chaosmyth

01 line ♡ multifandom

[satomiu]

₊ ݃ 　࿔ྀིྀ　 ꒰ 𓈒 NANAMI KENTO might be the pettiest man alive . . . ⎯⎯　 ꒰ 1.3k ! ꒱ 　💭

contrary to outsider belief, your marriage to nanami worked remarkably well. too well.

a shocking revelation, considering you were “ill-tempered” while nanami had the patience of a saint, allegedly . . . .

the truth of the matter was that beneath the all the composure, politeness, and that expensive wristwatch kento always wore on his wrist, your husband unfortunately was just as much of a brat as you were.

if not, worse.

the two of you held grudges over the stupidest things imaginable: once, nanami corrected your pronunciation of “espresso” during breakfast. so? you didn’t kiss him goodbye before work for three whole days.

in retaliation, your coffee that he would make you each morning mysteriously happened to arrive without the three ounces of sugar you so adamantly required to — “balance out the armpit taste.”

petty. childish. ridiculous.

yet somehow, these cold wars became the foundation of a deeply functional marriage.

“kento dear,” you began, soft steps quietly thudding against the wooden floors as you made your way to him, who was fully dressed: soft charcoal sweater hanging off his frame, pushed up revealing his forearms, reading glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose while his sandy locs unstyled in a way you almost never got to see outside these walls.

which, unfortunately, was the problem. he was far too comfortable for the atrocities he had just committed against you whilst you slept.

“did you touch it?” your voice coming out suspiciously calm.

nanami doesn’t even look up from the cup of jasmine tea he was nursing. “no.”

you only narrow your eyes as you finally end up next to him. “kento.”

that bratty tone of yours was enough to earn you a glance now, hazel eyes tired yet sharp all the same. “i told you, no.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, crossing your arms, looking up at him expectantly, “waking up feeling like i got left in a meat locker says otherwise.”

he shuts his eyes as he takes a slow sip of his tea, setting it down with a soft clink, the steam curling between you. “interesting,” he begins, voice flat with quiet amusement.

“you seem quite functional for someone who claims they’re—” he pauses, unimpressed, before lifting his hand and giving your forehead a quick, precise knock with his knuckles, withdrawing before you can even think to catch his wrist. “—frozen solid.”

“ugh!” you huff, hands missing his wrist and instead clutching your forehead with an adorable frown. “i’m not frozen solid, but i’m going to be. i don’t know why you just can’t leave it on 72.”

he exhales slowly through his nose, “you know i get hot. i shouldn’t have to strip to be comfortable in my own home,” he says flatly.

his hand lifts without much ceremony, gently replacing yours on your forehead. he briefly rubs the spot he’d knocked before his fingers slip down to tug lightly at your ear, earning an immediate, indignant whine from you.

“or would you prefer i start walking around the house naked instead?”

“what? i’m not answering that.” you say, turning your face slightly away from him, the words coming out clipped as you huff under your breath, “pervert…”, still clearly offended at the recurring offenses.

you manage to slap his arm away. “i don’t see why you insist on wearing long sleeves and then complain you’re hot.” you grumble. “you’re making me hot just by looking at you.”

he scoffs softly at that, as if the answer is obvious. “i wear it because i enjoy being properly dressed,” he replies, smoothing an imaginary crease from his sleeve before leveling you with a look. “and physiologically speaking, it’s significantly easier to warm up than it is to cool down.”

“so, like i said,” he murmurs, reaching for his tea again, “the thermostat stays where it is.”

and just like that, the war begins . . .

the rest of the day was full of quiet hostilities:

the two of you swiping the thermostat in opposite directions each time you walked by, addressing each other by first name as if you were two disgruntled coworkers trapped in an enemies to lovers arrangement rather than of spouses, nanami opening windows for “circulation” while you wrapped yourself in blankets like a victorian child afflicted with a devastating illness, texting each other back and forth instead of verbally communicating.

YOU ‣ my hands are blue and numb. i hope your happy

KENTO ‣ *You’re How are you texting me then?

YOU ‣ don’t be annoying ken. that’s not the point

clearly, neither of you were willing to concede. which only meant this was quickly becoming a battle of endurance rather than a dispute about “temperature”. which also meant this was not going to end soon.

or so you thought.

despite the many, many hours of domestic warfare, the two of you still end up in bed the same way you always did, backs turned dramatically beneath the blankets, the thermostat unfortunately still set at 63. which meant nanami was winning.

the cold seeped through the sheets and curled around your legs until your body instinctively tucks in on itself, shoulders hunching deeper beneath the comforter with a quiet frown hidden against your pillow. beside you, nanami remaining entirely unaffected, laid comfortably on his side with one arm tucked beneath his pillow, warmth practically radiating off of him in waves.

it was infuriating.

because no matter how committed you were to the cold war, your body had always betrayed you first when it came to your husband.

sometime somewhere in between stubbornness and sleep, you found yourself shifting toward him subconsciously, inch by inch until your forehead presses against his back, your leg slipping over his beneath the blankets in search of warmth. the soft fabric of the white shirt he’d changed into earlier brushes against your skin, warm from sleep and smelling faintly of cedarwood and tea.

and god, the bastard was warm.

firm beneath your touch too, broad shoulders relaxing slightly the second you curl fully into him with a sleepy little sigh.

you knew he was awake. you could tell by his breathing, it wasn’t the same comforting slow that soothed you once the day came to an end.

for a moment, neither of you said anything, pride still clawing at your insides. then came the soft shifting of sheets before nanami turned toward you, your forehead brushing against his chest as his strong arms came to cage you in instinctively, one settling around your waist while the other tucked beneath your head. his chin rested atop your hair with a quiet exhale, pulling you into his warmth. 

your fingers curl weakly into the front of his shirt, face pressing deeper against his chest despite yourself. somewhere above you, nanami hums softly, entirely too aware of the fact that you were the one to cave first.

an inevitable outcome.

“interesting,” he murmurs into your hair, sleep roughening his voice. “what happened to hating me?”

you grumble something incoherent against him.

“mm?” he asks, entirely too pleased with himself. “couldn’t quite hear you love.”

your brows pinch immediately. “still hate you.”

his chest rumbles faintly beneath your cheek at that, amusement subtle but absolutely there. absolutely nanami.

“so, you admit defeat?”

you tilt your head up just enough to glare at him through the dark. “i told you. don’t say anyth—”

you were going to argue. save whatever was left of your pride.

except your words barely make it out before he tips your face up just enough to cut you off with a slow kiss, warm and unbearably smug beneath the blankets.

any and all insults died in your throat as butterflies began to bloom low in your stomach, your leg still hiked around his waist while his warmth slowly melted the last stubborn pieces of your pride away as your lips firmly molded against his own, a soft sigh escaping you. one of spite, obviously.

you could feel the faint curve of amusement against your lips when your annoyed little huff melts into him anyway — the exact outcome the two of you had been stubbornly dancing around all day out of pettiness and “spite.”

nanami pulls away from you before resting his thumb on your lower lip. “there you are love,” he murmurs softly against your mouth, breath mingling with yours: entirely too pleased with himself.

