost pitiful if he saw himself. His thrusts became messy, out of sync. He's chasing his own high while not once tearing his eyes away. If you didn't know any better, you'd guess that's unconditional love plastered on his face.

His chest rumbles, his fingers dig into you harder. The lack of coordination from his thrusts come to a halt as his seed fills you. Stuffing each part of you to the brim, coating your walls. Your husband holds you close, letting you feel his rapid heartbeat. You place gentle kisses on his pectorals while stroking his back.

Sukuna pulls apart, hovering above you. You smile at his simple stare, leaning into the palm of his hand.

“No one else matters to me besides you.”

“I know…”

You give him another kiss to seal the deal. He takes his place by your side and pulls you up on top of him. His arms act as a make shift blanket as you lie with him in silence. Taking in the night air before dozing off in marital bliss.

Tags:

@nanamincreampie @pochapo @rushman-natalierushman

[yenayaps]

I feel like Sukuna is the type of man to get yelled at by his wife and be genuinely impressed by it, but like hours later when he finally gets out of his feelings.

Because when he first gets yelled at?? 😭😭 he’d be so confused, purely from the fact that it’s the first time anybody’s ever raised their voice at him in years. It’ll probably be at a time when he least expects it too.

Like the 3rd month of dating— you’ve had the worst day of your life week, you’re supposed to get gas on your way home but you skip it and decide to take up Sukuna’s offer of “let me know if you ever need anything”.

Except his reaction to you finally building up the courage to ask for something was the icing on the cake, the final straw.

“Hey babe? Will you put gas in my car?”

“You couldn’t do that on your way back home? The gas stations right down the street.” He lifts a brow and slowly puts his phone down. He’s had a long day too, but at least he got to go home early.

“I know, but I’m just exhausted right now. All I wanted to do was to get back home to you.” An answer that he should be grateful for.

“I’m exhausted too, woman.” He immediately scoffs. “What the fuck do I look like to y—“

“A MAN.” Sukuna swears the earth shook beneath him the moment you started yelling. “YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING MAN. GO BE ONE AND PUT GAS IN MY CAR.”

“…” He stares at you for a moment, feeling different emotions all at once. Annoyance, anger, a tad bit of fear, his pants tightening. After sometime of staring you down in silence, he finally grabs the keys from your hands and grumbles, “I’ll be back in 10.”

a/n: i got this idea from @/trintheweirdo on tt 😭🤣

pt 2

husband sukuna masterlist

[chososbabymama]

Boyfriend!Sukuna who has a habit of saying ‘no’ when you ask him to do something as he immediately gets up to do what you asked.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who buys your pitbull a thick gold chain, ‘so the other dogs at the park take her seriously.’

Boyfriend!Sukuna who SWORE he wasn’t interested in your silly little tv shows but sits with you every Sunday to watch South Central Baddies.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who has a habit of chewing on things (bottle caps, pen caps, straws, etc.) so you buy him flavored toothpicks after he chewed the bottom of your favorite pen.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who bought you a huge bouquet of flowers because he knew you’d been feeling depressed the past couple of weeks and he missed seeing you smile.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who openly expresses his love for the way you handle Yuji, treating his nephew more like a son (Yuji definitely calls his uncle ‘dad’, and it makes both of you beam with joy each time).

Boyfriend!Sukuna who took great pleasure in being able to provide for you, taking you on trips, paying for your hair, treating you to dinner. In his mind, it was his way of saying thank you for taking care of him and being there . Always making sure Yuji was taken care of, doing the grocery shopping, not to mention you doing your own work for graduate school, Ryomen Sukuna would be a fool to not show you how much he valued you and your efforts.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who doesn't care to impress your folks. He knew he was a brash man, a little rough around the edges, that he wasn't the type of person your parents imagined you'd end up with. It'd taken 4 shots of Tito's and winning gin rummy against your father for them to start opening up to him (your favorite part of that night was when they'd decided to do a duet and sing I Like It by DeBarge)

Boyfriend!Sukuna who remembers your first date, how nervous he was sitting across from you that night. The poor man had spilled his glass of water all over himself because he was so nervous (he’ll deny it was nerves and claim the waiter bumped the table), accidentally stepped on your toes under the table (several times), and even caught part of his jacket sleeve on fire from reaching over the tables candle. What broke him was when he tried buying you flowers on the way home to try and make up for it, you BOTH were horrified to see hives suddenly break out on your skin and find out through a late night ER trip that your were allergic to that specific flower. Sukuna wont admit this either but he cried like a baby in your hospital room and again when you talked later and said you still wanted to go on a 2nd date with him (appalling luck aside, the date went extremely well).

