[ content: crazy!reader, fluff (?), rage baiting sukuna, #makehispocketshurt, for my cutie pie @indiewritesxoxo think of this as a love letter ]
Most people never understood your relationship with Sukuna.
For the most part, you were a friendly, upbeat person—talking to strangers in line at the grocery store, talking up the baristas making your coffee orders, sharing recipes with call center agents when the call got too long.
Then there’s the big grumpy man that’s always standing right behind you, and he never fails to look miserable when doing so. Strangers will try to speak to him and he’ll either grunt in response or just pretend to not hear them at all. Same goes for baristas. The last time he spoke with customer service through the phone, the agent started the call off by saying they hoped he was having a good day so far—Sukuna got annoyed and grumbled, “no you fucking don’t,” in hopes that they’d stop with the pleasantries.
Overall, he’s just kind of a dick. They look at you and immediately think of some horrific scenario like Sukuna yelling at you for not having dinner done by the time he got home.
That brings them to the question: how do you two even get along?
And your answer to that is: you kinda don't.
But that's okay! You knew what you were signing up for and you don't regret it one bit. You love him, and you love making him angry. It's so easy, too. Who needs therapy when you can just stress him out? Exactly.
So you sent the text.
[You]: are you fucking serious right now? i had to find out from HER?
[My Husband 🥰]: what are you talking about?
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
[My Husband 🥰]: babe pick up the phone
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
[My Husband 🥰]: what the fuck are you even talking about? find out WHAT???
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
[My Husband 🥰]: BABE
[My Husband 🥰]: PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
Missed call from My Husband 🥰
The only reason why the phone calls stopped was because you blocked him, but he would’ve kept calling until his phone died. It’s happened before.
Soon you get a Zelle notification.
R. Sukuna has sent you $200.00.
Memo: unblock me.
You sent R. Sukuna $20.00.
Memo: you can keep your fucking money
R. Sukuna has sent you $20.00.
Memo: you can’t just tell me to keep my money but then pocket more than half of it. and what the fuck am i gonna do with 20 dollars??
You sent R. Sukuna $2.00.
Memo: and now you have 2, see what happens when you don’t appreciate what you have?
R. Sukuna has sent you $2.00.
Memo: what the fuck does that even mean?? can you just unblock me already?
You sent R. Sukuna $0.50.
Memo: no
R. Sukuna has sent you $100.00.
Memo: JESUS FUCKJNGCHRIST UNBLOCK ME
You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.
Memo: NO
You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.
Memo: we’re out of sugar and creamer btw don’t forget to grab some on your way home
frat!kuna wants to hear your pretty noises (shy!reader)
even though sukuna wasn’t very vocal, that didn’t mean he didn’t want you to be. when you randomly went quiet underneath him, he wasn’t pleased. his thick cock split you open, causing your gummy walls to flutter around his length. you were squirming underneath him with your pupils blown wide as you took him. sukuna was in awe—you looked beautiful under him just as always—but something was missing. aside from the sound of skin on skin, it was quiet. too quiet.
“don’t go silent on me,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “i need to hear you.”
you were flustered. you turned your head away in embarrassment and shook your head. he snapped his hips again, tip nudging your cervix. you bit your lip to suppress the moan threatening to escape from you.
“are you embarrassed?” sukuna asked. “there’s no need to be, i promise.”
you hesitated, moved by his reassurance. he felt good and you wanted to show him that. but, you were shy. plus, it wasn’t like he made any noise other than his praise and a few low grunts here and there. you didn’t want to do it alone.
“taking me so well,” sukuna groaned. “so fucking tight you’d think i didn’t take good care of you.”
you let out a quiet moan, back arching. it was so hard to keep quiet, especially with the way he buried you to the hilt. you were so full of him you couldn’t think straight. heat pooled in your stomach as he fucked you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
sukuna was close too, how could he not be? your warm walls hugged his length tightly, practically sucking him into your tight cunt. the sight of you under him was enough to get him off. but without the sound of your broken cries, he wasn’t sure if he could finish just yet.
sukuna decided instead of telling you you weren’t alone, he’d show you. the groan he let out snapped you out of it. you clenched around him immediately at the sound.
“‘kuna,” you whined without even realizing it. “feels s’good.”
