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born a monster and abandoned by everyone, Sukuna finds salvation in the one girl who refuses to fear him.
but years pass, and the boy you loved becomes the King of Curses.
when your love can no longer save him, Sukuna makes a vow—
he will rip his angels wings himself if she dared fly away
TW: ooc, nsfw so mdni, description of gore and blood, abuse, bullying, baby kuna x baby reader, possessiveness, murder
WORD COUNT:10,686 chapter 1-6 (more chapters and nsfw soon, comment ideas pls)
Chapter One — The Child Beneath the Mountain
The child was born screaming. The midwife knew, before she looked down, that something was wrong. She had delivered enough children to know the sounds they made. The first thin cry. The wet gasp that came after. The angry wail of a newborn protesting the sudden cruelty of cold air. This was different. The sound came from more than one mouth. The woman froze. The room had gone strangely quiet around her. Outside, rain tapped softly against the wooden shutters. Somewhere beyond the walls, a dog barked once and then fell silent. The small house smelled of blood, smoke, and boiled herbs. Inside, nobody moved.
The midwife slowly lowered her eyes. The child lay in the bloodied bedding. Four tiny chubby arms. Four hands, each opening and closing blindly as though searching for something to grasp. Four eyes. Two small ones blinking beneath the ordinary pair, all of them squeezed shut against the light. And beneath his ribs— another mouth.
It opened with a wet, hungry cry. The midwife stumbled backward. Someone behind her whispered a prayer. Another woman gasped. “No.” The mother turned her head weakly against the pillow. She had been pale for hours, her black hair plastered against her forehead with sweat. She barely had the strength to breathe, but the voices around her had already frightened her.
“What is it?” Nobody answered.
She looked toward the bundle in the midwife's hands. “Is he alive?” The midwife's fingers trembled. The child screamed again. His four hands jerked. His strange mouth opened. The mother flinched. For one terrible moment, she stared.
The midwife watched the fear spread across her face. It was the fear of a woman looking at something she could not understand. Something that should not exist. Outside the house, someone shouted.
“What happened?” Another voice answered. “It's born.” “What is it?”
Silence. Then— “An omen.”
The word traveled faster than the rain. By sunrise, everyone in the village knew. A monstrous child had been born beneath the mountain. Some called it a demon. Some called it a curse. One old man claimed the gods had sent it as punishment for the village's sins. Another insisted it had been born beneath an unlucky star.
Nobody asked what the child had done. He had done nothing. He had only been born.
That was enough.
They left him three days later. The mother did not say goodbye. Perhaps she couldn't. Perhaps she wouldn't. Perhaps she had convinced herself that abandoning him was kinder than allowing the village to discover where he lived. The child knew none of this. He knew only that he was hungry. The basket was too small for him. His four limbs were cramped beneath the blanket, and one of his hands had escaped through a tear in the cloth. His fingers curled around nothing.
He cried.
The woman carrying him did not stop. The path climbed higher into the mountains. The village grew smaller behind them. Eventually, she reached an old shrine abandoned years ago after part of the roof collapsed. She placed the basket beneath the wooden overhang. For several seconds, she stood there.
The baby looked up.
All four eyes opened.
She saw them. She saw his face. She saw the mouth beneath his stomach twitch. Her expression crumpled.
The child reached toward her. One hand. Then another. Then another. Then another. His fingers opened and closed. He was trying to hold her. The woman covered her mouth. A sob escaped her. She turned away. The baby cried harder.
She walked. She did not look back. He could not understand why.
He only knew that someone had been holding him.
And now nobody was.
The first night was cold. The second was colder. By the third, he had stopped crying so often. There was no point.
Nobody came when he cried. Nobody came when he was hungry. Nobody came when he reached toward the path. Eventually, he learned to sleep beneath the broken shrine roof with his four arms curled around himself. He learned to keep his eyes closed when footsteps approached.
He learned that footsteps usually meant pain.
The first boy who threw a stone at him was eight years old. The stone struck his forehead.
He screamed.
The boy laughed. “Look! It bleeds!” Another stone came. Then another. The child crawled backward. His four hands scrambled against the dirt. “Don't touch me!” He didn't understand the words. But he understood the voice. It was afraid. Fear, he would later learn, often came wearing the face of cruelty.
The boys ran when he screamed. The child remained beneath the shrine. Blood ran down his face.
He touched it.
He stared at his red fingers. Then he put them in his mouth. He was hungry.
…
That was all.
Years passed. The village learned to live with him. Not beside him. Never beside him. But around him. He became something spoken about rather than spoken to.
The monster in the woods. The four-eyed thing. The cursed child. The demon. He learned many names before he ever learned his own. When he wandered too close to the village, adults shouted at him. When he approached the river, people gathered their children and left. When he tried to take food, he was beaten. When he fought back, the village pointed toward the blood and said:
“See?”
They were always looking for proof. They found it everywhere. A broken fence. A frightened child. A dead animal. A storm. A failed harvest. Anything could become his fault. He eventually stopped defending himself.
Not because he had become gentle.
Because he had become tired. There was a difference. At seven, he learned that people screamed when he smiled. At eight, he learned to hide the mouth on his stomach beneath layers of cloth. At nine, he learned to keep two of his arms folded tightly against his body whenever he entered the village.
Four arms frightened people. Two looked almost human. Almost.
Almost was safer.
He hated the word.
Almost.
Almost human. Almost normal. Almost worthy of being touched.
One winter morning, he woke beneath the shrine to find snow covering the ground. His stomach hurt. The mouth there opened involuntarily.
He pressed his arms against himself.
“Stop.”
It didn't.
His body was hungry. He had eaten nothing since the previous afternoon. He stood. Four small feet—two sets, awkwardly placed, pressed into the snow. He walked toward the village. He knew there might be rice near the temple. He knew there might be scraps left behind after the morning offerings. He knew he would probably be beaten.
He went anyway.
Halfway down the mountain, he smelled something. Warm. Sweet. Food. His four eyes narrowed. He followed the scent. It led him toward the river. And there—
for the first time—
he saw her.
A girl sat beside the water. She was alone. A basket rested beside her. Steam rose from a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She was humming.
Quietly.
Badly.
He stared.
She looked ordinary. That was the first thing he noticed. Two arms. Two eyes. One mouth. No strange limbs. No second face. Nothing about her that would make a village whisper.
He should have left.
Instead, he remained behind the trees. The girl suddenly stopped humming. She looked over her shoulder.
Their eyes met.
Sukuna froze. She stared at him. He waited. He knew what came next.
The scream.
The fear.
The running.
His fingers curled. He prepared himself. The girl blinked. Her eyes moved slowly over his face. Then his arms. Then the mouth beneath his stomach. She swallowed. For a moment, she looked frightened. Sukuna almost felt relieved. At least she was normal. At least she would react like everyone else.
He turned away.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
The word was so unfamiliar that he wondered whether she had spoken to someone else. He looked back. The girl was still sitting beside the river. She hadn't run.
“Are you hungry?”
Sukuna stared at her. His stomach-mouth opened.
The girl flinched.
He saw it. He knew what that meant. His expression hardened.
“Go away.”
It was the first thing he had said to her. His voice was rough from disuse. The girl frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you should.”
“Why?”
He didn't understand the question.
Everyone knew why. He looked down at himself. At the extra arms. At the distorted shape of his face. At the mouth beneath his ribs.
“Because I'm a monster.” The girl was silent. The river moved between them. Snow fell softly from the branches overhead.
Then she reached into the basket.
Sukuna tensed.
She pulled out a rice ball. She held it toward him.
He stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you food.”
“Why?” She looked genuinely confused.
“Because you're hungry.”
He didn't move. Nobody had ever said that before. Not like that. Not as though his hunger were a reason enough. The girl held the food out farther.
“Take it.”
Sukuna's four eyes narrowed.
“You're not afraid?” She hesitated.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised him. “Then why are you still here?”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“I don't know.” She lowered the rice ball slightly.
“But you're still hungry.”
Sukuna stared at her.
His stomach-mouth moved. His face turned red.
His hands trembled. Slowly, cautiously, one of his arms emerged from beneath his cloak.
He reached. The girl did not pull away. His fingers closed around the rice ball.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then he took a bite; it was cold. It was slightly stale. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.
The girl smiled. Not at his appearance. Not because she pitied him. Just because he was eating. Sukuna looked at her. Something strange happened inside his chest. He didn't have a name for it.
Not yet.
He only knew that, for the first time in his life, he wanted tomorrow to come.
Because perhaps—
if tomorrow came—
she would come back too.
Chapter Two — The Things You Left Behind
The next morning, Sukuna told himself he had forgotten you.
It was an easy lie. He repeated it before he opened his eyes. He repeated it while the first pale light slipped through the broken roof of the shrine. He repeated it while the cold settled into his bones. And he repeated it when he heard footsteps approaching through the snow.
His four eyes opened at once.
He sat up. The footsteps stopped. Silence. Sukuna stared toward the entrance.
Nothing.
He waited.
A minute passed.
Then another. His expression darkened. “Idiot.” He didn't know whether he meant himself or you.
Probably both.
He pulled his knees toward his chest and looked away from the entrance. He wasn't waiting. He had simply heard something. That was all. People walked through the forest all the time. You had no reason to come back. Yesterday had been a mistake. A strange one. An irritating one.
You had given him food and then looked at him as though doing so was the most ordinary thing in the world. Sukuna didn't understand it. Kindness had always been followed by something. A demand. A trick. A laugh. A hand reaching for him. Pain. There was always something.
So he had learned not to accept anything. And yet—
He could still taste the rice. His stomach growled. Sukuna frowned.
“Shut up.” The mouth on his stomach opened. He pressed one hand over it.
“I'm not talking to you.”
The mouth remained open. He scowled. Then the footsteps returned. This time, they were unmistakable. Sukuna's head snapped toward the entrance. You appeared through the trees carrying a small basket. Your cheeks were red from the cold. Snow had collected in your hair. You stopped when you saw him awake. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you smiled.
“Good morning.”
Sukuna stared. You walked inside. He immediately moved backward.
“Don't.”
You stopped.
“Don't what?”
“Come closer.” You looked at him. Then at the distance between you.
“You're the one who told me yesterday that I shouldn't leave you alone.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn't have to.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.” You smiled again. Sukuna hated when you did that. He hated that he couldn't understand why. He hated that some strange warmth appeared in his chest every time you looked at him like that. Most of all, he hated that he had started looking toward the path every morning.
You placed the basket on the ground. “I brought you something.”
“I don't want it.”
“You haven't even seen it.”
“I don't want it.”
“You're hungry.”
“No.”
His stomach-mouth opened.
You looked at it. Sukuna immediately covered it with one of his hands.
“Don't look.” You blinked.
“I'm sorry.”
He stared at you. You had actually apologized. For looking. Something about that bothered him more than if you had laughed. He looked away.
“...What did you bring?”
You smiled.
He immediately regretted asking.
You came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Sukuna began to recognize the sound of your footsteps. He learned how your steps sounded differently depending on the weather. Soft against snow. Sharper against dry earth. Almost silent when you were trying not to be heard. He learned that you hummed when you were happy. That you talked to yourself when you were concentrating. That you complained about the cold while insisting you weren't cold. He learned that you always brought more food than you claimed. And he learned that you lied badly.
“You can have the rest.”
“You ate half.”
“I wasn't hungry.”
“You're lying.”
“I am not.”
“You're terrible at it.” You frowned.
He smiled.
It was small. Barely there. But you noticed. Your expression softened. Sukuna immediately stopped smiling.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop looking at me.”
“You smiled.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“You're imagining things.”
You laughed. He looked away. His ears felt strangely warm.
The first time someone tried to stop you, Sukuna was watching. You were carrying a basket through the village. Three boys blocked your path. Sukuna was farther up the hill, hidden between the trees. He couldn't hear everything. He didn't need to. He saw one of them point toward the mountain.
“You're still feeding that thing?” You tightened your grip on the basket.
“He's hungry.”
“He's a demon.”
“He's a child.”
“He'll kill someone.”
“He hasn't.”
“He will.”
You frowned.
“You don't know that.” The boy stepped closer.
“You shouldn't be going up there.” You didn't move. Sukuna watched from the trees. Something ugly stirred inside him. He didn't know what it was. Anger, perhaps. He knew anger. This was different. The boy reached for your basket. You pulled it away.
“Give it back.”
“What's in it?”
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
His hand closed around your wrist. Sukuna moved. One step. Then another. His fingers curled. The boy suddenly cried out. You had slapped his hand away.
“Don't touch me.”
Sukuna stopped. You looked frightened. But you hadn't backed down. The boys stared at you. Then one of them laughed.
“You care about it that much?” You looked toward the mountain. Sukuna froze. Then you said quietly: “Yes.”
The word struck him harder than any stones ever had. The boys eventually left. You stood alone in the road. Sukuna waited until they were gone before stepping out. You looked at him.
“You heard?”
He said nothing.
“You shouldn't have come down.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“No.” You smiled.
“You're a terrible liar too.”
Sukuna glared. You laughed. He wanted to tell you that you shouldn't defend him. That you shouldn't come here. That you should stay away from him. Instead, he said: “Did he hurt you?” You looked at your wrist.
“No.”
“Show me.”
You hesitated. Then you held out your arm. Sukuna took your wrist carefully. His hands were large now compared to yours. He turned it over. There was a faint red mark. His expression changed. The warmth disappeared.
“Who did this?”
You sighed.
“Sukuna.”
“Who?”
“It's nothing.”
“It isn't.”
You stared at him. He stared back. Then, slowly, he released your wrist. He didn't know how to say: I was afraid.
So he said: “Don't let them touch you again.”
You smiled. “I'll try.”
Winter became spring. Spring became summer. Summer became autumn. And you kept coming. Sometimes you brought food. Sometimes you brought medicine. Sometimes you brought nothing at all. Those were the days Sukuna liked least. Because if you came without food, there was no reason for you to stay. And yet you stayed. You would sit beside him beneath the shrine and talk. He rarely answered. You didn't seem to mind. Eventually, the silence between you stopped feeling uncomfortable.
