kei

20, Aries

[keikei0052]

My Stuff

Figured I'd need this. I write a little bit sometimes. Mostly short.

Bakugou Katsuki

You quit from Dynamight's agency. He's less than thrilled.

Why you quit, and right after you leave.

Santa, can you hear me?

Toji Fushiguro

You're sure he's a car guy, because he's a guy.

[sugurusbeloved]

blind!reader x heianera!sukuna

sukuna adores making you see the shape of his body with your hands.

from the moment you arrived to his marvelous estate with carrying a cumbrous grief and the dust of your ruined village on your mind, he’s done his best to make you feel at home, or at least safe, though there is only so much comfort a hulking monster can offer.

so, he starts to ceaselessly demand you to explain how you maneuver your way through, how you catch the contrasts between a nectarine and a peach, or simply how you shed your satiny robes off your body without even perceiving it. all to comprehend the earth through your sightless eyes.

and when you finally offer a reluctant answer—anything to break the sweltering pressure of his stare you can physically feel on you—he remains unappeased, his bloodthirsty eyes persisting on the small, flimsy piece of flesh in front of him as if the answer is never enough for a body that had processed the world through four eyes for centuries.

so, in a desperate bid to force his herculean architecture into your mind through your fingertips, he often leads your hands across his crocodile-like skin, his horrendously buff torso and the bizarre, seamless spots where his lower arms join his structure. smooth junctures that should not exist.

he drags your hands down to the solid arch of his abdomen, pulling shaky, almost inaudible noises from his lips—sounds far too frail for a king, a moment of unworldly downfall he would surely kill anyone else for witnessing.

king of curses' foresight is legendary, a predatory instinct that sees every possible future—except this one. for the first time in centuries, the labels and logic he relies on have dissolved, leaving him stranded in a flood of feeling he can neither outrun nor understand.

[jumpjo]

heian era!sukuna who’s head over heels for you, a low-level sorcerer.

fluff

if the grand, terrifying king of curses were an ordinary man, the local villagers would have long since branded him a pathetic, lovesick nuisance and chased him out of the province with pitchforks.

unfortunately for the peace of the mortal realm, he was not an ordinary man, but a four-armed natural disaster currently enduring the spiritual equivalent of a toddler’s temper tantrum because his preferred human refused to look at his latest offering.

uraume stood in the corner of the reception hall, looking three seconds away from crying tears of exhaustion. they had spent the last forty-eight hours tracking down a mythical, glowing lotus that only bloomed on the highest peak of a treacherous northern mountain—a flower said to grant eternal youth or some other useless nonsense—only for sukuna to take it, squint at it, and toss it onto the pile of junk currently swallowing your small living quarters.

“i have nowhere to put this,” you said, gesturing wildly to the mountain of opulence overflowing from your tatami mats. “sukuna, there is a literal hoard of gold coins blocking my sliding door. if there’s a fire, i’ll perish. i’ll be crushed by ancient currency. is that your grand plan? assassination by wealth?”

he didn’t even blink. he was sprawled across his throne, chin resting heavily in his lower left palm, his gaze glued to you with the kind of intense, suffocating focus usually reserved for a scientist studying a microscopic anomaly. if you moved left, his four eyes tracked left. if you breathed a little too loudly, his ears twitched. he looked entirely bored, yet so deeply entangled in your existence that if you suddenly vanished, the sheer force of his withdrawal would probably rip a hole in the fabric of reality.

“then burn the gold,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rattled the sake cups on the table. “or use it to pave the dirt road outside. i don’t care what becomes of it, so long as it sits within your line of sight.”

“it’s blocking my view of the garden!” you thrown your hands up, exasperated but entirely unafraid. anyone else would have been flayed alive for raising their voice to him, but you had quickly realized that you held a bizarre, absolute immunity. you could have slapped his face with a wet fish and he would have simply asked if you wanted a larger fish to finish the job. “and what is this? why did you bring me a third cursed spear? i’m just a minor sorcerer, sukuna. i don’t use spears. I barely use a knife to chop vegetables. what am i supposed to do with a weapon that carries a generational curse of bloodlust? stir my soup?”

a tiny, terrifying smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. he found your indignation utterly intoxicating. he liked the way your eyes narrowed, the way your voice hit that specific, indignant octave, and the fact that you looked at him—a literal god of calamity—as if he were nothing more than an inconveniently large stray dog that kept dragging dead birds onto your porch.

“it pleases me to give it to you,” he stated plainly, as if that explained the absolute geopolitical chaos he had caused by wiping out an entire clan just to steal their family heirloom. “therefore, you will keep it. put it under your futon.”

“it glows in the dark!” you countered, crossing your arms. “it keeps me awake! and speaking of things i do not want…” you pointed a accusatory finger at a breathtaking, blood-red kimono draped over a nearby chest. the silk was so fine it looked like liquid fire, woven with real gold thread and blessed with protective enchantments that could stop a meteor. “i told you, i’m not wearing that. it looks like it belongs to an empress, and i’m just trying to clean the dust out of my kitchen.”

sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly, a low growl humming in his chest. he didn't like the word ‘no’ from anyone else, but from you, it was a challenge that made his (?) heart thud against his ribs like a trapped bird.

in a blur of movement too fast for human eyes to register, he was off his throne. before you could even register the sudden shift in the room’s air pressure, two large, tattooed arms wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the tatami mats.

“hey—!” you gasped, your protest cut short as he dumped you unceremoniously onto his massive lap, his chest a solid, radiating wall of heat against your back.

“you talk too much,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and sending a sudden, involuntary shiver down your spine.

while his primary set of arms locked you securely against him, pinning your hands down so you couldn’t bat him away, his secondary pair of arms reached out, snagging the heavy red kimono from the chest with effortless grace. he didn’t care that he was wrinkling a priceless historical artifact; he only cared about wrapping you in it like a prized pastry.