“there she is. my pretty girl, don’t hide from me. let me hear how good it feels, yeah?”
you nodded and spread your legs even wider. sukuna angled his hips slightly to where his cock reached your sweet spot with each thrust. the delicious stretch was blinding. you cried out his name as you took all of him. his balls slapped against your ass, the lewd sound filling the room and egging him on even more. sukuna groaned into your ear and whispered to you.
“you’re close? come for me, need to hear it and feel it.”
you weren’t as quiet when you came. your orgasm shattered over you at his words. you cried out his name and gripped his bicep. as you came down from the high, you panted, lip quivering as you caught your breath. sukuna followed you right after. he buried you to the hilt with his cock, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside your pussy. he groaned softly before collapsing on the bed beside you. his arms found yours, pulling you close to his chest. you put your ear to his chest and listened. his heart was pounding so hard like it was about to burst. you looked up at him with a small smile. he mirrored it and pressed his lips to your forehead.
“to be honest, i don’t think i can go again without hearing you,” he admitted. “don’t be afraid, i got you. always.”
Bakugou is a lot of things; he is ambitious and smart, emotionally intelligent, compassionate, he's a hero and he's good at his job, the best in his field, he doesn't care what anyone else says.
But still, people talk, oh they do.
Everyday #dynamight goes trending for one reason or another, somedays people bash him, call him arrogant and short tempered and tell him that he should watch his tongue.
Other days the same people drool over edits of 0.02 second of his shirt riding up to reveal his happy trail, telling him that he should shove the same tongue down their throats.
Tomorrow, however he'll trend for a much different reason.
⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
Bakugou wiped his face with a clean towel, eyes scanning his reflection in the mirror before he moved on to fix his hairs, donned in a dark green shirt and black pants.
As much as he hated the idea of down an online interview, he still preferred it over flying to a different country for the same, it was easy, convenient and much quicker.
His pr team already had the laptop set up in his living room, meeting ready to begin anytime soon.
He finally settled on his couch, ready to start the interview, already going through the list of the questions he knows will be asked.
It's a rule, you want to interview Dynamight, you tell him before hand what you'll ask him, the last he wants is to be inconvenienced by ridiculous questions and the last thing anyone else wants is to get on his bad side.
The interview is done within two hours, generic and boring as usual, it aired couple of hours later
The usual.
Except nobody cared about the content of the interview, everyone was focused on one thing and one thing only.
A full body cardboard cut out from one of your campaigns, standing in the background of his video, perched right in the middle of what people concluded was his bedroom.
It send people spiralling, the youth in shambles, people posting pictures of their own cut-out standee, with the tag #justlikeyou.
Dynamight goes trending again.
The usual.
Barely any hour after the clips of the interview started trending, another clip was circulated.
It was blurry and pixelated, seeming to be filmed on a potato, but still very, very recognizable.
Pro hero dynamight, in a black hoodie and sweatpants, his signature blonde hairs peeking from underneath the hood, impatiently looking around whilst waiting in a alleyway.
He was leaning against a big ass van, that wasn't something his fans have seen so far, so they assume it's a rented van.
The manager walked up to him, gently handing him something wrapped in a cloth, something flat, resembling a cardboard or a cut out (people already connected the dots).
Dynamight took it, cradled in his arms as he walked over to his van, hauling the cut out very tenderly depositing it in the back, before turning towards the manager again.
He handed him a thick wad of cash, despite the blurry footage, it was alot.
The video ended with Dynamight almost skipping to the front seat of the car and driving away into the sunset.
Then came the compilation of all the three videos: the clip of the interview— clearly showing your cut out in his bedroom; the clip of him shamelessly admitting his priced possession— "so what! Can't even fanboy in this economy!" and lastly the clip of him purchasing the cutout from a potential black market.
His social media notifications blew up.
Not that he noticed, they've been silent since his high school days, but he wasn't unaware of the chaos out here.
By @/diehardcarefangirl.
"Last time I had a Nanami Kento cut out in my room I was bullied, but now I can proudly bring him back out of storage."
#thankyoudynamight #thechangeishere
He understands that sentiment, no one should ever hide their hobbies or things they are passionate about just because some loser out there doesn't have a personality.
By @/thesmutfairy "Lowkenuinely curious about the placement of cut-out standee, why is it face your bed, dynamight𖠂𖠂?"