Boyfriend!Sukuna who likes to bite you. He’ll be lying on your stomach while you use his back to read your book, when you first feel him start to suck on your tummy you don’t think much of it. As soon as you feel teeth you move your hands and look down to see your boyfriend with your tummy LITERALLY in his mouth, wide red eyes boring into yours as if you weren't essentially being used as a chew toy.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who'd gotten your name tattooed around his ring finger after your 7th date.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who was more excited than you when building your first pillow fort, arranging several pillows and blankets around you both to make a nest of sorts (he wasn't at all amused when you'd asked him if his omegas heat instincts were kickin in)

Boyfriend!Sukuna who feels the square velvet box burn a hole in his pocket. His fingers drum against the table anxiously as he watches you play with Yuji, wondering if you wanted the same things he did. But suddenly, you and his nephew turn in his direction. You’d taken one of Yuji’s hands and waved it his way, both of you having wide smiles on your faces as you giggle and tell the young boy to, “say hi to big grumpy!” At that moment Sukuna knew there was no way in hell he'd let another day go by without putting a ring on your finger.

Husband!Sukuna who watches you and Yuji make a house for the gingerbread family in the kitchen. He watched with adoring eyes as the boy in your arms picks up 3 gingerbreads, all decorated differently. With a wide, toothy grin Yuji proudly shows them to the tall man; declaring that, "dad! dad! guess what? it looks just like us! Do you like it?" The pink frosting smudging both of your cheeks, hair being held back by silly cartoon headbands, the fondness Sukuna felt for the both of you. He made his way to the kitchen island, wrapping an arm around your waist and the other to ruffle his boys hair before pressing a kiss to the crown. Nodding and gazing at you both with adoration, he coos out a sweet "Yeah little guy, I fuckin love it."

[nanamincreampie]

Omgomgomg hiiiii 🥹🥹🥹🩷🩷🌷🌷🌷🌷 can I request an instance where Sukuna’s pregnant wife visits him at his job and he’s the CEO.

Context:

So like no one in the office knows what his wife looks like. He’s insanely private about his life. (Also cause he’s involved in shady stuff and doesn’t want anyone to know the identity of his wife. He meets with a lot of crooked business men on and off the clock.)

But yea the office only know he’s married because of the ring he wears.

So when his gorgeous, thick and very pregnant wife goes to the reception saying “Hi, is Ryomen busy? I’m his wife. I brought muffins for everyone I ate a couple I hope that’s okay.” in the sweetest voice with the biggest smile, the entire floor is in shock. (They know she’s not lying because of the ginormous light pink rock of a wedding ring that’s on her finger. It’s identical to his hair obvi hehe)

But like yeah! She comes to the office for the first time and all the workers just fall in love with how sweet she is. So they scramble to help her and hold her bag and offer her food from the break room and tell her how pretty she is and maybe Sukuna’s personal assistant even gets pulled away and that’s when he notices that everybody’s nearly gone and he finally finds her surrounded by everyone in the break room and maybe he takes her to his office and his mind is reeling thinking something’s wrong with the baby but it just ended up her being like “I’m sorry I know I could have called but look! The baby’s kicking!” And he falls in love with her all over again.

I think it’d be so cute 😭🩷 he seems like the type of hubby to call his wife “flower” or “petal”. Smut is totally up to you I won’t be opposed to it. But eeee!!! I thought it’d be a cute fluffy little fic

One Sukuna fic with a side of Sunshine and a Pregnant Wife coming right up!!! <3

Sukuna x Black pregnant reader

The bustling office of Sukuna Enterprises was alive with its usual energy phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and hushed conversations about deadlines. Ryomen Sukuna, the enigmatic and ruthlessly efficient CEO, was in the middle of one of his intense back-to-back meetings. His presence cast a long shadow over the entire floor. Everyone knew to tread carefully; Sukuna tolerated no mistakes.

The only personal detail anyone knew about him was that he was married, courtesy of the massive, rose-pink diamond ring he wore on his left hand. But beyond that? Nothing. Sukuna was intensely private, and no one had dared to ask for more. Speculation abounded, but without any concrete details, his wife remained a mystery.

Until today.