“sukuna, let go, you boulder of a man—” you squirmed, your elbows digging into his ribs, but it was like trying to fight a mountain.

“hush,” he commanded, though there was zero venom in it. his lower hands worked with surprising, meticulous gentleness, draping the heavy fabric over your shoulders, smoothing down the lapels, and pulling the rich silk tight against your frame. he was entirely clumsy at normal courtship, treating it like a tactical military conquest, but his devotion was so loud it was practically deafening.

he buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his sharp teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave a tingling sensation but never hard enough to break it. his grip tightened, a desperate, possessive hum vibrating through his muscles.

“you think you have a choice in this?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, velvety timbre that made your stomach do a frantic backflip. “if i must burn down the capital just to find a color that matches your eyes, i will do it by nightfall. you will wear my gifts, you will sit on my lap, and you will allow me to provide for you. do you understand me?”

you let out a soft, defeated sigh, your body naturally melting back against his broad chest despite your earlier complaints. your fingers reached up, resting over his massive forearm, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his pulse.

“you’re entirely ridiculous,” you mumbled, a small, helpless smile finally breaking through your faux annoyance. “the capital has very nice architecture. please leave it alone.”

sukuna let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated straight into your bones, his four arms holding you so securely against him that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. “we shall see,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head with a tenderness that would have terrified uraume, entirely content to hold you captive in his arms for the rest of eternity.

a/n: uraume tired of this man’s bs.

‘ perm. tag , @sh0dor1

© jumpjo — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

[newroseanna]

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ I KNOW YOU WANT TO KISS ME ..ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

SMAU: not wanting them to drink out the same straw as u

INCL: gojo, geto, nanami, toji and choso

WARNING: suggestive lang

AN: brooo I need more request bc im actually running out of ideas

[thebussyinspector]

jjk guys who have been put on a sex ban (for whatever reason) BEGGING to eat you out

(smth abt guys begging for smth that technically doesn't pleasure is so hot istg)

Lemme EYP

In which the jjkmen are on a sex ban and beg to eat your pussy

warnings: suggestive

characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Choso Kamo, Nanami Kento, Hiromi Higuruma, Toji Fushiguro, Shiu Kong, Sukuna Ryomen, Ino Takuma, Naoya Zenin

masterlist, jjkwomen version

[thebussyinspector]

Scrumptious Meal

In which you show them the meal you're about to have an them sending you nudes and telling you to have this delicious meal instead

warnings: suggestive

characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Choso Kamo, Nanami Kento, Hiromi Higuruma, Toji Fushiguro, Shiu Kong, Sukuna Ryomen, Ino Takuma, Naoya Zenin

masterlist

[yversz]

GUESS WHO'S ON TINDER !?

✦ 呪術廻戦 : JJK TEXTPOST . . . what happens when you text your bf that you saw someone they know on a dating app ! NOTES : almost finished the manga...... expect more jjk content soon if I actually manage to lock in.

𝒲ho ? kashimo : gojo : choso : yuta : yuuji : toji : sukuna ⓘ no tws : sfw

[yversz]

LET ME IN ?

✦ 呪術廻戦 : JJK TEXTPOST . . . what excuses they make to be allowed to come back to your place right after leaving! NOTES : requests open..... + hmu i lowkey want jjk mutuals......... I watched sendai colony today and lowkey cried bc yuta is so beautiful... like wow.

𝒲ho ? toji : gojo : kashimo : yuuji : yuta : sukuna ⓘ no tws : sfw : likely ooc but who gaf

[singse]

"The Fire Lord is in quite a horrid mood today."

"Oh? How come?"

"His wife, the Fire Lady, has traveled to visit family in the south and, unfortunately, she had to leave while he was preoccupied."

"...Ah, I see. So Fire Lord Zuko did not get to see his wife off and didn't—"

"Get his goodbye kiss, yes."

"How long is Our Lady gone for?"

"A month."

"...We're just lucky that he's a merciful man."

[aisatsaa]

Waiting for Tenzin

[littlesillyladybug]

᭝ sneaky peak of character dynamics 🤫

“What do you mean she won’t eat?” Sukuna asks, tapping the side of his face in frustration.

“Well.. we’ve been bringing her food.” one servant mentions,

“She just leaves it by the door untouched.” another one spoke,

“Or.. we find it in her trash.” The third one standing before him lets out quietly.

Sukuna groans to himself hearing the last sentence, dragging a hand over his face.

Moments later he bursts through your doors, your ladies in waiting behind him carrying his dinner, enough to share for two. Jumping at the sound of his rough footsteps you turn around to see them setting up. Your brows furrow at the sight, turning around the flow of your dark curls follow.

“You.” He points, “Get over here and eat right now.”

‘hmph’ you ignore him, nose turned up to the ceiling as you continue to face away from him. The next words coming out of his mouth in a more slightly angered tone, “If you don’t get over here right now, I’m gonna walk over there and hand feed you myself.”

Silence.

You knew he wasn’t going to do that, he wouldn’t dare. Your servants leave after helping him set up, and he just plops himself down in front of the table, staring at your back. The view striking enough to make him tug at the collar of his robe, your hair reached your mid back, luscious and healthy. “Must I really hand feed you in order to make you eat?”

Once again not answering him, he finds himself conflicted about how to approach this, exhaling deeply, “Hey. I’m talking to you.”

You act as if he’s not even there, walking around your room like a huge man bigger than your average isn’t sitting in the middle of it, trying to ignore the smell of the delicious food sitting on the table in front of him. Yet the smell of fresh white rice filling your nose only makes your stomach rumble desperately, sending you signals to pick up something, anything.

The corner of his mouth tugs at the sound of your stomach rumbling. He sighs, leaning on the palm of his hand, stirring the bowl of hot soup, “You know.. Had you finished your meal like a good girl, I was gonna have them bring you some sweet mangos.”