“63 seems perfectly fine to me, no?”

he only watches as your expression softens in real time before giving the faintest nod — mentally noting the effect he had on you.

“mm,” he murmurs. “thought so.”

what a horrible, horrible man you married.

nanamipill era incoming

[mimuju]

olderbf!nanami headcannons ! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.

"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.

"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."

you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."

he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."

olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.

"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.

he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."

you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"

"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."

you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.

olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.

he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.

"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."

you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.

he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."

olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.

"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."

you pout. "i don’t want to wait."

he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."

olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.

"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.

you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."

olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.

"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.

"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."

olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.

he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.

"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.

"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."

"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."

he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."

you bite your lip, your face burning.

"please fuck me, nanami. please."

he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."

olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.

he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.

"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.

"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."

olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.

"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.

"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.

tags :

babygirl : @sadisticslut666

perm - @whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings@grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights @error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @cupidstrace @iam-souless@sindulgent666 @chewiebee @tojisballhair @ex1acy @palanggaaa@yourlocalcatscammer @ehcilhc @gravecyte @restingoasis @satorupi@laburantesdoll @sxpernova @thethyri @lostgeto @lilytrn @mikaari0 @chososballhair @nanamissilkytie @iwasabs @tojis-juicymantitys @laitifly @farylfordaryl @bl1ndv3lvet @booboobear-12 @6arcxm @sleeplessdancer @chloeee20 @deartoru @neptunezxx @ash273819 @sketchbonked @vanillakirstein @valberryboos @itimisu @livviaaaaa@kebablover @babyluvlol @audreytoru 

[mimuju]

sukuna is not happy about piercing your daughters ears :c (reposted from mimuju! art by @/sgtbake_r on X)

"no. absolutely not. you're not touching her."

sukuna's voice is a low growl, his massive arms wrapped protectively around your toddler daughter in the piercing chair. the lady with the piercing gun pauses, eyes wide at the tattooed giant glaring daggers from his spot beside you. 

she's tiny, maybe 2, all chubby cheeks and wild pink hair like her dad's, dressed in a frilly dress you picked out for her "big girl day," complete with little mary janes. you've been hyping it up for weeks—tiny sparkly studs, nothing crazy, just simple diamonds to match her eyes. but sukuna? he's been grumbling since you suggested it, muttering about "barbaric customs" and "ruining perfection."

"baby, it's just earrings," you say softly, squeezing his knee under the counter. "she'll look so cute! and it'll heal fast. millions of girls get this done."

he shoots you a look, all four eyes narrowing under those sharp black brows. "she's a baby. babies don't need holes poked in their heads. what if it gets infected? what if she hates it?" but he doesn't move, holding her steady on his lap, her little hands clutching his black shirt, babbling happily at the shiny gun like it's a toy.

the piercing lady smiles nervously, gun ready, trying to lighten the mood. "it'll be quick, sir. one little pop on each side. she's been great so far."

sukuna huffs, his breath ruffling your daughter's hair, but he nods once, jaw clenched so tight you see the muscle tick. "fine. make it painless or i'll make you regret it. i am unlike my wife, i have no mercy for mortals."

you bite back a laugh, watching him brace like he's facing a battlefield. the lady counts down—three, two, one—and pops the first stud through your daughter's earlobe. instant wail. a piercing cry that echoes in the small shop, her face scrunching up beet red, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, little legs kicking wildly.

sukuna freezes, body going rigid, then twitches like he's been shot himself. "what the fuck was that?!" he snarls, his free hand slamming the counter hard enough to make the jewelry displays rattle, tattoos rippling across his skin like living shadows. all four eyes lock on the lady like he's about to curse her into oblivion right there. "do that again and you're fucking dead, you hear me?"

the poor woman stammers, the cheap piericng gun trembling in her hands, face paling. "i-it's normal! just the shock! she's fine, look—the second one's done already, see?" she pops the other ear quick as lightning, and your daughter's tiny fists flailing at the air, her cries turning into quiet hiccups.

you can't help it—you burst out giggling, hand over your mouth, tears in your eyes from laughing. "kuna, oh my god— she's fine! look, sparkles already! she's got her earrings, see how pretty?"

he ignores you completely, scooping her up fully into his massive arms, cradling her against his broad chest like she's made of glass. his glare stays pinned on the lady for a long beat, utterly murderous, promising vengeance, before it softens instantly on his girl. 

"shh, shh, my little princess. daddy's got you. that mean lady's gone forever, i swear it." he rocks her gently side to side, his huge hand patting her back in slow circles, the other stroking her wild pink hair with surprising tenderness. her cries taper to sniffly hiccups, soothed by his deep rumble of a voice humming some ancient, gravelly lullaby from his cursed past, the kind only you know about.

you lean in, kissing his stubbled cheek, still chuckling softly. "she won't even remember this tomorrow. but you'll be telling the story for years, won't you, kuna?"

he grunts, still shooting one last glare over his shoulder at the lady as you pay and gather her things. "no more piercings. ever." but he presses a soft kiss to her tiny forehead, her sparkly new earrings catching the shop lights like stars, and you know he's already melting inside, utterly whipped for his perfect little girl.

tags - babygirl : @sadisticslut666

perm - @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights @error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @cupidstrace @iam-souless @sindulgent666 @chewiebee @tojisballhair @ex1acy @palanggaaa @yourlocalcatscammer @ehcilhc @gravecyte @restingoasis @satorupi @laburantesdoll @sxpernova @thethyri @lostgeto @lilytrn @mikaari0 @chososballhair @nanamissilkytie @iwasabs @tojis-juicymantitys @laitifly @farylfordaryl @bl1ndv3lvet @booboobear-12 @6arcxm @sleeplessdancer @chloeee20 @deartoru @neptunezxx @ash273819 @sketchbonked @vanillakirstein @valberryboos @itimisu @livviaaaaa @kebablover @babyluvlol @audreytoru

sukuna - @lav4mpira

[iheartyuyu]

5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.

oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.

— ☆ —

1. movie nights.

you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.

first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?

for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.

your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.

tonight, everything was perfect.

you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—

bzzz.

you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?

you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.

you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.

so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”

he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.

“can i come in?”

you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”

“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.

holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—

“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”

your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”

you paused. “well…”

“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”

“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”

he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”

“hey—“

he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”

“oh. you didn’t have to—“

“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”

with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.

what. the. fuck.

2. hangouts.

you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.

at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.

however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.

today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.

the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.

“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”

you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”

he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”

you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”

you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”

before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.

and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”

“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“

“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”

you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”

“…did you just call me angel?”

his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”

that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?

you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.

fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.

how horrible for you.

