The bedroom is entirely silent, illuminated only by the warm glow of the bedside lamp on his side of the bed. It’s late, well past midnight, and Sukuna’s propped up against the pillows in nothing but boxers, holding a book open in his right hand, completely at ease, while the other is trapped beneath your weight.
Sprawled shamelessly across his side, your cheek pressed right over his ribs, you let your body go limp while your mind refuses to follow suit. Restlessness creeps in, your thoughts racing in circles, dredging up problems just for the sake of having something to gnaw on. The silence makes your thoughts feel way too loud, twisting a thin, ridiculous thread of worry out of nothing at all.
Your eyes drift over the page of his book without taking in a single word, and before you can stop yourself, the question tumbles out into the dim room, your voice barely above a whisper and oddly hesitant.
"You ever think I'm too clingy? Like... you ever wish I gave you more space?"
Sukuna freezes beneath your cheek, every muscle going rigid. After a moment, he drops his book onto the nightstand, tilting his head down, crimson eyes blown wide with pure, flat-out bewilderment. He stares at you, genuinely trying to figure out if he heard you right, like you’ve suddenly started speaking a completely foreign language.
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" he asks, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, stunned rumble that cuts right through the quiet air. He shifts under you, eyebrow cocked, shooting you a look like you’ve just sprouted horns. "Where the hell is this coming from? Who put that stupid shit in your head?"
"Dunno," you mumble, heat creeping up your cheeks as the words hang in the air, sounding even more absurd now that they’re out. Your fingers fidget with a stray thread on the duvet, eyes glued to the fabric. "My brain’s just being an asshole tonight."
A deep, exasperated scoff rumbles out of your husband, but the tightness in his jaw softens almost immediately, replaced by a raw, unguarded fondness that settles over his face.
“Woman, have you been paying attention to me at all these past few years? Seriously, think for one fucking second, idiot." The command comes out rough, but there’s no bite to it, just a lot of tired fondness. He jerks his chin at the bed, making you actually look at the state of things. "Look at you. You’re basically glued to my side, I can’t even move my damn arm. You’re in my shirt, you stole my socks, and your freezing-ass hand is between my thighs. If I wanted space, trust me, you’d be on the floor."
A tiny, involuntary giggle slips out of you, but he’s not finished. His hand squeezes your waist as he shifts beneath you just enough to remind you how much bigger he is.
“I’m a grown-ass man. I’m stronger than you,” he goes on, his voice rumbling right through his chest and into your cheek. "If I wanted to move, I'd move. But you? You’re glued to me every fucking day, stealing my personal space since day one. You climb on me when I’m trying to read, treat me like a mattress—and I never stop you. Ever think that’s because I want you there?”
His hand comes up, large and rough, calloused fingers curling gently beneath your chin, tipping your face toward his. Shadows flicker across his features, but his eyes lock onto yours with a fierce, protective devotion that knocks the breath right out of you.
“I agreed to that stupid ‘hear me out’ cake just to hear you laugh,” he rumbles, shaking his head, and at last, a wide grin splits his face. “I drove across the city so you could look at ducks. Does that sound like a man who wants less of you? Your brain’s being a dick. Tell it to shut up.”
“…fair,” you admit quietly, and the heavy, tangled knot of overthinking in your chest finally starts to unravel under the weight of his logic.
“Actually, hold the fuck on,” Sukuna growls, moving from underneath you to lean over you, completely wrapping you in his bulk. “You think you’re the clingy one?”
Caught completely off guard by the sudden intensity in his voice, you blink up at him.
“I call you every fucking day, or you’d forget to eat,” he starts, not giving you a chance to interrupt, his eyes locking onto yours. "Started doing that stupid skincare with you. Hid roses around the apartment just so you’d smile all day. Crawled under a fucking car because you wanted a cat. I panic if you’re not in bed, can’t fall back asleep till you’re back in my arms. Let you tank my fucking CS rank ‘cause apparently you gotta touch my arm every six seconds. And you think I want more space? You think I’d still be here doing all that shit if you were too much for me?”
You stay completely silent, your mouth parting slightly as you stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs from the weight of everything he’s just said. He, on the other hand, is looking at you like you’re absolutely hopeless.
“Use your goddamn brain, woman,” Sukuna murmurs with a crooked grin, his deep voice thick with fondness. “Who’s actually clingy in this relationship? I’ve been chasing after you for years…” He trails off, clicks his tongue, then reluctantly admits, “…like a fucking idiot.”