A very telling look on his face as he dramatically signs again, shrugging. “But, if you won’t even bother..”

“I guess I could have them for myself, you know they’re the sweetest in the spring.” he drags, noticing how your mouth is basically watering at the mention. Mangos are your favorite fruit, and he knows that. After a second of contemplating, you walk over to sit on the other side of him. Looking down at the steamed food, he watches you finally take your first bite of food in days.

Why you weren’t eating was neither here nor there, he’s just happy you’re eating. The two you finish the food quietly, and to no surprise you wanted more. So, seconds came pretty fast and you find yourself leaning back a bit and rubbing your very full belly.

A sigh, a smooth sound of how content you were comes out. No time wasted from him to have your treat he promised in his hands, the smallest, most peaceful smile rested against his lips.

“See. Look at you, feeling all better now that you’ve eaten.” he praises, sitting next to you as he holds up a fork with mango on it. ‘ahh’ you open your mouth awaiting for the very king of curses to feed you. Which he does so with no complaints.

“Whatever.” you grumbled, face full of mango.

[t0jisbunny]

sukuna gets mad when you shave your bush…

⊱ ۫ ׅ✧ m. list

usually, before bed, sukuna slides his hand down your panties, placing his large hand over your mound and keeping it there. why? whenever you build up the courage to ask, he simply just shoots you a sharp glance, saying "it’s warm. stop asking questions, woman."

imagine his surprise when he mindlessly slides his hand down, only to feel you were completely bald down there this time.

you’ve never seen sukuna so genuinely confused. his usually bored, irritated expression had faded, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"brat, where is it."

you look over at him, shrugging. "where’s what?"

he feels around a little more, double checking, nope — not a single hair. “don’t play dumb with me, woman. the hair. where is it."

you were just as confused as he was. did he really love your bush that much?

“i shaved it?…" you respond, watching a slight frown form on his face, similar to a grumpy cat — honestly, anyone else would look at him and assume his entire family had been killed or something.

in your defense, you just felt like changing it up, assuming he wouldn’t care much at all. if you knew it’d affect him this much, you wouldn’t have plucked even a singular hair away.

"why the hell would you do that," he growls, his initial confusion quickly turning into irritation. “put it back, i don’t find this amusing."

you can’t help but let out a soft giggle, feeling sukuna pull his hand out from beneath your panties, two arms crossing in silent annoyance like a kid who’d just had their candy stolen.

"kuna’, it’ll grow back… i didn’t realise you liked it so much," you smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. his expression remains the same, though he doesn’t push you away, silently accepting your affection.

"don’t let this happen again," he demands.

"awwh! you miss it," you tease, poking his chest playfully. he catches your wrist in his hand, grip demanding, yet not firm enough to hurt.

“shut up."

[siennayaps]

Bed warmer reader x King Sukuna 🗡️

(Betrayal and angst)

War Prize Reader watched the king return beneath a sky bruised purple by smoke and dying fire. Blood darkened the edges of his armor, fresh and old alike, and every soldier in the camp seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his presence. Uraume removed the ruined plates from his shoulders while General Nanami delivered reports from the front, and then, as though dragged by fate itself, Sukuna’s gaze settled upon you.

War Prize Reader stood chained to a weathered post at the center of the command tent, wrists bound in iron and clothes stained with mud, ash, and battle. Your hair hung in tangled waves around your face, catching stray lantern light like threads of gold among ruin, and your eyes remained impossibly calm despite the circumstances. “Is she a whore?” Sukuna asked without ceremony, his voice carrying the exhaustion of war and the cruelty of a king who had forgotten mercy.

War Prize Reader heard Nanami answer with a shrug. “Taken from enemy territory. Beautiful enough to earn coin, dangerous enough to warrant caution.” Sukuna’s eyes traveled over you once before a smirk touched his mouth. “Rather pretty for a bed warmer,” he murmured, and though the soldiers laughed, something unreadable lingered in his stare.

War Prize Reader should have looked away. Instead, you met his gaze directly, silent and unyielding, while the storm rattled against the canvas walls. Something flickered across the king’s face then…a brief irritation at finding no fear where fear should have lived and he waved dismissively. “Leave her here.”

War Prize Reader became another object inside his war tent, another trophy gathered from conquered lands. Yet every evening his attention drifted toward you despite himself, finding your quiet figure arranging maps, replacing extinguished candles, or mending torn banners with scraps of cloth scavenged from camp. The king who commanded thousands discovered he disliked entering a room that did not contain you.

War Prize Reader learned the rhythm of Sukuna’s temper before anyone else. You knew which reports would sour his mood, which generals would test his patience, and which victories would leave him strangely restless. While advisers argued over strategy around the campfire, your fingers would smooth loose strands of hair from his brow, and somehow the monstrous king listened longer before reaching for violence.

War Prize Reader decorated the bleak military encampment with small stolen comforts. Candles appeared where darkness had gathered, carved trinkets emerged from discarded wood, and strips of crimson ribbon found their way around sword hilts before battle. Sukuna mocked every gesture publicly, yet none of your gifts were ever discarded.

War Prize Reader listened as soldiers began whispering. They spoke of the king who demanded your presence during councils, the king who searched for you after every battle, the king who stared too long whenever you laughed. They did not notice how carefully you listened to troop movements, supply routes, and battle plans hidden inside those same conversations.

War Prize Reader quickly became the most dangerous distraction in the king’s encampment, though nobody would have been foolish enough to say so aloud. The men who marched beneath Sukuna’s banners noticed how his temper burned less fiercely when you occupied the same space, how reports that once might have ended with bloodshed now received only a cold glare and a dismissive wave. Entire evenings passed with commanders waiting for decisions while the king listened to your quiet observations instead. It was a strange thing to witness a conqueror feared across continents finding solace in a captive taken from enemy lands.