#thankyoudynamight #freakydynamight
He let out a snort, looking up at your sweet smile, sunrays slipping through the curtains falling on the cut out, making you appear ethereal.
He isn't a degenerate, he keeps the cut out in his bedroom to be able to wake up to your beautiful smile and occasionally jork it crazy style, but mostly to be able to see you before falling asleep and see you when he woke up.
By @/Y/Nslefttoenail "I just hope Dynamight knows he has as much chance as I do of being noticed by the @/officialY/N."
#thankyoudynamight #wellbothdiesingle
He almost typed a series of curses to some guy claiming to be your left toe nail, ready to get into internet quarrel on his main, official account.
But, his notification pinged, a new dm.
OfficialY/N: Hello Dynamight.
OfficialY/N: I hope this isn't too forward, but the real deal is much better than the cut out you've got in your bedroom.
Holy fucking moly, take that y/n's left fucking toenail.
“brat stop hogging my girlfriend.” toji groaned out, trying to get into the covers to try to cuddle you for the past fifteen minutes—only to be met with his menace of a son trying to attack him.
“papa’s stinky.”
you could barely stifle your giggles before megumi nuzzled into your side, only to turn his head to give his father a stinkeye.
“he’s just a baby, toji.”
“he’s hogging you.”
“and you don’t?”
“i have every right to, no?” he said, trying to pull you by the waist, his lips pressing softly against your neck while he tried to make himself comfortable—only to have megumi bite his arm the second he tightened them around you.
“megumi fushiguro. let me cuddle my girlfriend to sleep.” he snapped, all for megumi to just stick his tongue out at him before moving closer to you.
“the two of you are horrid.” you groaned, trying to bury yourself in the blankets while both of them fought over you like lunatics—with toji sticking his tongue out right back at megumi.
“i hope you realise you’re fighting a four year old.”
“doll, he’s a lot smarter than he looks.”
“oh, i know.”
“you’re way too biased.”
you rolled your eyes at him, watching him get into a staring contest with him, with you stuck between the two of them. toji tried to pry you away from megumi, he really did, only to have him bite him, claw at his hands, only to bat his eyelashes at you, jut his lip out until you caved.
“hmph.”
“what is it, gumi?” you asked, hugging him closer while he looked over his dad’s shoulder just to smirk at him.
“daddy always gets t—to have you, it’s not fair!”
“aww it’s okay megumi, i’m not going anywhere.”
“manipulative prick.”
“that’s your son.”
“i know what he is.”
i wrote this in the car while waiting for my cousins so sorry if its highkey ass
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
sukuna was used to getting hit on. normally, he flat out rejects anyone that even makes an attempt to flirt with him. tonight he's taken you on one of your usual date nights, but imagine his surprise when the woman who approaches your table is hitting on you instead of him!
"ryo. ryo, ryo, ryo, i don't know what to get!" you pout, extending a leg underneath the table to graze your husband's calf as he grunts, brows pinched together in concentration as he stares down at the menu
"doesn't matter. i'm ordering half the stuff they have here anyway... you hungry for dessert too?" he questions, and you give him a deadpan look before he dramatically rolls his eyes, eliciting a giggle from you that has the corner of his mouth tipping upwards in a smirk
"fatty," he murmurs, and you make a point to dig the tip of your heel into his shoe, yet even through the pain, he maintains that annoying grin, and you shake your head with a laugh
the restaurant sukuna chose to take you out to tonight was located on the outer edges of the city near the water. your seating is overlooking the ocean, and you're not sure where you should stare—either at the lapping waves shimmering underneath the sparkling sun, or at your husband (an equally irresistible sight). he's wearing a tight black shirt with the first few buttons open, revealing the intricate details of his tattoos and the large expanse of his muscles and chest
a waitress eventually approaches your table. she's pretty—tall, lean, and wearing a dark red lipstick that suits her well—and you feel your heart sink a bit. you're sure she was staring at your table earlier, and you'd already assumed she was keeping an eye out on sukuna. almost subconsciously, you sit a little taller in your chair as she greets you two
"hello! i hope you guys are doing well. what can i get started?" she starts in an extra sweet voice, and you avoid her eyes and instead drum a single manicured finger against the table to distract yourself
you know you have nothing to feel insecure about, but anyone would feel a bit down if attractive women were constantly hitting on their husband, right?