Whatever heavy, stupid fog was clouding your mind finally lifts, swept away by a rush of pure warmth. A bright smile breaks across your face as your hands slide up his bare chest, arms winding tight around his neck to pull him down into a deep, lingering kiss.
Sukuna lets out a satisfied chuckle against your lips as he pulls back just slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "Understood?"
A breathless laugh escapes you, your chest still fluttery with relief. "Yeah. Thanks, Kuna." You kiss him again, softer this time, lips lingering on his. When you pull away, you can’t help but smile, teasing, "And it’s definitely you."
He groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "Don’t start, brat."
a/n: okay, so this happened because someone asked me to write about insecurities, and that ask somehow sent me down a completely different rabbit hole. i started thinking about the difference between insecurities and your brain just deciding to be an absolute asshole for one evening and… well, this happened.
dunno, maybe it's because my previous adhd meds used to make me overthink once they wore off, and it'd always be the most ridiculous stuff i'd never question in a million years otherwise.
rain softly tapped against the window while you were folded under a blanket on the couch, fast asleep.
satoru walks in, drenched from the rain. he shrugged off his soaked jacket and kicked off his shoes. he sighed, walking into the living room,
“baby, im home.” he calls out softly.
silence.
he frowned, that was unusual.
“baby?” he calls out again.
silence again.
it was only 5pm. there was no way you’re sleeping, satoru thought, until he saw you.
laying there like a cat, your lips slightly parted, both hands under your head.
“god baby..” he murmured, unable to hold back the smile forming on his face. he crouched down beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
youu looked so soft, so peaceful. he couldnt remember the last time he has seen you like this. no cute pouty lips or furrowed brows. just you... he couldn’t help himself.
his thumb traced your cheek just for a second before he leaned down, softly and carefully pressing a light kiss to your forehead.
fluff and a little suggestive - baby!gumi asking you and dad!toji for a sibling
you’re in the kitchen when it happens.
toji’s busy making coffee. his black hair still damp from his quick shower. shirtless because he’s supposedly allergic to clothes when he’s home. gumi is wobbling around on chubby legs with his little dinosaur toy clutched in one hand and milk dribbled down his chin.
you’re just trying to clean up after breakfast. gumi threw his congee all over the floor, because ‘fwoggie told him to’.
megumi climbs onto his little stool next to where you're trying to scrub the floor clean. plants both hands on the table. looks up at you with his big sleepy eyes and casually says, “mamamamama. i wan’ baby.”
you blink. “…baby what, sweetheart?”
megumi nods solemnly, as if he's prepared for this conversation and planned exactly what to say.
“baby brudder. or… baby sissie.”
you freeze. you slowly turn to look at toji.
he’s frozen too. mid-sip of coffee with his stupid pinky in the air. eyes wide over the rim of his mug.
“what.”
megumi points a chubby finger at you. then at toji. then pats his own pudgy belly.
“mama make baby.”
you make a garbled choking sound. there's silence for 3 beats while you're trying to comprehend what your child just said to you.
then, toji sets his mug down with exaggerated care.
smirking.
“wellllllllll, i mean, you heard the kid.”
“nope. no. absolutely not. no way.”
“oh come on,” he grins, ruffling megumi’s hair. “our first try went great. look at him. little plump gumi. 10/10. cutest kid in the whole world. clearly, we make good ones.”
you wipe your hands on a tea towel and shoot him a glare. “you probably put him up to this.”
“I wish i did. this is gold.” he crouches to eye-level with megumi. “hey, champ. wanna help me convince mama for new baby?”
megumi nods, then starts chanting, “baaaaby~ baaaby~” while patting your stomach with his sticky fingers.
you groan and try your hardest not to fall for your son and husband's efforts.
toji stands and kisses your cheek. “he’s right, y’know. you’d look hot pregnant again.”
you swat him. “you’re insufferable. and annoying. and an idiot.”
he leans down to murmur in your ear. “aren’t you meant to be ovulating soon? prime time, i reckon. what was that you said last time? text-book conditions?”
you blush immediately.
“i hate you.”
he grins, then kisses your neck and murmurs. “we should start practicing tonight. real diligently. you wouldn’t want to disappoint your beloved gumi, would you?”
megumi’s still chanting in the background, now shaking his toy dinosaur like a tambourine.
and you hate that there is a tiny, traitorous part of you that is already considering new baby names...
he looks down in shame. and ryomen sukuna is never ashamed of anything he’s done, and he’s done a lot of shit.