War Prize Reader sat beside countless campfires while strategy meetings unfolded deep into the night. Maps covered every available surface, generals argued over troop movements, and messengers arrived carrying news soaked in mud and blood, yet Sukuna always seemed aware of where you were. Even while discussing war, his gaze would drift toward your figure curled beneath blankets near the flames. The habit became so obvious that seasoned veterans eventually stopped pretending not to notice.

War Prize Reader learned very quickly that Sukuna’s patience was a resource more valuable than gold. Commanders measured every word around him, servants avoided lingering in his presence, and even trusted advisers rarely risked challenging his opinions. Yet somehow you existed beyond those rules. You could question his reasoning, interrupt his thoughts, or speak when others remained silent, and the king merely regarded you with amused irritation instead of anger.

War Prize Reader often found the king waiting within the command tent after returning from battle, armor discarded carelessly beside his chair while the sounds of the camp echoed beyond the canvas walls. The burden of conquest never truly left him; it lingered in every scar, every exhausted breath, every casualty report stacked across his table. Yet whenever you entered, something in him visibly relaxed. The tension remained, but it no longer seemed unbearable.

War Prize Reader witnessed moments that few others ever saw. There were nights when devastating reports arrived from distant battlefields, when supply caravans vanished and offensives collapsed beneath enemy resistance. Those evenings darkened the king’s mood enough to silence entire gatherings. Yet your presence often interrupted the spiral, drawing his attention away from frustration long enough for reason to return.

War Prize Reader became the center of endless whispers drifting between soldiers after sunset. Some believed you had enchanted the king somehow. Others claimed Sukuna merely enjoyed having something beautiful amid endless violence and ruin. Whatever explanation they chose, nobody could deny the truth standing before them: the king searched for you instinctively whenever he entered a room.

War Prize Reader discovered that victory celebrations changed as the months passed. In earlier years, Sukuna had surrounded himself with trophies, entertainers, and endless reminders of conquest. Now he often abandoned those festivities entirely, choosing instead to remain inside the command tent while distant celebrations echoed through the camp. More often than not, those evenings ended with him fucking you rough while the rest of the world faded away.

War Prize Reader slowly began noticing the loneliness hidden beneath Sukuna’s arrogance. Power had isolated him long before you arrived, separating him from ordinary companionship through fear and reputation. Every person who approached him wanted something…favor, protection, promotion, survival. Yet with you, conversations existed without agendas, and that unfamiliar comfort became something he found himself seeking again and again.

War Prize Reader became the calm at the center of a kingdom built upon warfare. Whenever Sukuna prepared to ride into battle, his eyes lingered upon you before turning toward the horizon. Whenever he returned victorious, he searched the camp until he found your familiar silhouette waiting among the lantern light. And though neither captor nor captive ever spoke openly about what was forming between them, the entire encampment could see it growing stronger with every passing season.

War Prize Reader carried secrets beneath every smile. Each report overheard inside the command tent found its way beyond camp boundaries, delivered through hidden channels to General Suguru and, eventually, to Satoru Gojo himself. Every kindness Sukuna offered became another weapon placed into your hands.

War Prize Reader hated him some days. You hated the villages burned beneath his banners, hated the fear his armies carried, hated the ease with which he spoke of conquest. Yet there were evenings when he returned wounded from battle and allowed only you near enough to remove the blood from his skin, and hatred became something far more dangerous.

War Prize Reader almost forgot the mission. Almost. There were moments when Sukuna spoke of the future instead of war, moments when his hand lingered against yours while discussing the kingdom awaiting his return. In those rare seconds, the monster disappeared, leaving behind only a lonely king imagining a life he had never been allowed to want.

War Prize Reader sent the final piece of intelligence three nights before the decisive battle. Enemy forces moved precisely where Sukuna least expected them to be, striking supply lines and surrounding divisions with terrifying accuracy. The trap closed because you had drawn its shape yourself.

War Prize Reader watched the empire begin to crumble. Messengers arrived breathless. Generals vanished into emergency councils. Victory, once certain, slipped through Sukuna’s fingers like sand through a clenched fist. For the first time since your capture, fear entered the camp.

War Prize Reader disappeared before dawn.

War Prize Reader left behind only an extinguished candle, a crimson ribbon, and a command tent that felt unbearably empty. Sukuna returned to gather what remained of his forces, already preparing for retreat toward his homeland, and found your sleeping furs untouched. He stood there for a long time, staring at the space where you should have been.

War Prize Reader was nowhere to be found. Not among prisoners. Not among refugees. Not among the dead.

War Prize Reader became the final betrayal, became the answer, and the reason he lost.

And as realization settled like poison beneath his ribs, Sukuna closed his eyes and finally understood that the war had not been stolen by Gojo’s armies. It had been stolen by the beautiful captive he had allowed into his heart, the spy he had mistaken for something precious, the woman who vanished carrying every secret he had ever trusted her with.

[sweethearticism]

𝓡.𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀ᅠ ͏͏ ͏͏ 🌷♡ ͏͏ᅠ ͏͏ ͏refuses to hold your baby

♡. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓫. heian!sukuna :: slight angst :: fluff

"Do not bring that thing near me."

"This thing is your daughter."

The King of Curses sat upon his throne, and yet you had no issue glaring up at him. As if it were your stare that could cleave. Your hands that could ignite his shrine into blitz and ember.

Bundled in a silk blanket and babbling up at you with eyes as ruby as her father's, your daughter chewed on her thumb. Blissfully oblivious to the tyrant from which she came.

Sukuna refused to hold her.

It was subtle, at first. When she was born, he claimed that it was vital for a baby to stay close to its mother. For warmth, food and comfort.

It had been four weeks, and your husband hadn't so much as grazed her tiny pinkie.