The receptionist was the first to spot her: a stunning woman in a flowing maternity dress that hugged her very pregnant belly. Her curls framed her glowing face, and she carried a basket of muffins in one hand and a slightly overstuffed purse in the other.

“Hi there!” she greeted with a bright smile, her voice warm and melodic. “Is Mr. Sukuna in? I’d like to see him, please.”

The receptionist blinked, momentarily thrown off by the casual tone. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her professional instincts kicking in.

“Oh, no, no appointment,” the woman replied with a light laugh. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The receptionist hesitated. No one—no one—saw Sukuna without an appointment. “And you are?”

“Oh, just a friend,” the woman said coyly, her warm smile never faltering. “I brought muffins for everyone, too! I… might have eaten a couple on the way. They smelled so good.”

Her charm was effortless, but the receptionist wasn’t entirely convinced. As she considered what to do, a curious junior associate walked past and froze at the sight of the woman. His gaze flicked between her and the receptionist.

“Who’s she?” he whispered, not quite quietly enough.

“I don’t know,” the receptionist whispered back.

Within minutes, whispers began to spread. A stunning, heavily pregnant woman had walked into Sukuna Enterprises asking for their untouchable boss. No one knew who she was, but the expensive jewelry on her hand, especially the light pink diamond, caught more than a few eyes. The resemblance to Sukuna’s wedding ring sparked theories.

Could it be… her?

The whispers grew louder as more employees found excuses to pass by the reception area, stealing glances at the mysterious woman.

Despite the growing attention, she remained perfectly at ease. When someone offered to carry her purse, she laughed softly and accepted, the basket of muffins still in her other hand.

“Oh, thank you so much! It’s a bit heavier than I thought,” she said, her tone dripping with gratitude.

Soon, the break room became her destination. Chairs were pulled out for her, snacks and drinks were offered, and she was surrounded by employees eager to accommodate her. Her gentle laughter filled the space as she chatted with everyone, thanking them for their kindness and answering their curious but polite questions in a way that revealed little.

Meanwhile, in his corner office, Sukuna noticed something strange. The usual buzz of activity on the floor had dwindled to near silence. His crimson eyes narrowed. Something was off.

Stepping out of his office, Sukuna’s gaze swept over the nearly deserted floor. His jaw tightened. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered under his breath, following the faint sound of laughter.

When he reached the break room, the scene before him made his steps falter.

Her.

His wife.

The woman no one in his office had ever seen, the woman he kept carefully hidden from the chaos of his professional life, sat there, glowing with happiness, her round belly resting comfortably as she laughed with his staff.

“What is going on here?” Sukuna’s deep, commanding voice sliced through the air.

The room went silent instantly. Employees scrambled to make space for him, their faces pale as they realized they’d been caught slacking.

Her head turned, and her smile brightened at the sight of him.

“Ryo!” she said warmly, completely unfazed by his intimidating presence. She gestured for him to come closer. “Come here!”

He crossed the room in two long strides, his crimson eyes scanning her from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quieter but edged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Her expression softened as she reached for his hand and placed it on her belly. “Nope! I just missed you. And look the baby’s kicking!”

For a moment, Sukuna’s icy demeanor cracked. His sharp features softened as he felt the gentle thump beneath his palm.

“You could’ve called, Petal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something uncharacteristically tender.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but then his sharp gaze flicked to the stunned employees still lingering near the door. “Get back to work. Now.”

They scattered like leaves in the wind, murmuring apologies as they fled the room.

Turning back to his wife, Sukuna wrapped a protective arm around her and guided her toward his office. Once inside, he helped her settle onto the plush couch, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re going to cause chaos every time you visit, Flower,” he said, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “But I brought muffins to make up for it.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he sat beside her. Despite the whirlwind she’d caused, Sukuna found himself staring at her, utterly captivated. She always had a way of turning his world upside down in the best possible way.

And the chaos? Oh, it didn’t end there.

For the rest of the week, the entire office buzzed with stories about her surprise visit. Who could’ve imagined that the stoic, intimidating Ryomen Sukuna was married to such a sweet, cheerful woman? The way she smiled, the way she treated everyone with kindness, the way she looked the staff couldn’t stop talking about her.

Rumors swirled, theories were formed, and every detail was analyzed. But one thing was certain: Mrs. Sukuna had left an impression that no one would forget anytime soon.