without looking up, sukuna starts
"i'll have a plate of crab cakes, four fish tacos, one chicken marsala, one miso marinated black cob, two fettuccini pastas, one lobster ravioli, and one lava cake—and the center of it better not be undercooked. my wife doesn't like whenever it happens and i want her dessert to be nothing short of perfection." sukuna finishes, and the waitress looks genuinely distressed as she quickly jots down everything he said
"uhm, and all that is for just the two of you?" she questions hesitantly, and sukuna's gaze snaps up with a scowl
"yeah. and?"
you try to stifle your laughter as she quickly shakes her head with a smile, still writing everything down. your husband was... a bit of a big eater.
"no, no, i was just wondering— oh. did you say wife?" she frowns, and you try not to wince at twinge of disappointment in her voice
"if you were thinking i'm single, you're out of luck." sukuna states boldly, not bothering to give her any further attention as he folds up the menu and hands it to her
"uhm... i wasn't wondering about you. i was wondering about you." — and suddenly her gaze is pinned on you, and your eyes widen a fraction
"me?" you squeak in disbelief, and she smirks. it's cocky and slanted and it instantly reminds you of your husband's habit when he's teasing you, and you can't even try to hide the smile on your face as you cover it with your hand, caught off gaurd and embarrassed
"yes, you. you are beautiful. so, are you happily married to this guy, or just marri—"
"that's enough." sukuna stammers, and he looks genuinely mortified by the look of curiosity on your face. you giggle, shaking your head
"thank you... you're very beautiful too." you smile, and she actually blushes at your words, telling you she'll be out with your food soon as she walks back inside the restaurant with a lot more pep in her step than before
sukuna reaches over to pull your hand out of your lap and onto the table, and he adjusts your ring with furrowed brows as you giggle
"ryo—"
"i can't believe that woman's audacity—hitting on my wife! when i get home, i am writing the most deplorable review of this restaurant." he snaps as you let out a sudden laugh
"don't be silly, you big grump! she was nice," you smile, and he drags a hand down his face as if this was the worst day of his entire life.
sukuna wasn't used to women hitting on you. no man ever tried because all six feet of your husband was always looming behind you like a guard dog just waiting to rip someone's head off for looking at you too long, but he never suspected he had to look out for women too!
his brows are furrowed as he rubs a thumb over the diamond on your ring finger, and your gaze softens before you cradle his own larger hand in your own and press a kiss onto his knuckles. he blinks at you a few times before turning away with a huff, the tips of his ears a light shade of pink
"you're mine. you'll never indulge in anyone that tries anything with you, right?" he murmurs, still staring at your interlocked hands as you pout
"of course not." you promise gently, and he seems satisfied by your response as he holds your hand firmly in his own
after a moment of thought, he opens his mouth once again
"do you think we should make out to confirm our status for everyone else here?"
✮⋆˙. (▀▀̮▀) The strongest teaches you how to squirt . . .
You wanted to learn how to squirt.
Like, you really wanted to learn.
Being all over Twitter didn't help you either, as there's always somebody asking, oh, “ how do you squirt?” Or, “guys, I just learned how to squirt for the first time and I've never felt so much better.” And you just can't help but get FOMO.
Okay yeah sure, every time Gojo fucks you really good, it feels amazing, but something's missing.
He's already done everything in the book with you, with a few concepts here and there untouched, but you always end up satisfied, so you never dwelled on it.
You just really, really wanted to try feeling something new.
You already tried to do it yourself countless times, but your fingers could never reach the spots that he does, especially since his are significantly longer than yours.
So when he's currently fucking you and training your pussy to be more sensitive, it seems you finally get the hang of it.
“Mngh— fuck toru that…feels s’good..”
Gojo's long fingers curl deep inside your soaked pussy, his thumb pressing and pushing hard against your swollen clit with constant pressure.
He watched your face intently, bright blue eyes focusing on your pretty face as your walls flutter around his digits.
"Thaaat's it, baby," he murmurs, voice low and rough against your ear.
"You said you wanted to learn, yeah?"
His pace kept quickening as both fingers pumped into you steady, scissoring slightly on each thrust to stretch you open while his palm slaps wetly against your mound.
Your hips buck up off the bed, chasing the overwhelming sensation slowly building low in your belly.