Sukuna began to understand something frightening. He liked having you there. He liked your voice. He liked when you laughed. He liked the smell of your clothes after you had been walking through the forest. He liked knowing you would come back tomorrow. He hated himself for liking any of it. He hated you for liking you.
One afternoon, you arrived carrying something strange. Sukuna looked down.
“What's that?”
“Nothing.”
“That's a lie.”
You hid your hands behind your back.
“Close your eyes.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You frowned.
“Sukuna.”
He sighed.
“Fine.” He closed his eyes. He heard you moving. Then something touched his feet. He opened his eyes. Old sandals. Two pairs. They were worn, slightly torn, and far too large. Sukuna stared.
“What are these?”
“Slippers.”
“I know what slippers are.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I didn't ask what they were called.”
You smiled.
“You needed something for your feet.”
He looked down. His feet were red from the cold. He hadn't noticed. Or perhaps he had. He simply hadn't thought it mattered.
“Where did you get them?” You looked away.
“Someone gave them to me.” Sukuna narrowed his eyes.
“Who?”
“An old man.”
“Why?” You shrugged.
“He wasn't using them.” Sukuna looked at the slippers. They were obviously too old to belong to anyone's household. One had a small tear. The other had mud dried along the sole.
“You stole them.”
“I did not.”
“You're lying.”
You sighed.
“Maybe.”
Sukuna stared at you. Then he laughed. It escaped before he could stop it. You looked at him, surprised. He covered his mouth. His face turned red yet again.
“I didn't laugh.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Be quiet.”
You laughed.
And for the rest of the afternoon, Sukuna refused to admit that the slippers were warm. That night, he slept with them beside him. Not on his feet. Beside him. He didn't know why. He simply couldn't bear the thought of damaging something you had given him.
Years passed. The child beneath the shrine disappeared. In his place grew a boy with sharp eyes and an increasingly dangerous temper. He became taller. Stronger. His body changed. The village grew more frightened of him. But you kept coming.
Always.
You were the only constant thing in his life. And Sukuna became increasingly aware of how much of his day revolved around you. If you were late, he waited. If you didn't come, he became angry. If you were sick, he became restless. If you spoke to another boy for too long, he became silent. He didn't understand jealousy. He only knew he disliked it.
Very much.
When you were fifteen, people began noticing you differently. When you were sixteen, they began talking. By seventeen, everyone knew. You were considered the prettiest girl in all ten villages. People traveled from neighboring settlements just to see you. Families began sending matchmakers.
Young men arrived carrying gifts. Silks. Jewelry. Rice. Tea. One family sent an entire chest of expensive fabric. Another offered land. Another sent a young man who spent twenty minutes explaining how prosperous his household was. You listened politely. You always listened politely. And Sukuna hated every single one of them.
He watched from the edge of the forest one afternoon as a young man from a neighboring village spoke with you. You were wearing a beautiful jūnihitoe. The layers fell gracefully around you, richly colored but modest, the fabric moving softly when the wind passed.
Your hair had grown long. Your face had matured. You looked nothing like the frightened girl who had once approached a monster beneath an abandoned shrine. You looked—
Sukuna stopped himself.
Beautiful.
The thought appeared before he could prevent it. He scowled. Of course you were beautiful. Everyone said so. He had known it for years. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that everyone else had finally noticed.
The young man smiled at you. Sukuna's jaw tightened. He watched the way the man's eyes lingered on you. He hated him. Immediately. Completely. Without reason. You laughed at something the man said. Sukuna's four eyes narrowed. He knew that laugh. He had heard it hundreds of times. It belonged to him.
Or—
No.
He stopped.
That was stupid.
You didn't belong to anyone. You certainly didn't belong to him. He knew that. Of course he knew that. He simply didn't like the thought of someone else hearing the laugh he had spent years waiting for. The young man offered you something. A small box. You accepted it. Sukuna's fingers dug into the tree beside him. The bark cracked. He looked down. He had broken it.
“Damn it.”
He turned away. He should leave. He should stop watching. He should stop caring. Instead, he stayed. Because you might look toward the mountain. You might come find him.
You might—
“Sukuna?”
He froze. You were standing behind him. He turned.
You smiled. “You've been hiding here.”
“I wasn't hiding.”
“You were.”
“No.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
“You've said that before.”
“Because it's still true.”
You stepped closer. Sukuna glanced at the box in your hands. His expression hardened.
“What is that?”
You looked down.
“Oh. A gift.”
“From him?” You nodded.
Sukuna looked away.
“Throw it out.” You blinked.
“What?”
“I said throw it out.”
“Why?”
“Because it's ugly.”
You opened the box. Inside was a delicate comb. It was actually quite beautiful. You looked at him.
“You're lying again.”
“I don't like it.”
“You haven't even touched it.”
“I don't need to.”
You smiled.
“You're jealous.”
Sukuna's eyes snapped toward you.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Why would I be jealous?” You tilted your head.
“I don't know.” Neither did he. That was the problem. Sukuna looked away. His face felt hot. He crossed all four arms over his chest.
“Go marry him, then.”
Your smile disappeared.
“Sukuna.”
“What?”
“You know I don't want to.” His eyes returned to yours.
“You don't?”
“No.”
“Why?”
You were quiet. Then you smiled softly.
“Because I don't want to marry someone I don't love.”
Sukuna stopped breathing. For a moment, the forest seemed completely silent. He looked at you. You looked back. Neither of you understood what had just changed. Not yet. But something had. Something that had been growing quietly for years. Something Sukuna had mistaken for irritation. For protectiveness. For habit. For anything except what it was. He watched you turn toward the mountain.
He followed.
As always.
Neither of you spoke.
But that night, for the first time in his life, Sukuna understood something that frightened him more than the villagers ever had. He could survive being hated. He had survived it for seventeen years. He could survive hunger. Cold. Pain. Loneliness. He could survive anything. But the thought of losing you—
That was different.
That was something he wasn't certain he could survive. And because he had never been taught how to love without fearing loss, Sukuna did the only thing he knew how to do. He became angry. At the men who wanted you. At the families who wanted to take you away. At the villages that suddenly thought they had the right to claim you. At the gods who had made you beautiful enough for everyone to notice.
And, most of all—
at himself.
Because somewhere along the way, without realizing it, the lonely child beneath the mountain had stopped merely waiting for you to return. He had begun to believe that you always would. And Sukuna did not yet understand how dangerous it was to believe in something as fragile as forever.
Chapter Three — The Angel in the Snow
By nineteen, Sukuna had become too large for the mountain. That was what you thought the first time you saw him standing beneath the old shrine after winter returned. He had always been large. Even as a child, there had been something unsettling about the way his body seemed to grow faster than the world around him could accommodate.
But now—
He was enormous.
Nearly two hundred and twenty centimeters tall. His shoulders were broad enough that the old shrine entrance looked almost comically small behind him. His four arms had grown powerful, the muscles beneath his skin defined from years of surviving without anyone to rely upon. His feet had become too large for the slippers you had stolen years ago.
The old sandals had finally fallen apart. You had found him one morning walking barefoot through the snow. You had been furious.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Sukuna had looked down at his feet.
“They broke.”
“You could have told me.”
“They're only slippers.”
“They kept your feet from freezing.”
“I survived.”
“That doesn't mean you should have to.”
He had stared at you. Then he had looked away.
“You worry too much.”
“You don't worry enough.”
“I worry about plenty.”
“Like what?”
He hadn't answered. Because the answer was you.
You began making his clothes yourself. Nobody in the village made anything large enough for him anymore. The seamstresses complained that there was too much fabric involved. The shoemakers refused outright. One had laughed when Sukuna entered his shop.
“You expect me to make shoes for that?”
Sukuna had said nothing. He had simply left. You hadn't forgotten. Whenever families visited your household with expensive gifts in hopes of convincing your parents to accept their sons as husbands, you quietly took some of the fabric upstairs. Silk. Linen. Cotton. Expensive dyed cloth. You cut it carefully. Measured him repeatedly. Sukuna hated being measured.
“You're doing it wrong.”
You frowned.
“I am not.”
“You measured my arm twice.”
“Because you moved.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“I didn't.”
“You absolutely did.”
He glared.
You smiled. Eventually, he stopped arguing. You made him shirts. Pants. Outer robes. Everything had to be altered. Everything had to be larger. His shoulders. His arms. His legs. His feet. Nothing was made for someone like him.
So you made them yourself.
The first pair of new sandals took you nearly a week. You presented them to him one afternoon. He stared down at them. They were plain. Nothing compared to the elaborate footwear wealthy men wore. But they were sturdy. Warm. Made specifically for him.
“You made these?”
You nodded.
He touched them with one hand.
“Why?”
You looked confused.
“Because you needed them.”
He went quiet. That answer again. Because you needed something. Because you were hungry. Because you were cold. Because you were hurt. You never asked for anything in return. Sukuna still didn't understand.
By nineteen, the village had learned to avoid him. He was no longer the strange child beneath the mountain. He was something else. Something people whispered about. He had grown stronger. His temper had become shorter. The first time a man tried to attack him with a farming tool, Sukuna had broken the weapon in half.
He hadn't killed him.
That was what you told yourself. At first. But eventually, there were rumors. A man had disappeared. Then another. A group of thieves had been found badly injured outside the village. People began lowering their voices whenever Sukuna walked past.
He noticed.
He always noticed. His hatred grew quietly. Not all at once. It accumulated. Every stare. Every whisper. Every person who moved away from him. Every child pulled behind a parent's robes. Every door closed when he approached. Every insult muttered when they thought he couldn't hear. He remembered all of it. And he began to hate them. Not the way he had as a child.
A child's hatred was simple.
He had once wanted them to like him. Now he didn't. He didn't want anything from them. He didn't want their food. Their approval. Their kindness. Their acceptance. Nothing. The village could burn for all he cared.
All except you.
You remained the single exception. You were the only person he allowed close. The only person whose footsteps never made his body tense. The only person whose touch he didn't instinctively recoil from. The only person whose voice could pull him back from anger. You were becoming the center of a world he increasingly wanted nothing to do with. And Sukuna didn't realize how dangerous that was.
Winter came early that year. Snow covered the village. It covered the fields. The roofs. The mountain. The trees. Everything became white. You walked toward the shrine one morning wearing a pale jūnihitoe.
Your long hair had grown almost impossibly long, pale blonde against the snow. Your skin was fair enough that the cold made your cheeks pink. You looked almost unreal. Like something that didn't belong in the world Sukuna knew. He saw you from the entrance of the shrine. For a moment, he simply watched.
Snow rested in your hair. Your sleeves dragged softly over the white ground. You looked like an angel. Sukuna looked like the thing angels were supposed to fear. His body was covered in strange black markings now. They had appeared gradually over the years. First along his arms. Then his shoulders. His back. His waist. Across his face. They curled around his skin in patterns nobody in the village understood.
Some called them curses. Others called them proof that he was becoming something inhuman. Sukuna didn't care. But you had once touched one absentmindedly. He had frozen. You hadn't noticed. You were speaking about something else. He remembered the sensation for weeks.
He had never told you.
You sat beside him beneath the shrine. You talked. Sukuna listened. He always listened to you. Even when he pretended he wasn't. You were telling him about another marriage proposal.
“Another one?”
His voice was flat. You sighed.
“My parents think I should choose soon.”
“Then choose.”
You looked at him.
“It's not that simple.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn't.”
He looked away.
“Marry whoever you want.”
You stared.
“You don't mean that.”
“I do.”
“You're lying.”
His jaw tightened.
“You always say that.”
“Because you're always lying.”
He said nothing. You looked down at your hands.
“There was another family from the eastern village.”
Sukuna's expression darkened.
“They're wealthy.”
“I don't care.”
“They have land.”
“I don't care.”
“Their son is apparently very educated.”
“I don't care.”
“You don't even know him.”
“I don't need to.”
You frowned.
“Then why are you angry?”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
He stood abruptly. The shrine seemed smaller with him standing.
“I said I'm not.”
You watched him. He turned away. Again. Always. You had noticed it years ago. Whenever he was near you, he positioned himself so that one side of his face was visible.
The side that was more ordinary.
The side without the worst of the deformity. You had never understood why. Until now. You stood.
“Sukuna.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
He didn't. You stepped closer. He immediately turned his head farther away. Your brows furrowed.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Hide your face.”
His expression hardened.
“I don't.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“You always turn this side toward me.”
Silence. You looked at him. Then at the side of his face he kept hidden.
“You think I'm going to be frightened?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He didn't answer. His four hands had gone still. You took another step.
“Sukuna.”
“Don't.”
The word was quieter than usual. You stopped. For the first time, you realized he wasn't angry. He was afraid. Not of you. Of what you might think. Slowly, you reached up. His eyes widened. You placed your hand against his cheek.
He froze. Completely. Every muscle in his enormous body went rigid. His four eyes stared down at you. You had touched him before. His hands. His arms. His hair. But never there. Never his face. Nobody had. Not once. He had spent his entire life being stared at. Judged. Pointed at. Mocked. But nobody had ever simply touched him.
You gently turned his face toward you.
He didn't resist. The damaged side was exposed. You looked at it. Not with disgust. Not with pity. You simply looked. Sukuna waited. He waited for the recoil. The hesitation. The fear. Anything.
Instead, you smiled.
“You hide this.”
He couldn't speak.
“Why?”
His throat felt tight.
“Because it's ugly.”
You frowned.
“No.”
He stared. You moved your thumb gently across his cheek.
“You're not ugly.”
Something inside him broke. Not loudly. There was no dramatic sound. Just a tiny, invisible fracture somewhere deep inside a boy who had spent nineteen years believing the opposite.
You smiled.
And Sukuna looked at you. Really looked at you. Snowflakes caught in your pale hair. Your eyes reflected the white world around you. Your hands were warm against his cold skin. You had been coming back for years. You had fed him when he was starving. Defended him when everyone else condemned him. Stolen slippers because his feet were cold. Sewn clothes because nobody else would. Sat beside him when he had nothing to offer you. And you had never once asked him to become something else.
You had simply looked at him.
