adoring-jjk

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

“Looks fuckin’ nice in these shorts,” he says absentmindedly, smiling as he gave your ass a firm squeeze.

“Stop that,” you swat his hand away again.

“Quit acting like that hurt,” he scolds you, face softening as his hand goes back, again. “Love this ass—m’gonna fuck it one of these days.”

“Kuna!” you gasp, stunned by his sudden boldness when he’s nothing but reserved with you in public. “No you’re not—“

“Kiss me,” he cuts you off, his big hands now pulling you in by the waist.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No?!” You start to shove him away, which does nothing but make him laugh, especially when you look back at your friends who find themselves more than entertained by seeing this side of your relationship.

“The fuck are you looking at Shoko for? She’s not gonna save you from me—isn’t that right Shoko?” he raises his tone as he asks.

“Yeah, I’d rather not.”

“That’s what I thought.” He grins as he turns his attention back to you. “You see that, baby? She doesn’t give a fuck about you. Nobody does. Just me.”

And you laugh, because this is how he always teases you when you’re alone. “You sure it’s just not because everyone’s scared of you?”

“Good. You should be scared of me too, sweetheart,” he responds, as if it drives his point home. “Now give me my fuckin’ kiss.”

There’s a low groan that rumbles through his chest when you finally do kiss him, as if he’d been waiting for one the whole night. He grabs your jaw, slips his tongue into your mouth, drags it on for longer than it should’ve been.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs.

“Get a room, freaks,” Gojo yells out from the kitchen.

“Fuck off,” Sukuna easily cuts himself. “We’re going home so I can fu—”

“We never agreed to that?!”

notes: idek i haven’t written for sukuna in months and immediately wrote this when the idea popped up

"don't," he cut you off, his voice raspy, deeper, and rougher than you had ever heard it. he looked up, his dark eyes dilated so wide they looked almost entirely black, a faint, dark flush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheekbones.

he gripped the insides of your knees, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessiveness that made your blood run hot. "shit—do it again."

"w-what? but i—"

"please," he begged, the word slipping out with a desperate, breathless edge that made your stomach flip. his chest was heaving. "squeeze me again. oh fuck—just like that, baby. lock your legs."

the raw hunger in his expression made it impossible to refuse. slowly, hesitantly, you brought your thighs back together, locking him in place once more, applying a firm, steady pressure against his neck.

a low, ragged groan escaped him, vibrating directly against your sensitive bud. he buried his face back into you, his tongue working with a newfound, frantic intensity that completely derailed your thought process. "harder," he mumbled against your pussy, his hands sliding up to your hips, fingers bruisingly tight as he anchored you. "squeeze harder, baby."

you complied, tightening your hold, completely overwhelmed by the blinding intensity of it. you were caught so deeply in the throes of your own approaching climax that the world narrowed down to just the pressure of your legs and the wicked, relentless motion of his mouth.

because of the sensory overload, you didn't notice the subtle, rhythmic motion beneath you at first. you didn't realize that with every tight squeeze of your thighs restricting his airflow, choso was heavily, desperately humping his clothed length straight into the mattress. he was completely losing himself in the friction, his hips rolling in a tight, frantic pattern against the sheets, riding the intoxicating sensation of being choked by you.

your climax hit like a freight train, your walls pulsing violently around his tongue as a loud cry left your lips. you squeezed him tight, your thighs locking like a vice as you rode the wave.

right as you peaked, choso let out a choked, broken sound. his whole body went rigid beneath you. his hips gave one last, hard, desperate shove into the mattress, his fingers digging so deeply into your hips it was almost painful. he trembled violently, his breath catching in a long, shuddering gasp as he buried his face entirely in your thigh, hiding himself away as he spent.

as the sparks in your vision began to fade and your breathing slowed, you gradually loosened the grip of your legs. choso slumped forward, resting his forehead against your stomach, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants.

it was only then, as the quiet returned to the room, that you noticed the heavy, uneven thumping of his heart against your leg, and the distinct, damp heat pressing through the fabric of his trousers right where he had been pinning himself to the bed.

you blinked down at him, your hand coming up to rest in his dark hair. "cho...?"

he didn't move for a long moment, completely spent, his shoulders still twitching slightly. when he finally looked up, his face was completely flushed, eyes heavy and hooded with a profound, dazed satisfaction. he swallowed hard, a sheepish but utterly dark look in his eyes as he realized you had figured it out. he hadn't even touched himself; he had finished purely from the friction of the bed and the suffocating pressure of your thighs.

he blushes pink at the thought. your words are enough to relight the fire licking at his groin. he watches you for a moment; tries to discern whether or not you're only saying what might please him, but ultimately nods.

you don't throat him immediately, though. instead, you duck your head down and press a few messy kisses to his balls. his hips twitch upwards at the contact, his breath hitching in his lungs. you smile, dart your tongue out to lick at the source of his hesitation.