Every stroke drags against that sensitive spot inside you, sending heatwaves through your body.
Gojo moves down, sucking one of your nipples right into his mouth. He bites down just hard enough to make you whine out, before soothing the sting with his tongue.
His free hand pins your thigh wider, keeping you spread for him as he works through your pussy harder.
Your breath comes out in short gasps when the pressure inside you grows almost unbearable, feeling like a tight coil getting tighter and tighter before releasing itself.
Your pussy clenches eagerly around his fingers as finally, a sudden rush of clear liquid sprays out all around them, soaking his hand and his wrist, along with the sheets beneath you in a hot, messy gush.
Gojo smiles and groans at the sight, fingering you through it with quick movements, so that the squirt keeps coming in short bursts.
"Fuuck, look at that," he growls, eyes locked on the way your cunt pulses and sprays. "So pretty when you let loose like that."
Your thighs tremble, clit becoming achingly sensitive.
You gripped the sheets and looked down at the mess, “hah…oh my god…what a mess..”
Another wave hits as he keeps rubbing your clit in tight circles, drawing out every last tremor and whine until you're left twitching, the new bedsheets already soiled under you.
He finally slows his hand down, but doesn't pull out, carefully stroking your inner walls as the aftershocks roll through you.
"Atta girl," he praises, voice coated with satisfaction.
If your lover lives in Hong Kong and cannot get to Chicago, it will be necessary for you to go to Hong Kong. Perhaps you will spend your life there, and never see Chicago again. And you will, I assure you, as long as space and time divide you from anyone you love, discover a great deal about shipping routes, airlines, earthquake, famine, disease, and war. And you will always know what time it is in Hong Kong, for you love someone who lives there. And love will simply have no choice but to go into battle with space and time and, furthermore, to win.
I know guardrails kill the mood. Of course you don’t want to sit on my bed going over safewords and checklists. You'd rather I just pin you down and take what I want. You’re a slut. You want it to feel real. You want me to grab you by the throat and fuck you like I mean it without stopping to negotiate first.
I hear you. But we’re going over the checklist anyway.
Because when I’m inside you and your face is pressed into the mattress and I can feel your pussy gripping my cock and you’re whimpering into the sheets, something happens to me that I need you to take seriously. The part of my brain that watches your face and listens to your voice and cares about the difference between a scene and something real, that part goes somewhere I can’t reach. And what’s left will hear you say stop and pin your wrists harder and fuck you deeper and feel you struggle and get harder from the struggling. I'll look you in the eyes with my cock buried in you and you'll see it clearly. I'm not playing pretend.
Without the guardrails, I will rape you. Not "push past a boundary." Not "get carried away." I will hold you down and force my cock into you and use your body until I'm finished. Your crying will make me harder and your fighting will make me cum. I probably won't feel bad about it until it's over. Maybe not even then. That's what you’re risking every time we do this.
So when I sit you down, make you tell me your limits, and we go through the boring careful paperwork before anything starts, understand that I'm building a cage. Every rule we agree on, every signal, every check-in is a wall between you and that version of me. That’s why I’m so careful with you. That’s why it has to be perfect before we start. Because I know exactly what I am when the walls aren’t there.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! | okay first off, WHY is this SO FUCKIN EMOTIONAL for no absolute reason. damn. consider this a 1000 follower special! likes & reblogs are appreciated! 𖹭
[𝜗ৎ] 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 : 2.9𝗄
𝓜𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏!
my husband hates me.
the thought settles deep in your chest like a stone, familiar and heavy, as you lie on the silk sheets of the massive bed.
your fingers trace the embroidered patterns on your robe—some floral design you can't see but can feel beneath your fingertips. the fabric is soft, expensive. everything here is expensive. everything here screams luxury and power and wealth.
but none of it screams love.
you hear nothing from his side of the bed.
the man is so impossibly quiet, it makes your skin prickle with unease. you've been here for three months now. three months as the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, the most feared ruler in all the lands. and in those three months, he has barely spoken a word to you.
at first, you thought it was a game.
some twisted test of patience. you were clever enough to know that political marriages were rarely about love. you'd been prepared for indifference, for coldness, for a husband who saw you as nothing more than a strategic alliance.
but this? this silent treatment that stretches night after night, this deliberate distance he keeps?
it cuts deeper than you expected.
your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.
princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.
they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.
you were used to it.
but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.
and you'd felt hope.
you hate yourself for that hope now.
because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.
but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?
it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.
the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.
but you can't navigate him.
you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.
tonight was bad.
you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.
then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.
and the whispers.
you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.