And stayed.
His four eyes widened.
Something ancient seemed to settle into place inside him. A thought. A belief. A certainty. You weren't merely kind. You couldn't be. There had to be a reason. The gods had to have a reason.
Because why else would someone like you exist in a world that had treated him like an animal? Why else would you have found him? Why else would you have stayed? Why else would you look at the most hated thing in ten villages and touch his face as though he were something precious? Sukuna's gaze dropped to your hand. Then returned to your eyes.
He understood.
At least, he thought he did.
The gods had punished him.
They had given him this body. This face. These arms. These eyes. This mouth. They had made him suffer. They had allowed people to hurt him. They had taken everything from him. And perhaps—
perhaps this was their apology.
You.
His angel.
The one beautiful thing they had placed in his path after nineteen years of suffering. A gift. A repayment. A promise. His. The thought came naturally. Too naturally.
His.
Sukuna's fingers twitched. He wanted to hold your hand. He didn't. Not yet. He was suddenly terrified that if he touched you too firmly, you might disappear. So he simply stood there. Letting your hand remain against his face. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna prayed.
Not to be loved.
Not to be accepted.
Not to become human.
He prayed only for one thing. That the gods would never take you away. Because now he knew. You were not an accident. You were not merely a kind girl from a village. You were not simply someone who had felt sorry for him.
You were his angel.
The gods' apology.
The one thing in this world that belonged beside him. And if the world tried to take you from him—
Sukuna decided, with the quiet certainty of a nineteen-year-old who had already learned to hate almost everything— he would destroy the world before he let it happen.
Chapter Four — The Gift of the Gods
The first man died in the forest. Nobody knew. That was what made it easy. Sukuna had been following him for nearly an hour before he finally decided to act. The man had been drunk. He had been one of the villagers who used to throw stones at Sukuna when he was a child. Sukuna remembered him. He remembered his laugh. He remembered the way he used to point at his extra arms and call him a demon. Now the man was old. Slower. Weaker. Sukuna stood behind him between the trees. The man never heard him approach.
There was a brief flash of cursed energy. Then silence. Sukuna stared at the body. His breathing was calm.His heart wasn't racing. That surprised him. He had expected guilt. He felt nothing. Then he looked at his hand. Something dark seemed to coil beneath his skin.
His cursed energy. His. For the first time, he understood what his body was capable of. The world had given him nothing. His mother had abandoned him. The village had abused him. People had starved him. Humiliated him. Hunted him. But now—
now there was something inside him that belonged entirely to him. A power that answered when he called. A power nobody could take away. Sukuna stared at the dead man. Then he smiled. Perhaps the gods had finally remembered him.
The killings became more frequent. Never enough for anyone to notice a pattern. A hunter disappeared. A bandit was found dead near the mountain. A man who had once beaten Sukuna as a child never returned home from the fields. A merchant traveling through the region vanished on the road.
Rumors spread. People blamed bandits. Curses. Wild animals. Anything except him. Sukuna learned quickly. He learned how much force a body could withstand. How quickly a person could die. How fear changed someone's expression. How much blood the human body contained.
At first, he killed because he hated them. Then he began killing because he could. That distinction frightened even him. Not enough to stop. He discovered that there was something satisfying about watching someone who had once looked down upon him become afraid. For nineteen years, people had looked at him like an animal. Now they looked at him like prey. He liked that better. He became crueler. Quieter. More patient. He learned to smile while people begged. He learned that he could make someone believe they were going to live before taking that hope away. He discovered that he enjoyed the moment people realized they were powerless. And through it all—
he kept one thing separate.
You.
You never saw it.
When he came back to the shrine, he washed the blood from his hands before touching anything you had made. He changed his clothes. He cleaned beneath his nails. He made certain you never saw what he had done. If you asked where he had been, he lied.
“Walking.”
If you asked why he was late:
“Lost track of time.”
If you noticed the bruises across his knuckles:
“Training.”
You believed him. Or perhaps you simply trusted him enough not to question it. That trust made something inside him ache. Because you still looked at him the same way. As though he were the boy beneath the shrine. As though he were still worthy of kindness. Sukuna didn't understand why that mattered so much. He only knew that he would rather tear out his own heart than let you see what he had become.
The first snowfall of winter came early.
The village looked beautiful beneath it. Sukuna hated that. Beauty had always seemed like an insult to him. The world could cover itself in white and pretend it was innocent.
He knew better.
He was walking along the edge of the village when he saw you.
You were speaking with three girls. Sukuna stopped. He watched from a distance. You were wearing one of the jūnihitoe he had watched you sew yourself. The pale fabric made your hair look almost silver warm blonde. Snow rested against your shoulders.
You looked like something holy.
The three girls did not. Sukuna couldn't hear what they were saying at first. Then one of them laughed.
“You really think you're better than everyone else, don't you?”
You frowned.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Of course you don't.”
Another girl stepped closer.
“Every family wants you.”
“Every man in ten villages comes here asking about you.”
“You walk around dressed like that, pretending you're some perfect little princess.”
You looked uncomfortable.
“I don't think I'm better than anyone.”
“Liar.”
The third girl laughed.
“Look at her.”
She reached toward your hair. You stepped back.
“Don't.”
The girl's smile disappeared.
“Who do you think you are?”
Sukuna's eyes narrowed.
He began walking toward you. Slowly. Then one of the girls shoved you. You fell. Your knees struck the snow. You gasped. The cold immediately seeped through the thin layers of your clothing. Your palms pressed into the ground. The snow burned against your skin.
Sukuna stopped.
His entire body went still. One of the girls laughed.
“Look at her.”
Another grabbed you by the hair.
You cried out.
“Let go!”
The girl's fingers tightened.
“You're so proud of this hair, aren't you?”
You struggled.
“Please.”
The third girl pulled a pair of scissors from her sleeve.
Sukuna's eyes widened.
“No.”
He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud.
The girl raised the scissors.
You saw them.
Your face went white.
“No—”
The blades closed.
A long lock of pale hair fell into the snow.
You screamed.
“Kuna!”
Everything stopped. Sukuna heard the nickname. The one nobody else used. The one that belonged only to you.
Kuna.
His name in your voice.
Something inside him snapped. He moved. There was no thought. No restraint. No warning. One moment the girls were standing around you. The next—
the first one was gone. A violent burst of cursed energy tore through the snow. The others screamed. Sukuna stood between them and you. His expression was empty. That was worse than anger. The girl holding your hair stumbled backward. She stared at him.
“You—”
Sukuna grabbed her.
She barely had time to scream. His four arms moved. The sound that followed was sickening. You covered your mouth. The girl collapsed into the snow. Blood spread across the white ground. The other two ran. They didn't get far. Sukuna caught one by the back of her clothing. He dragged her toward him.
She begged.
He didn't listen.
The third girl screamed your name. You flinched. Sukuna turned. His face was splattered with blood. His markings seemed darker against his skin. The girl froze. Sukuna looked at her. Then he smiled. It wasn't the smile you knew. It was something colder. Something pleased. She tried to run. He caught her.
The snow around you became red. You couldn't look away. You couldn't look away. You couldn't—
Sukuna's hands were everywhere.
Too many.
Moving too quickly.
The girls screamed. Then one stopped. Then another. Silence returned. Only the snow continued falling. Sukuna stood in the middle of it. Breathing calmly. Blood stained his hands. His clothes. His face. The bodies lay scattered around him. He looked at them without remorse. He had killed before. He had killed men who deserved punishment. Men who had hurt him. Men who had hurt others. He had told himself that every time. But this—
this wasn't punishment. This was rage. Pure and thoughtless. And he wasn't sorry. Not for them. Not even a little. He looked at you. His expression softened. Immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
You didn't answer. Sukuna took one step toward you.
You recoiled.
He stopped. His face changed.
For the first time, he looked confused.
“...Y/n?”
You were still kneeling in the snow. Your knees were exposed where your clothing had shifted. The skin was reddened from the cold. Your hair had been hacked unevenly around your shoulders. One hand was still tangled in the severed strands. You stared at him. Your face was pale. Your lips trembled. You had seen him angry. You had seen him threaten people. You had seen him covered in blood before. But never like this. Never because of you. Sukuna looked down at his hands. Then back at you. He suddenly became aware of the blood.
All of it.
He had wanted to hide this part of himself from you.
And now there was nowhere to hide it. You whispered his name. Not Kuna.
“Sukuna.”
The way you said it made something twist inside his chest.
He took another step. You moved backward. His expression fell.
“d-don't.”
Your voice was barely audible. Sukuna stopped. The snow continued falling. You stared at him as though you were seeing him for the first time.
He hated it.
He hated that look.
It was the same look the villagers had given him his entire life.
Fear.
He could tolerate their fear. He couldn't tolerate yours.
“It's me.”
His voice was quiet.
You shook your head.
“I know.”
Those two words hurt more than anything anyone had ever said to him.
Sukuna looked at you.
“I didn't mean to frighten you.”
You stared at the bodies.
“You killed them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came immediately.
“They hurt you.”
Your lips trembled.
“You tore them apart.”
Sukuna looked at the snow.
“Yes.”
There was no excuse. No lie. He could have told you that he lost control. He could have said he didn't mean it. But that would have been false. He had meant every second of it. He had simply stopped caring. Until he saw your face. Now he cared. Now, suddenly, the blood on his hands felt different.
You slowly stood. Your knees shook. Sukuna instinctively reached toward you. You flinched. His hand stopped in midair. He stared at it. Then lowered it.
“You're cold.”
You said nothing.
“Your knees are bleeding.”
Nothing.
“I can carry you.”
You shook your head.
He swallowed.
The strongest thing inside him—the thing that had been growing all these years—wanted to pick you up. Take you away. Put you somewhere nobody could reach. But another part of him, the part you had created years ago beneath the old shrine, understood.
You were afraid.
And he had caused it. Sukuna looked at the blood staining the snow. For the first time since he discovered his cursed technique, he wondered whether the gods had truly given him a gift. Or whether they had simply handed a wounded boy enough power to become exactly what everyone had always accused him of being.
A monster.
His eyes returned to you.
You were trembling.
Your pale hair had been cut unevenly. The snow clung to your clothes. You looked fragile. Beautiful. And terrified of him. Sukuna's chest tightened. He wanted to say he was sorry. The words wouldn't come. He had never learned how to apologize. So instead, he stood there silently while the snow covered the blood. And somewhere deep inside him, something changed.
Until that moment, Sukuna had believed his hatred belonged to the world.
Now he understood something worse.
He could destroy everything around him.
He could kill anyone who hurt you.
He could make the whole world fear his name. But if you ever began to fear him too— then there would be nothing left for him to conquer. Only you. And the terrifying possibility that, in trying to protect his angel from the world, he might become the very thing she needed protection from.
Chapter Five — Hunger
For several moments, Sukuna did not move. The snow kept falling. You remained several paces away from him, your unevenly cut hair scattered around your shoulders, your knees reddened from the cold. Your eyes were still fixed on him.
Fear.
He knew that expression. He had seen it hundreds of times. He had caused it thousands of times. But never from you. Something about that made the world feel wrong. Sukuna's breathing had changed. He noticed it only because he had become accustomed to knowing his own body so well. His chest rose more quickly than it should have. His throat felt dry.
His eyes lingered on you.
Too long.
He knew that.
He should have looked away.
He didn't.
There was something different about seeing you now. Perhaps it was the years. Perhaps it was the fact that you were no longer the little girl who had first approached him beneath the shrine with a rice ball in your hands.
You had grown.
So had he.
And suddenly, standing there with the snow falling around you, Sukuna became painfully aware of that difference.
He had known affection. He had known dependence. He had known jealousy. He had known the violent instinct to protect what he considered his. But this— This was unfamiliar. His gaze dropped briefly before returning to your face.
His breath caught.
He frowned.
What was wrong with him?
He had spent years looking at you. He knew your face. He knew the shape of your smile. He knew how your expression changed when you were annoyed, embarrassed, amused, frightened. He knew the sound of your footsteps. He knew the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when concentrating.
He knew all of it.
So why did seeing you now feel different? Why did his chest tighten? Why did his thoughts become so difficult to control? Why did he suddenly feel acutely aware of how close you were?
Sukuna swallowed.
He hated the sensation. It made him feel inexperienced. Helpless. He could kill a man without hesitation. He could tear apart a curse. He could stand before an entire village without lowering his eyes. Yet one look at you had left him uncertain of himself.
He didn't understand.
And Sukuna hated what he didn't understand. His fingers flexed. For one fleeting moment, an instinct rose inside him. An urge to close the distance between you. To pull you closer. To make certain you were still there. It wasn't the same feeling he'd had as a child when he wanted you beside him because loneliness hurt.
This was something older.
Something his body seemed to understand before his mind did.
The realization unsettled him. He looked away sharply. No. He wouldn't think about it. Not now. Not while you were frightened. He would not become a man who took something from you simply because he wanted it. That thought came surprisingly clearly. Perhaps because, beneath everything else he had become, the boy you had raised with your kindness was still somewhere inside him.
He could be cruel.
He could be vicious.
He could kill without remorse.
But not you.
Never you. You were the exception. You had always been the exception. His stomach suddenly growled. Loudly. The sound shattered the strange silence. You blinked. Sukuna looked down. The mouth beneath his robes shifted restlessly. He hadn't fed properly. Not for days. His cursed energy had left him ravenous, and the scent of blood surrounding him had only made the hunger worse.
His stomach-mouth opened beneath the fabric.
Sukuna's expression changed.
The strange sexual thoughts disappeared beneath something much older. Hunger. Pure hunger. He exhaled.
“You should go home.”
You stared at him.
“I'm not leaving you here.”
“You should.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You're frightened of me.”
You looked away. That hesitation was enough. His expression hardened.
“Go.”
You didn't. You never did what he told you when you believed he was wrong. That was one of the things he loved most about you. And one of the things that irritated him most. Sukuna turned away from you. His robes shifted as the mouth beneath them opened wider.
He reached for the first body. You watched. He stopped. For a moment, he seemed almost embarrassed. Not because of what he was about to do. Because you were watching.