Divider by : @bernardsbendystraws

[ibuprofein-deactivated20250831]

boyfriend! sukuna x reader

↳ ❝ [tattoo artist sukuna who owns a tattoo shop & his polar opposite girlfriend who loves to visit his shop. reader has a sweet tooth for desserts and sukuna.] ¡! ❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The soft chime of the bell above the tattoo shop door barely registers over the low thrum of buzzing machines and heavy metal music leaking from the speakers. The space smells like antiseptic, ink, and a touch of weed that clings to the walls even when no one’s smoking.

But the second you step in, the entire vibe shifts.

You’re a vision in a baby pink dress that hugs your curves so well, your glossed lips curved in a smile and arms full with a pink bakery box. Your presence is instant sugar to the testosterone-heavy air.

Geto glances up from behind the front desk and grins. “The cupcake fairy’s back.”

“Someone better marry her before I do,” Choso mutters around a toothpick, already reaching for the box you’re carrying.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you laugh, handing it off as Maki leans against the wall with arms crossed, eyes scanning the label.

“Sukuna better be on his knees for this,” Maki says, cracking open the box to reveal perfectly iced cupcakes in flavors she’ll never admit are her favorite.

“Oh, he’ll be on his knees eventually,” you hum with a wink that earns a laugh from Geto and a raised brow from Toji as he walks past.

“He’s with a client,” Geto says with a nod toward the back. “Told us not to bug him.”

“When do I ever listen to that?” you giggle, glancing over your shoulder.

But first—you chat. Leaning on the counter, you joke about the wild Yelp review someone left. You compliment Maki’s new piercings. Let Toji flirt with you for five seconds before you roll your eyes. But your gaze keeps flicking toward the back, where you know Sukuna is working.

Eventually, you excuse yourself, cupcake in hand, and slip past the “Staff Only” hallway that leads to Sukuna’s private room and the small office he barely uses—except when it’s you on his desk.

His voice rumbles behind the closed door as he speaks to the client—low, commanding. The sound alone has you clenching your thighs.

You close the office door quietly and slip inside, alone, heart beating faster as you slide into the leather chair behind his desk.

You spread your legs slightly, the hem of your dress riding up, and lean back.

Your fingers ghost over the hem of your baby-pink thong, and you exhale, letting yourself sink into the dirty thrill of being just a few feet from him. Sukuna hates being distracted while he works, but you aren’t like anyone else.

Your fingers slip under the thin fabric, soft strokes over your already-throbbing clit. You bite your lip, muffling the whimper that escapes, rubbing slow, teasing circles. Your other hand tugs down the front of your dress, letting your tits spill slightly over your push-up bra.

The thought of him seeing you like this, sprawled in his chair with your pussy already slick for him, makes you wetter.

Outside, the muffled buzz of machines continues. Footsteps. Laughter from the front.

You work yourself up in short, teasing pulses—just enough to make your legs tremble, your lips part in silent moans. You keep yourself quiet, just like he taught you, clenching around nothing as the tension builds.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the sound of a door opening down the hall sends a thrill through your spine. Sukuna’s voice. Low, smug. Saying goodbye to the client.

You quickly sit up, fix your top—barely—and push your panties down your thighs. When the door to the office creaks open—

His eyes lock onto you instantly.

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. He doesn’t say anything for a full beat, just stares, nostrils flaring at the sight of you flushed and panting with your panties around your thighs.

“You serious?” he growls, voice a low, dangerous thing as he shuts the door behind him and locks it.

You bite your lip and look up at him, sweet as sugar. “I missed you.”

He’s on you in a flash.

Sukuna grabs you by the jaw and kisses you hard, grabbing you by your hips next and lifting you on his desk as his hand yanks your thong the rest of the way off. He doesn’t even undress fully—just unzips his pants enough to free his dick, thick and already hard from hearing your soft moans through the wall.

“I’m fuckin’ working, and this is how you behave?” he mutters against your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“I was quiet,” you whisper back, gasping as he lifts your leg onto the desk, opening you up.

“Not quiet enough,” he growls, pressing the tip against your slick hole and pushing in slowly, painfully deep.

You whine, head falling back, one hand gripping the edge of the desk while the other clutches at his shirt—still tight across his chest, muscles flexing as he holds your hips in place.

He fucks you deep and slow, hips rocking into you with practiced rhythm—controlled, quiet, but intense. The kind of fucking that makes your knees weak and your breath stutter in your chest.

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking in to stay quiet, while his fingers dig into your thigh.

“Next time you want attention,” he pants, voice ragged against your ear, “sit your pretty ass in my lap and ask like a good girl.”