"the blind empress."
"does he even notice her?"
"i heard he hasn't touched her once."
"what a waste of a pretty face."
"she must be so lonely."
"she must be so pathetic."
you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.
but inside, you were crumbling.
and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.
does he ever sleep?
you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.
a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.
and you can't take it anymore.
"ryomen?"
your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.
silence.
you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.
just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"what."
it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.
you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.
"i...i want to ask you something."
more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
"ask."
you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.
"do you hate me?"
the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.
"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?
"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"
"stop."
the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.
but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.
and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.
you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.
"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"
"quiet."
his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.
"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"
you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.
a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.
"open your eyes."
the command catches you off guard. "what?"
"your eyes. open them."
you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.
"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."
"i can't see you."
"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."
please.
the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?
you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.
"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."
your heart stutters. "then why—"
"because i'm fuckin' terrified."
you blink. "what?"
"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."
"but—"
"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"
his voice drops to a whisper.
"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."
tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.
but he was...
...afraid?
"you don't hate me?" you whisper.
"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."
a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.
"but you never—you never talked to me—"
"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."
"then don't stop."
the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.
"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."
sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.
"you don't know what you're asking."
"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."
"i'll hurt you."
"i don't care."
"i'll break you."
"i don't care."
his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.
the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.
he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.
he pulls back, breathless.
"tell me to stop, and i will."
"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."
he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.
"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."
your breath catches. "ryomen—"
"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."
you nod, unable to speak.
his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.
"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."
you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.
"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."
he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.
"more," you gasp. "please—"
"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."
he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.
"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"
"yes," you whimper. "only you."
he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.
"tell me what you want."
"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."
his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"
"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"
"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."
he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.
and then his tongue touches you.
you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."
he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.
"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."
his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.
you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.
when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.
"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."
his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.
"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"
"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."
he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.
"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"
"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."
he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.
"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."
"okay."
"promise me."
"i promise."
he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.
he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.
"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."
you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.
just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.
"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."
he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—
a sharp pain.
fuck...you forgot.
you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.
"did i hurt ya'?"
you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.
blood.
his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.
"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"
you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"
"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."
"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."
"you're fuckin' bleeding."
"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.
he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."
but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.
when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.
"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."
"move," you beg. "please."
he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"
"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"
"yes—yes—"
his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.
"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."
he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.
"more," you gasp. "harder—"
"y'sure?"
"yes—please—"
he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.
"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"
"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"
he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.
at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.
he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.
"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."
you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.
"i love you too."
a long moment passes. then another. and then—
"we're going to do that again."
you laugh, breathless.
"right now?"
"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."
"promise?"
he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.
"promise."
you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.
"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."
ryomen sukuna proves he can treat you better than your asshole bf
ryomen sukuna does not concern himself with the miserable dwellings of day to day life of peasants (aka his frat buddies)
he parties,he gyms, he balls. he looks good and smells good and keeps his women limited to strict one night schedules.
he doesn't give two shits about who's fucking whom and whichever latest breakups circulating around campus. and he definitely doesn't keep track of his friends' girlfriends.
except when he spotted you one night , sitting in one corner of the raging neon lit room , fiddling with your fingers as you watched your boyfriend dance with other women .
sukuna told himself he didn't care about how your smile kept faltering or how sad your eyes looked.
yet, he never wanted to punch a man to oblivion so much than at that moment. he reigned himself in that night.
but the next time when he saw your crestfallen expression when your asshole boyfriend dismissed your homecooked lunch before the entire team , sukuna lost it.
so yeah. he did punch his teammate and frat mate to oblivion.
the rest was easy and quick. some bruises here and there. a little blood. but his favourite part was hearing your shy mouth yell "fuck you , you bastard" on your boyfriends bloody and beaten face (courtesy of him)
but sukuna's life somehow became even more convoluted after that.
his eyes track the slight colouring of your cheeks , the way your gaze darts away from his as you mutter a shy "thank you" .