“You shouldn't look.”
Your voice was quiet.
“Why?”
“Because you won't like it.”
You stared at him.
“I've already seen what you did.”
Sukuna's jaw tightened. Then he removed the bloodstained outer robe. The cold struck his bare skin immediately. His body had changed dramatically over the years. Broad shoulders. Powerful arms. A torso marked by dark patterns that curled across his skin like something alive. The markings reached across his chest, shoulders, waist, and back. The black shapes contrasted sharply against his skin.
You had seen portions of them before. Never all at once.
Sukuna looked enormous. Almost inhuman. He bent toward the corpse. The mouth on his stomach opened. And he fed. You turned your face away. The sounds were horrible.
Wet.
Animalistic.
Sukuna didn't care. He had long since stopped caring what ordinary people thought of him. But he noticed when you flinched. He noticed everything about you. Even while feeding. Especially then. When he finished, he wiped the blood from his mouth.
He looked toward you.
You were still there.
Still frightened.
Still refusing to leave him.
Something strange moved through his chest again. That unfamiliar feeling. That realization he didn't have a name for yet. Sukuna stared at you through the falling snow. He had spent his entire life hungry. Hungry for food. For warmth. For revenge. For power. For recognition. For something that could make the emptiness inside him disappear.
And now, for the first time, he was beginning to understand that there were different kinds of hunger.
Some could be satisfied.
Some could not.
His eyes remained on you. He looked away before you could notice. He didn't know what to do with this new part of himself. So he did what he had always done whenever something frightened him. He buried it. Deep. Quietly. Where nobody could reach it.
Especially you. At least he hoped.
Chapter Six — The King of Curses
Four years changed everything. By the time Sukuna was twenty-three and you were twenty, the ten villages no longer belonged to the people who had built them. They belonged to him. Half their population was dead. The rest knew better than to speak his name carelessly. At first, people had called him a monster. Then a demon. Then a calamity.
Eventually, they stopped calling him anything at all. There were simply things that belonged to Sukuna. Territory. Temples. Fields. Palaces People. He had stopped counting the dead.
You hadn't.
You remembered every village. Every house. Every empty doorway. Every family that had disappeared. People who had never hurt you.
Farmers.
Children.
Old women.
Travelers.
People who had simply been unfortunate enough to stand in the way of his expanding domain. You knew it was wrong. You knew what he had become. And somehow, that was worse than if you had hated him. Because you remembered who he had been. The lonely child beneath the mountain. The boy who pretended not to wait for you. The boy who had secretly kept the slippers you made him long after they stopped fitting. The boy who used to turn his face away because he thought you would find him ugly. The boy who had once asked, very quietly, whether you would come back tomorrow.
That boy was still somewhere inside him.
You knew he was. You just couldn't reach him anymore.
Sukuna sat in the center of a palace that had once belonged to a powerful noble family.
The family was gone. The servants remained. He had learned that killing everyone was inconvenient. Someone needed to cook. Someone needed to clean. Someone needed to maintain the enormous estate. And, increasingly, someone needed to prepare his food.
He had discovered that human flesh tasted better cooked. That realization had come after weeks of complaining.
“It tastes terrible.”
One servant lowered his head. Sukuna stared down at the plate. Raw meat. Blood still clung to it. The mouth on his stomach had already devoured half.
“It tastes like shit.”
Nobody answered. Sukuna looked up.
“I said it tastes terrible.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then cook it.”
The servant bowed.
“Yes.”
Sukuna leaned back. He had become accustomed to being obeyed. It was easier than being feared. Fear was useful. Obedience was efficient. He had surrounded himself with people who understood that. Those who resisted him died. Those who submitted were allowed to live.
It was almost merciful. At least, that was what he told himself.
You lived there too. You had never officially been given a title. Never been introduced as his wife. Never been called his consort. Nothing had changed between you in the way outsiders could understand. You simply lived beside him. As you always had.
Except you no longer spoke to him.
That was the one thing Sukuna could not tolerate. At first, he thought it was temporary. A punishment. You would eventually become angry enough to yell at him. He could handle anger. He understood anger.
But silence?
Silence was different.
You stopped answering when he spoke. Stopped sitting beside him. Stopped bringing him food. Stopped sewing his clothes. Stopped looking at him unless absolutely necessary. And Sukuna discovered that there were very few things in the world more painful than being ignored by the one person whose attention he had spent his entire life craving.
“Where are you going?”
You kept walking. He followed.
“I asked you a question.”
Nothing. His jaw tightened.
“You heard me.”
Still nothing. Sukuna stopped. His four eyes followed you until you disappeared through the doorway. His fingers curled against his palm. He could make an entire village kneel. He could make men twice his age tremble. He could kill anyone who refused to answer him.
Yet he couldn't make you speak. That humiliation ate at him.
It changed him. Not for the better. When you stopped speaking to him, his temper became worse. Servants began disappearing for minor mistakes. A soldier who laughed at the wrong time never returned. A cook who burned his meal was dragged from the palace. A group of villagers who refused to kneel were slaughtered.
Sukuna knew why he was doing it. He didn't admit it. You did. Every time another body appeared, you knew. It was his way of demanding your attention. And it made you withdraw further.
Which made him angrier.
Which made him crueler. The cycle fed itself.
Then Sukuna discovered there were others. People who could see them. Curses. They had always existed around him, lurking where ordinary people couldn't perceive them. But now Sukuna could sense them. Understand them. Control them. He realized something important. He wasn't alone.
There were others who could perceive the same hidden world.
Some approached him willingly. Others challenged him. Those who bowed were spared. Those who resisted were destroyed. Some became his servants. Others became his enemies. The village elders began whispering a new title. Not demon. Not monster. Not abomination. Something worse.
Something powerful.
The King of Curses.
Sukuna liked it.
He didn't need to pretend to be human anymore. He had spent his entire childhood trying to convince people that he wasn't a monster. Now he understood something. They had been right. Perhaps he had simply needed enough power to become comfortable with it.
One evening, you found him sitting alone. His outer robes had been discarded. His markings covered his body. His four eyes were closed. The mouth on his stomach was quiet for once. You paused in the doorway.
He opened his eyes.
“You're here.”
You said nothing. His gaze followed you. You turned to leave.
“Stay.”
You stopped. He waited. You remained silent. Sukuna's expression darkened.
“Why won't you speak to me?”
Nothing.
“Four years.”
Your shoulders stiffened.
“Four years, and you still haven't said a word to me.”
You finally turned. Your expression was exhausted.
“You know why.”
His jaw clenched.
“Say it.”
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“You've killed people who did nothing to you.”
Silence.
“You've destroyed families.”
Sukuna stared.
“You've become exactly what everyone said you would become.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You think I'm a monster.”
You looked at him.
“I think you became one.” The words landed harder than any weapon. For several seconds, Sukuna said nothing. Then he laughed. It wasn't amused. It was bitter.
“After everything?”
Your eyes softened. That almost made it worse.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No.”
He stood. His height alone made the room feel smaller.
“You don't.”
He walked toward you.
You didn't move.
“You think I became this because I wanted to.”
“You chose this.”
“I chose power.”
“You chose cruelty.”
“I chose never to be helpless again.”
His voice cracked slightly on the final word. You noticed. Of course you did. You had always noticed everything.
Sukuna looked away.
He hated that.
He hated that some part of him still wanted you to understand. Still wanted you to look at him and say that he wasn't beyond saving.
But he couldn't ask.
He had never learned how.
Instead, he said: “You won't even look at me anymore.”
You swallowed.
“I look at you.”
“No.”
His voice became quieter. “You look through me.”
You said nothing. His gaze lingered on you. He had spent years learning the ways of his own body. How powerful it was. How easily it could destroy. How to use his cursed energy. How to kill. How to eat. How to survive.
But there were other things he didn't understand. Things he had begun noticing more frequently as he grew older. The strange restlessness beneath his skin. The way being near you could make his thoughts difficult to organize. The frustration of wanting your attention and having no idea how to ask for it.
He didn't have anyone to teach him.
Nobody had ever taught Sukuna what tenderness looked like.
Nobody had ever taught him how to express affection without possession. He had learned everything about love from losing you. So when he wanted you near him, he became demanding. When he was frightened of losing you, he became controlling. When he wanted your attention, he provoked you. When he missed you, he became cruel. It was childish.
It was pathetic.
And Sukuna hated himself for it.
He wanted you to look at him. He wanted you to speak. He wanted the girl beneath the mountain back. But she had grown into a woman who could no longer pretend the monster standing before her was still the boy she had saved. Sukuna stepped closer.
You remained still.
His eyes searched your face.
“You used to look at me differently.”
“I know.”
“You used to smile.”
“I know.”
“You used to touch me.”
You looked away.
His expression tightened.
“You used to call me Kuna.”
Your lips trembled. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you whispered: “You're not him anymore.”
Sukuna went completely still. There it was. The thing he had been trying not to hear. The truth. He wasn't the boy you had loved.
Not anymore.
The King of Curses stood before you.
And somewhere beneath all that power, all that violence, all those markings and all that blood— a twenty-three-year-old man still wanted nothing more than for the one person who had known him before the world became afraid of him to look at him again and see something worth loving.
But he didn't know how to become that person again.
So he did what Sukuna had always done.
He swallowed the hurt. He let his face become cold. And he turned away first.
“Fine.”
You watched him walk toward the open balcony. Outside, the moon hung above the palace. The snow had begun again. Sukuna stood beneath it alone. The same snow that had once surrounded a lonely child. The same snow beneath which you had once touched his face and called him beautiful. Only now there were bodies beneath it.
And a kingdom at his feet.
He had everything he had once dreamed of. Power. Fear. Obedience. Immortality whispered through legends. The title of King.
Everything except the one thing he had spent his entire life wanting.
You.
And for the first time, Sukuna began to wonder whether becoming powerful enough to possess the world had only made it impossible for him to possess the one thing he actually wanted.
Fr tho pls comment if you liked this and any ideas for how i should make the story unfold and what should the nsfw scene be like? also dont be shy to send me jjk fic requests!
he'd absolutely have opinions about what you wear. A dress he considers sexy? “Wear that one again.” Something he thinks is too casual? He'd make his displeasure very obvious. "go change women shouldn't be wearing pants"
he's extremely possessive. He doesn't necessarily need to say “you're mine” because his entire demeanor around other men says it for him. he is insanely rude to any man that tries to speak to you treating them like garbage even if they are just doing their job. not because he loves you but because he is so territorial and considers you his property
He'd be obsessed with the idea of a “proper wife.” Graceful, beautiful, obedient, socially polished, and never making her husband look foolish. May God help you if you ever dare openly contradict him in front of others.
He'd absolutely have moments where he says something along the lines of: “Leave that to me. You don't need to concern yourself with men's affairs.” And he'd genuinely mean it.
He'd criticize your appearance if he thought you looked sloppy. but he'd also criticize you if you dressed in a way he considered deliberately provocative in the wrong setting. "you seriously think im gonna let MY wife walk out like THAT? you look like a whore but i guess i cant blame you, women are too dumb to understand what men are really like. go change" but in reality he is just possessive and jealous of other men giving you attention
He'd care enormously about producing heirs, particularly sons. and would talk about you two trying for kids openly in front of everyone and would totally be making you red and teasing you in front of others and would brag about how fertile his wife is the moment u got pregnant
He'd hate being corrected in front of other men. Privately, he might eventually concede the point. Publicly? Absolutely not.
he slaps your ass EVERY time you bend over to do anything even infront of others, the sound of a clap would echo in the room and the print of his hand would sting
nsfw
he bends you over his knee and spanks you hard if you fuck up no matter what it is, not staying by his side the whole time you are in public-spanking, messing up his tea-spanking, doing his bed the wrong way-spanking. he thinks its his responsibility as a husband to discipline you but he's also just a pervert and loves getting any excuse to touch your ass
has a mirror on the wall next to the bed so he can watch himself while he fucks you
grunts when he slips it in and says stuff like "who's pussy is this huh? huh? speak up i cant hear you" while you are nonverbal from how sexdrunk his dick gets you but as he gets closer to finishing he starts moaning more and his hips start to thrust more irregularly then holds you super close wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your hair or neck while he nuts inside of you knocking a shaky breath out of him
he fingers you under the table even when servants are in the room, watching you struggle to stay quiet and doesnt stop till he makes you come on his fingers
one time when he was tipsy and came home to fuck you he was doing good and fucking you hard but then started moaning more then usual when you kissed him back for the first time. that peeked your interest and you started kissing his neck and his head was spinning from alcohol and his dick felt amazing so his thrusts got sloppier. so you decided to be brave and take matters into your own hands and got on top of him to ride him pinning him down to the bed and he never nutted so hard before he was literally screaming in pleasure. he remembered everything in the morning but never wanted to mention it again and didnt know how to ask for it so he didnt but hopes you will do it again some day
choso
sfw
He would take marriage incredibly seriously. To Choso, becoming your husband wouldn't just mean being your romantic partner. It would mean you are family. And family is basically sacred to him
Physical affection would become very important to him. Not necessarily constantly, but he likes having some point of contact with you: holding hands, an arm around you, your head against his shoulder. He'd especially like cuddling when you're both falling asleep.
He's protective to an almost instinctive degree. His first reaction when someone threatens his wife would be immediate and violent. He wouldn't care whether the person was stronger, more important, or more dangerous. "That's my family." And that would be enough.
If someone made you uncomfortable, he'd ask what you wanted him to do rather than assuming. His jealousy would be much quieter than Naoya's. He'd probably become noticeably withdrawn rather than confrontational. If you asked him what was wrong, he'd initially say: “Nothing.” Pause. “…I didn't like the way he was looking at you.”
He'd need reassurance sometimes. Choso spent so much of his life being isolated and losing the people he considered family that abandonment would be a particularly painful subject for him. He wouldn't constantly demand reassurance, but small demonstrations of affection would mean an enormous amount to him. You coming home and immediately hugging him? He'd remember that.