"god, that's dirty," he groans. "you like this?"

"i like you," you hum, mouthing at his balls with spit-covered lips. you're making a mess of him, though that only gives you an excuse to suggest showering together later. "like your balls too."

"i... shit, i see that."

he's so sensitive, knitting his brows together as you suck and lick and kiss his balls with a feverish sort of worship you didn't know you had in you. his cock rests against your face, throbbing as it hardens even more. he could cum like this.

but you aren't quite done with him.

when you pull back to take his cock back into your warm mouth, all the way down to the base, kento swears he must've been a saint in his previous life to deserve such pleasures in this one. you trace the vein that tracks the underside of his length with your tongue, and then hollow your cheeks out to suck.

he cums all too-quick and with a loud and uncharacteristically whiney moan that makes you wonder how he'd sound tied up and begging. it feels almost wasteful to take his load anywhere other than deep inside of you, but you're sure you'll have plenty of opportunities for that in the near future.

he tastes good. salty. you want to keep sucking, see if you can milk him for more, but he's already overstimulated and panicking a little at the sensation he's feeling. although you think he likes it, you know it'll be too much for his first time. you pull off, careful to spill as little of his release as possible, and sit back on your heels.

and kento is a mess. his lips part as he watches yours pull into a greedy smile. he's eager to watch you spit it out, perhaps just to see the visual reminder that he came in your mouth. but you meet his eyes, let him sit on your tongue a moment longer, and then swallow.

oh. he wonders how he'll ever lead a normal life again after a sight like that. his mouth is dry, cock still wet with your spit, heart beating out of his chest...

still, he manages to stop you when you move to get up and start on his aftercare. "wait."

you raise your brows. "yes, ken?"

"Where." The single word carried the weight of an execution order...

"O-outside," she hiccupped again, pointing with a shaky finger towards where the clown was making balloon animals, "D-daddy he made a b-alloon and it exploded in m-my face!" her voice hitched on another sob. Watery eyes locking onto his which were now glowing a brilliant crimson as he held her protectively against his chest- watching this painted fuck of a man who was now grinning broadly at the new wave of children. "H-he laughed at me crying..."

You stepped closer, hand settling on his arm trying to draw his attention to you- it was a lost cause… this you knew. The only thing he cared about in this moment was his daughter and the man who'd dare to upset his flesh and blood...

"Don't." He said sharply.

"Sukuna, it's just a street performer. From the festival. She's not actually hur-"

The look he turned on you was arctic, the force of it freezing the words in your throat, "He. Made. Our. Daughter. Fucking. Cry." Each word was enunciated perfectly, a low snarl of fury, "And no one, makes my girls cry."

This wasn't the man who helped with bedtime stories. Nor the man who picked you up with one arm when your legs ached and held you tenderly against him… This was the man who had ripped out hearts, who'd torn men apart with his bare hands- a man who had no qualms about spilling blood in his wake. A ruthless, vicious tyrant who did not tolerate threats when it came to his family, even if it was just a street performer.

Your eyes flickered to your baby girl, her wails- her tiny voice cracking each time she tried to speak… You decided that if the man had scared her that badly, then he had it coming… Right?

"Go," your voice was gentle, "Do what you do best-" you leaned up, placing a gentle kiss to his jaw, "and keep us safe."

The smile that graced his lips was dark, twisted, a hint of madness dancing across his handsome face as his gaze turned back to the clown who was oblivious to the fate that was about to befall him.

"Stay with your mother," Sukuna's voice was soft- a rare tone reserved only for the two of you as he began peeling her arms from his neck.

"NO!!!" she shrieked, clinging tighter, fresh panic washing over her, "D-don't leave me, daddy!!" Her voice was filled with genuine terror, "Y-you can't go! You can't!"

Sukuna struggled internally- a war between the father he'd become wanting to stay by her side and continue holding her until she was calm, and the monster he's always been, demanding retribution.

He stroked her hair once, "I'm not leaving you... Just going to make the painted fuck go away."

"Sukuna," you warned, "I know I'm backing you on this but…" you glanced towards the clown, "it's a children's entertainer doing his job in the middle of the day. There's a lot of people here… You can't just walk up to him and-"

"I know exactly what i'm going to do," he cut you off, finally transferring her to your arms despite her desperate protests.