“that asshole was putting his hands on you” he huffs and looks at your chest instead of your eyes “so yes, again” you’ve never looked this visibly annoyed, and what was scaring him even more is how calm your voice was.
“look at me, not my tits ryomen” you narrow your eyes, he immediately looks up “yes ma’am” you grab his collar and the security turns a blind eye(he’s been getting on their nerves also)
“when I say no stupid shit, that means no-” you give him a hard slap “-jail, got it?” he just nods his face didn’t even budge, of course you don’t intend to harm your husband and you’re not abusive. sometimes with ryomen sukuna you literally need to smack some sense into him.
“yes ma’am” he nods again, “can you bail me now?” you roll your eyes “im not picking you up again, call choso” ryomens eyebrows knit together in annoyance “but i want you to pick me up” if anyone didn’t know any better, he’s whining for you to pick him up.
“no ryo” he tilts his head and subconsciously pouts then leans in “cmon woman, stop being a brat” his words have no bite, but when you smile he scowls.
you take a deep sigh and close your eyes, “last time” “i promise baby” he smirks.
you both know this definitely isn’t the first, nor the last.
ps. ok pinky promise this is the last drabble after this ima finish two more request than boxer choso is coming😭 taglist : : @in-aa @chewiebee @applelite @crybabylulu @yassifie-d @ai-no-tegami @silverwfern @oksukuna
The last shrill beep from the scanner dies out, and the cashier slides the final item across, leaving a mountain of grocery bags stacked at the end of the conveyor, teetering so much that it makes you wonder if they’ll topple before you even get a hand on them. Reaching for the battered metal cart you’d been dragging through the aisles, you barely get your hand on the handle before Sukuna lets out a flat, dismissive scoff behind you.
"Leave it," he mutters, nudging you away from it.
"What do you mean leave it?" you ask, looking up at him with a slight frown. "We have to get it to the car."
“I’m not walking all the way back across the lot just to return a piece of metal,” he grumbles, already shoving his hoodie sleeves up his forearms, brooking no argument.
“Kuna, the car’s parked at the very end of the row,” you whine, casting a helpless look at the mountain of groceries, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. “Uh. Fine.”
Before your fingers can even curl around the plastic handles, a large hand sweeps in, batting yours away with a gentle but unmistakable firmness.
“Don’t touch 'em,” Sukuna rumbles, a sly, knowing smirk tugging at his mouth as he steps right into your space, his massive frame blocking out the entire grocery counter behind him.
“I can carry the light ones," you protest with a little huff, crossing your arms as you look up at him. "The bread isn't going to break my arms."
"I said I’ve got it, brat," he chuckles deeply.
To prove his point, he gathers up the handles, looping the heavy canvas bags full of milk jugs, protein shakes, and soda bottles over his forearms, stacking plastic bags up his arms until they nearly reach his elbows. The lighter bags with bread, produce, and paper towels, he scoops up with his remaining fingers, refusing to leave a single thing for you. By the time he’s finished, he’s loaded down with the entire week’s haul in one stubborn, showy display of strength, looking for all the world like a pack mule who refuses to admit defeat.
A satisfied grunt rumbles out of him as he turns toward the automatic doors, and you can’t help but laugh softly, falling into step behind him, hands completely empty. He’s forced to walk a little slower, balancing the absurd volume of bags, and watching his broad shoulders shift beneath his hoodie, you’re hit with a sudden, ridiculous rush of affection that leaves you grinning like an idiot.
The walk to the very end of the parking lot row suddenly feels far too long to be spent walking apart from him.
Matching your pace to his long stride, you slip in beside him and glance down at his hands, completely swallowed by a sea of plastic handles.
"Kunaaaa," you call out, dragging his name out in a soft, teasing whine.
He doesn't look away from the car waiting in the distance, but his head tilts slightly toward you, tracking you out of the corner of his eye. "What?"
"Why aren't you holding my hand?" you ask, pitching your voice into the most exaggerated, tragic pout you can muster.
Sukuna stops dead in his tracks, planting himself right there on the open asphalt, weighed down by the mountain of groceries you insisted on. The sigh he lets out is so exasperated and dramatic that it practically makes you roll your eyes, but when you look up, you catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth, a fond, reluctant grin threatening to break through.