3. aquarium.

you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”

she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”

“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”

she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”

“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”

she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”

you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.

and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.

‘couples only day!’

“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”

“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.

“yes.”

“ask sukuna to go with you.”

you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”

“that is quite literally not what i said.”

“you’re a genius.”

you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.

what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.

you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”

“…where?”

he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”

“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”

his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”

you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”

“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”

you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.

you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.

“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.

“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”

gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.

4. the beach.

you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.

you were freezing.

you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.

oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—

a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.

“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”

ah. your genie.

you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.

fuck. how could someone be so pretty?

he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”

“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”

“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”

“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”

“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”

“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”

he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”

you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.

you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”

he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.

what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.

“…you went early, huh?”

“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.

“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”

you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”

you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“

he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.

holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.

well. at least it wasn’t you this time.

5. studying.

as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.

during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”

gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”

“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”

gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”

“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”

you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”

“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”

“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”

you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”

“yes, please.”

later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.

you really needed caffeine.

everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—

fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.

sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?

you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.

you: please :c

a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.

“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”

“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”

you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”

he hummed. “good.”

in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.

you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”

he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”

in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”

you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”

his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”

“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”

he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”

was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”

“don’t mention it, angel.”

+1.

against your will, you were dragged to a party.

you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.

you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.

gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.

you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.

sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.

sukuna covering you with a blanket.

sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.

geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.

sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.

after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.

the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”

“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”

“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”

it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.

“…the stars are pretty.”

“mhm.”

he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”

“…mhm.”

he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”

“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.

“fuck.”

“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”

and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”

you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”

he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”

“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.

he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”

that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”

his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“

you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,

he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.

once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”

“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”

“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”

“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”

“…anything you fucking want, forever.”

[mwphisto]

I’ve seen so many posts about how the LaDs men would react to you being seriously injured — and ugh it just feeds my angst craving so damn good.

Losing blood, you’re lying on the ground clutching your side where the wanderer had slashed you just a little too damn deep. You’re convinced it’s punctured your lung, but somehow your heart is still intact.

Warm, sticky blood is coating your fingers, your palm, seeping up the white linen of your sleeve. It’s nauseating, the pain and the sensations. You’re hot and cold at the same time, eyes bleary as you reach for your phone.

You can’t coordinate your fingers enough to type what you need too, so you click his contact and ring his line.

It’s as if he already knows, your name leaving his lips laced tightly with concern. But you’re talking with the last of your strength, your consciousness slipping through your fingers as freely as the blood from your side.

You give a half hearted explanation of what happened, not bothering to share all the crucial details because you figure you’re going to die anyway. You have a lot to say still, and you’d be damned if you died without saying it.

A wavering prayer of “I love you so much” and “I’m sorry” for what you weren’t even sure but you figured there was something you needed to apologize for.

The phone is slipping, you’re at the end. You can hear him still, faintly calling your name as your phone beeps. It’s being tracked, your location being sent. Maybe he’ll get there in time, maybe you still have a chance.

Still, you’re at peace as darkness swallows you whole.

[amazinglyashy]

Hi hi I just found your blog like an hour ago and I’ve been scrolling and am obsessed with the way you write for the l&ds!! ❤️❤️ if you don’t mind I love a little angst and was wondering if you could write the boys reacting to MC showing up at their doorstep heavily injured from like a fight with a wanderer.

Oh my gosh thank you!!! And I don't mind at all, my friends make fun of me for how much I enjoy hurt/comfort and angst :'D Thank you for the request!

LaDS men react to you appearing on their doorstep, injured and bleeding

Xavier -

If you end up at his door, it's more than likely because your unconscious decided to hit the button for his floor rather than your own. You just wanted to get home, not bother anyone, but he's stood right there. Having just come home from grabbing a late night snack from a nearby convenience store, you stumbled out of the elevator right as he's unlocking his front door.

He drops his keys and his bag.

It's a good thing too, because your legs gave out right then, so it's much better for him to catch you if his arms are free.

He's calling your name, and while you're still conscious, you're not really processing anything anymore. You're in too much shock, and you've lost too much blood by now.

He'll get the door unlocked and rush you inside his apartment, setting you down on his couch as he runs for a first aid kit, calling the association for emergency services while he does so.

"You're going to be okay. I promise. Just continue to breathe, alright?"

Xavier doesn't know if he's saying that to comfort you or himself, but he also isn't stopping to think about it, as he rapidly administers first aid to your wounds to at least slow the bleeding until help can arrive.

It's three in the morning but he's wide awake sitting next to your bed at the hospital, something unnatural for someone so sleep deprived usually.

He can't bring himself to shut his eyes though.

It's not work the risk.

Not until you wake up first.

Zayne -

It's like his brain splits into two the moment that he sees you standing there.

One side is his medical knowledge rushing forward as he moves to catch you as your feet stumble beneath you, trying to impossibly assess the extent of the damage before even getting to see it all. It's the half that's taking you to his kitchen table, because it's the easiest workspace for him right now. The one that's pulling out his doctor's bag from the closet in the hall, and the first aid kit from the cupboard in the kitchen as he cuts your shirt open.

The other side?

Oh honey, his heart is breaking.

If you think there's a day at work where he doesn't pray to any existent or nonexistent god that he doesn't see you today, spread out on a gurney or operating table without warning due to your unconscious state, then you'd be painfully wrong.

It's amazing how well he works while panicking on the inside, his skilled hands patching your wounds after meticulous sterilization, any sutures needed placed perfectly even through your pained groans tugging at his heart.

He knows he needs to get you to the hospital, even though he's taken good care of you in his own home. But he needs to sink to the floor for a minute, his back dragging against the wall as he heaves a deep sigh. It's a heavy toll feeling the stick of the dried blood on his hands- your blood on his hands.

With all his knowledge, he knows you'll be okay. He knows he himself will be okay. But right now-

He's not.

Sylus -

The N109 zone is beyond dangerous, mostly due to the criminals and leeches lurking in the dark shadows, but there's also no shortage of Wanderers, including ones that have been genetically altered to be even worse than they normally were.

So when Sylus sees you stumbling at his doorstep, bloodied hand reaching for the knob as he glances at the camera feed, he's not sure he could say he's ever moved so fast in his life otherwise. "Sweetie-" He breathes, as he catches you, scooping you up and rushing you inside as quickly as he possibly can without aggravating your already extensive injuries.

Luke is already running for first aid, and Kieran is already contacting the doctor. Mephisto is shrieking in the hall as he follows Sylus to his bedroom, protesting the fact that Sylus had needed him for surveillance of a target today instead of watching you.

Sylus knows.

He knows this is his fault.

If he had had someone keeping an eye on you, this wouldn't have happened.

His eyes are glued to your barely conscious form in his arms, the guilt in the recesses of his heart digging deeper with every slather of red that painted your skin.