"What are you going to do?"

"Whatever it takes." He was already moving toward the front door of your shop, shoulders set, a confident stride in his steps, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression darkening the further he walked away from the two of you.

Your daughter pressed her face against your cheek, "Is daddy going to make the bad man go away?" she whispered, her arms locking around you, fingers tangling in your hair, "Daddy always makes the scary things go away."

"Yeah, sweetie," you murmured, watching Sukuna through your shop window, "he does doesn't he?" you nuzzle into her, bouncing her once, "Your daddy is always there to shield us, and to take care of us… even when it comes to the small things."

"Uh huh," she sniffled, wiping her eyes, "Daddy's strong."

You smiled at that, "The strongest," you agreed.

Through the glass, you watched him step onto the sidewalk, his presence immediately carving a path through pedestrians who recognized him. Even from this distance, you could see the exact moment the clown sensed death approaching. His hands faltered on the half twisted balloon, painted smile freezing as something screamed in his brain, danger.

In one fluid motion, Sukuna draped an arm around the clown's shoulders. The balloon that had been moments from becoming a dolphin slipped from his hands, squealing as it flew into the air and landed on the pavement.

"Hey, buddy," Sukuna said loudly, his voice pitched for the benefit of the parents and children nearby, dripping with absolute false warmth... "My little girl loved your act. Mind if we get a private performance?" Without waiting for consent, he tightened his grip around the clown's neck, steering him away from the crowd.

The clown stumbled alongside him, forced to move by Sukuna's iron control. To onlookers, they looked like old friends... No one noticing the clown's growing terror as they disappeared around the corner. 

The moment they were alone, Sukuna's mask shattered. He slammed the clown against the brick wall with enough force to crack the man's skull, leaving just the right amount of blood smeared behind as a reminder of his strength. One tattooed hand crushed his throat while the other gripped his jaw, forcing eye contact.

"Listen very fucking carefully you painted piece of shit," Sukuna growled, face inches away, "you made my daughter cry. You scared her. The last person who did that lost everything from the neck down."

The clown's eyes bulged, breathing ragged as Sukuna's grip slowly crushed his windpipe, "I-I-I'm sor-"

"I could kill you right here," Sukuna continued, voice dropping to a whisper that promised agony... "Peel you apart piece by piece. Feed what's left to the stray dogs behind the market." His grip tightened until the man's face began purpling, eyes rolling back. "No one would even notice you were gone until the smell got bad..."

Just as consciousness began slipping, your face flashed through his mind- that same soft, loving smile you always wore… And then his daughter… the way her little cheeks dimpled when she smiled at him, the trust she put in him. You were both waiting for him to return. He could almost hear your voice, feel your arms around him, your hands cupping his cheeks as his daughter clung to his pant leg…

Fuck…

Killing this guy would take forever… Longer than he'd like to be away from you both…

God dammit…

"But I'm feeling generous today," Sukuna released his throat, letting him suck in desperate air. Before the man could recover, Sukuna's fist buried itself in the man's stomach, folding him in half. "So i'm offering you a choice. Leave this city. Never work as a clown again. And if ever see your ugly face- painted or not… I'll carve a permanent smile from eat to ear," the tip of his finger dragged along the man's cheek, cutting a thin line through the makeup before forcing his chin up, "Do i make myself clear?"

The clown nodded frantically, tears cutting tracks through his makeup.

Sukuna's thumbnail dug into the corner of his mouth, "Answer me. With words. No nodding."

"Y-yes-" The clown managed, his voice hoarse, "yes. Pple-please... Yes. Th-thank you."

"Get out of my sight." he snarled, tossing him by the face to the ground.

Sukuna waited until the guy was out of sight before pulling the black bandana from his pocket, wiping the white greasepaint from his hands. Only then did he stroll casually back around the front, his face bored- neutral, the one he typically wore.

When he reentered, his eyes immediately sought out you and his daughter. The relief on his daughter's face when she spotted him made his heart tighten... He was .

"Problem solved," he announced, holding his arms out for her to transfer herself from your embrace to his without hesitation.

"What did you do?" you asked, your voice quite enough so that she couldn't hear.

His eyes met yours- and you smirked knowing the look...

The clown had survived, but only because killing him would have taken too long.

"Softie~" You chuckled, leaning against his arm.