He'd be very domestic. He'd genuinely enjoy doing ordinary things together because ordinary domestic life is something he never really got to have. Grocery shopping together would somehow become one of his favorite activities. Cooking together. Cleaning together. Sitting around doing absolutely nothing together. He'd find all of it meaningful.
Choso would probably be an extremely affectionate husband in private and in public. He isn't embarrassed by loving his family.
He'd rest his forehead against yours, hold you close, smell your hair, and quietly tell you he missed you. He'd probably say “I love you” much more naturally than you'd expect once he became comfortable with it.
nsfw
Praise would get to him badly. Tell him he's handsome, strong, sexy and he is on his knees like oh my god this man is easy. He is eating your pussy whenever you want and sometimes begging to do it while you two are just watching movies. he is a passionate eater and genuinely does it for the love of the game
he's humping the mattress while he eats you, nose buried in your cunt and would encourage you to grab and pull his hair, hes not stopping even after you come once he is sucking and licking at that clit for hours
he's not necessarily submissive but loves being praised so when you tell him "yeah just like that- you know just how to fuck me" he is going even more feral always prioritizing your pleasure over his just to hear that sweet praise roll off your tongue
really loves spit play i mean y'all are just making out like two wet sloppy sponges his saliva dripping down his tongue into your mouth, his knees buckle when you suck on his tongue and hum/moan while you make out
he would never do anything in public, he loves you too much and only wants to have sex in private safe places where he knows you will be comfortable
cries when he feels too good and nuzzles his face into your hand while you wipe his tears as he's still thrusting into you
he doesn't grunt he moans and whimpers like a bitch even when hes on top and fucking your brains out
gojo
sfw
He'd be extremely playful. Even after years of marriage, he'd still tease his wife constantly. He'd steal food from her plate, annoy her when she's trying to concentrate, and deliberately do things just to get an eye-roll. But his humor is also a defense mechanism. Gojo uses his ridiculousness to keep people from seeing how isolated he actually is. you would eventually become one of the few people capable of recognizing when he's joking because he's genuinely happy versus when he's joking because he doesn't want to talk.
He'd need someone who isn't intimidated by him. Being the strongest means almost everyone around him treats him differently. He'd actually enjoy being challenged. If you tells him, “You're being an asshole,” he'd probably grin. “Yeah, but I'm your asshole.”
He'd be affectionate in a very casual way, arms around you from behind, leaning his chin on your head, stealing kisses while u are doing something, casually holding your hand in public.
he is absolutely showing you off "this is my WIFE" with a proud almost obnoxious grin plastered on his face
He'd spoil you, but not necessarily because he's trying to buy affection. Gojo has money and genuinely enjoys giving people things. If u casually mentions wanting something, there's a good chance he'll buy it. “Satoru, this is ridiculously expensive.” “And?”
he would steal your side of the bed only because it smelled like your perfume, leaves his glasses all around the house then struggles to find them,
He's surprisingly clingy when he's exhausted. After an awful mission or an especially stressful day at Jujutsu High, he'd come home, drop onto the couch beside you, and become dramatically useless. “I'm tired.” “You fought a special grade.” “Exactly. I deserve attention.” He'd probably fall asleep with his head in your lap
His biggest marital flaw would probably be emotional distance. Gojo can love someone deeply while still keeping parts of himself completely inaccessible. He'd be capable of laughing with his wife one minute and then quietly carrying something enormous alone the next. hed say he's fine and he is absolutely not He'd need to consciously learn that being someone's husband means letting someone take care of him too, rather than always being the one who protects everyone.
nsfw
hes really confident while having sex and thats partially why he is so attractive, he knows he will make you beg for more before he even start
literally cums just a little way too much, more than an average man and enough to be annoying to clean and that man works magic with his dick and fingers he can make you squirt easily even if you have never done it before so you had to buy those waterproof blankets because you both be making a mess
when he's annoyed and needs release he has a habit of being a little rougher and faster than usual, he pins your hands above your head and thrusts in and out of you so quickly and deep it gets too overwhelming sometimes making you cry and he loves it
uses his blindfold on you when he wants to punish you because he knows how much you love looking at his beautiful face while you fuck
uses his infinity so that you can't touch him when you are ovulating and get super needy just because he wants to push you to your limit and beg for him because he wants to feel wanted and craves that deeply
praise would inflate his already sky-high ego even more saying stuff like "its too much" or "this feels too good I can't anymore-" would earn you a smirk from him, kiss on the forehead and "i know i know, my dick is too much to handle for you isn't it bunny? you have to be brave and strong for me tho... you can do that right?" while he is cupping your face still thrusting just as fast and deep keeping eye contact
nanami
sfw
He'd be extremely dependable. If he says he'll be home at seven, he'll make every reasonable effort to be home at seven. He's the type who would actually remember appointments, bills, reservations, birthdays, important dates, and things u mentioned needing. But don't mistake reliability for constant emotional availability.
Nanami is not naturally expressive. He may love his wife enormously while rarely making dramatic declarations about it.
He'd have very strong boundaries around work. He'd dislike bringing work home whenever possible. After returning from a difficult mission, he might be quiet rather than immediately wanting to discuss his feelings.
He wouldn't be controlling about her appearance or social life. That's not really his personality. he has much bigger things to worry about anyway. he would also hate if you were jealous or possessive since he finds it immature. he would trust you with everything until you give him a reason not to
if he saw another man flirting with you, he would not intervene instantly, he knows you are loyal and can handle yourself just fine. he would only step up if he saw the guy wasn't taking no as an answer
Nanami's entire personality is built around enduring unpleasant things because someone has to. He could easily fall into the habit of thinking, “I'll deal with it myself; there's no reason to burden her.” you might eventually become frustrated because you wants to support him but he keeps deciding what you can and cannot handle.
He could also become too self-sacrificing. He might work himself to exhaustion because he believes it's his responsibility. and wouldn't want you to work.
if you ever put yourself in danger for his life he would be pissed and genuinely mad at you for the first time and would be lecturing you for the next few days
scolds you when you cuss for sure
Nanami isn't going to magically become emotionally open because he's married. He can be stubborn. He can be overly serious. He can sound patronizing when he thinks he's being practical. He can shut down when overwhelmed. He can prioritize duty over his own happiness. And he can have a tendency to decide what is “best” for everyone without necessarily asking what they actually want.
That's where realistic marital conflict with Nanami would come from, not him secretly being some domineering alpha husband, but his belief that responsibility means he should carry everything himself. you would probably have to teach him that letting someone love him also means letting them share the burden. And once he finally understands that, he'd be extraordinarily loyal. Just the kind of man who comes home, puts his keys down, loosens his tie, sees his wife, and thinks: I'm where I'm supposed to be.
nsfw
this man is a brat tamer. no questions about it, he loves when you disobey he loves when you act a fool. it gives him a reason to remind you of who he is to you and who you are to him.
if he tells you to drink more water like 10x times in a day and u don't listen trust he will take your hydration in his own hands, face fuck you till he cums down your throat and say "drink up brat, that's what you get for not listening me earlier when i still had patience"
if you ever tease him while he's working from home and he tells you to stop he will say "you have 5 seconds to stop your childish distractions and let me work or ill edge you 10 times without even giving you release"
saying "don't threaten me with a good time" would earn you a knowing smirk from him before he throws you onto his shoulder and tosses you on the bed then eating your pussy for 1.5h hours till he edges you exactly 10 times then stands up and returns to his work leaving you needy and unsatisfied begging him to come back but he just ignores you until he's actually done with his work
next time would just make you hump his thigh till you cum while he ignores you and keeps working because you didn't want to listen to him last time
would never do anything in public he thinks that's for immature teens
pulls your hair while he fucks you from behind and is much rougher than most men, he is always working hard so he likes taking his anger out on your poor cunt and mouth
is extremely vocal and an expert at dirty talk this man is saying the craziest most toe curling stuff to you while he is sending you to another dimension with his dick "who owns you? say my name, scream it" "haah you are such an attention whore for me arent you? you just have to distract me while im working dont you?" "this cunt is all mine, mine to stretch, mine to fill, mine to use whenever i please"
sukuna would never become conventionally affectionate just because you're his wife. He doesn't suddenly start saying “I love you” or showering you with compliments. His affection would be recognizable mainly because of what he allows you to have.
marriage, to him, would be less about romance and more about possession and recognition. You're his wife, and everyone around him is expected to understand exactly what that means.
he'd have an almost unsettling confidence about the relationship. He wouldn't worry about whether you loved him enough. Sukuna doesn't seek reassurance. he never has and never will.
He'd be extremely intolerant of anyone disrespecting you, he believes you're incapable of defending yourself and also someone disrespecting what belongs to him is disrespecting him. so he would probably devour the person that dared to do such thing
He'd expect you to be strong enough to stand beside him. Weakness wouldn't automatically make him hate you, its to be expected. still even if you did and tried your best he would still never view you as an equal, since no one else could ever be as strong as the king of curses but if you acted helpless he would be disgusted by you
He'd actually respect a wife who talks back to him more than one who blindly agrees with everything. Sukuna has no interest in people who are completely spineless.That doesn't mean he'd tolerate disrespect indefinitely. There's a very important difference between having the audacity to challenge Sukuna and forgetting who you're challenging.
He'd absolutely expect you to sit beside him rather than somewhere across the room. Not because he's romantic, but because your place is beside him.
He'd be particularly amused by feminine rituals getting dressed, jewelry, elaborate hairstyles, perfumes, not because he suddenly develops an interest in beauty, but because he'd find the contrast between your delicacy and his brutality interesting.
If you asked whether you looked beautiful, he'd probably stare for a moment before giving you something maddeningly understated like: “Obviously.” And if you complained that he never compliments you, he'd genuinely not understand the problem. “You are my wife. Do you require constant reminding? ”He'd consider publicly acknowledging you a much greater display of affection than verbal praise.
He'd be amused when you became angry with him. partially because he doesn't take you seriously, but also because seeing his usually composed wife become genuinely furious would entertain him. He'd deliberately provoke you sometimes just to see what you'll do.
He would never be submissive in the relationship. Even if he lets you get away with things other people couldn't, the underlying dynamic remains unmistakably Sukuna.
His version of reassurance would be brutally straightforward: “If I wanted you gone, you would not be standing here.”To him, that's practically tenderness.
nsfw
he's amused when you become flustered by how directly he speaks to you about marital expectations. talking about sex, pleasure and reproducing like its nothing, noticing how red your face gets, then a smirk appearing on his face before he can catch it.
He'd enjoy making you flustered with deliberately suggestive remarks, especially because Heian etiquette requires you to remain composed. so ofc he would whisper something dirty and blunt in your ear in front of everyone then watch your face as you try to act normal
sometimes when you two were in his chambers together and a servant was serving you tea, he would look at you, your hair, robes, the way the fabric drapes on your body then interrupt the servant dismissing it and then before the servant even closes the door behind him that man is already on you taking what's his whenever he wants however he wants.
likes overstimulating you on purpose, not stopping even when you are screaming and crying on his dick just so that everyone in like a mile radios could hear your voice
He'd be practically addicted to the contrast between your formal court appearance and how disheveled you become once the evening is private and hes done
He'd deliberately loosen the collar of your robe while speaking to you completely normally, as though he isn't aware of how much it's affecting you. and just stare at your cleavage and say something like "what am i not allowed to admire my wife's tits while she's talking to me" when you stop talking
possessive when you deliberately avoid his gaze after an argument (usually about how cruel he is to the innocent(no he's not changing for you)), forcing you to acknowledge him. then crashing his lips against yours to shut you up. not as a romantic gesture but more as a quick and practical way to get you to stop talking but then as you kiss him back its like you turn on a switch in him and he grows more feral and chuckles to himself before commanding you to take off your clothes. that man is stretching you OUT after a fight
If you tried acting unaffected, he'd immediately recognize it and tease you for pretending. "i saw the corner of your mouth twitch just there" or "you know you are an open book right? just admit it and ill stop" while his 4 hands are groping your clothed body behind shoji screens while servants are still in the room and he will not stop until you admit it, if you mumbled it he would go like "what's that, speak up i didnt hear you" and he would start taking off your clothes and wont stop till you scream "okay yes fuck! you do make me nervous!" then he would just say "i know" and head out throwing a smug smirk while passing servants that bow for him
toji
sfw
he'd probably sleep like a corpse. Completely sprawled out, stealing most of the blanket, and somehow expecting you to adapt while his heavy body is most likely crushing you in his sleep.
Physical affection would be casual and instinctive. An arm around your waist while passing by, pulling you against him when you're sitting together, resting his chin on your head.
he'd be extremely difficult to embarrass. You could flirt with him relentlessly and he'd just give you that lazy, knowing smirk. Conversely, if you suddenly became bold and flirtatious, he'd enjoy watching you lose your nerve when he actually reciprocated.
he'd absolutely complain about expensive purchases while simultaneously buying you whatever you actually need. “You paid that much for this?” Five minutes later, he's carrying the shopping bags. (the bum doesnt work most of the time, he just does high paying missions a couple of times a year)
he'd be surprisingly protective of your privacy. Toji doesn't like people knowing his business, and he'd extend that same attitude toward you. Then the atmosphere changes very quickly when he notices even one man looking in your direction. He'd have a habit of casually putting his hand on your lower back when you're in public. just enough to remind you he's there.
he's incredibly lazy when he has nothing he needs to do. If there's no work, he'll lounge around, eat, sleep, gamble, or generally do as little as possible. hes not taking you out on interesting dates you'd probably have to physically drag him out of bed sometimes.
he'd be terrible at remembering anniversaries unless you made a point of telling him beforehand.