Sorry to say, you're going to have your work cut out for you when you wake up. It's going to take a lot of heavy lifting on your part to convince him that he's not at fault for what happened to you.

And you will be waking up.

Sylus will make sure of that.

Rafayel -

Don't make his nightmares a reality.

Not again.

He's catching you before you can even begin to sway, and he'll be lucky if he remembers to shut the door behind him, his body melding against yours as he picks you up and runs down to his car.

"No, no no no. You stay awake, cutie."

He's definitely breaking at least a dozen laws just trying to get you to Akso hospital as quickly as he can. His mind is racing as fast as his car is moving down the streets, wondering what could have happened to you, what he should be doing right now, if he should have administered first aid to you before taking off-

But he's there so fast, it would have been nearly identical on the clock regardless of him still choosing to rush you to the hospital, or run to get and administer first aid for you from within his home.

He's there until you wake up- wide awake no matter how long it takes. It could be minutes, hours, days- he can't sleep. The image of you dying before him- the image of you standing on his doorstep as well- etched on the back of his eyelids every time he tried to close his eyes.

He talks to you even when you're not awake, stroking your hand, your cheek, the side of your neck- trying to make sure you're as comfortable as he can make you.

When you wake up again, he has to hold himself back with everything in him from squeezing you too tightly. He doesn't want to burst your stitches or harm you, but his body and arms are all-encompassing on you as he hugs you firmly, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

He really doesn't need you to see him cry.

[sugurusprettyboi]

You laid motionless in bed. A numb feeling taking over your body, as if your soul was miles away from your body.

Before you could slip deeper into your own despair, there was a knock at the door.

Suguru peered into your room with a weary expression. His gaze shifted from the untouched bowl of fruit he had given you hours ago and back to the lump under the covers on the bed.

A small sigh left his lips. Looking at you right now almost felt like looking into a mirror. He understood what you were feeling but he didn’t know how to help you, how to save you from drowning in your own mind

After another moment of silence he stepped into the room closing the door behind him without a word.

You weren’t able to react before he laid in bed beside you, cradling you from behind. His movements were hesitant as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing.

Geto moved his arms in between the two of you to stroke your hair.

It wasn’t a huge gesture or a therapy session but it was enough. It was the two of you.

Note: i wanted this to be a little sadder but it’s whatever

[kkunai]

[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna finds out his favorite pregnant concubine is injured :: tags. fluff, angst, reader gets called ‘woman’ :: ac. @/greybookman on x

you want that damn scroll.

one of the old texts on yokai lore sukuna left half-unrolled on a high shelf days ago. boredom and the restless energy of pregnancy drives you to it. standing on the tips of your toes, with one hand braced against the lacquered cabinet, you stretch up.

your belly, round and full at nearly eight months, shifts heavily. the baby kicks hard as if protesting.

“just... a little more—“

the wood creaks. your foot slips on the woven tatami mat and then the world tilts.

you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”

[kissunarin]

[08:03 am]

you wake up at the feeling of tiny, sticky hands pulling at your cheeks. letting out a soft hum, opening your eyes slowly to find the cutest little face in front of you, smiling brightly

“morning’, mommy!” he chirps, flashing you his baby teeth.

“mmm, good morning, baby” you murmur sleepily, hand going to his face, brushing his messy bed hair off his forehead, “you are up early today,”

“yeah! i dreamed about you!” he excitedly tells you as you slowly sit on the bed, pulling your son into your lap

“yeah? about what?”

before your son can even open his mouth, a low grunt made both of you turn your heads to the other side of the bed to see a tuft of pink hair buried face down on the pillows, a muscular, tattoed arm emerging from the covers to settle heavily around your stomach.

“s’too fucking early for this,” your husband mutters under his breath, eyes still squeezed shut.

you swat at his arm, a smile tugging at your lips the moment yuuji starts giggling at his dad’s bad word. “ryo! language,” you scold softly and your husband finally opens his eyes slowly, squinting against the morning light.

“brat’s old enough, don’t you think?” sukuna asks, looking at his son, who only nods enthusiastically.

“yeah, mommy! i’m a big kid, i got 'munity to bad words!” your son puffs his chest proudly, tilting his chin up

sukuna flashes you a sleepy, loopsided smirk before closing his eyes again. this time, his arm raise from your stomach to tug at yuuji, making the little boy fall between the two of you.

“go back to sleep, brat. it’s saturday and too early to be up,” he says, his big hand covers  his son’s face to force him to close his eyes and yuuji giggles, moving his face back and forth to escape his father’s grip.

“dad! i was going to tell mommy about my dream!” he whines, pouting but the little yawn that leaves his lips tells you he was ready for another hour or so of sleep.

“later, let your mom rest,” sukuna opens an eye to look at you, gesturing with his head for you to lie back down, “come here, ma. cuddle your husband and son,”

you let out soft laugh, lying on your side, soon feeling the weight of your husband’s arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and the now sleepy yuuji tucked against his chest.

closing your eyes, you let out a dreamy sigh, falling back to sleep enveloped by the warmth of your two favorite boys.

a/n: wanna see what was yuuji's dream? here !

[heathsuii]

disagreement with boyfriend!nanami

arguing with your boyfriend over something so petty—actually funny that it's still ongoing.

nanami kento made a vow to never let you go to bed with a heavy heart.

your boyfriend, who'd take the blame and apologize for every argument no matter who was at fault.

the same man who swore he'd love you even if you were a louse (put you on his head just so you'd survive typeshi).

it all started on a wednesday afternoon. sunlight streamed through the windows as you both curled into the couch. the tv played a movie—something about high schoolers signing—but your mind drifted off elsewhere.

"are we meant to be?" you queried at the man slumped against you.

"not really." he said, entirely unfazed.

"excuse me?"

—

it was day two of ignoring nanami.

he stepped into the bedroom, spotting you curled under the covers with your back to him. the room was dark except for the faint glow from the hallway.

"darling?" he padded over and gently sat on the edge of the bed.

he reached out to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

"i apologize but i still find the notion of fate disagreeable."

you don't respond.

"it could've picked anyone for me. any random person across town or some celebrity i don't like." you turn, glaring daggers at your boyfriend.

"fate didn't choose you." nanami said softly, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. "i did."

he turned his head slightly and tucked the duvet under your chin.

"i believe i chose you every single day since we met." his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "i chose to be the first one you see when you open your eyes. and be the last before you sleep."

his thumb brushes your cheekbone.

"even when my hair turns white. even if my skin starts to wrinkle. even if i won't be able to open my eyes. even if you can't hear me anymore."

a smile tugged at his lips.

"i choose you because you are my life."

"am i a pokemon to you now?"

kento, come back home. me and the kids miss you.

not proofread. dividers by anitalenia

[yogurtyuri]

Toji puts a cutout picture of your face on him for baby megumi when your away for work!