He stares at you like you’re the most ridiculous creature he’s ever met, then, with exaggerated slowness, shifts his wrist under the mountain of bags and wiggles his pinky free from the mess of handles, holding it out for you to take.
"There," he mutters, voice thick with the familiar blend of fondness and utter defeat. "Take it."
A bright, triumphant giggle bubbles up from your chest as you step in close, wrapping your whole hand around his thick finger. Satisfied, you set off again, tugging him along down the parking row like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Walking like that, you catch a few elderly ladies heading for the entrance openly grinning at the two of you, while a couple by their trunk tries—and fails—to stifle a giggle at the sight. The two of you must look completely ridiculous: this hulking, broad-shouldered man with face tattoos, arms overflowing with grocery bags, being led across the asphalt by his tiny wife clinging to just one finger.
Catching the stares, Sukuna lets out a quiet, amused huff, but falls right back into step beside you, his heavy footsteps perfectly in sync with yours. His pinky stays in your hand, hooked tight around one of your fingers, not loosening for even a second as you both make your way toward the car.
"You're completely shameless, you know that?" he murmurs down at you, crimson eyes softening with fondness as he shakes his head, clearly exasperated but unable to hide how your antics get to him. “Spoiled brat.”
"You can’t be mad for that when you’re the one who made me this way,” you chirp, happiness bubbling in your voice as you lean your shoulder into the solid weight of his loaded arm, just for a heartbeat before pulling away again.
"And look what I got for it," he grumbles, but the massive grin splitting his face betrays him completely, turning the complaint into something almost proud. "A wife who makes me carry twenty bags and still demands a hand to hold."
"Oh? Makes you? You can always let go if it's too much work," you tease, intentionally loosening your grip just a fraction to test him, watching for the inevitable reaction.
Sukuna’s pinky tightens instantly around your finger, a low scoff rumbling from his chest as you both finally reach the bumper. "Like hell I am. You're stuck now, angel. Pop the trunk."
Dilftoji but its been a few months since you started feeding your son. your chest got larger and so did your son’s appetite. Whenever toji comes near you while you and the baby spending so much time together, megumi gets protective and swats him away. I just know as a baby megumi is so sassy to toji and an angel to reader
since you started breastfeeding, two things became immediately apparent. your chest got heavier.
and so did your infant son’s sense of entitlement.
megumi clings to you with single-minded devotion, pudgy hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt, face smushed to your breast. toji approaches, intent on slipping an arm around your waist or pressing a kiss beneath your ear—and promptly receives a tiny, judgmental smack to the chest. thwap.
“again?” toji grumbles, hand still hovering mid-air. megumi narrows his eyes. you stroke his lower back, soothing.
“he’s just protective.”
“of what? his food?”
megumi lets out a soft, satisfied coo against your collarbone. a little angel. until his father so much as moves closer—then it’s kicking, swatting, territorial nonsense from a six-month-old with exactly four teeth. a tiny hand, uncoordinated but full of judgment, slaps his cheek again.
“oi,” toji mutters, blinking. you try to contain your laughter. it’s not the first time; any attempt at affection from your husband is met with swift retaliation. once, toji tried kissing your neck while megumi was still feeding. your son paused mid-feed, turned his entire head to glare at him, then resumed nursing with a sigh.
“what the hell is his problem?” toji grumbles, nursing another soft slap to the chin.
“he’s a mama’s boy,” you hum, resting your cheek atop the baby’s soft little head. “don’t take it personally.”
megumi coos sweetly into your collarbone. toji squints at the both of you. betrayed. exiled in his own home.
“can’t believe i’m being bullied by someone who shits himself.”
"what is?" toji grunts, not bothering to look up from the paper.
"sex during pregnancy. keeps the birth canal muscles, y'know...limber. makes giving birth easier!"
that piece of information finally earns a reaction: one of those his judgment-loaded side-eyes (the same one your son will wield with disturbing accuracy in less than a year's time.)
"you're making shit up again, aren't you?"
"yes," you continue, shameless, "sounds plausible, doesn't it?" toji sets the newspaper aside, thin brows knitting together. that's what throws you. no, not the frowning part—but the look of hesitation. "you sure 'bout this?"