“But I like being bad,” you whisper, teasing.

He groans—fucks you harder.

Your back arches, toes curling, trying to stay silent as your orgasm builds fast and messy, just from the thrill of it all. Sukuna kisses you through it, sloppy and possessive, swallowing your cries as you cum on his cock.

He follows with a low grunt, burying himself deep, hips stuttering as he finishes inside you, holding you still so not a drop escapes.

When it’s over, your chest heaving, your legs still shaking, he kisses your cheek and grins.

“Leave those panties behind and I swear—”

“You’ll fuck me again later?” you interrupt sweetly, fixing your dress.

His grin widens. “You’re damn right I will.”

You kiss his cheek one last time, slip out quietly while the team’s distracted, and leave your panties folded neatly on his desk.

Just how he likes it.

After the last client staggered out and the team cleared out with lazy waves and half-finished snacks, Sukuna was left alone to close. The scent of antiseptic and faint vanilla frosting still hung in the air—you always left something behind. This time, it wasn’t just the cupcakes.

Your pink panties sat crumpled on his office desk like a souvenir.

He stared at them for a beat. Ran a rough hand down his face.

Groaned.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he muttered under his breath.

By the time he walked through the front door of the apartment, the lights were low and warm. You’d been here for a while already—your purse tossed on the counter, heels kicked off by the couch. Music played softly in the background, something sultry and bass-heavy that matched the way you moved when you emerged from the hallway.

Wearing nothing but his black tee.

No bra. No panties.

Just bare thighs and your sweet face, lip gloss freshly reapplied.

“Took you long enough,” you pouted playfully, padding over to him on bare feet.

Sukuna dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, eyes devouring you as his tongue rolled across his bottom lip.

“You think you can pull that shit at work and not makeup for it later?”

“I hoped you’d make me suffer,” you said innocently, arms looping around his thick neck. “You know I hate being patient.”

His hands were already gripping your waist, sliding down to your ass as he backed you into the wall. That shirt hung just low enough to cover your pussy, but not from him. He lifted the hem, one hand gripping the back of your thigh to hike your leg around his waist.

“You’re real fuckin’ lucky I barely remembered to even lock the shop door behind me,” he growled into your neck. “Been hard all fuckin’ day thinking about how warm your pussy felt around me in that damn office.”

“I touched myself again when I got home,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Right on the bed. Where you like it.”

Sukuna growled—low and rough. His cock was already straining in his jeans, and he didn’t bother dragging it out. He spun you toward the hallway, slapping your ass as you giggled and ran barefoot to the bedroom.

You’d already ripped his shirt off mid run to the room and laid on the freshly made bed. Already lit the candle you knew made him lose his mind.

When he walked in, shirt tossed off, arms thick and veiny from the long day, you were lying on your back, legs slightly parted, waiting.

“Come here, daddy,” you whispered.

He was on you in seconds.

He kissed you hard, one hand fisting in your hair while the other gripped your throat—not too hard, just enough to make your thighs twitch. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he settled between them, grinding his dick against your slick, needy center through his jeans.

“I should make you wait,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel.

“You won’t,” you said with a wicked little smirk.

He pulled his jeans and boxers down in one pull. No warning. No teasing. Just him—filling you in one heavy thrust, making your nails claw at his back as you gasped his name.

The bed rocked. Your legs wrapped tighter around him. His mouth was on your nipples, your neck, your lips—biting, sucking, tasting. His strokes were rough, deep, and unrelenting, like he had hours of frustration to burn through. You took it all, babbling praise and filthy whispers in his ear.

“Been thinking about this all day,” you gasped. “Wanted you to fuck it out of me.”

“You get off in my fuckin’ office,” he growled, “and then expect me to just wait? Nah, baby. You’re not walkin’ right tomorrow.”

He flipped you on your stomach before you could catch your breath, yanking you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his cock. You cried out into the pillows, the sound muffled as he gripped your hair and drilled into you from behind.

Skin slapping. Breathless moans.

The filthy, wet sounds of your soaked pussy taking him.

He leaned over you, teeth brushing your ear.

“Tell me who fucks you this good.”

“You, Sukuna—fuck—you do—”

“Say it louder.”

“You, daddy!” you moaned, sobbing into the sheets. “You fuck me the best—”

He came with a deep grunt, burying himself inside and holding your hips flush against him. You collapsed beneath him, legs trembling, chest heaving, completely spent and marked.

After a moment, he kissed your back. Slowly. Reverently.