Based on this pic lol

Your not sure what you just walked into when you came home. Toji laying on the blanket covered floor with megumi beside him with his bottle, while Toji has a picture of your face on the side of his face while stretching out wearing your clothes.

"Toji?" you snort "What is going on here?"

"Exactly how it looks mama, the brat kept crying for you and wouldn't shut up so I had to improvise."

Toji just doesn't know what to do, he's changed him, gave him his favorite plushies you bought him, and tried to feed him but he doesn't want his bottle!

Megumi is currently screeching out of his lungs, "Quit cryin' brat!" Megumi just crys even louder if that's even possible.

Toji sighs unsure of what to do, that's when he came up with his brilliant idea.

He prints out a picture of you when you were on a date, his favorite picture. Then he went through your closet to try to find the biggest liar of pants and shirt you had and then wore it.

"Alright let's see if this works."

He grabs Megumi who is still crying and his bottle and lays down on the floor he had covered with blankets so his back wouldn't hurt and placed Megumi beside him and taped the picture of you on the side of his face.

He gave Megumi his bottle and to his surprise it actually worked, Megumi actually stopped crying and accepted the bottle, while staring at the picture of you, Toji smirked and watched his phone until you came home.

You just couldn't help but laugh at his story, "You just stayed like that for hours? Doesn't your back hurt?"

"It hurts like hell but I at least got him to shut up until you came home."

"Aw..seems like Megumi really missed me," you kiss megumi's face all over and he squeals.

"Hello? I missed you too you know, you kissin' the wrong person."

"Your right my apologies." You chuckle and kiss Toji

"Yeah right" He smirks, and sits up "Now I know what to do when he gets like that again."

[bwounce]

sukuna wants to settle with u. fluff/nsfw. 18+ mdni

ryomen sukuna had countless of people drop to their knees, willing to please him and serve him. some on their own free will, some forced. but your devotion felt different.

it was different in the way you can just sense when he’s had a bad day, greeting him in the living room when he drops down on the couch, huge body sprawled out, and you crawl between his legs, your sweet mouth attempting to work around his thick tattooed length until the sour memory of his day is replaced by the feeling of your sweet mouth around him.

it was the way you looked at him whenever he pulled out his wallet to pay for whatever caught your eye. those soft, adoring doe eyes that made something warm settle in his chest. sukuna had made good money, of course, but he’d never been the type to spend it on someone else unless he absolutely had to. but he let you indulge instead.

“whatever you want,” he’d gruffly mutter, sliding his card into your hand with effortless indifference while you rambled on about some outfit you’d been rambling about on for weeks. “s’not like I’m gonna spend it.”

it was the way you looked on a sunday morning, standing in the kitchen with his oversized band tee slipping off a shoulder, completely unaware of the huge figure lingering in the doorway behind you. he watched quietly as you stirred the batter for the chocolate flavoured pancakes you’d insisted on making for him— and god, the sight of it made something deep in his chest tug in the best way.

it was in the way you insisted on wearing matching pjs with him to bed, getting teary eyed when he denies in hopes to blackmail the unit of a man in front of you. you’d cling to his side like a pest with his portion of the pj in hand and shove it on when he’s unaware! *cute*

the feeling felt menacing to him at first. it was unlike him to want something this domestic so badly. he never thought he’d crave slow domestic mornings, shared clothes, or the comfort of someone to come home to. but you made that kind of life look easy. you made it look good enough to want.

sukuna doesn’t want to scare you, the thought of you recoiling away you off with a proposal is constantly weighing on his mind, his true feelings towards the matter only coming out when he had you under him, your sweet self being offered yourself to him after he’d had a long day. he’s got your legs over his strong shoulders, the base of his cock creamy from his (4th?) release as you whimper, his thick veiny hand pressing down on your lower stomach. this is where sukuna really gets vulnerable, a rare but delightful occurrence.

his vulnerability is veiled underneath filthy praises. “th’s it doll, taking me like a fuckin’ pro. could do this for the rest of my life. you want that, yeah? want me to stick a big shiny rock on that pretty little finger? make you my little wife? what would people think hm? sweet little thing like you walking ‘round a big old man like me. you want that don’t you, pet?” you can barely work out what he’s saying because he rambles it all into one breath, grunting into your shoulder as his balls slap against you, pushing you towards one final orgasm and himself toward his first release. you could barely think straight, but you knew a conversation was due after he’d finished emptying his balls into you.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — ©bwounce   do not copy / repost.

[elsietopia]

Chapter 1: "The Third Wife"

You arrive at Sukuna's palace as his third wife—a political offering, nothing more. Unlike your predecessors, you don't arrive with expectations of love or power. You arrive with seeds for a dead garden and kindness for forgotten servants. In a palace built on fear, you plant hope. And the Emperor notices.

WC: 2,891 ───〃★ masterlist

The cherry blossoms had long since fallen.

Winter gripped the palace grounds in skeletal fingers, leaving behind bare branches and frozen earth. It was fitting, you thought, for a place like this—a palace ruled by a man they called a monster, a curse, a demon in human skin.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Your husband, as of three hours ago.

The wedding ceremony had been efficient. Cold. You'd been dressed in the finest silk—crimson and gold, colors that complemented the tattoos you'd glimpsed on his skin—and led through corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly. The few servants you'd passed had kept their eyes down, their footsteps hurried, as if lingering too long in these halls might invite catastrophe.

You didn't blame them.

You'd heard the stories. Everyone had. The Emperor who'd conquered lands with nothing but his cursed energy and ruthlessness. The man who'd taken a first wife and cast her aside when her jealousy became tiresome. A second wife who'd lasted even less time—too vapid, too eager to please, ultimately too boring to keep his interest.

Now there was you.

The third wife.

A treaty offering from your father's province, a political band-aid for a conflict your family couldn't hope to win. You'd accepted your fate with the same quiet grace you'd accepted everything else in life—with steady hands and a calm heart, even when your mother had wept.

"Someone will show you to your chambers," the officiant had said after the ceremony, and then you'd been alone.

Not entirely alone, you supposed. Somewhere in this sprawling palace, Sukuna's concubines resided. You'd seen a few during the ceremony—beautiful women dripping in jewels, their eyes sharp as they assessed the new wife. You'd met their gazes evenly, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

You weren't here to make enemies. You weren't naive enough to think you could make friends either.

The shoji door slid open, and two young women entered—both looking no older than yourself. They bowed in perfect unison, their movements practiced but stiff with nervousness.

"Empress," the first one said, her voice barely above a whisper. She had gentle brown eyes and her hands trembled slightly. "I am Danielle. This is Haerin. We've been assigned to attend to you."

The second girl—Haerin—kept her eyes downcast, her posture rigid with fear. She was as pretty as Danielle, with delicate features and long lashes, but she looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.

"Thank you, Danielle. Haerin." You kept your voice soft, gentle, and watched as both girls' eyes widened in surprise. "I appreciate your help. This palace is... quite large. I'm afraid I'll get lost without guidance."