"yeah. call that maternal instinct." then, with escalating desperation: "c'mon, toji, pleasepleasepleaseplease-"
lucky for you, whatever cold-blooded instincts toji uses in his line of work never once applied to you. it's obvious now more than ever, with him hunched over you, expression tugged taut with uncharacteristic caution. this is toji fushiguro—he who normally fucks like he's testing the structural integrity of the bed and antagonise the neighbours—is now moving with the trepidation of a teenager about to deflower his first love.
a broad hand settles on the swell of your belly, fingers splayed in a calmness that doesn't match the impatient twitch of his cock nudging between your folds. he mouths kisses at your cheek as he guides the leaking tip in. barely. your hormones have been staging a full-blown coup for weeks, and patience is not on the roster. hoping he'd get the hint, you rake your nails up his bulging bicep and thrust up your hips to urge him on, but he's determined to dictate his own pace. snail pace.
"oi, quit squirming will ya?" he grunts, pressing a sloppy kiss to your neck as a means to pacify you.
"toji," you whine, the noise sounding petulant to your own ears but you don't care. hell, you even jut out your bottom lip a bit.
"you're not even trying,"
"am trying," toji protests, groaning when your pussy clenches in irritation. "tryin' not to dent the kid's head. so excuse me for being cautious." the man actually has the audacity to demonstrate his point by rocking his hips once—a shallow, excruciatingly controlled thrust. it feels nice, but still it's nothing like the fullness you're used to. he's spoiled you and you both know it's not enough. you sigh plaintively, locking your legs around his slim waist. "mister, you're driving me crazy."
at that, toji snorts, the pale scar bisecting his lips twitching.
"yeah? join the club."
he grabs your ankles without warning (still remaining somewhat gentle), tossing your legs over his shoulders. before you can quip about the improved circulation for your swollen ankles (#fact), he finally snaps his hips forward. the sound is music to the perverted ear: a wet squelch as he buries himself to the hilt. the angle has your toes curling, stars erupting in your vision.
"there," he growls, voice cracking. "that good enough for you?"
In all of his wretched years of existence, Sukuna was only touched by people who wanted to kill him, beat him or maim him.
And yet you—a woman he had taken as a wife out of sheer boredom—had the gall to lay your hand upon him.
It was nothing grand—just your warm, gentle hand resting on his bicep.
Yet Sukuna stiffened under your touch and felt his skin burn with a foreign feeling. You noticed the change in his demeanor and quickly pulled your hand away.
“I'm… I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't mean to touch you without permission.”
And after that, you never did it again.
But Sukuna couldn't forget about it. No matter how hard he tried—even letting his enemies cut off that same limb. But it was useless when he felt that same, warm tingling sensation when he grew it back.
Your touch was seared deeply into his skin.
He should be angry at you for doing this to him. He should kill you.
But instead, he craved. He craved your soft hands on his body again. He imagined you in ways he never dared to—what would it feel like to have your hands gently cradle his face? Would you be disgusted when your fingertips brushed against his deformed face? Or what would it feel like to have you here in his large futon—limbs tangled together, you pressed against him completely bare, letting his large hands freely explore your body and his stomach mouth nibble at your abdomen.
Sukuna's face twisted into an annoyed scowl as he squashed away those thoughts. He glared at the ceiling of his chambers—sleep eluding him.
Then his gaze lazily shifted towards the shoji doors that lead to the garden. They were rattling against the harsh winds of an oncoming storm.
And then he recalled that you were terrified of storms.
Sukuna closed his eyes, completely adamant on ignoring that small detail. But it kept nagging him in the back of his mind like a pounding headache again and again until he clicked his tongue and rose from his futon.
“Stupid, foolish woman.” He grumbled irritably as he left his chambers and made his way towards yours.
And when he reached it, he heard your soft whimpers and sniffles. The sudden hitch of your breath when there was a brilliant flash of lightning followed by defeaning thunder.
Sukuna tore open the shoji door, making you scramble up to sit on your futon in surprise.
“M-My lord?!” You hastily wiped away your tears. “What are you doing here?”
“Your incessant snivelling is disturbing the entire estate, woman.” He narrowed his eyes at the way your hands were trembling. “More than this wretched storm.”
Sukuna approached you, noting the look of fear in your eyes under his looming figure. Your mouth opened, ready to spew out some nonsense apology.
You looked so weak—so pathetic. He should really just kill you and be done with it.
But he found himself bending down and shoving away the covers of your futon.
“Move over.” He grunted.