He pulled out, looked down at your messy, ruined pussy, and slapped your ass one more time.

“Go clean up,” he said, breathless and smug. “We’re not done.”

You turned your head just enough to smirk at him, cheeks flushed and hair a mess.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

You woke up with your legs tangled in Sukuna’s sheets and his big hand resting heavy on your thigh, still possessive even in sleep. Your body ached in the best way—his marks were everywhere. Between your legs. Across your neck. Down your chest. The aftermath of a night spent being ruined twice was still fresh in your body.

But what came after that?

Was always the sweetest part.

He took you to your favorite café that morning.

Not a flashy place—just a cozy little corner shop tucked between bookstores and flower stands, the kind of spot with mismatched chairs, cute plates, and chalkboard menus that change every week. He only came here with you. Wouldn’t be caught dead in this place otherwise.

But when you walk in?

He’s already opening the door for you, palm resting at the small of your back, making sure you get your favorite corner seat—the one with the little view of the window and plush cushions.

You’re wearing a matching knitted set with a soft cropped knitted sweater and your knitted leggings, glossy lips and hair held back with a matching knitted headband, and he’s in one of his black hoodies, joggers slung low, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. You look like his sunshine.

He lets you order for both of you because you know the menu better, and when the barista lights up seeing you and rattles off the new seasonal flavors, Sukuna just waits—wallet already out.

“Strawberry matcha with oat milk.” you chirp, eyes wide and hopeful. “And the strawberry almond crepe, and maybe… that banana nut muffin?”

“You gettin’ every fuckin’ fruit on the board?” he snorts, tossing a card on the counter. “Fine. Whatever. Load it up.”

He adds an espresso for himself and a croissant he won’t finish but always orders because you like stealing bites. You giggle and thank him, lacing your fingers through his as you wait.

By the time your food comes out, Sukuna’s already taken over the seat beside you, arm slung around your chair and his thigh brushing yours. You sip your matcha like it’s the best thing in the world and make the cutest noise, lips pouty and cheeks puffed as you chew on a bite of your crepe.

Sukuna watches you with something close to worship in his eyes.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he says low, biting into his croissant, “but look at you. All quiet with some sugar in front of you.”

You smile mid-chew, humming like the happiest girl alive. “Mmm, I earned this.”

He huffs a laugh, brushing his thumb under your lip to clean a bit of whipped cream you missed. “Damn right you did. Took me like a champ last night.”

You wiggle your brows playfully, mouth full. “Still sore.”

“Good.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek before pulling out his phone to check his notifications—only to groan immediately.

“Choso sent another picture of a half-finished tattoo on someone who bailed halfway through. Pussy couldn’t take the pain,” Sukuna grumbles.

You giggle again, holding up your cup with both hands. “Maybe he needed a muffin like me.”

“Nah, he needed a better pain tolerance and maybe a spine,” Sukuna mutters. “Maki’s been talkin’ shit all morning too. Said she wants a raise just for dealing with Geto’s playlist. I swear if I hear one more 2000s R&B remix while I’m tattooing someone’s ribs, I’m gonna lose it.”

You almost choke on your crepe from laughing. “Be nice, baby.”

“I’m nice to you,” he says with a little side smirk, then leans in and brushes your hair back gently behind your ear. “Always nice to my girl.”

You look at him, cheeks full, lips pouty from biting into the muffin he broke in half and handed you.

“You’re so cute when you eat,” he murmurs. “All quiet and focused. Like I’m not even here.”

“I’m food-motivated,” you say proudly.

“I noticed.” He chuckles, leaning back just to admire you. “Gotta say though… I like you like this. All full, dressed pretty, sittin’ next to me in public looking like a fuckin’ dream.”

You blink at him, softening. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Because of you, dumbass,” he mutters, reaching over to take a sip of your drink. “Even if this tastes like fruit cereal in a blender.”

You laugh. He steals a bite of your crepe.

You nudge his thigh with your knee, and he rubs it back without thinking—always touching you, always grounding himself through your skin. The chaos of the shop, the headache of clients, all of it fades when he’s got you like this.

Sipping sweet shit. Kissing your cheek. Watching you smile.

And for a guy like Sukuna?

That kind of peace is rare.

But you bring it. Every damn time.

[iamaslutfor3dman]

This long-distance relationship just wasn’t working for Sukuna anymore.

He can’t see you. Can’t touch you. Can’t put you in a headlock, smack your ass, bite you, or flick your forehead. At this point, are you two even together, or is this just an overpriced pen-pal situation?