"Why?" You asked, anger blooming in your throat like the flowers he had planted in the gardens for you. He would sully his knees in the soil and his hands in the mud for your benefit, but couldn't bear to hold the life that he had created?

Sukuna's face was hard in a scowl. Each maroon eye glaring into your soul.

A beat of silence.

"I do not want to."

You flared, clinging your baby closer. "Are you ashamed? Ashamed of the life we created?"

"No, damnit woman—"

"Then why!?"

"Because I will mar her!"

The shrine shook as he shoved himself out of his throne. Standing now. It was at his full height that you recognised the being thousands feared. Four arms, two faces, and a stature that rose from hell.

His glare burned, but it wasn't anger. Face twisted in an emotion you hadn't seen enough from him.

"I will— hurt her. Is that what you want?"

Vulnerability.

Your daughter startled. Sniffling at the booming voice that rattled the floors. You watched her face squish and her lip quiver, before a broken, hiccuped sob filled the air.

His shoulders sunk. The fight seeping out of him. You watched his eyes swell with many things you'd never seen before.

Guilt, sadness.

Fear.

Rocking your startled baby, you held her close with soft shushes, but her sniffles soon turned into wails. Sukuna's stood frozen, sullen.

You understood, now.

Cradling the small girl, you stepped forward. Up the stairs to the platform of his throne. Even as he took a step back, you persisted.

"Sukuna. . ." You called to him. Soft in the way that only you were capable of being with him.

He almost flinched.

"This child, she's ours. Our daughter, made with love."

You stood right in front of him now. Taking in his wound up muscles and squared shoulders. Looking more like a deer ready to sprint than a father.

A father who feared that his hands were too rough, too evil, to nurture his own child.

"You won't hurt her. Because she's ours." Reaching forward, you held out the sobbing bundle. Watching his face and the several shades of uncertainty it turned.

You had never seen him so. . . frightened.

You pushed past his hesitancy, carefully placing your daughter into a set of his hulking arms. She was tiny compared to him. Seemed he was processing that too.

Aiding his position, you slipped one of your hands to tenderly hold him by the bicep as he, for the first time ever, held his daughter.

His breath was hitched. All of his eyes gaping at the small bundle in his arms. Watching her as if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain.

Your daughter's sobs stirred into sniffles, then hiccups, until. . . silence.

As big, ruby eyes stared up at her father. Taking him in. His face, his warmth.

And then, she beamed a toothless smile.

Sukuna tensed. A shaky breath hitching.

"She's— she's smiling. Why is she smiling?"

He quickly looked to you. Brows pinched. Looking lost, looking scared.

You offered him a smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Because she knows that her father loves her." Tickling her neck, you hummed as she squirmed a bit and giggled, pressing more into him.

He instinctively held her closer. Eyes unblinking.

You watched as Ryomen Sukuna, The King of Curses, melted. His heart swelling as he stared at his daughter. Even bringing one of his fingers closer to her, so that she could grab at it. Hugging around it with that big, bring smile.

His mouth quirked at the corner. Faint, but tender.

"Yeah. . ." He whispered, voice thick with emotion. Centuries worth of affection for his child, his daughter.

"Your father loves you. More than anything. More than life."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cheriisoda. art cred: @/lacquerheadd

꒰ 🌷 ⸰  ✦ enjoyed this piece?   ꒱ consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

[satomiu]

love is blind ! or perhaps, silent ? ⤷ ゛ ✮ sukuna’s  wife gets some godawful advice . . .

you wanted to be the perfect partner for sukuna, naturally. which in turn meant doing exactly what the wives of the court insisted: learning the sacred art of not speaking to your husband for as long as you can to, “cultivate intimacy”  . . ? or so you were told.

unfortunately, much to your displeasure, you had only lasted until the third hour. reason being—to put it quite plainly—ryomen sukuna is quite the relentless man . . .

he let out a sigh. a very loud, obnoxious sigh.

“i wish for my wife to talk to me.”

nothing.

“i wish for my wife to deign to speak to her husband.”

. . .

“i wish for my wife to cease such an absurd performance, and speak to me how she normally does. it is tiresome. the silence. do you not agree?”

your footwear scuffed softly against the cobblestone path as you came to an abrupt halt. the warmth that normally lingered in your gaze gave way to mild annoyance, though not enough to be mistaken for genuine displeasure.

try as you might, you could never remain upset with your beloved for long.

“i have heard you the first time sukuna, what is that you want?” you huff, the words drawn out in mild exasperation. tilting your head back to look up at him, your lips pressed into a faint pout, brows knitting together in a questioning glance.

sukuna only halts with you, standing a few feet ahead of you. “sukuna?” he repeats, perplexed, his gaze narrowing slightly at the unfamiliar distance between you. 

usually, you referred to him by far gentler names. my beloved. simply, husband. my lord, when you wished to pester him. simply “sukuna” was a new low he had never imagined he would reach.

he scoffs, “to engage in conversation. i thought it to be rather obvious, was it not?”

you inhale sharply, as though it were painful to neglect your husband in such a way. perhaps it was. and yet, it was for the better.

“well, i cannot.”

“ . . . you, cannot?”

“i cannot.”

…. 

“have i done something to displease you? or wound your honor?” 

you look at him with quiet seriousness, a sorry attempt to stand your ground.

“no. you are disturbing the ritual,” you say, voice a mild but firm whisper, as though the contents of your speech were not meant to fall upon the ears of another.

“the ritual…”

“yes, the ritual.”

“what ritual do you speak of?”

“the one i am attempting to complete it.”

you huff under your breath. “or rather, the one you are making rather difficult. i have already spoken too much, and you are not helping.” 

you attempt to resume your way down the path, tucked between silk-draped garden pavilions, only for your unreasonably large husband to step in front of you. all four arms are crossed over his bare chest, a black haori draped over his broad shoulders.

when you finally glance at him, to your surprise, there is a deadly seriousness in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.