Danielle blinked rapidly, as if kindness was unexpected. Perhaps it was, in a place like this. "Y-yes, Empress. Your chambers have been prepared. If you'll follow us?"

They led you through more corridors, these ones slightly warmer, touched by braziers that cast dancing shadows on the walls. You noticed how they walked—Hana slightly ahead, Haerin trailing behind, both of them glancing nervously at closed doors as if expecting something terrible to emerge.

Your chambers, when you finally reached them, were surprisingly beautiful—spacious, with painted screens depicting cranes in flight, and a small garden visible through the windows.

A dead garden, you noted. Winter-killed and abandoned.

"Will there be anything else, Empress?" Danielle asked, while Haerin began arranging your few belongings with quick, efficient movements.

You turned to them both, offering a small smile. "Please, when we're alone, you can call me by my name if you'd like. And yes—do you know if there are gardening tools available? Seeds, perhaps?"

Both girls froze. Haerin's hands stilled on the silk robe she'd been folding.

"G-gardening tools, my lady?" Danielle stammered.

"The garden outside." You gestured to the window. "It seems a shame to leave it barren. I'd like to plant winter camellias. And perhaps some early plum blossoms, if the soil can support them."

Haerin finally spoke, her voice soft and uncertain. "But my lady... it's winter. Nothing will grow until—"

"Spring," you finished gently. "I know. But seeds need time to root, even in the cold. And hope needs something to tend to."

The two girls exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them. Then Danielle straightened her shoulders. "I... I'll inquire about the tools, my lady. We should have such things in storage."

"Thank you, Danielle." You looked at Haerin, who was still staring at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "And Haerin, if you're not too busy tomorrow, would you help me plan the garden layout? I'd appreciate another perspective."

The girl's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "M-me, my lady?"

"Yes, you. I imagine you know this palace better than I do. You'd know where the sun hits, where the shadows fall."

A faint blush colored Haerin's cheeks. "I... yes, my lady. I would be honored."

You didn't see Sukuna for three days.

It didn't surprise you. Political marriages rarely involved actual interaction, and you imagined an emperor had better things to do than visit a wife he'd been forced to take.

So you kept yourself occupied.

The garden became your first project. You worked alongside Danielle and Harin—much to their shock—kneeling in the cold earth with your sleeves tied back, planting camellia seeds with careful hands.

"My lady, please," Danielle had protested on the first day, looking genuinely distressed. "This isn't proper. If the Emperor sees—"

"Then he sees," you'd said simply, patting soil over a seed. "My mother always said that anything worth having is worth working for. Besides, I like the feel of earth under my fingernails. It reminds me that I'm alive."

Haerin had knelt beside you then, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. "My grandmother used to garden," she'd said softly. "Before she passed. She said that plants were like people—they needed patience and care to thrive."

"Your grandmother sounds wise," you'd replied, and the smile Haerin gave you was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Word spread quickly through the palace. The new empress, kneeling in the dirt like a common servant. The new empress, who spoke gently to her attendants and worked alongside them. The new empress, who didn't demand or throw tantrums or weep dramatically like the others.

You pretended not to notice the whispers, but you noticed how Danielle and Haerin began to relax around you. How Danielle started humming while she worked. How Haerin laughed—actually laughed—when you made a joke about your dirt-stained hands.

On the fourth day, you encountered your first concubine.

She was beautiful—of course she was—with long dark hair and sharp, calculating eyes. She found you in the garden again, wrapped in a thick cloak against the winter wind, sketching plans for a stone path while Danielle and Haerinarranged tools nearby.

"So you're the new one," she said without preamble.

You looked up, setting down your charcoal. Danielle and Haerin immediately tensed, bowing low. You gestured for them to rise. "I am. And you're...?"

"Ningning." She tilted her head, studying you like a cat studies a mouse. Her gaze flickered to your attendants dismissively before returning to you. "I've been here two years. Longer than either of your predecessors."

"Then you must be very special," you said simply, without irony.

That seemed to throw her. Her eyes narrowed. "You're not what I expected."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"I didn't say I was disappointed." She crouched down, her fine robes pooling around her, seemingly unconcerned about the dirt. "The first wife was a shrew. The second was a fool. What are you?"

You considered the question, then smiled. "A gardener, apparently."

Despite herself, Ningning laughed. It was a surprised sound, quickly stifled. "You're planting flowers in winter. That makes you a fool too."

"Perhaps," you agreed. "But even fools can hope for spring."

She studied you for another long moment, then stood. "He'll break you," she said, not unkindly. "Sukuna breaks everything eventually. It's his nature."

"Maybe," you said softly. "Or maybe some things are strong enough to bend instead of break."

Ningning left without another word, but you thought you saw something like respect in her eyes.

After she was gone, Haerin leaned closer to you. "My lady... you weren't afraid of her."

"Should I have been?"

"The second empress was," Danielle said quietly. "She used to cry after the concubines visited. Said they were cruel to her."

You looked at both girls thoughtfully. "Did you know the second empress well?"

They exchanged glances. "We didn't serve her," Haerin admitted. "We worked in the kitchens usually. But we heard things."

"She screamed at the servants," Danielle added, her voice barely a whisper. "Threw things when she was angry. We were... surprised when we were assigned to you. We thought..."

"You thought I'd be the same," you finished gently.

Both girls looked down, ashamed.

"It's alright," you said, reaching out to squeeze Danielle's hand briefly. "You can't be blamed for expecting the worst. But I promise you both—I'm not here to make anyone's life harder. We're all just trying to survive in our own ways."

Haerin's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Thank you, my lady," she whispered.

You met Sukuna on the fifth night.

You'd been preparing for bed, braiding your hair by candlelight, when the door opened without warning. Danielle and Haerin had left for the evening—you'd insisted they rest, that you could manage alone—so when his massive frame filled the doorway, you were alone.

Completely alone.

With the man they called a monster.

He was... larger than you'd expected. Taller. The tattoos you'd glimpsed during the ceremony covered more of his skin—intricate patterns that seemed to move in the flickering light. His eyes, all four of them, fixed on you with an intensity that would have made lesser women tremble.

You set down your brush and stood, bowing respectfully. "Emperor."

"Sukuna," he corrected, his voice like gravel and silk. "You're my wife. Use my name."

"Sukuna," you repeated softly.

He moved into the room with predatory grace, and you noticed he was studying you the same way Ningning had—like he was trying to solve a puzzle. His eyes traveled from your simple sleeping robe to your bare feet, to the loose braid draped over your shoulder.

"You're not afraid," he observed.

"Should I be?"

"Most people are."

You met his gaze steadily. "Most people haven't been raised by a father who negotiated with warlords since childhood. I learned early that fear is only useful if it keeps you alive. Otherwise, it's just... exhausting."

Something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity?

