Squib

Buried deep in the guts of a grueling engine overhaul, Sukuna has lost all sense of time. Right now, he's wedged halfway under a lifted sedan, sprawled out on a rolling creeper with only his massive boots jutting out from beneath the bumper. Low, gravelly curses rumble from somewhere under the car as he wrestles with a bolt so rusted it might as well be welded in place.

Easing through the side door, you catch it with your hip, making sure it shuts quietly behind you, unwilling to tip off your husband just yet. One hand clutches a brown paper bag heavy with takeout from his favorite burger place, while the other grips an ice-cold drink that beads condensation onto your fingers. Without a word, you tuck both out of sight on the bottom shelf of a rolling tool cart, careful not to let even the smallest sound give you away.

Showing up in your nice clothes was never an option. You know him far too well for that. If you’d walked in wearing something fresh, his stubborn streak would have kicked in, and he’d have spent the whole visit keeping his hands to himself, too worried about getting grease on your outfit. So you planned ahead, pulling on a pair of faded, soft sweatpants and one of his old, oversized graphic tees that had long since been retired from his wardrobe. The message couldn't be any clearer if you'd said it out loud.

MASTERLIST / When your daughter wants to be carried, you delegate that task to your husband.

“Mama, up!”

You stopped in the middle of your walk to stare at your four-year-old daughter. Crimson eyes blinked up at you with expectations while her outstretched hands open and close into tiny, impatient fists.

You were exhausted. Having spent the entire evening walking around the pier, your feet were sore, and your arms felt like they weighted a ton. All you wanted was to go home.

But your daughter had other plans—asking you to carry her for the rest of the walk back to the car.

Her mouth slanted into a pout, her continuous grappling with her tiny fingers, while she tilted her head to the side.

You turned to your husband. Sukuna watched the interaction with a detached expression on his face, and offering no assistance. Eyes on his daughter—salmon-colored hair pulled into pigtails, crimson eyes identical to him—with cool exterior.

“This is for you,” you said solemnly.

His eyes snapped to your face. “She called for you.”

“You were made for this,” you encouraged, ignoring his observation with a pat on his arm. Sukuna rolled his eyes, but responded with nothing as he stepped toward his daughter.

Her outstretched arms pivoted to him. “Papa, up.” She murmured, rosy cheeks from the seaside breeze, her lips pulled into a pout that remarkably looked so much like you.

“You’re grown enough to walk.”

“Papa,” She pouted again, her bottom lip wobbly as her fingers closed and opened into her small palms. Sukuna sighed in concession, lowering himself to scoop his daughter into his arms.

She went lax under her father’s touch—proving your theory that it wasn’t just you she wanted, she just wanted to stop walking—and dug her pudgy cheek onto his shoulder. Crimson eyes fluttered as she fell into the safety spell of her father’s embrace.

Warmth spread to your chest as you watched the entire interaction. Contrasting with such a small, fragile thing, Sukuna carried your daughter with such firm gentleness, it made your heart fluttered in many ways, your mind swimming with all the reasons why you got pregnant in the first place.

Sukuna resumed the trek back to the car. You followed closely behind, still observing how your daughter felt so cozy in her father’s arms, she even had a little bit of drool from the carry. You made it a few steps until you suddenly lagged behind, and immediately, without fail, Sukuna picked up on it.

Skirting to a stop, with his child tucked under one arm, he turned around with narrowed eyes.

“What is it now, wife?”

Heat rose to your cheeks. You shyly stretched your arms out, just like your daughter did, pouting in the same way as her, closing and opening your fists in mirror image.

And that was how Sukuna ended up carrying his wife and child in his arm, each falling asleep on each shoulder, each felt safe enough with the King of Curses.

you originally wanted to take over the caring girlfriend role — massages after a long day, tons of kisses, caring for your baby girl; but where you and sukuna bumped heads was cooking dinner.

you've never dated a man so picky with his cuisine; either something was too salty or too sweet, the meat was either undercooked or stretchy when grinded between teeth. he always had a critique of you, it was hell on earth. more than his presence.

" then how about i stop cooking for you then? " you huffed, standing behind the island in the kitchen. you and his petty arguments go way back to before you two started dating.

" sounds perfect, actually. " he snobbed. god, he loved getting on your nerves and proving you right. he believed no glutton could excuse their gluttony if they had no culinary knowledge — a true glutton at heart. a talented one. " i'll even make you a plate, let you taste true art. "

your face twitched in annoyance. " you like your meat still bleeding and overly salty. no thank you. " you sat on a stool at the island, scrolling through your phone as the clatter of pots and pans served as background noise. he got under your skin so much, it put you in a sour mood every damn time.

that is, until your remedy waddled into the kitchen. " daddy? what are you doing? "she asked, dressed in her pajamas and cradling a stuffed animal in her arms. " nothing. go back to bed, brat. " you glared at the back of his head, he felt it. he claims he uses the term 'brat' affectionately, but he uses the same term to address his nephew (who he can barely tolerate).

" i wanna help! " she yelled, walked over to your stool, tugging at your sleeve. " mommy, can i help daddy cook? "

just to spite him, you agreed. you've tried cooking with sukuna multiple times, but he just ends up scolding you and telling you everything you're doing faulty, rarely everything you're doing efficiently. plus, sukuna isn't too fond of people in a space he works best in. he'll gladly shoo you out.

" i don't need help, " he clarified.

" yes, you do. " you smiled, knowing you were working a nerve. " cook with your daughter, suku. it'll be fun. "

he huffed, hoistering her up on his broad shoulders, a laugh mixed with a squeal coming from her mouth which was missing some baby teeth already. " don't touch anything, don't tell me what to do. stay there and keep your mouth shut. " his harsh words never phased her, she took it as her father's form of affection. he could scold and cuddle her in the same time frame.

she rested her chin into his hair, looking down at the pan as the steak seared, intrigued. she would slip off sometimes, with how broad and wide sukuna was, but it seemed she was determined to stay with how she adjusted herself quickly, and he was determined to keep her there as he would aid her.

he took the meat off the heat, letting it rest on a plate as it was already basted in butter with slight spice. " what are we doing now? " she asked.

" waiting, " he said.

" for what? "

" for it to cool. hush. " he sliced a piece soon enough, letting red liquid ooze out onto the plate which made your face grimace in disgust. he liked eating his meat near raw, which you never understood and frankly never wanted to.

" is it done? is it done? " she looked amazed, a contrast to your expression. " can i eat some?? please, pretty please! "

he lifted a piece to her mouth. " unlike your mother, you have taste. "

" do not feed her that! "

© 𝓜𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌

♥︎ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: ok hi sorry for the break ahem take this as compensation ;w;

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ in which sukuna ryomen is in a band, has an intimidating aura, and a crush on his nephew’s babysitter. who hates him. deeply.

yn’s moodboard / sukuna’s moodboard

cursed frequency / the sisterhood of the traveling vape

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track #20 - the end

enemies to lovers kind of (i’m trying), curse words, cigarettes, man hating, mdni </3 disregard timestamps

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ in which sukuna ryomen is in a band, has an intimidating aura, and a crush on his nephew’s babysitter. who hates him. deeply.

yn’s moodboard / sukuna’s moodboard

cursed frequency / the sisterhood of the traveling vape

track #1

track #2

track #3

track #4

track #5

track #6

track #7

track #8

track #9

track #10

track #11

track #12

track #13

track #14

track #15

track #16

track #17

track #18

track #19

track #20 - the end

enemies to lovers kind of (i’m trying), curse words, cigarettes, man hating, mdni </3 disregard timestamps