“where are you going? i believe we are in the middle of a conversation, are we not?”

you only suck in a sharp breath, splaying a fan to cover the lower half of your face, your eyes darting toward a nearby patch of cherry blossoms, anywhere but his own. “i cannot speak with you.” you reply softly, a gentle warmth rising to your cheeks, soft as ripened plums, taking a small step back from him.

his gaze narrows slightly, studying your unusual timidness, along with your peculiar mannerisms. “you do see how you are poking at my nerves, yes?”

“well, that only means it is working. so if you would only let me complete it to its entirety—” 

“working…?” he scoffs, only taking another step forward until there is nowhere left for you to retreat.

you take another step backward, then another, then another, until your shoulders brush against the wall behind you. only then do you finally stop. sukuna places a hand beside your head and stares down at you, all four eyes narrowed.

“wife.”

the single word causes you to blink. “you will explain this ritual to me. at once.”

you let out a groan as you raise the fan to cover your face entirely. “why is it that you cannot respect my privacy?” your voice slipping out in a low, uncertain whisper.

sukuna lets out a low chuckle at that.

well, you believe. you cannot see his face after all, but there is no trace of displeasure in it.

shortly after, you feel his warm heavy hand, one stained with years of work and war, gentle to the touch, lowering your wrist, and therefore the fan. his voice is low and soft, as if coaxing an answer out of you:

“you do not actually wish to be apart from me like this. do you?”

you only let out a soft groan as you give a small shake of your head; eyes soft and pliant, though a small frown lingers over your features.

“ah . . i see,” he hums, eyes scanning over your face before his lower hand comes up to cradle your chin. “and, who, has forced you to do such a thing? because it certainly has not been me.”

you sigh. “i have not been forced.” shrinking back behind your fan.

“i had wanted our marriage to be more intriguing, so i sought out the other wives for advisement.” you pause, watching him carefully. “they said i should not speak to you, so that things would be calmer . . and more . . intimate . . between us once we reunite. though i have heard little of the latter.”

you look up at him once more, lashes blinking uncertainly, as though searching his face for approval. except instead of any shocked or amused reaction, he simply stares at you for a long moment, then exhales slowly through his nose.

“please do not speak to those women again,”

“they are fools.” he says flatly. “you do realize we are as intimate as can be, correct? i have seen you cry. i have seen you without your robes. i have seen you at your most unguarded, and yet you still think there is more to achieve.”

you only smack him lightly with the spread of your bamboo fan. “you cannot just say that!”

“the reason this ‘ritual’ of theirs works is because they do not love their husbands,” he continues, unbothered. “that is why there is peace when they do not speak.”

. . .

“oh.”

and then, a small snicker escapes him, causing your head to whip toward him. an everso slight frown pulls at your lips before he promptly falls silent.

“you mock me.”

“i have said nothing.”

“you are smiling.”

a soft silence spreads between the two of you, lingering, to that of a breath being held for too long . . . before a low burst of laughter escapes his throat. a quiet, unrestrained cackle that makes your chest loosen despite yourself.

his hand comes up to rest over his mouth, while the other remains crossed over his chest, his shoulders shaking with each contained laugh.

“do not laugh!” you insist, though your voice wavers with lingering amusement. “i have done this for you!”

“must you look so aggrieved? i am only laughing with you.”

you huffed, loud and dramatic; “how can you laugh with me when i am not laughing at all?”

“very well”, he began, an infuriatingly smug smile working onto his face, “i’ll wait for you to start then.”

and then, as though a switch had been flipped; every trace of amusement vanished. the smile disappeared, his features settling back into the impassive countenance of a ruler, as if nothing at all had been amusing.

unbelievable.

but only after a moment does it slip from you too: soft at first, almost disbelieving, your laughter spilling out in quiet, uneven breaths before settling into something gentler. you cover your mouth with your fan, though it does little to hide it.

“i would prefer this be forgotten.”

“unfortunately, wife, i cannot grant you that mercy.”

and while you hated to admit it, the advice had been sound; simply at the expense of your last shred of dignity.

[plumkissed]

babydaddy!toji wishes you a happy mother’s day ᝰ.ᐟ fem!reader

“are you out of your mind?”

is the first thing that comes out of your mouth when you open the door to find your son’s father standing on your doorstep, bouquet in hand and teddy bear in tow with a grin you have to stop yourself from slapping off his face.

“happy mother’s day, doll.”

his voice courses through you like a shot of cognac. smooth, dark, and strong in the way it makes your chest burn.

you’re overrun with a million different emotions but the one you settle on is anger as you let the weapon you snatched from under your bed clunk to the floor.

if not for the fifteen second phone call you’d received almost two weeks ago of him saying he loved you and ‘the brat’ and that he just needed to hear you breathing, you would’ve thought toji fushiguro was dead.

“i haven’t seen your face in almost a month and you show up to wish me happy mother’s day?”

you’re seething, and yet he’s calm as a river.

“what’s with the bat?” he asks with an upwards tilt of his head. you’re still too scared to get the gun from the safe, he thinks.

your scoff is one of pure disbelief.

“what do you think?” your arm outstretches as if the answer is obvious, because it should be. “i live alone and just got a knock on my front door at four am in the morning. my son is here. sleeping.”

“our son.” he corrects you, and he hates that he has to.

“yeah,” you huff. “no need to remind me. i carried him for nine months and one extra week only for him to come out looking just like you.”

“you say that like its a bad thing.”

it feels like there’s an elephant on your chest when you let out a sigh. there are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask, but you don’t even know where to start so you settle with, “what do you want, toji?”