You were frozen, staring at him dumbfounded.
“Huh…?”
“I won't repeat myself again. Move over.”
You quickly scooted to the other side of the futon as he slid in and made himself comfortable. In his eyes, you looked like a frightened, little rodent tucked away in the corner who gasped at another crash of thunder.
And yet, Sukuna merely rolled his eyes and grabbed your arm, pulling you down and pressing you firmly against his chest. Four arms wrapped around you, his nose pressed against your hair while his stomach mouth breathed against your own stomach.
Again, he felt it. The warmth when your hands were curled tightly into fists against his chest.
He resisted the urge to shiver.
The room was quiet, save for the howling and constant pattering from the wind and rain.
You were still shaking in his hold.
Sukuna frowned.
“Why are you still shaking?” His chest rumbled from his deep voice. “Do you really have anything to fear while being in my arms?”
Slowly, as if some realisation had dawned upon you, the trembling of your body lessened until it completely stopped.
“No… I don't.”
You relaxed in his hold, your fingers slowly uncurling, spreading out against his chest. Sukuna has never felt this much warmth. Not even his own divine flame could compare.
“Sleep.” He grunted out.
You were silent but then shifted slightly against his chest before mumbling.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Sukuna didn't reply.
You were about to lift your face up to look at him—to see what kind of expression he had on his face. But he merely placed a large hand on your head and kept you buried against his chest.
“Disobeying me again? I said sleep, wife.” His voice sounded strained.
And you eventually did—you relaxed and fell into deep sleep as if you weren't in the arms of the most dangerous sorcerer in Japan.
It was a few hours after when Sukuna followed suit. Not before listening to the sound of your soft snores or the way you twitched or snuggled deeper into his hold. His senses were engulfed with the scent of your favourite body oil—camellia.
Sukuna's treacherous thoughts betrayed him yet again as he decided that he… wouldn't mind staying like this with you more often.
And so the very next day, he promptly shifted you to his own chambers.
You didn't object at all and happily made yourself at home.
fluff - the battle between husband!sukuna and baby!yuji for your attention
it starts when you sit down. that’s it. that’s all you did.
you legit sat down on the couch with your coffee, ready for just five uninterrupted minutes of peace.
no yelling. no crying. no farting.
but, of course, baby yuji waddles sprints out of nowhere to climb into your lap like a kitten seeking warmth.
“mama, mama, mama, mama, mama-“
his chubby hands grab your cheeks. he smooshes his face into yours. you blink through it. your fresh coffee now very much forgotten, as he launches into an impromptu monologue about a spider he saw in the hallway. you nod and listen very attentively to his ‘captivating’ and ‘life-changing’ story:
and that’s when sukuna appears in the doorway.
shirtless. hair wet. towel slung over one shoulder. mug of black coffee in one hand. he stares at you. then at yuji on your lap. then back at you.
“what?” you say.
“he’s in my spot.”
yuji turns and blinks at him with his wide pink eyes. then proceeds to leans over and licks your cheek. akin to a puppy marking it’s territory.
“mama mine.”
you wheeze. sukuna’s left eye twitches.
“did he just-“
“mmhm.”
“he licked you.”
“apparently, he does that now,” you shrug.
“that’s fuckin’ feral.”
“language!” you chide.
yuji sticks his tongue out, smug. “you’re feral, papa.”
“say that again, tiny goblin.”
“feraaaaal.”
“you wanna fight?”
you sigh. “you’re threatening a toddler. again.”
“he started it.”
“he’s two.”
“and evil.”
yuji crosses his arms, puffs his chubby rosy cheeks and shoots his father a very smug smile. sukuna glares back at his spawn. you sip your coffee and pretend you’re relaxing somewhere in fiji. by yourself.
fifteen minutes later, yuji is asleep on your chest. sukuna is sulking at the far end of the couch, muttering to himself like a grumpy cat that has been denied his favourite meal. you shift a little, adjusting yuji's favourite tiger blanket over his small and squishy sleeping form.
“he’s weirdly warm,” you whisper.
sukuna grumbles. “so am i.”
“he smells like bananas.”
“well, i smell like sandalwood and sex appeal. which is cooler.”
“you’re jealous of a baby.”