He moved closer, and you caught his scent—sandalwood and something darker, like smoke and steel. He reached out, and you held perfectly still as he caught your braid between his fingers, testing its weight.

"You've been gardening," he said.

Not a question. A statement.

"Yes."

"In winter."

"Yes."

"Why?"

You considered how to answer. Honesty, you decided, was probably safest with a man who could smell lies. "Because the garden was dead, and I don't like looking at dead things. Because even in winter, there's potential for growth—you just have to be patient enough to wait for it. And because..." you paused, then continued softly, "because I needed something beautiful to tend to."

His eyes—all of them—focused on you with unnerving intensity. "You think you can make something beautiful here? In my palace?"

"I think," you said carefully, "that beauty exists everywhere, if you're willing to look for it. Even in unlikely places."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—a sharp, dangerous thing that should have terrified you.

It didn't.

"The others tried to change me," he said, releasing your braid. "The first wife wept and begged me to send away my concubines. The second tried to seduce me into compliance, thinking her body was enough to hold my attention."

"I have no intention of changing you," you replied. "You are who you are. An emperor. A force of nature. I'd have better luck trying to convince winter to become spring ahead of schedule."

"And yet you plant flowers."

"I plant flowers," you agreed, "because that's who I am. Not to change the winter, but to be ready when spring comes on its own."

He stared at you for so long you wondered if you'd said something wrong. Then he turned and walked to the door.

"The servants say you work alongside them," he said without looking back. "That you learn their names and ask about their families."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they're people," you said simply. "And people deserve to be seen."

He paused in the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the corridor light. "You're strange."

"I've been told that before."

"I haven't decided yet," he said, "if you're wise or foolish."

"Perhaps I'm both," you offered. "Most interesting people are."

You could have sworn you heard him laugh—a low, rumbling sound—before he disappeared into the darkness.

Sleep came surprisingly easily that night.

The next morning, you found something waiting in your garden.

A single winter camellia, already in bloom, planted in the center of the space you'd been preparing. Its petals were the palest pink, almost white, delicate against the frozen earth.

Impossible. Camellias from seed took years to bloom.

But there it was.

Danielle and Haerin found you staring at it, your fingers pressed to your lips.

"The Emperor's work," Danielle whispered, her eyes wide. "His cursed energy can manipulate growth. Force life from death." She hesitated. "He's never used it for flowers before. Only for... other purposes."

Haerin clutched your arm gently. "My lady... what does it mean?"

You knelt beside the camellia, touching its petals with reverent fingers. They were real. Alive. Beautiful.

"Even monsters," you whispered, "can create something gentle."

Behind you, your two attendants exchanged hopeful glances.

And high above, unseen and unheard, Sukuna watched from a window.

He told himself it was a whim. A momentary curiosity about the strange woman who'd invaded his palace with her quiet voice and dirt-stained hands.

He told himself it meant nothing.

He was a liar.

taglist: @measfaf

[ask to be added!!]

[kkunai]

[𝜗℘] :: being bullied because you’re true form!sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. but when he finally notices the harassment, he doesn’t hold back.

゛ tags. concubine!reader, fluff, angst :: wc. 2.2k

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they can’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you.

you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you.

it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you can’t blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine.

in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him.

you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces.

the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurts a little.

he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder.

you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off in annoyance, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure.

he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into somethin’ else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“y’re staying in my chambers tonight.”

[paxyfica]

the day Sukuna realized he needs to marry you.

Ryomen Sukuna was having the kind of day that made him want to commit a felony.

Work had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster. His clients were being brain-dead idiots, his emails had been piling up since 6:00 AM, and his boss had the audacity to drop a massive, last-minute project on his desk right as he was packing up to leave. By the time he finally unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He was exhausted, he was pissed off, and he was fully prepared to pour himself a massive glass of whiskey and not speak to a single soul for the rest of the night.

He pushed the door open, dropping his keys into the bowl by the entrance with a loud, aggressive clatter. He shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening his tie with a harsh yank.

“I’m home,” he called out, his voice a low, gravelly grumble.

He expected you to be in the kitchen, or maybe curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show. He expected you to ask him how his day was, which would inevitably lead to him ranting for twenty minutes straight.

Instead, there was silence.

Sukuna frowned, his bad mood spiking just a fraction. He walked down the hallway and stepped into the living room.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table. The entire surface was completely covered in hundreds of microscopic, brightly colored plastic bricks. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was slowly falling apart.

But the best part? The absolute most ridiculous, endearing part?

You were squinting so hard your nose was scrunched up, and the very tip of your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth in pure, unadulterated concentration. Your fingers, which were currently trying to snap a tiny, translucent green piece onto a microscopic brown cylinder, were trembling slightly from the effort.

You hadn’t even heard him come in. You were entirely, completely consumed by your task.

Sukuna stood there in the doorway, his suit jacket dangling from his fingers. He didn’t say a word. He just watched you.

You were a serial hobbyist. Every month, it was something new. Knitting, painting by numbers, making weird little clay frogs that currently haunted his nightstand. He usually just rolled his eyes, funded your little hyper-fixations, and let you do your thing.

But this? This tiny, intricate Lego flower shop you had apparently bought today? It had you in a chokehold.

Snap.

The tiny green piece finally clicked into place.

You let out a massive, dramatic gasp of victory, throwing your hands up in the air like you had just won the Super Bowl. “Yes! Take that, you stupid little plastic bitch!”

Sukuna let out a sudden, loud snort.

You jumped, spinning around so fast you nearly knocked over a pile of pink bricks. When you saw him standing there, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The sheer, radiant joy on your face was blinding.

“Babe!” you squealed, scrambling up onto your knees. You carefully scooped up the tiny, completed structure in your hands and held it out toward him like it was the Holy Grail. “Baby, look! Look what I did!”

Sukuna slowly walked over, dropping his jacket onto the sofa. He looked down at your hands.

It was a tiny, incredibly detailed Lego flower shop. And sitting right in front of it was a single, slightly lopsided plastic rose that you had clearly customized.

“I made you this one,” you beamed, your chest puffing out with pride. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s for your desk at work! Because you said your office is depressing! Do you like it?!”

Sukuna stared at the tiny plastic flower. Then, he looked at you.

You had a faint smudge of left over dinner on your cheek. Your oversized shirt was slipping off one shoulder. You were looking up at him with such pure, unfiltered adoration and excitement over a piece of plastic that it actually knocked the breath out of his lungs.

And just like that, it happened.

The stress of the last fourteen hours? Gone. The anger at his clients? Evaporated. The tension in his shoulders, the pounding headache behind his eyes, the overwhelming urge to burn his office building to the ground? It all just melted away, completely washed out by the sheer force of your ridiculous, beaming smile.

He didn’t just love you. That wasn’t a strong enough word anymore.

He looked at you, sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic bricks, offering him a fake flower to make his bad day better, and a single, crystal-clear thought rang through his head like a bell.