“can i come in? or do i have to stand out in the cold while i explain?” he’s the one who sounds irritated now.

you move over begrudgingly and with one whiff of his cologne you’re shutting your eyes and willing away the urge to jump on him.

once all three, yes, three, locks that he personally installed are in place, you turn to face him with folded arms, a bobbing head and a popped hip. it only reminds him of how much he missed you and that fire of yours. he has to bite back a smirk because he’s supposed to be winning you back and the last thing he wants to do is piss you off even further.

“so?”

but he’s playing it cool because that’s all he knows. his defense mechanism, if you will.

“so what, i can’t stop by?”

“cut the shit, toji. i made myself very clear when i told you it was that life or us.”

he nods. “you did.”

he takes a step forward and you take one back without even thinking about. he can’t lie, it hits him somewhere deep to see you looking at him with so much apprehension. he sets the bear and the bouquet of your favorite flowers onto the coffee table and then he looks back at you with those same eyes that made you fall for him all those years ago.

“don’t.”

he barely even reached for you, so his hands find their way into his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

“i came by to tell you that i’m done with that shit now. wrapped up all those loose ends.”

you don’t ask what he means by that, and judging by the glacial look on his face you can tell he doesn’t want to clarify. your jaw clenches as your gaze rips away from him and falls to the crayon scribbled sheets of paper megumi left on the floor from earlier. they remind you that this isn’t the first time he’s said something along those lines and it’s not the first time you’ve made the naive mistake of believing him. and as much as it hurts you to wake up everyday to toji’s side of the bed empty, you know it hurts your son more when you can’t tell him why daddy hasn’t come home yet.

it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why you and toji never worked. he was a man of many secrets and little to no answers. and you tried to act like it didn’t bother you back then. tried to pretend that the obscene amounts of cash you’d find stashed in obscure places of the house didn’t have you tossing and turning at night, an uneasy feeling nestled deep in your gut. tried to act like a piece of your heart didn’t chip off everytime he’d return from the random ‘work call’ he’d dropped everything to rush out to a few days prior, knuckles battered, lids heavy and tone cold when he’d tell you to drop it already. as if it wasn’t your first time speaking to him in days. as if he wasn’t injured. it was only a matter of time before you caught onto the unfortunate truth— toji’s ‘job’ was anything but a proper one and he was involved in some seriously sinister shit.

but he was a good father, you’d give him that. you and megumi never had to want for anything, so you did what toji asked. turned a blind eye and wouldn’t inquire about the kind of ‘work’ he did as long as he came home to you in one piece, whether that be days or even weeks later.

a wire transfer would make its way into your bank account on the first of every month without fail, each time from a random untraceable address. it was always more than enough to cover your rent in the modest, tucked away house he’d moved you all into, as well as groceries and anything you or your boy needed. and every time you’d pick up the phone to ask toji where the hell he’d gotten that kind of money from he’d tell you not to worry about it, that he loves you and the little one and to never call him unless he called you. always leaving the most important questions unanswered: where are you? are you safe? when are you coming home?

you’d already tried to act like you were okay with living this way, but you simply couldn’t do it anymore and he couldn’t blame you for that.

it was the night you’d opened the front door to find him leaned against the frame, barely conscious and bloodied— far too much of it to only be his. he’d greeted you the same way as always, with a stupidly cocky ‘hey doll’ or at least he’d tried to, until his effort was interrupted by a pained wheeze and his head lolled to the side to spit blood onto the pavement.

it takes all your strength to haul toji’s dead weight into the house on wobbling knees, his muscular arm tossed over your shoulders, the blood you prayed didn’t belong to him staining your night robe as he clutches his side with a crimson coated hand and groans in pain.

somehow you manage to get him into the bathroom and sat down onto the closed toilet seat, hands trembling violently and eyes already bleary with tears as you frantically lift the stained cotton from his body to find a deep gash. he was fine when he’d kissed you goodbye a few days ago.

“oh my god—“ you cry out, a hand rushing to cover your mouth and silence your scream as much as you can as to not wake your son who’s fast asleep. you scramble for your phone. “i’m calling 911—“

“no!” he musters up all the energy he can to choke it out and you jump because toji has never once raised his voice at you. a large hand remains clamped down on your wrist to stop you from dialing the number, his grip almost painful. “no cops.”

“t-toji you need to go to the hospital! you’re fucking bleeding out—“

“i’m not. just— trust me,” he winces, jaw tensing as he struggles to sit up. “just lost a lil’ blood. you’ve patched me up before, you can do it again.” his forehead is beaded with sweat, skin pale and voice strained.

“but it’s never been this bad— i—i don’t know what to do.”your chest heaves out a sob, cheeks wet with tears and he wishes he could wipe them for you but he doesn’t want to stain your pretty face.

“it’s not all mine,” he reveals through gritted teeth and you swallow the bile that had been rising in your throat, a small part of you relieved, but a bigger part even more terrified because if he was in this bad of shape, was the other person even alive?

“look at me,” he’s panting and you’re on the brink of an anxiety attack, eyes big and wide, afraid if you blink he’ll disappear. “get the first aid kit, i’ll walk you through it.”

things weren’t the same after that and you’d given him an ultimatum, quit whatever he was doing and come home for good or leave. he’d chosen the latter, and “i’m doing this for you and him. it’ll all make sense later.” was all he left you with.

“hey,” you’re brought back to the present when a rough hand manages to be delicate in the way it turns your head back to face what it’s avoiding. “i’m serious, mama. i’m done. no more late night calls. no more lookin’ over my shoulder.”

you hate the way your voice cracks when you try to use it, the lump in your throat incredibly painful to swallow around.

“you said that last time, ‘ji.”

his thumb swipes a fallen tear from your skin, like he’s angry it’s even there. you push him away. “i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep wondering if it’s going to be you i open the door to or the cops telling me you’re dead.”

“you don’t have to anymore. listen to me,” his gaze falls to your trembling lips, then back up to your watering eyes that still look at him as if he hangs the stars. he’s always hated seeing you cry.