“i was here first.”
you giggle, and sukuna pouts harder. but a moment later, you reach out. with one hand still cradling your son, the other one extended towards ur adorably jealous husband.
he stares at it.
then slowly and in an incredibly dramatic fashion, sukuna slumps over and wraps his arms around the both of you. careful not to wake the goblin currently drooling on your shirt. you press a kiss to his temple.
pornstar!sukuna was hot, he knew it. It would have been hard to miss all the comments left on his videos. How fans drooled over his deep voice, tattoos, and how he knew exactly what to do with his dick to drive each actress wild.
pornstar!sukuna hooked up with many of his costars off camera. He was a bachelor—why not have a little fun? Especially when he knew just how to drive each girl crazy within a few minutes.
pornstar!sukuna never cared when people would publicly criticize them. simply reminding them via his Twitter & only Fans, that he's 'literally a fucking porn star' and they're a bunch of big babies for caring what he does with his cock.
pornstar!sukuna, was in the middle bitching about the particularly grueling shoot they had that day, when pornstar!satoru pointed at you, stumbling out of your bedroom, congratulating him for 'waking my roommate up at 3 am.'
pornstar!sukuna who froze, shirtless, cold slice of pizza in hand, as you rubbed your eyes, pointing a sleepy glare at him and muttered about "Satoru make your annoying ass friend shut up." before stumbling back into your room with a slam.
pornstar!sukuna who had never been so turned on while so exhausted. He knew it didn't make sense, but you were just so pretty in your nightgown, hazy look on your eyes as you grumbled... one look and he felt mesmerized.
pornstar!sukuna ended up crashing on the pullout sofa that night and woke up to a shriek and weight landing on his legs. You hadn't been paying attention and ended up stumbling right on top of him.
pornstar!sukuna, who, after taking a moment to wake up and check that you were okay, huffed, throwing his head back on the pillows. "Darling, If you wanted to go for a ride, all you had to do was ask."
pornstar!sukuna was careful as he helped you off him, taking notice of how flushed and flustered you seemed at his whispers. Helping you fix the bottom of your nightgown, winking at you as he rubbed the silk between his fingertips.
pornstar!sukuna who felt like a completely different guy from the one you'd seen in all the films he made with pornstar!satoru. Sure, he still seemed like an annoying jackass, but not as big of one as he let the media make him out to be. He was actually kind of... sweet. In a Sukuna way.
pornstar!sukuna who started hanging out at your place more often and began trying to start a conversation each time pornstar!satoru was busy. Doing everything, he could to ensure a friendship could grow between you.
pornstar!sukuna who was more than surprised to find out that you'd seen 'a lot' of his work, people had seen his work. He was famous, he knew that, but no one had casually dropped the information on him half-dressed & tipsy on another Porn star's couch before.
pornstar!sukuna who's jaw was on the floor when you teasingly told him he had definitely become your 'favorite Porn star' in the past few weeks before tracing shapes on a few of his tattoos
pornstar!sukuna who wasn't sure how it happened, one second his eyes were darting between you and your hand, the next he was ripping your clothes off in the cramped bathroom, pressing hot kisses to your collarbones.
pornstar!sukuna fought down sinful groans as he bottomed out in you, almost forgetting he did this with girls for a living once you whimpered his name, his muscles tensing as you sank your nails into his back.
pornstar!sukuna who you found out didn't fuck in real life, like he did in the movies. At least not with you. His thrusts were deep and controlled—like he was being careful with you. Almost the polar opposite of all the times you'd seen him make women babbling messes on his cock within a few thrusts.
pornstar!sukuna who kept his grip tight on your hips as you buried your face in his shoulder. "I'm going easy on ya' girl, don't tell me you can't take it." Followed by a particularly mean thrust, "You can take it pretty girl, just focus on me."
pornstar!sukuna felt like he was going insane every time you scratched at him or whimpered his name. Carefully, he propped you up on the counter as your arms snaked around his shoulders. tugging his face down to yours for a kiss as the new angle let him hit deeper.
pornstar!sukuna pressed a hand between your head and the wall to avoid any damage as he drilled into you, his low groans growing louder as you arched off the counter, clutching to his arms for dear life.
pornstar!sukuna who came at the same time as you and pressed his forehead against your chest while he caught his breath, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips as you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
pornstar!sukuna who had just barely finished helping you redress, when pornstar!satoru got home with dinner and subtly rubbed out the aches in your hips whenever pornstar!satoru wasn't looking.
pornstar!sukuna, who under no circumstances would hook up with another costar again, not after having you.
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