He calls you clingy, but let’s be real—anyone with half a brain cell and a functioning set of eyes can see that he’s the real problem here. And the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing. He just doesn’t care. He does not want to be saved.

This man is glued to his phone every single minute, refreshing your messages like his life depends on it. And if you don’t answer fast enough? He turns into a grumpy, overgrown toddler, making everyone around him suffer.

At this point, it’s not just him begging you to visit—it’s his friends, his brother, maybe even some strangers off the street. They’re exhausted. They have had enough. Somebody, please, for the love of all things holy, put this man out of his misery and just go see him before they all lose their minds.

After two months, you finally decided to just surprise Sukuna. It was early in the morning, and you didn’t tell a single soul you were coming. Not even his friends— they would’ve blown your cover out of sheer relief. You missed him too, sure… just not as much as he missed you.

You let yourself in with your key, slipping inside like a thief in the night (except this was your man and your house, so..?). He was still asleep, sprawled out on the bed in nothing but black boxers and a tight black T-shirt that was clinging to him a little too well.

And this? This right here is where you questioned everything.

How did you pull this man? Seriously. What divine force was on your side that day? He looked so damn good, it was criminal. His tattoos. The way that shirt stretched over his muscles. The black boxers. The absolute mess that was his pink hair. It was all too much.

You wanted to jump his bones on sight, but you contained yourself. Barely.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you gently rub his back, whispering softly, "Sukuna… baby, wake up." He doesn’t move a muscle. When he’s asleep, he’s as still as stone, completely unreachable—unless, of course, the air shifts in the room just right. Then, he’s up in an instant, sharp and alert, like a predator on the prowl. But right now? Nothing. Not a twitch.

You try again, your voice softer this time, "Love... baby... Suku... wake up... mm, I'm here..."

At the sound of your voice, he stirs. A low grunt escapes his throat, and his eyes flutter open, but the confusion on his face is enough to make your heart melt. He blinks, disoriented, as if trying to process what’s real. And in that moment, you can’t help but smile. He’s so adorable, even in his most groggy, unguarded state.

The fact that you—just you—can see him like this, can call him any type of names and still think he's the cutest thing alive, fills you with a warmth you didn’t know you needed.

He groggily shifts, trying to register what’s going on. But when his eyes finally meet yours, that familiar spark of recognition flickers in them. It’s like everything else fades away.

“Y/N?”

His voice is always deep, but in the morning, it’s something else entirely—low and rough, the kind that you can feel vibrating in your chest.

“Did you miss me?” you tease, a small smile tugging at your lips.

For a good thirty seconds, he just stares at you, blinking slowly, his red eyes still heavy with sleep. And then—without a word—he grabs you, pulling you down onto the bed with him.

The hug alone could’ve crushed you. His arms lock around you like a vice, his grip unrelenting, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. His face remains serious, unreadable—but inside? Oh, inside, he’s jumping up and down like a kid on Christmas morning.

He is this close to giggling, to kicking his legs like a teenage girl with a hopeless crush.

But he won’t. Absolutely not.

Instead, he just holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck, pretending like he’s not about to combust from how happy he is.

You can feel the way his breathing evens out against your skin, like he’s grounding himself with your presence. His nose brushes along your neck, slow and almost lazy, but there's a little tremble in the way he exhales, like he still can’t believe you're actually here.

“I thought I was dreaming,” he mutters, voice muffled into your shoulder.

You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp the way he likes. “You always say that when I show up.”

“Because I never think I deserve it,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it.

Your heart clenches.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are still heavy-lidded, lashes fanning over flushed cheeks, but there's something softer in them now—something he only shows you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’ve been acting like a feral cat in a thunderstorm for two months straight. I was afraid your friends were gonna start sending me ransom letters.”

That earns the tiniest twitch of a smile. Barely there. But you caught it.

“I wasn’t that bad,” he grumbles.

“Oh, you were worse,” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Suddenly, he pulled back—and in one swift motion, yanked his shirt off and tossed it somewhere across the room.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He smirked like the devil himself. “Now that you’re here,” he said, voice dropping, “let’s get down to business, woman.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Business? I just got here.”

“And I’ve been waiting months,” he said, already reaching for you again. “You think I’ve been sitting here practicing patience and self-control? No, sweetheart. I’ve been suffering.”

“Suffering?” you scoffed, though your cheeks were already warm.