“you remember when i told you i had some debts to repay? that i couldn’t be around knowin’ it was people out for me?”

you nod. it’s barely there but he sees it.

“i don’t owe nobody nothin’ no more, baby. i’m done.”

your stomach twists with something scarily close to hope and you shake your head as if you can shake the feeling away, too.

“i don’t believe you.”

“you think i came here this late just to bullshit you?” he doesn’t let you answer. “i got a gig now, a straight one. kuna’s gonna let me work at the garage, fixin’ cars n shit like i used to do when you first met me. before i got myself into all this mess like a dumbass.”

the hand at his side hesitates for a beat but he can’t help himself. he gently grabs onto yours and you let it happen. he can tell you’re listening now and that gives him the courage to continue.

“the pay ain’t nowhere near what i was bringing before, but it’s enough for us. you, me, megumi. and it’s clean money, baby. clean.” he’s almost begging.

“toji…”

his grip on your hand tenses, but his voice is lighter and softer now. like he’s scared you’ll shut down if he speaks too loud.

“i know. i know you’re scared— look at me” and you do. “you ain’t gotta let me come back or nothin’, i can get my own place, find somewhere to stay. but i wanna be here for you ‘n our boy.”

“i want you here, too. he misses you.” your heart betrays you before your mouth can disagree. “i miss you. i’m tired of sleeping alone, toji.” you can’t stop yourself from leaning into the hand that’s cradling your cheek, wet now from your tears. it’s calloused, scarred and familiar and your chest aches when you remember how much you missed his touch and how much it hurts everytime he leaves.

it’s as if he can read your mind.

“i’m not goin’ nowhere. not anymore, okay? i promise.”

he’s closer now, head dipping to your level because you’re closing off and he can’t have that. his eyes chase yours with that softness he’s reserved for you until you look at him again, and then he’s kissing your hand and your knuckles.

“lemme take you out tomorrow, start makin’ it up to you. i’ll make you n megs breakfast in the morning,” a kiss is placed to your open palm and you can almost hear your walls crumbling. “then we can go to that one restaurant we used to. get those crab cakes you loved so much back when you were pregnant.”

his hands are on your waist now, pulling you to him until your chin has to lift to maintain eye contact due to your height difference. “put you on a pretty lil’ dress, make the whole day about you. we can do whatever you want, ‘n i’ll get yuji to watch the brat, yeah?”

he knows he has you when your lashes bat up at him, all shiny from the tears his words sought to quell. he takes that as permission to kiss your forehead and quickly steals the opportunity to take a deep, lung-rattling inhale of the faint scent your shampoo always leaves behind.

“you got me lillies.”

it’s a quiet observation but he hears it. you’re talking about the flowers now, pointing out the obvious as your way of saying thank you because all you can do is press your ear to his chest and listen to his heartbeat, the only sound that has ever calmed your own.

“‘course i did. they’re your favorite.”

.

.

.

©plumkissed 2026

note: toji and megumi the morning after while you’re still asleep (bros def not getting his own place)

[getokive]

MEET THE ✩ FUSHIGURO FAMILY

Toji is a believer of third time's the charm (this is his 3rd marriage)

⤷ series masterlist ┈ toji's dad lore

CW. smau / family au / cursing because he's an over dramatic girl dad / suggestive / fluff / crack kinda / ft. shiu & the divine dogs!

📁 Surveillance on Toji Fushiguro Date: ███████ Report by: Shiu Kong

13:00 – Fushiguro is observed watching Love Island. Volume set to medium. Dog approaches. Fushiguro pets it without looking away from the screen.

13:07 – Fushiguro verbally reacts to the show: “That guy’s an idiot.” Pauses. Adds: “You deserve better, sweetheart.” Unknown if statement directed at TV contestant or dog. 13:22 – Fushiguro feeds the dogs. He is… speaking to them. Tone markedly altered in a higher pitch. Uses phrases such as “atta girl” and "pedigree you scum" I briefly consider aborting the mission.

13:24 – Fushiguro calls one of the dogs “stinky ballsack.” I am later informed the dog’s actual name is Totality. Fushiguro kisses the dog on the head.

14:10 – Fushiguro exits residence. Carries an extra jacket despite already wearing one.

14:42 – Fushiguro retrieves his current wife, ████, from work. Takes her bag. Asks if she’s eaten. Receives playful insult in return. Smiles. Is not repulsive to affection.

15:03 – Fushiguro and ████ stops for snacks. Fushiguro complains about prices. Buys snacks anyway. Hands over the “better one” without being asked.

16:30 – Returns home. Immediately greeted by dogs.

18:00 – No further hostile activity observed. Fushiguro cooks dinner. Burns nothing. Eats with family. Tsumiki and Megumi have grown up well.

19:10 – Fushiguro falls asleep on the couch mid episode. Dogs are sleeping on his chest. Does not move but snores loudly.

CONCLUSION: Fushiguro is no longer operational. Subject is living peacefully as a civilian and shows zero interest in returning to the field.

NOTES: Fushiguro's dogs are Dipshit, Idiot), and Ballsack. It is important to note that all three are to be referred to as 'Sweet Angels.'

RECOMMENDATION: We are never getting this man back. The agency should cease surveillance immediately and begin searching for a replacement. Preferably one without pets.

© getokive. ┈ masterlist

₊˚: ꒰ taglist ꒱ ₊˚:

@nxati1 @luckylymarwie @sirenxiu @7thringofsaturn @skinstickets @champagnecoastbybloodorange @miimiixoxo @pequnopastel @swizzyloopy @takethiswitchhome @prome911 @sleepyyluciel @arminsxseaxshell @delululi @sparqvls @mischivana @alebrasil0101 @gmyng @gyuryu @snowstriper101 @madbehemothluminary @moonm2u @atarajanz