He'd be fiercely loyal once he genuinely considered you family. Toji's canon problem isn't that he's incapable of attachment; it's that his relationship with attachment is complicated and often destructive.That's what makes him interesting as a husband: he wouldn't become a completely different man just because he got married. He'd still be rough around the edges, irresponsible in certain ways, cynical, and difficult, but you'd become one of the very few people whose presence genuinely matters to him.
nsfw
he LOOOOOVES seeing you in his shirts, if he walked in the bathroom to see you in his oversized shirt draping off your shoulders just wearing panties, your nipples poking under the fabric in the middle of brushing your teeth that man is grinding against you from behind almost humping you but not quite. hes wrapping his arms around your waist and groping your chest while you complain and lazily try to shake him off but he holds your hair while you spit and rinse your mouth then dragging you to the bedroom and bending your back before burrying his dick deep inside you
he becomes even more touchy when drunk his hands on your ass or tummy at all times before he starts drunkinly blabbering on about wanting to get you pregnant saying stuff like "you walk around the house looking so sexy all the t-ime youll make me knock a baby into you" "you would look so hot pregnant with your belly all swollen and your tits full of milk ughhh please can we make a baby"
he loves morning sex (not really morning but rather noon or whenevr he wakes up) the sight of you with your hair messy, still yawning and his thin baggy shirt the only thing you are wearing gets him rock hard every time and he drags you back in bed when you try to get up and begs for slow passionate sex. just lazy slow deep thrusts letting you both enjoy and savor the sensations before picking up speed just a little, tossing your legs over his shoulders and leaning down to make out with you
higuruma
sfw
higuruma would take marriage extremely seriously. Not in a traditionally romantic way, but because to him, marriage is a commitment he has consciously chosen. He wouldn't enter it casually.He'd probably insist on actually discussing expectations beforehand. Finances, living arrangements, boundaries, work, personal space, he'd want everything clear.
He'd be painfully reasonable during arguments. Which can honestly make arguing with him worse. “That's an assertion, not an argument.”
He wouldn't raise his voice often. His anger is much more intimidating when he becomes quiet and precise. He'd hate unfairness within the marriage. He wouldn't expect you to automatically take his side just because you're his wife.If he was wrong, he'd eventually admit it. Actually admitting fault would matter enormously to him.
His apologies would be sincere but awkward. He'd probably rehearse what he wants to say beforehand because emotional conversations don't come naturally to him.
Higuruma would be very attentive to your emotional state, but he'd sometimes approach it like a legal problem.
“You seem upset. What happened?” “Nothing.” “…I don't believe you.” He'd never pressure you to talk immediately. If you needed space, he'd give it- he'd make it clear he'd still be there when you were ready.
Hiromi would probably cook surprisingly well. Not elaborate restaurant food, just extremely competent, practical meals. His kitchen would be organized almost obsessively.
He'd read instructions before assembling anything. He absolutely reads the terms and conditions.
He'd secretly love when you sit beside him while he's working, even if neither of you talks. just resting your head on his lap or shoulder as he reads stacks of papers coming up with solutions for court cases while petting your head
He'd remember dates, names, exact statements, inconsistencies, and evidence with terrifying precision.
He'd be particularly vulnerable to domestic affection. A kiss on the cheek while he's reading could completely derail his train of thought. He'd pretend it didn't. He'd reread the same sentence approximately four times.
He'd probably write little notes for practical reasons- “I'll be home late,” “Dinner is in the refrigerator,” etc.—but occasionally one would become unexpectedly sweet.
His marriage wouldn't make him less serious or less haunted. You'd simply become one of the few places where he doesn't have to constantly be Higuruma Hiromi, defense attorney, sorcerer, or judge.
At home, he could just be a tired man taking off his glasses at the end of the day, leaning back against the couch while his wife (you) sits in his lap and gives him sweet kisses and ask about his day
doesnt want any kids and thinks its too late for that now and hes too busy with work so he would realistically be an absent father so he knows its not for the best to have a baby
nsfw
He'd get surprisingly flustered when you initiate. He can cross-examine a witness without blinking, but one whispered suggestion from his wife can completely derail him. suddenly hes got nothing better to do and you are his absolute priority
his guilty pleasure is you distracting him and being super needy. that man LIVES for that. he loves acting busy and saying stuff like "ive got so much work to do baby i cant now just be patient" then folding when you whisper "please daddy i need you, i cant satisfy myself the way you do please i need it" in his ear and rubbing his cock through his pants while hes still typing on his work laptop, suddenly writing nonsense and almost keyboard smashing words together before he caves in and carries you to the bedroom, throwing you onto the bed
sometimes when hes really busy but u still need that d after he tells you he cant do anything for you right now you go into the bedroom, lock yourself inside and start loudly masturbating. that gets him banging on the door "Oh MY GOD! you are seriously doing this!?! oh when i get my hands on you you are DONE FOR" his cool and collected self long gone. and he didnt bluff either the moment he got inside he pouncced on you like a starving man on meat and got straight to bruising your cervix. then later carried you to the bathtub and washed your hair saying "this is what you get for teasing me so much. you know i have work to do! ill be surprised if you are able to walk tomorrow"
hes super submissive like 4/10 times wanting you to push him down and sit on his face and ride his tongue and nose till you cum or he wants you to suck his dick under his desk while he works from home or has important zoom meetings
geto
sfw
He'd be surprisingly domestic. He'd enjoy quiet evenings at home, preparing tea, reading, tending to plants, or simply sitting together without needing constant entertainment.
He'd enjoy brushing your hair or helping with elaborate hairstyles, especially if you're sitting in front of him while he talks about something.
He's not particularly needy, but he likes having his wife nearby. If you're reading in another room, he'll eventually find an excuse to come sit there too.
Geto would be an excellent conversationalist. He'd actually enjoy debating philosophy, morality, religion, society, and human nature with you. And that's where his darker characterization becomes interesting. If you're married to post-Star Plasma Vessel Geto, you would gradually notice his worldview becoming more extreme.
He'd talk about sorcerers and non-sorcerers differently than he used to. You'd probably be one of the few people whose disagreement he genuinely listens to. But listening doesn't necessarily mean changing his mind. He'd be frighteningly calm when discussing things other people would consider monstrous.
Geto would also be very protective without being obviously controlling. He'd want to know where you're going, who you're with, and when you'll return, not because he doubts you, but because he thinks knowing these things is simply sensible.
If someone threatened you, his reaction would be terrifyingly calm. He wouldn't need to yell. “Who was it?” And the gentle smile wouldn't reach his eyes.
He'd occasionally tease you with that characteristic little smile when he knows you're trying to hide something. “You aren't very convincing, you know.” He'd be very difficult to lie to.
nsfw
he loves when you pull on his face while hes eating you out and when he's pulling on yours while fucking you roughly, messing up your hairstyle on purpose a little then when you are done showering and all after sex you two would take turns brushing and braiding each others hair
he has a thing for you whispering in his ear, but one day out in public, it wasn't anything dirty, but it made his knees buckle just a little hearing your breathy voice makes the hair on his arms stand up and he takes your hand in his and makes you feel his boner "feel what you do to me when you tease me like that you little slut" "you know this already- i cant handle you whispering in my ear like that" he's just pissed that you saw and made his knees buckle like that and he promises you that he's fucking your throat so good when you get home that you wont be able to speak
would be super open about trying new things in the bedroom but particularly likes shibari, choking and pussy worship
he sometimes gets carried away and the best way he can describe it is that he gets cuteness aggression while having sex and wants to bite you, pin your head roughly against the mattress
im way too sleepy sorry ill finish this tomorrow in the morning my eyes are literally closing im so tired
𖧧₊˚⊹Choso is initially overwhelmed by just how much goes into your appearance. He'll quietly watch you spend forty minutes curling your hair or carefully applying lip gloss, not because he thinks it's unnecessary, but because he's amazed by the ritual.
𖧧₊˚⊹He loves carrying your shopping bags after you buy another pair of heels or another pink dress, it makes him feel manly
𖧧₊˚⊹At first he doesn't understand why some outfits are "different shades of white" or why one ribbon matches better than another. Eventually he starts pointing them out himself.
𖧧₊˚⊹He absolutely treasures seeing you dressed up for no reason. Even if you're just sitting at home wearing lace pajamas and fluffy slippers, he'll stare for a second longer than necessary.
𖧧₊˚⊹If someone mocks the amount of pink you wear, he's genuinely confused."She likes pink and looks good in it. Why is that a problem?"
𖧧₊˚⊹Every time you twirl to show him a new outfit, he smiles without realizing it.
𖧧₊˚⊹He keeps little things in his pockets for you: extra hair ties, tissues so your lipstick doesn't smudge, lip balm if you forget yours.
𖧧₊˚⊹Resting his chin on your shoulder while you do your skincare, watching each step with quiet curiosity. Waiting for you to ask him if you can apply your skincare on his face too and he always says yes.
𖧧₊˚⊹Letting you paint his nails pastel colors because you asked once. He ends up leaving them on for weeks.
𖧧₊˚⊹Smiling every time he hears the soft click of your heels approaching because he already knows it's you before he looks up.
𖧧₊˚⊹He learns the names of things purely because of you.
"Those are Mary Janes, right?"Those are pearl hair clips."
nsfw
𖧧₊˚⊹hes rock hard when you sit in his lap in your mini skirty, his face turns red and he almost melts, wrapping his arms around your waist and without noticing grinding up into you and holding you down
Choso loses his train of thought whenever your lip gloss catches the light.
𖧧₊˚⊹He'll be staring at your lips long before he realizes he's doing it. Then kisses you deeply while in the middle of talking practically eating your strawberry flavored lip balm from your lips then completely looses control and begs to eat you out, so blunt about it he loves seeing blush creep up your cheeks and ears and your face all embarrased
𖧧₊˚⊹The feeling of lace beneath his fingertips surprises him every time. He'd absentmindedly trace the edge of a lace bra and panties while you're cuddling, fascinated by how delicate it is. then slides his hand under it cupping your chest and wet cunt, his nose and lips burried in your neck while being the big spoon
𖧧₊˚⊹He adores when you wear long acrylic nails. Not because of the trend itself, but because he loves feeling them massage his scalp while he eats you and humps the mattress
𖧧₊˚⊹He has a soft spot for seeing faint lipstick prints on coffee mugs, straws, or the rim of a wine glass. He always imagines what that would look like around the base of his cock but he doesn't want to force you down on it or face fuck you because he thinks that it would practically be a sin to make such beautiful lips dirty like that
𖧧₊˚⊹If you're wearing a fluffy robe, satin nightgown, or matching pajama set while doing your skincare, he'll quietly wrap his arms around your waist from behind and rest his chin on your shoulder, content just to watch your routine. Then gets carried away and starts dry humping you and begs you to let him fuck you
gojo
sfw
⊹˚₊･The first thing he notices about you isn't your face. it's the fact that you're literally covered in pink, bows, pearls, and lace. He grins immediately. "Cute. Like… aggressively cute."
⊹˚₊･He's your biggest hype man. New nails? He notices. New lashes? Notices. A slightly different shade of lipstick? Somehow notices that too.
⊹˚₊･Gojo is rich, and unfortunately for his bank account, he enables every shopping trip. "Didn't you already have a similar skirt?"
"This one's baby pink. The other one's blush pink. you really wanna get both?" Five minutes later he's paying for it. And doesn't care if its something timeless or a microtrend he got money to spend anyway
⊹˚₊･Loves taking mirror selfies with you even though he completely clashes with your aesthetic in his all-black uniform.
⊹˚₊･Absolutely buys you ridiculously expensive perfume because he says, "Pretty girls deserve pretty things."
⊹˚₊･If you get embarrassed by attention, he'll lean in and whisper, "You're cute when you're flustered. "absolute tease.
⊹˚₊･Holds your purse without a shred of embarrassment like its a part of his outfit.
⊹˚₊･Gives you oversized hoodies that completely swallow your tiny skirts, then complains when you give them back because you "looked too cute" wearing them.
⊹˚₊･Secretly has an entire album on his phone dedicated to candid pictures of you fixing your makeup, looking through store displays, or twirling in new dresses.
⊹˚₊･He's fascinated by your getting-ready routine. Instead of leaving you alone, he'll sit on the bathroom counter talking your ear off while you do your makeup, occasionally stealing a kiss that earns him a playful complaint because he almost ruined your lipstick.
⊹˚₊･If you're nervous before an event, he'll dramatically announce, "Attention, everyone! The prettiest girl in the room has arrived."
nsfw
⊹˚₊･abuses the fact that you blush easily and loves teasing you and talkng you through it with a tinge of sweet mockery in his voice "awwh can the pretty girl not handle a little rough love?" "hey dont cover your face like that, keep your eyes on me"
⊹˚₊･He thinks the contrast between his large hands and your perfectly manicured ones is ridiculously cute. He'll intertwine your fingers just to admire them in public, then keep them pinned at the sides of your head while he fucks you into the mattress, smiling to himself whenever he noticesr how his hands practically swallow yours
⊹˚₊･purpessfully messes up your hair while slowly and roughly pounding into you keeping your head pinned to the mattress, enjoying the sight of such a pretty doll melting on his cock from pleasure,, makes him feel manly
⊹˚₊･is comfortable enough in his masculinity to wear your lingarie sometimes just to make you flustured when he lowers the waistband of his pants just enough to show you in public then watches your reaction with a smug grin on his face while looking down at you
⊹˚₊･loves teasing you to the point you snap and take controll (switch slut ik) and finds it so hot how such a delicate flower of a girl could ever ride him so roughly with your hand over his mouth to finally shut him up a little and moans and whimpers in your hand while his hands are at your hips and ass gripping begging to nut inside
geto
sfw
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚The first thing he notices every morning is how carefully you put yourself together. He'll lean against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching you finish tying a ribbon in your hair with the faintest smile.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚he has a habit of brushing your hair behind your shoulder before speaking to you, especially if it's long and curled. He likes seeing your face unobstructed.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚he'll absentmindedly take your hand while you're walking and trace his thumb over your rings or the backs of your manicured fingers as you talk.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚your jewelry becomes something he associates with comfort. The soft clink of bracelets or the gentle sway of earrings when you laugh always draws his attention. So he wears a necklace of yours around his neck resting on his chest and he plays with it when you arent there or when hes overthinking
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚the first thing he notices every morning is how carefully you put yourself together. He'll lean against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching you finish tying a ribbon in your hair with the faintest smile.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚he has a habit of brushing your hair behind your shoulder before speaking to you, especially if it's long and curled. He likes seeing your face unobstructed.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚he'll absentmindedly take your hand while you're walking and trace his thumb over your rings or the backs of your manicured fingers as you talk.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚your jewelry becomes something he associates with comfort. The soft clink of bracelets or the gentle sway of earrings when you laugh always draws his attention. So he wears a necklace of yours around his neck resting on his chest and he plays with it when you arent there or when hes overthinking
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚really loves it when you braid his hair it makes him feel seen and loved, he adores how gentle you are and doesnt see you as a monkey for that reason lol. you are the only non sourcerer he would even call "angel" or "doll"
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚steals your shampoo so he can smell his own hair when he misses you
nsfw
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚he slowly removes dozens of hairpins from an intricate hairstyle after a formal event, your hair falling over his hands after coming home from one of his cult gatherings. then runs his fingers through your hair massaging the scalp before getting closer to smell your shampoo then gets carried away and starts leaving kisses down your jaw, all the way down to your chest
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚takes your pink hairclip mid thrust to put his own hair up so he can focus better while he fucks you slowly his hips circling as he is stretching you out slowly balls deep, running his fingers through your hair
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚likes fingering you under your skirt while you are still fully clothed because he adores the cute little outfits you wear, and yes he thinks you only dress that way for him and his pleasure
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚Being quietly possessive at formal gatherings by resting a hand at the small of your back whenever strangers linger too long looking at you since you are such eye candy. he grabs your chin tilting your face to look at his then kisses you all sloppy and wet making sure your lipstic is on his lips and corners of his mouth then whispers in your ear stuff like "ill eat you sooooo good when we get home for being so compliant and pretty all day"
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚loves when you pull on his hair while he eats you out then hooks his fingers onto the fabric of your thigh highs as handles keeping your legs spread, sometimes getting lost in the moment and ripping them then buying you new ones the next day
naoya
sfw
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪The first thing he notices is how impeccably put together you are. Lace, pearls, soft colors, heels. it fits exactly what he imagines an "ideal woman" should look like, and he's immediately intrigued.