the sweet scent of your shampoo lingers in his nose when you pass by him in the corridors. his mind replays the small smile you gave him when he crossed paths with you, in the dark quiet of his room.
days escalate to weeks and he finds himself sitting on the bleachers after practice, eating from the cute pink bento you prepared for him as he listens to you read out a line from your favourite book.
he surprises himself when he throws away his entire stash of cigarettes after you tell him one afternoon that you dislike the smell of them.
as autumn approaches, sukuna finds himself before you , pink cheeked, handing you the books he picked out in hopes that you would enjoy them.
ryomen sukuna did not care about feelings . he never bothered to question his own lack of them. but then how was he supposed to justify the way his heart beat stuttered when you placed a soft, barely there kiss on his cheek after he walked you to your apartment?
ryomen sukuna did not bother with cheek kisses. he was rough and in the bed,took from the women what he wanted.
and you were the antagonist of everything he was accustomed to. because it wasn't rough and hard and frantic when it came to you. hell, he hadn't even tasted your lips, and somehow sex hadn't even crossed his mind.
he was willing to take even the tiniest bit of affection you showed him. and somehow it was enough for him.
with you it was lingering fingers, and soft glances. easy smiles and reading poetry. eating sundaes at 10pm under the streetlights .
and when he realised that he looked forward to hearing your soft voice as you read to him, and eating your handcooked meals instead of his bland protein shakes and walking you home as the lamposts cast a warm glow on your skin—sukuna realised that he was utterly fucked.
because, as much as he wanted to deny it, he was no fool.
Husband!Sukuna's eyes are those of a predator as he devours you. His hands are gripping your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm so prettily under him. His adorable wife.
"Kuna—Nngh—s'too much!" your gasp echoes in your chambers, one hand gripping his hair deliciously while the other grips the sheets. Sukuna only groans, tongue lapping at your dripping folds needily as his thumb runs over your hip. He leaves your cunt with a particularly gentle bite to your clit, pulling away enough to look up at you. His face is flushed, messy with your slick.
"Too much? Yet you're taking it so well for me, wife." He muses, nibbling the skin of your inner thigh as you tremble under him. You could never get used to the way he looked at you. It was as if everything else melted away—only you existed to him. You pout at his words, heart racing as soft whimpers leave your lips. He smirks at that, biting down gently before his tongue laves over the mark. "My sweet wife... dripping so much, only for me... I could devour you for the rest of my life and still never be quite satisfied."
"I don't think I could—fuck—handle that!" a moan was ripped from your throat as he plunged two fingers in. He'd been going at this for a while, making you drip and cum for him like a good girl. And God, did you love the praise.
Husband!Sukuna thinks he might be in heaven as he kisses his way up your body. His touch is devoted, passionate. His hand comes up to cup the swell of your breast, running his thumb over your hardening nipple as you fill the lair of your love with sweet sounds. He had spent all day yearning for a single moment alone with you.
"That's it, sing for me, wife." He whispers, his mouth latching onto your other nipple as his tongue swirls around it, feeling your walls clench around his invading fingers. His mouth detaches with a pop as he looks up at you. Hungry. "You take me so well, my love. You were made for me to adore you."
His words only make more heat pool downward as you tug at his hair, earning another groan. Despite being your husband, you still remain quite shy. As soon as your eyes meet his, you're quick to look away with a moan. It only makes Sukuna want your attention harder, as he trails up just a bit more, fingers leaving your cunt—leaving you empty.
"Ku.. Kuna...?" you whisper, well, more like whine. Confusion is written on your face as he smirks, the mouth on his stomach parting. His other tongue lolls out to lick a stripe up your dripping cunt as he starts eating you with gusto. Your eyes nearly roll back at the sensation of his giant tongue making a mess of you. "Fuck! Oh my God!"
"That's a good girl... look at me, wife." He grunts, lips trailing over your jaw as he forces you to look at him. His cock is hard against your thigh as he takes in your expression. Face flushed, chest heaving as you moan and look straight at him. He can see how you want to look away, how you're a total mess under him. His adorable wife. "I truly will never get enough of you..." he whispers, capturing your lips in a kiss. He doesn't fail to pepper your face with kisses while making a mess of your needy pussy.
a/n: very very short drabble... I love husband sukuna...
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
izzy806
baratheonpilled
andulkaphoto
2087
pixelskylines
amandla