"M'not," he muttered, pressing a kiss to his daughter's hair as her eyes fluttered shut, "Just had other things to do today…"

His daughter's tired voice rose from the crook of his neck, "Did you make the bad clown go away," she smiled sleepily, "just like you promised?"

"Yeah..." he whispered into his hair, "No one gets to scare you. Not while I'm around, little one."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As night fell you found Sukuna laying sprawled out on his daughter’s tiny bed, his large frame comically oversized for the child sized furniture. There on his chest, she was draped across him like a koala, fast asleep with one small hand still clutching his shirt. His tattooed arm curled around her, dwarfing her little body.

He wasn’t asleep. His eyes tracking your movements as you entered her room, alert as always, though his body remained perfectly still to avoid disturbing the little girl using him as a bed. 

"She wouldn't let go," he grumbled, his deep voice barely audible.

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her hair from her face, revealing the peaceful expression of a child who felt completely safe.

"How violent did you actually get with the clown?" you asked quietly, your fingers lingering on your daughter's cheek.

Sukuna's eyes met yours in the glow of the turtle nightlight, unflinching, "Violent enough."

"You didn't kill him."

It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway, "No." His eyes flicked down to his daughter, then back to you. "Didn't need to. Yet."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken message. The "yet" was contingent on whether the clown was stupid enough to ignore Sukuna's warning.

"You know you're stuck here for the night, right?." you nodded toward her death grip on his shirt, "She won't let go of you, not even in her sleep."

"Yeah… I know. Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the fucking last." He sounded disgruntled, but you knew him well enough to catch the glimmer of contentment in his eyes, "This kid loves me too damn much."

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then, to Sukuna's lips. He returned the kiss, teeth nipping at your lower lip, his free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck.

"She's not the only one," you say under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear, eyes locking onto his. "We're both so lucky to have you, Sukuna. Thank you, for everything. For taking care of us, and for being her protector."

He looked away, uncomfortable with the sentiment despite everything you'd been through together, "It's what I do," he replied gruffly...

You smiled, settling beside him, head pillowed on his broad shoulder, half your body hanging off the tiny bed as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him best he could, "You're going to wake up with an achy back tomorrow."

"Don't give a damn," he grunted, pressing his face into the top of your head, "can't really move when I've got two brats sleeping on me."

You chuckle softly, letting your eyes flutter shut, enjoying his warmth, the steady sound of his heart beating under your ear and the soft sounds of your daughter's breathing, "You could, if you wanted."

"You done yapping? You're keeping me up… Go the fuck to sleep already." his arm tightened around you, holding you against him, his own eyes closing finally.

You smiled, knowing that he'd never admit he loved being in this position- surrounded by the two of you,

You caught one last glimpse of him adjusting his daughter more comfortably against his chest, his large hand cradling her head with impossible gentleness. The most feared man in the city, reduced to nothing more than a pillow for his daughter and her mother.

the dish towel barely had time to touch your hands before you tossed it aside and headed straight towards the source of your headache. a few seconds later, you were standing in front of the living room couch with your arms folded tightly across your chest.

“ryomen sukuna!”

both father & son looked up at the same time. your son immediately looked guilty while sukuna only raised an eyebrow, not looking remotely concerned by your presence.

“yes, wife?”

you pointed at your son. “go to your room!”

he didn’t even argue. he scrambled up the stairs like the couch was on fire. once he was gone, you turned back to your husband, eyes narrowed.

“our bedroom. now.”

sukuna pushed himself off the couch, trailing after you with the confidence of a man who thought he’d done nothing wrong. as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you hissed. “are you serious right now?!”

“you’re teaching our sixteen-year-old son how to flirt like some sleazy player? ‘you’re a distraction & it’s making me act up’ seriously, kuna?”

sukuna leaned back against the headboard, arms spread along the mattress; looking completely unrepentant. “what? the kid asked for advice & i only gave him good advice.”

“… good advice?” you stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his muscular chest. “you’re deliberately teaching him corny pick-up lines while convincing him that every conversation with a girl is some kind of strategy game. do you want him turning into you?”

sukuna’s smirk widened, clearly amused by your scolding.

“and what’s wrong with turning into me?” he asked, voice dropping into that low, sultry tone he knew had an effect on you. “i got you, didn’t i?”

you glared at him, refusing to let him charm his way out of this.

“you got me after years of being an absolute menace. i don’t want our son learning how to be a menace too. he should be respectful, sweet & genuine. instead of using corny pick-up lines on poor girls who don’t know any better!”

sukuna reached out, grabbing your waist and pulling you down onto his lap despite your half-hearted protest. “… relax, woman,” he murmured, beefy arms wrapping around you. “i only told him the truth that girls do like confidence. but i also told him if he ever makes a girl cry, i’ll kick his ass myself.”

you rolled your eyes, still sitting stiffly on his lap.