He openly believes femininity is a woman's greatest asset and thinks women should embrace it completely. Your hyperfeminine style is, in his eyes, "how a woman ought to present herself."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He expects elegance. If you naturally have graceful manners or enjoy traditionally feminine hobbies, he sees it as confirmation that you have "good taste."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He gets irritated if you prioritize practicality over elegance. "Those shoes are comfortable? That's exactly why you shouldn't wear them."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He'll buy you expensive dresses or jewelry without consulting you, then be genuinely confused if your taste differs from his in any way."I already picked the better one."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He expects you to walk beside him, not ahead of him. If you drift off to browse a shop window, he'll call you back with quiet impatience. Or even whistle at you like a dog.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He takes pride in buying you luxury items because he sees providing for you as one of the few "proper" responsibilities of a man.But also loves making sure you are absolutely financionally depandant on him.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He compliments you in ways that reveal his mindset. "You know how to behave." "You carry yourself like a real woman."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪He has impossibly high standards. Your hair, makeup, clothes, manners, he notices everything. He isn't afraid to criticize if something isn't "perfect."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪You serving him tea with perfect etiquette, commenting, "At least someone was raised properly."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪If guests came over, he'd expect you to host them gracefully while he carried the conversation and would brag about how obedient, sexy and always put together his woman is even infront of you. it boosts his ego when other men know they dont have a wife like you
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪During a clan gathering, he keeps a hand at the small of your back whenever another man approaches, steering you through conversations without ever asking where you'd like to go.
nsfw
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪has a thing for being nasty during sex with such a pretty woman like you just because he wats to push your limits and make you look as messy as possible, leaving obvious marks like love bites and hickeys just to coldly tell you "wash up" after hes done. knowing youll see how messy he made you look
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪loves making you sweat, cry off your makeup and messing up your hair while whispering dirty things in your ear like "who owns this pussy huh? whos your owner bitch? who do you serve?" while giving you heavenly dick RAHHH
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪lovest starting arguments just to see the rare times your anger snaps and you talk back at him, it gets him rock hard and he loves fixing your attitude that he provoked in the first place "do i have to remind you of your place?" "where did that attitude go huh? you think just being pretty is enough?" then slaps you "you have to do as i say. remember your place woman."
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪would enjoy having you do humiliating things like spreading your pussy for him begging him to fuck you or fingering you so good, knuckles deep in your puss, his other hand stimulating your clit just to stop when you are about to come, then tells you to dryhump him and chase the release through friction against his clothed erect cock. just because he enjoys seeing you so needy and eager for him to put it inside while being all dolled up just for him.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪slaps your ass infront of guests and brags about how sexy you are and how great sex is with such a docile dolled up like you is
if you enjoyed this maybe ill turn it into a series
part 1 (wrote the most about daddy sukuna as always)
toji
sfw
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ is really intrigued by it and finds it a little silly
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅he'd silently notice the effort. Lace, ribbons, perfectly styled hair, manicures, matching accessories, he wouldn't compliment every little thing, but he'd recognize that it took time.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅If you suddenly wore something different, he'd notice immediately.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅If you spent forever getting ready, he'd grumble while waiting, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. The moment you apologized, though, it'd just be a shrug. "You done?"
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅He'd find it amusing when strangers assume you're delicate because of how feminine you look. He knows appearances mean nothing.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅If you're capable, that's all that matters to him. If you asked him which dress looked better, you'd get a long pause before he actually looked. Then something blunt like, "i dont know and dont care wear whatever you want"
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅If your heels were hurting your feet, he'd sigh dramatically before crouching down so you could climb onto his back. He'd complain the entire time. "Should've worn shoes you could actually walk in." But he wouldn't put you down until you got home.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Protective, but not possessive. If someone was making you uncomfortable, he wouldn't make a scene unless he had to. One cold stare from Toji is usually enough to convince most people to leave.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅If your makeup smeared after crying, he'd awkwardly hand you tissues and look anywhere except directly at you. Emotional comfort isn't his strongest skill, but he'd stay.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅He'd absolutely steal your expensive skincare products because "soap is soap," then deny it even when caught.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅If someone insulted you by calling you "high maintenance" or "just a pretty face," he'd probably scoff. "You talk too much." He doesn't care for people making assumptions.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅He'd probably end up buying you something pretty once in a while, not because he's sentimental, but because he happened to win some money gambling that day and thought you'd like it. He'd toss the box onto the table with a casual, "Saw it. Figured it'd suit you."
nsfw
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅would awkwardly apologize after destroying and smearing your face from facefucking "uhh sorry i kinda messed it up" and would try to smear it back into place with his thumb but just ends up messing it up even more
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅doesnt care how you are dressed when hes in the mood hes in the mood. could fuck you while you wore his oversized shirt with messy hair and while you are all dolled up, doesnt make a difference to him
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅over time develops a thing for smelling your soft feminine perfumes while he fucks you from behind, his chest pressed to your back and nose burried in your neck
sukuna
sfw
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯even if you weren't hyperfem and dressed normally he would order you and tell you what style to wear, he believes that's his right to do since you are his propriety and would prefer you dressed almost like a concubine, long sleeves, long skirts and dresses in modern version of traditional style with lots of details. and would be very pleased if you dressed that way already
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd notice everything immediately. Every ribbon, layer of lace, perfume, jewelry, and hairstyle. His senses are incredibly sharp. Nothing about you escapes him.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯if he doesnt like the nails you got on he would turn your hand over and flick off the lenght with two fingers, making sure not to actually hurt your nailbeds and would order you to do them the way he likes them
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd find the amount of preparation...entertaining. Watching you spend an hour doing your hair while he waits? He'd smirk.
"All that effort just to be seen by me. How amusing."
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯Unlike Toji, Sukuna would actually comment on your appearance, but only if he genuinely found it beautiful.
"That color suits you."
"Wear your hair like that again."
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd have absolutely no patience for indecisiveness.
"Which dress?" The red one."
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He wouldn't think femininity equals weakness. In the Heian era especially. But likes when you dress so girly because he likes you looking weaker next to him.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd probably enjoy expensive silks and ornate clothing simply because he appreciates quality craftsmanship. Cheap imitations would earn a look of disgust, not to mention fast fashion.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯If someone mocked you for being "too girly," Sukuna wouldn't defend you verbally. He would probably oblivirate them into pieces ripping their limbs off, blood spraying on you then he would look at your ruined outfit and say "just go change" as if he doesnt know how much effort you put in
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd notice everything immediately. Every ribbon, layer of lace, perfume, jewelry, and hairstyle. His senses are incredibly sharp. Nothing about you escapes him.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd find the amount of preparation...entertaining. Watching you spend an hour doing your hair while he waits? He'd smirk.
"All that effort just to be seen. How amusing."
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯Unlike Toji, Sukuna would actually comment on your appearance, but only if he genuinely found it beautiful.
"That color suits you."
"Wear your hair like that again."
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd have absolutely no patience for indecisiveness.
"Which dress?" The red one."
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He wouldn't think femininity equals weakness. In the Heian era especially. But likes when you dress so girly because he likes you looking weaker next to him.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd probably enjoy expensive silks and ornate clothing simply because he appreciates quality craftsmanship. Cheap imitations would earn a look of disgust, not to mention fast fashion.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯If someone mocked you for being "too girly," Sukuna wouldn't defend you verbally. He would probably oblivirate them into pieces ripping their limbs off, blood spraying on you then he would look at your ruined outfit and say "just go change" as if he doesnt know how much effort you put in
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd hate excessive whining."My heels hurt...""Then remove them."...Though if you truly couldn't walk, he'd probably just pick you up because listening to you complain is more annoying than carrying you.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd absolutely notice your perfume before he saw you.
"You're here."He'd dislike overly strong synthetic scents but appreciate subtle floral fragrances.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯he finds it hard to control himself around you sometimes, you activate cuteness aggression in him sometimes and while you are just sitting by his side on a sofa in his grand flower garden he just bites your cheek really hard and acts like hes punishing you but its just one of his guilty pleasures
nsfw
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯Seeing you dressed in elaborate Heian-style clothing with long sleeves and intricate hair ornaments would get him rock hard like that man would pounce on you the moment you were alone
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯If your lipstick left a mark on his face after kissing him, he'd notice immediately…and leave it there until someone pointed it out, simply because he wants everyone to know what you two did
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯He'd deliberately invade your personal space when he thought you looked extra good, one of his 4 hands on you at all times
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯he loves intimidating you just to make you tremble and hear your jewelry clink, jingle and chime and say something like "You're trembling already? I didnt even do anything" in a low teasing tone almost making fun of you
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯he'd absolutely tilt your chin up with two fingers whenever you avoided eye contact. "Look at me when I'm speaking." just to admire your makeup and think of ways to ruin it
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯he'd have no issue undoing a ribbon in your hair simply because he felt like seeing it down. Then would go feral if you brushed it from your shoulder exposing soft skin
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯would rip the robes off you, marks you all over your chest and neck leaving bruises, bite marks and hickeys and then would order you to open up your robes to reveal your cleavage while you walk in public just to make sure everyone sees how roughly he uses your body
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯messes up your hair by pulling ir or ruffling it while having sex, makes you cry and choke on his dick just to make sure to ruin your makeup, He has a thing for corruption
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯secretly loves when you look at him all innocent then beg and crave his attention so he ignores you for a weeks on purpose till you are absolutely needy and taking off the billion layers of lace and silk in front of him then catches himself smiling, stands up walks over to you so slowly keeping eye contact then degrades you and humiliates you "I knew you weren't as innocent as you try to be" or "such a cute girl turning herself into a slut just for me"
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯likes to be dramatic and pull you by your beaded or pearl necklace making it scatter on the floor replacing it with his hand and says stuff like "no necklace will ever feel as good wrapped around your throat as my hand right slut?" and he enjoys hearing you gasp for air looking like a sheep about to be devoured by the wolf but he knows you like it
higuruma
sfw
If you spent an hour getting ready, he'd simply read while waiting. He isn't impatient. If anything, he'd lose track of time in his book.
He has a habit of absentmindedly straightening things. A crooked necklace clasp. A ribbon that's coming loose. A pearl earring that isn't sitting quite right.
If your heels slowed you down, he'd quietly match your pace without pointing it out.
Shopping with him is…surprisingly pleasant. He'll sit on the little bench outside the fitting room, reading legal documents or a novel, and every time you ask, "Can you look?" he'll actually put the book down and give you a genuine opinion.
If someone dismissed you as "just a pretty girl," he'd visibly dislike it. "That's quite an assumption to make" He has very little tolerance for people reducing others to stereotypes.
If you were insecure about being "too feminine" to be taken seriously, he'd probably respond with something that sounds like a closing argument."Competence and appearance aren't mutually exclusive. Anyone who believes otherwise isn't worth convincing."
Rainy days become a small ritual. He silently holds his umbrella over you while you fuss over keeping your curls from frizzing.
If you fell asleep on the couch still wearing earrings or a necklace, he'd carefully remove them so they wouldn't dig into your skin.
he's the type to buy practical gifts…until he learns what makes your eyes light up. Then, every so often, you'll receive a velvet box containing a delicate necklace or a pair of earrings he noticed you admiring weeks ago.
actually enjoys brushing your hair. It's one of the few moments where his perpetually busy mind quiets down.
nsfw
becomes distracted by the sight of you adjusting a necklace resting on your chest before a dinner together, losing his train of thought for a moment then begs you to fuck just before going out "please baby you just look too good I cant handle it anymore"
he quietly removes your heels after a long evening because he can tell your feet hurt, treating it as an act of care rather than making a fuss. Then kisses them not in a weird fetish way more in a loving husband way then gets carried away and kisses up your leg then before you know it hes nose pressed against your clit tongue deep inside eating your pussy
your femininity brings out a protective side out of him and he just wants to treat you like a delicate flower or his princess and loves spoiling you with pleasure
its actually his idea one day to start using really pretty toys during sex like those pretty glass dildos or butt plugs on you and likes having you over his knee while he overstimulates you and listens to your high pitched moans and whimpers
it drives him crazy how innocent you look while begging him to go harder and he looses his mind lowk and bruises your cervix
nanami
sfw
He notices immediately when you've put extra effort into your appearance. You don't even have to ask. "The new earrings are elegant." It's said so matter-of-factly that you almost miss it.