I need to marry this girl.

Not ‘I want to.’ Not ‘someday.’ Need. He needed to marry your crazy ass. He needed to lock this down permanently, because if he had to go through the rest of his miserable, stressful life without coming home to you poking your tongue out over a Lego set, he was going to lose his fucking mind.

“Sukuna?” you blinked, your smile faltering just a little when he didn’t immediately respond. You lowered your hands slightly. “Do you… not like it? I know it’s kind of dumb, but—”

“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice thick.

Before you could even process the command, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, completely ignoring the fact that he was crushing at least ten Lego pieces under his expensive suit pants.

He reached out, his large hands gently cupping your face. He didn’t even look at the flower shop. His red eyes were locked entirely on yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Babe?” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Are you okay? Was work bad?”

“Work was a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “But I don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of his stress leaving his body. “I love it, baby. It’s perfect. I’m putting it right in the middle of my desk.”

Your smile instantly returned, brighter than before. “Really?!”

“Really,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. It wasn’t heated or rough; it was incredibly soft, filled with a kind of overwhelming reverence that made your toes curl.

When he finally pulled back, he kept his face inches from yours. He looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.

It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of absolute, undeniable fact. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but the weight behind his words was heavy enough to anchor a ship.

Your brain short-circuited. You sat there, frozen, the tiny Lego flower shop still clutched in your hands. “What?”

“You heard me,” he smirked, his usual arrogant confidence bleeding back into his tone. He leaned in and pressed a loud, wet kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m gonna marry your crazy ass. Put a ring on your finger so big you won’t be able to lift your hand to build these stupid little toys.”

“They’re not stupid!” you squawked, your face flushing bright red as his words finally registered. “And you can’t just drop that on me while I’m holding a Lego!”

“I just did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, completely ruining your posture. He buried his face in your neck.

You let out a breathless, watery laugh, carefully setting the flower shop down on the table before wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You ran your fingers through his pink hair, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of his muscles.

“Okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, Ryomen.”

“Good,” he mumbled against your skin. He shifted slightly, his knee crunching against a pile of plastic. He winced. “Now, help me up. I think a fucking Lego is embedded in my kneecap.”

“I told you to take your work pants off first!”

“Just kiss me again and shut up.”

[onelime]

only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off

Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’. 

Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face. 

But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body. 

Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days. 

But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside. 

When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?” 

You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.

He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all. 

 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.” 

He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.

“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”

“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.

“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.

“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”

“I intend to,” his maw replies. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”

You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him." 

“I’m warning you, do not–”

“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”

Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself. 

And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him. 

So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.

You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”

“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.

“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”

“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.

“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and–”

“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”

“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.” 

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”

“No. This ends now."

In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”

“…”

“The answer is both of them.”

Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.” 

a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol

[tojislovergirl]

3-in-1 || fushiguro t.

you and toji had been in the body wash aisle for 30 minutes now. The large man motionless by your side as you grabbed another bottle off the shelf. You popped the lid and brought the bottle to your nose, recoiling at the scent that filled your nostrils. The fragrance was something between cigarette butts and burnt leather.

“yuck! smell this,” you exclaimed before shoving the bottle towards toji.

“i don’t want to smell it after your reaction,” he stated, leaning back to escape the smell of the body wash.

you huff, returning the bottle to its spot on the shelf. your eyes scan the selection once again. your gaze concentrated, index finger tapping lightly on your chin. toji looked down at you, shaking his head at your serious face.

this whole debacle started because you had stayed over at toji’s place for the first time last night. it was going swimmingly until this morning when you decided to take a shower. of course, you snooped around his things except his cabinets were empty besides his tooth brush, tube of tooth paste, bottle of cheap cologne, and a jar of pomade. no lotion…no skincare…nothing besides the bare essentials. you took a deep breath before pull the shower curtain open, and there it was…a single bottle of 3-in-1 body wash. you grabbed the bottle and marched out of the bathroom to the living room. toji looked at you then looked at his body wash confused.

“i can’t believe you actually use this,” you huffed appalled.

“you don’t like the scent or something,” toji replied back, leaning back into the couch.

“it’s 3-in-1 body wash, toji. that’s so gross. how can one soap be used for your hair, face, and body?”

“it works just fine for me,” he says, turning his attention back to the horse races on the tv screen.

you move your body, so you’re blocking the tv. the big man tries to maneuver his head around your frame, but you don’t relent.

“we are going to the store. i can’t be with a man who uses 3-in-1,” you state, arms crossed to your chest.

toji grumbles something about how he’s going to miss the races as you grab his arm, pulling him off the couch. he’s complaining, but he secretly likes when you boss him around like this.

so, now he’s here, smelling the hundredth gel-filled bottle you put in front of his nose. his nose hairs felt like they had been singed off at this point. he still didn’t understand why his original body wash was such an issue. he never smelled and showered everyday, so he figured it was fine.

“yeah, that one’s fine,” he muttered, wanting this torture to end. to him, all the soaps smelled the same, but not to you.

“eh, i don’t know if i like it,” you said, putting the bottle back before picking up another. toji groaned softly. you immediately sent glare in his direction.

“why can’t you just pick one, mama?” he questioned.

“i’m the one who has to smell you, so i want to make sure i pick something i like,” you explained with a pout.

he smiled down at you. the scar stretching at the corner of his lips. he thought you were being absolutely ridiculous, but he loved it. you had probably smelled every single body wash in the aisle yet you were still hell bent on find the perfect one. but, you had a point you’re going to the one you breathes his scent in the most. your eyes land on a bottle on the top shelf. it was in a sleek black bottle unlike the rest of bottles with overly masculine packaging. you reached up on your tiptoes to grab the body wash, but it was just out of your reach. toji stepped forward easily plucking the bottle off the tall shelf.

“this better be the one,” he fake complained, handing you the bottle.

you twisted the cap off. the scent of citrus and sandalwood flooded your nostrils. it was almost intoxicating with how good it smelled.

“this one!” you exclaimed.

without warning, you held the fragrance up the toji’s nose.

“it’s actually not that bad,” he nodded in agreement.

you let out a small excited squeal before tossing the body wash in the basket toji was holding. meanwhile, toji let out a sigh of relief, hoping he can finally get back to his horse races.

“okay, now we just need to find you a shampoo, conditioner, and face wash,” you stated, counting out your list with your fingers. toji’s eyes immediately snapping in your direction. he searched for a hint of joke in your face. he groaned when he realized you were being dead serious.

“stop complaining, ji. you’re 35. it’s time you stopped bathing like a barbarian,” you said before dragging him in the direction of the personal care aisles.

the large man lumbered begrudgingly behind you, knowing you both were about the repeat that grueling process at least three more times. but, you both know he’s exactly where he wants to be.

a/n: sorry for being mia recently! consider this my peace offering :P this idea randomly popped in my head at work yesterday. not proofread btw

divider: @strangergraphics