“you better have.”

he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your neck— slow and tender, the way he always did when he was trying to butter you up (which somehow always works). “… you’re cute when you’re mad at me for corrupting our son,” he whispered against your skin, voice gravelly.

“it makes me wanna remind you exactly who you married.”

you smacked his chest at that, but you didn’t pull away.

“s-shut up…”

“you love me,” he teased, grinning against your neck. “admit it, you fell for a menace.”

you rolled your eyes, but your arms found their way around his shoulders anyway.

“unfortunately, yes. but that’s not the point right now.”

he let out a dry chuckle, arms tightening around you. “good... now will you stop being mad at me?”

⨳ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: thank you to those who gave me suggestions on what to include for the blank line 😚 i ended up going with @user020707 (idky i’m not able to tag :c) line!!!

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in search of the voice your head turns slightly — catching plumes of pink hair against golden skin, a boy with big Sony headphones wrapped around his neck and his shirt bunched up by his collarbones too. he’s laughing. at you!

and he’s hot. the kind of hot that feels hard to come by these days, he’s relaxed in nature, stylish from what you can tell — you count two ear piercings on the first look and two silvery ones on his chest if you ogle further — he dresses like the kind of boys you’d see on your screen in 2003. not to mention, the angle of his jaw is defined and sharp enough that it could cut if your finger dragged across its edge. you feel like he could be fun, something to tide you over until the easy breeze of september comes.

“somethin’ funny, pretty boy?” deciding to chance it, like one would when they decide to slip from the shade into the summer sun, you clear your throat and reach out to beach boy beside you.

yuuji looks up from his own steaming bowl of pho, grin loose on his lips that are lined with a gentle rouge from the spice. “you think ‘m pretty?”

“as much as you think i’m funny.” you snap your wooden chopsticks in two, rubbing them against each other. “i’m funny, right?”

he’s like a puppy, spine straightening at full alert in the same way a puppy would when offered a treat. “super, soo funny,” the pink haired boy grins, your stomach curls in on itself with want. he’s so fucking cute. “whatcha got there?”

“the special!” a shuffle of your seat and you’re near, sneakers kicking his under the table, knees close to touching. chopsticks swirl in your bowl and fresh coriander seeps into the heat of the air. who would have thought pho could be an aphrodisiac. “it’s the—”

“best thing on the menu, right?” yuuji laughs again and finishes for you — pressing his body closer into your little bubble. the boy smells like beach waves and sea air, he looks like your next catch. “my name’s—”

that old lady comes shuffling back as if she’s part of the conversation, an expert pulling her strings, which is working by the way. if you’d had any less decency you’d be walking him back to your apartment and keeping him there until you’re slick with a different kind of heat.

“his name is yuuji itadori. he comes here everyday. same time. he needs a girlfriend.” the old lady nonchalantly pushes a bottle of chilli sauce towards yuuji. “tired of seeing him in my shop.”

“gee thanks! i bring you good business!”

to bring him back to your conversation, you smile softly and slip your hands over his knees — playfully, feeling his skin burn under your touch. “you on the market, yuuji?”

“for you? any day,” attention returns to you, but he takes a long slurp of his noodles too. melting chocolate brown eyes traversing down your frame in an obvious manner. for once you understand what it feels like to be desired a tall glass of water. yuuji watches the twitch of your thighs as you cross your legs, beads of sweat that run down your tank top as you eat alongside him. “i like funny girls. pretty too.”

“so now i’m the pretty one?”

“the prettiest girl,” he checks you out once more, raw lips between his teeth whilst he ponders his next question. “you got a boyfriend?”

“shit, maybe i’m about to,” it slips out before you can stop it, that giddy giggle you get when you think you’ve met your soulmate in a stranger passing by. “he’s kinda cute. got pho on his face.”

“wipe it off for me?” yuuji leans in and you lick your thumb, swiping the corner of his mouth where sauce lies. “i want your number. be free on saturday for me please, i’m taking you out. you can’t say no.”

someone in the kitchen makes a sound of elation, the chatter in the restaurant ceases inquisitively but you’re too busy nodding a long with dream boat yuuji to care. you put your number in his phone and he texts you a time for your date so that you have his contact too.

“saturday, don’t be late.”

consider hot single girl summer cancelled.

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!