“Agonizing,” he corrected, deadly serious. “Like a man dying in the desert. And you—” he pointed at you dramatically, “—are the only oasis that can quench my thirst.”

You stared at him.

He stared back, completely unapologetic.

And then you burst out laughing. “You’ve been watching those trashy romance dramas again, haven’t you?”

“Shut up and take your clothes off,” he growled, yanking you back into his chest.

--

Well, he put you through it.

The second things started, he didn’t let up—wouldn’t even let you move. Like he was trying to make up for all the time apart in one night. No breaks, no mercy. Just Sukuna, with that feral look in his eyes, making it very, very clear just how much he’d missed you.

When it comes to sex with him, there’s no such thing as “taking it slow.” He’s intense. Greedy sadistic bastard.

By the end of it, you were completely spent—legs shaking, voice hoarse, body humming with overstimulation—and he? He came so hard he passed out on top of you. Just collapsed like a full-grown jungle cat that wore itself out hunting. Arms wrapped around you, dead weight pressing you into the mattress, and a low satisfied grunt rumbling in his chest.

So yeah. He missed you. A lot.

You laid there for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath, hair a mess, skin sticky and flushed, heart still racing. His head was tucked into your neck, breathing deep and slow, already asleep.

You shifted a little beneath him, tapping at his back.

“Sukuna. Hey—get off, you’re heavy.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

“Suku. Babe. You’re crushing my lungs.”

A beat of silence. Then, a soft, almost childish grumble: “Mine…”

You blinked. “What?”

He nuzzled deeper into your neck, voice sleepy and muffled. “Mine. Stay still.”

“You’re literally crushing me—”

“Die then. Still mine.”

You snorted, trying not to laugh, even as he wrapped one of his massive arms tighter around your waist like a damn seat belt. It was useless. You were trapped. Claimed. Claimed by a half-conscious, overgrown menace of a man with not enough self-control.

“…Fine,” you sighed, brushing his hair back from his face. “But if you drool on me again, I swear to god—”

Extra:

3 hours later...

You were still drifting between sleep and reality, body aching in all the right places. Sukuna was no better—completely sprawled beside you, arm draped over your waist like you were his favorite plushie. His breathing was slow, warm against your shoulder. He hadn’t even moved yet.

Eventually, he lifted his head groggily from your skin, eyes heavy-lidded, hair wild like he lost a fight with a thunderstorm. Lips red and swollen, scratch marks visible on his chest and neck. He looked wrecked.

In the best possible way.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of him.

“Why are you laughing?” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep and pure bass.

You were about to answer, still giggling like a fool under the covers, when—

BANG.

His bedroom door slammed open.

“Oh my god, it’s too early for this—Sukuna, please, stop moping—” “Bro, we brought you breakfast ‘cause you haven’t eaten in like, two days—” “IF YOU’RE GONNA DIE OF HEARTBREAK, DO IT QUIETLY—”

The room exploded with voices as Uraume, Gojo, Geto, and Toji stormed in like a damn intervention squad, expecting to find Sukuna in his usual spiral: half-dead, face-down in takeout, and angrily listening to toxic love songs.

What they didn't expect… was you.

Or him. Completely naked. Tangled up with you in the aftermath of what could only be described as biblical levels of destruction.

They all froze.

Eyes wide. Mouths open. Silence like a slap.

Sukuna sat up, completely bare-assed and utterly unfazed. He looked over his shoulder at them slowly—murder in his eyes, sleep still in his bones.

You scrambled, yanking the blanket up to cover your very exposed self, cheeks flaming.

He didn’t care. Not a blink of shame.

“Get the fuck out,” Sukuna grunted, dragging the comforter up higher over you—only you. His back muscles flexed like they were doing it on purpose. “You can scream later. She just got here. And I’m not done.”

Geto immediately spun on his heel. “Nope. Nope. I saw ass. I’m out.”

Gojo gagged dramatically, covering his eyes. “I think I just went blind. Why is your whole spine flexing like that?!?”

Toji just whistled low, grinning. “Damn. No wonder he’s been out of commission.”

Uraume didn’t even flinch, deadpan as always. “Do you want me to bring water or a priest?”

“DOOR.” Sukuna roared.

It slammed shut behind them.

You lay back down, breathless with laughter, still hidden under the blanket. Sukuna rolled over, eyes half-lidded, grin spreading across his stupidly handsome face.

<><>

an: i had a plot and I lost it so.....