He secretly enjoys accompanying you while shopping. Not because he likes shopping, because he enjoys watching you light up over something beautiful.
You come out of the dressing room asking, "Too much?" He looks over the dress carefully. "…No." A pause. "You wear it well."
If you're cold, his jacket is already around your shoulders before you've even finished mentioning it.
He has expensive taste. If he buys you jewelry, it's something understated but exceptionally well made: gold, silver, real pearls, pieces youll still wear 20 years later.
Hyperfeminine habits don't confuse him. Spending forty minutes styling your hair? Organizing makeup? Matching your handbag to your shoes? He simply accepts them as part of who you are.
If someone makes a sexist comment, "She's all looks." Nanami doesn't raise his voice. He simply looks at them. "That's an unintelligent conclusion." Conversation over.
If your bracelet keeps sliding off while you're working, he'll quietly fasten it properly without interrupting your conversation. Then a week later surprise you with matching Cartier love bracelets since you cant take those off and he would wear only a matching ring himself.
Seeing you descend the stairs after spending hours getting ready earns one of the rarest sights in the world- Nanami smiling before he even realizes he's doing it.
If you're anxious before an event "Do I look alright?" He closes his book. Then answers with complete sincerity. "…You look lovely."
He'd develop little routines without realizing it. He'd straighten your coat before you leave. Adjust the collar of your blouse. Pick lint off your sleeves. Carry a spare umbrella because he knows you hate when humidity ruins your hair. Replace your favorite perfume before you notice it's nearly empty. (like jesus refiling the hairspray bottle if you get the ref LMAO)
Bring you flowers, grand bouquets every week, quite a handful of seasonal blooms because he passed a florist on his way home and even tho you two are together he is still trying to win you over every week
nsfw
He stands behind you to fasten a necklace, his hands steady as he quietly says, "Stay still for me angel" Then starts kissing you down the back of your neck and hugs you harder from behind pressing his erection against your ass but composes himself and only fucks your brains out after you come home. So the whole night you are out you both are thinking about it.
When he notices you are cold he opens up his jacket so u can hug him and wrap your arms around his warm waist while you wait for the cab but the sight of your pretty face resting on his chest and slightly shivering drives him crazy and he leans a little to whisper in your ear "you are too adorable I cant wait to fuck that cunt when we get home" and he watches your face and ears turn red with an innocent smirk on his face acting like he didn't say something extremely dirty so no one notices
He notices you've switched from your usual perfume and, hours later, admits, "…I think I prefer this one." While he's fucking you against the wall of your hallway your legs wrapped around him cus y'all cant keep your hands off each other his nose buried in your collarbone inhaling your smell
Smoothens your hair and kisses your forehead and cheeks while balls deep in missionary appreciating how beautiful and dolled up you are "you are the prettiest girl in the whole world" while he cups your face and you cup his holding eye contact before his tongue slips in your mouth kissing you deeply.
sometimes when you are out shopping and you ask him if a dress or an outfit you tried is okay he will say yes and buy it without another word not telling you that its too revealing or slightly see-through because the fabric stretches across your chest. He likes you looking a little skimpy by accident and only admits it while you two are already having sex
Choso, Naoya, Gojo and Geto in pt. 2 cus this got too long
It’s me again I’m greedy and I just had the most wonderful idea ever. Please make a 14dwy fanfic where Ren/redacted and the mc do pet play . There’s a lot of fanfics like this but Ren is always the one playing the dog, I want a fanfic where the mc is the dog. I actually want the mc be a puppygirl with real ears and tail (that are really sensitive heh). Also I want this to have collar play and marking/biting kink. Thank you.♡
Breed like the puppy you are-Ren x PuppyGirlFemReader
TW: nsfw, petplay, collaring, funsized, yandere, stalking
Context: you are an actuall puppy girl with real tail and ears, ren gave you a collar that hes been tracking you with for a month now when you were drunk one night at his place
Word count: 2,189 time reading-10 min
NSFW BELOW THE CUT
Ren's massive frame loomed over you in the dim crimson glow of the bedroom, the air thick with the scent of leather and his cologne as he pressed your smaller body down to all fours on the cool hardwood floor. Your 170cm height felt impossibly dwarfed by his 205cm stature, his broad hands easily pinning your shoulders while your twitching ears flattened against your head and that sensitive tail curled instinctively.
"Look at you, my funsize pet," he murmured, voice velvet-rough as his fingers traced the base of your tail, stroking in slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers racing up your spine.
"So tiny and perfect under me; every inch of you fits right in my palm, doesn't it? Whine for me, puppy."
A needy sound escaped your throat as his touch ignited the nerves along your tail, your hips shifting involuntarily while slick arousal gathered between your thighs. Ren's black-painted nails grazed lower, sliding through your slick folds with teasing pressure that parted them but never pushed inside, denying the entry your body craved.
"Bark for it," he commanded, his dark eyes glinting with unhinged hunger. "Tell me how much that tight little pussy needs its owner's fingers. Beg like the collared slut you are."
Your voice cracked into a desperate bark, "a-arf! rrrarf!" words tumbling out in a whiny rush. "Please, Ren- fuck, I need you inside me, just touch me properly- "
He chuckled darkly and tugged the D-ring on your collar, yanking your face up to meet his in a biting kiss that claimed your mouth with sharp teeth and a possessive tongue.
"This cunt, these ears, that tail-they're all getting marked tonight, and you won't come until I say so." Tension coiled tighter in your core, his towering shadow swallowing you whole as the night stretched open with promise of more.
Ren's breath ghosted hot against your mouth as he pulled back just enough to let you gasp, his fingers still teasing lazy strokes along your slick folds without ever sinking in. Your hips rocked back instinctively, chasing more, but he only chuckled and gave the collar another sharp tug that made your ears twitch.
"Easy, puppy. I've got something for you first-been waiting months to give these to you." He reached over to the nightstand with one long arm, his frame stretching easily while you stayed pinned on all fours, and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside gleamed a matching set of gifts: a sleek leather harness and a delicate anklet, both engraved with his initials.
"Bought them the week after that first night we went out. Remember how drunk you got? Stumbling and clinging to my arm like your dumb little puppy-brain couldn't handle another sip. I brought you here to 'take care' of you, but really I just wanted to see how you'd look collared in my bed."
Your tail curled tighter as he fastened the anklet around your ankle, his black-painted nails brushing the sensitive skin there. "Had a tracker in the collar from the start, and a tiny mic in the D-ring. Recorded every whine you made that first week, every time you touched yourself thinking about me. Planned this whole thing-fantasized about owning every inch of my funsize girl while you were still out there pretending you weren't already mine."
He leaned down, voice dropping to a velvet growl as his fingers finally dipped just inside your entrance, barely a knuckle deep, before retreating again.
"And look at you now, barking and begging so pretty. That drunk little haze never really left, did it? Your head's too empty to think for itself, so you just do what your owner says. Fuck, I love how compliant that makes you-how wet it gets this needy cunt when I tell you what to do."
A fresh rush of heat flooded between your thighs at his words, your body arching under him as he tugged the collar once more to tilt your face up. His eyes burned dark and unhinged, drinking in every shiver, every twitch of your tail.
"Gonna mark you with these gifts tonight. But not yet, you're gonna stay right here on your knees and tell me how long you've been dreaming about this too."
The denial stretched tighter, his free hand sliding up to cup one breast and pinch the nipple just hard enough to make you whine, the promise of his cock straining against his pants inches from your face leaving your whole body throbbing with unspent need.
"i- please-" you didnt know what you were begging for but your words escaped your lips.
Ren's fingers lingered on your nipple, twisting just enough to draw another broken whine from your throat before he dragged them higher, smearing your own slick across your cheek.
"Open up, puppy," he growled, voice thick with that nasty, unhinged hunger that made your tail lash against your thigh. His massive frame shifted forward, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your face through his pants as two thick digits forced past your lips, prying your jaw wide.
"Suck. Show your owner how grateful that funsize cunt is for every sick little thing I've done to keep you mine." You moaned around the intrusion, tongue curling eagerly over his black-painted nails while he ground his straining erection against your cheek, the heat of him throbbing so close yet denied, your own arousal dripping down your inner thighs in shameful rivulets.
He leaned in closer, breath hot on your twitching ear as his free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head just so.
"Been stalking every filthy second of it- watched you finger that tight pussy through your window last month, recorded the way you whimpered my name while you came. Planned every bite, every collar tug, every time I'd make you bark like the needy slut you are."
Your hips rocked uselessly on all fours, chasing friction that never came as he pumped his fingers deeper into your mouth, grinding harder against your face without mercy, the contrast of his towering bulk swallowing your tiny frame whole. The leather collar bit into your neck with each tug, and you sucked harder, loving the vulgar stretch, the way his nasty words made your clit throb untouched.
His cock twitched against your skin as he pulled his fingers free just enough to smear spit across your lips, eyes dark with possession. "Gonna shove this fat dick down your throat next, make you gag on it while I record every second of this. I wanna remember the day I claimed you as my puppy forever."
His usual sweet fake persona was gone. This was the real, unfiltered, perverted personallity he hid for so long.
His fingers left your mouth with a wet sound, dragging a rope of spit down your chin, and he didn't wipe it off; he watched it catch the crimson light, thumb smearing it into your skin like he was painting his name on you. The rasp of his zipper filled the room, and the air changed, thick with the scent of him, hot and musky beneath the leather and cologne. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, stroking slow, letting you see every inch of it; thick, flushed dark, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum before he tapped it against your parted lips.
"Open wide, puppy. All the way. I want that little throat stretched around me."
You opened, and he fed it to you in one long, unhurried push, not gentle, just the heavy weight of him sliding past your tongue, past the back of your throat until your eyes flooded and your nose pressed into the dark hair at his groin. His hand cradled the back of your skull, thumb stroking the base of your ear, and the softness of that touch while he buried himself in your throat made something hot and broken bloom behind your ribs. You were his. You had been his since the first time he looked at you.
"There she is," he breathed. "That's my good girl. Swallow around me."
You tried, throat convulsing, and he groaned, low and wrecked, hips rocking in shallow pulses. Your ears flattened flat against your skull, your hands came up to grip his thighs; not to push, just to hold on. And your tail curled tight around your own hip. Slick dripped down your inner thighs onto the hardwood, leaving a dark mark on the floor that proved, in the dim light, exactly what you were.
He pulled back until only the head remained, letting you gasp, spit spilling down your chin in a long silver thread. Then the click of a camera, and his voice, low and amused, right above you. "Say thank you, puppy. Tell the camera what you are."
"Thank you," you rasped, throat raw and burning sweet. "I'm your puppy."
"Good girl." He slid home again, and the recording caught the wet, obscene sound of it, the gag, the moan, the desperate whimper you made when his balls pressed against your chin. His hips found a rhythm, deep and dragging, and each retreat left you gasping for air before he filled you again, until your jaw ached and tears tracked down your cheeks and you were nothing but a slick, drooling mouth for him to use.
"That's it," he grunted, phone angled down at you, capturing the mess he was making. "Look at the camera, puppy. Let me see those eyes. I'm gonna watch this every night and remember exactly what you look like when you're full of me."
Your eyes found the lens, blown wide and wet, and something in his face cracked open, hunger and something softer fighting behind it. He pulled out with a wet gasp of your throat, spit and pre-cum shining on your lips, and hauled you up by the collar, dragging you over the bed until your chest hit the mattress and your ass lifted into the air, tail wagging helpless and frantic.
"Such a good girl," he murmured, mouth at your ear, fingers sliding down your spine to the base of your tail. He found your slick folds with his thumb, circling your clit just once, just enough to make your whole body clench and your thighs shake. "You've been so patient. You want your owner to fill this needy cunt now, don't you?"
"Yes- Ren, please, I need it, I need you-"
"Since when do you get to decide?" His thumb left your clit, and you keened, hips pushing back into nothing. He laughed, low and dark, and lined himself up anyway, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and blunt and not moving. "Beg properly. Tell me whose pussy this is."
"Yours. It's yours, Ren, it's always been yours—"
He sank in in one smooth, brutal push, and the sound you made was half-bark, half-sob. The stretch burned, white and perfect, your body opening around him inch by impossible inch until his hips were flush against your ass and you could feel him pulsing deep inside you, the weight of him pressing you flat into the mattress. "Fuck," he hissed, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Grip me just like that, puppy. That's it. That's my girl."
He fucked you slow at first, deep and grinding, each thrust dragging against the spot that made your vision blur and your claws dig into the sheets. Then he found a rhythm, harder, meaner, his hips slapping against yours while his hand came down on the base of your tail in a sharp, stinging swat that made you yelp and clench around him. “Count them”
Each swat landed with his words, each one driving him deeper, and by the fourth you were sobbing his name into the sheets, hips rocking back to meet him, your clit throbbing untouched and desperate between your thighs. He reached around and found it with two slick fingers, circling fast and filthy. The orgasm slammed into you so hard your ears rang; a raw, barking cry torn from your throat as you came around him, his hand over your mouth to muffle it, his teeth sinking into the curve of your neck.
"Good girl," he groaned against your skin, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, hot and deep, his whole body shuddering over yours. "My perfect little pet."
For a long moment the only sound was the two of you breathing. Then his weight eased off, and his hand came up, gentle now, stroking the sweat-damp fur at the base of your ear, smoothing your flattened ears back into place. He turned your face toward him, thumb brushing the tear tracks off your cheek, and his eyes were dark and unhinged and utterly, terrifyingly soft.
"You're not going anywhere," he said quietly. Not a threat. A fact. "That anklet stays on. That collar stays on. And when I play that recording back tomorrow morning and make you listen to how you sound when you come on my cock, you're gonna look me in the eye and tell me again that you're mine."
He kissed the bite on your neck, slow and reverent, and somewhere in the dark the phone screen dies.
this came to me in a dream and i woke up to draw him, he’s my love and life💕💕 #imovulating #jujustukaisen #jjk #higuruma #fanart #myrideishere #drawing
