bunni

heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; dad!kuna | fluff | oneshot | 1.4k

lil bit of dad!kuna for you hehe

♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go!

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"Sit still, brat."

Your husband's gruff voice rumbles like thunder through the vast emptiness of the engawa, competing against the steady drone of spring rain pattering against the stone paths and pond outside.

"O-ow! You're pulling on my– father!"

And then a yelp that sounds like it came from a kitten rather than a child.

You pause mid-step. Then, with a suppressed giggle, curiosity pulls you closer, cotton-clad feet moving smoothly against the polished wood until you find yourself peer through the slightly parted shoji into your daughter’s chambers.

You lift a hand to your face before you can stop yourself; in the quietness of the hallway, your fingers press lightly over your faintly painted lips to stifle the giggle threatening to escape.

Outside, a fine curtain of spring rain blurs the garden into a dewy haze. The scent of wet earth and blooming sakura clings to the humid air; you can faintly smell the scent of the garden in the engawa.

Earlier, when the rain first started, you had expected to find Sukuna where he always is at this early hour, seated upon that towering throne with an abundance of curses and curse users at his feet, but the hall stood empty when you entered. Uraume and four other servants were mopping the wood of freshly spilled blood, still dark crimson and warm.

“He is… preoccupied.” Uraume had said.

"Oh?"

"This morning's affairs were quickly dealt with." They added.

It was enough to pique your curiosity as your husband, the King of Curses himself, is rarely one to abandon his throne. With a quiet hum, you turned away, the scent of iron still thick in your nose.

Guided by instinct more than instruction, you found your steps turning to the west wing of Sukuna's estate, following the quieter corridors where the sound of rain grew a little softer and the scent of wet earth a little stronger.

To this:

The light is dimmer here, yet even in the low candlelight and the faint white light of outside, your gaze manages to trace the hard ridges of Sukuna's muscles shifting subtly beneath his skin with each movement. The inked patterns on his skin contort as one of his hands gently pulls a comb through your daughter's pink hair.

The thing looks absurdly small between his fingers. It's almost silly.

Sukuna, in his vast size, sits with his back straight, shoulders practically taking up more room than the chamber was ever meant to hold. Your daughter, just shy of eleven now, sits cross-legged on the tatami in between his legs, fidgeting only slightly despite his earlier warning.

His other hand, absurdly large, gathers the strands gently at the nape of her neck, steadying Kanako, as she huffs and knits her eyebrows together.

"You're taking too long," Kanako scowls, "I want to hunt outside."

"Hunt?" Your husband repeats with the same exact scowl, "With your hair all over your face? In the rain?"

"I can just braid it myself."

This earns a hurt scoff from your husband. "You forget yourself, girl” Sukuna says, voice dropping with quiet authority. One of his four hands holds the crown of her head, firmly enough to keep her from turning again. “That temper– where do you think it comes from?”

Your daughter rolls her eyes, having heard him chastise her for her explosive attitude before. Her lips press into a thin line as she faces forward once more, but she meets his sharp crimson eyes in the reflection of the mirror with her own. She looks so much like him, but blessed with the delicate outlines of your nose and eyes.

“…You,” Kanako mutters under her breath.

Sukuna pauses, an eyebrow raised. "Your insolent mother."

Your daughter hums in half-agreement, but resorts to picking at her nails as her father gathers her unruly pink waves into three bunches with three of his hands, the comb now long abandoned on the tatami.

Though his eyes are focused on braiding her hair, his mind is elsewhere. Sukuna sighs a little under his breath, thinking about how there was a time when she barely reached his knee, waddling in unsteady steps, and clinging to the edges of your robes.

Or his.

She is no longer the small, fragile thing he used to stare at as she slept in her bassinet, while you were curled beside him on the futon and he could not find sleep himself. Sukuna recalls how he used to trace the tiny lines of her nose and chin with his fingers. He remembers the softness of her cheek beneath his calloused palm.

"She looks just like you, Ryo." You had once said, breathlessly, sweat-slicked hair sticking to the sides of your temple as the nurses and midwives fussed all around you.

Sukuna recalls when he first held Kanako, that tiny bundled up thing, resting sleepily in his arms as another reached out and brushed the hair out of your face.

"She’ll survive anything– she is strong, just like her mother."

You smiled tiredly, a gentle sigh slipping past your lips. "Your temper though."

He thinks to himself that there will be a day where she will no longer let him brush her pink hair which is so alike to his, when adolescent pride takes over. Give it a few more years and she will slip from his reach entirely, sharp-tongued just like her father, and riddled with stubborn remarks just like you.

He rarely does this: There are servants for such things. Yet, this morning after his morning court had finished, he found himself wandering idly into her bed chambers, missing her presence – though he would never outwardly admit such a thing.

Kanako had been sitting by the open window, one leg stretched out onto the tatami, the other tucked loosely beneath her. She idly twirled at a rogue pink strand while watching the rain outside like a lazy housecat.

A small wooden comb lay abandoned beside her, forgotten. Her morning tea, steaming just an hour ago, sat by her half-read scrolls, lukewarm. It wasn’t until her father's intimidating shadow swallowed the light pooling from the window that she glanced up, red eyes narrowing slightly in slight annoyance of being disturbed.

“What?”

Sukuna’s gaze flickered to the discarded comb, then back to her with a light scowl.

“Tch.”

His fingers continue their quiet work, weaving the strands together.

As your husband finishes Kanako's plait, she flings a red ribbon that matches her kimono over her shoulder to him. You can barely fight the smile on your face now when you hear Sukuna kiss his teeth at his daughter, his only child, and she responds with a cheeky grin through the mirror before them.

Sukuna feels a strange lightness in his chest; it is like a warmth that has nothing to do with power or conquest, or the adrenaline of a fresh kill, and everything to do with the absurd privilege of brushing his daughter’s hair.

Contentment. True happiness. Adoration.

If you look close enough, you can see it in his red eyes. All four of them.

Your own chest swells, a quiet happiness spreading to every fibre of your very being. You think about the King of Curses, your husband, the true terror of Japan who really, is just a father.

You watch on, hand still resting against your smiling lips, as Kanako studies the braid for a long moment, her red ribbon catching the candlelight. With a satisfied nod, before Sukuna can even register it, she springs to her feet and throws her arms around his thick neck.

"Thank you, I love it." Kanako mutters against his skin. "You might even be better than mother."

You almost gasp in feign offence.

Sukuna stills. The sound of her laughter rings like wind chimes in the quiet room. His crimson eyes soften as he settles her against him, one of his four large hands resting gently on her back, as another cradles the back of her head softly.

Sukuna exhales a low rumble. “Don’t get used to this,” he murmurs against his daughter, though there is no bite in his tone.

Though you have been watching from the gap in the open shoji silently, Sukuna’s eyes flicker up in your direction, a faint awareness that you had been lingering for some time.

You stay a moment longer in the doorway, torn between staying and savouring the scene or retreating before your presence disrupts their little moment. Kanako is still clinging onto her father's giant frame, arms squeezing tighter.

Finally, meeting your husband's sharp red eyes, you lift a hand, giving a shy wave. He rolls his eyes, but there is nothing unkind about his gaze. Your smile grows a little more, uncontainable, and you retreat quietly back into the vast stretch of the engawa before Kanako can see you.

And with that, Sukuna returns his full attention to Kanako.

He almost scoffs.

The King of Curses, both terrifying to the world and impossibly soft, lets his hands stay cradling the small thing clinging onto him – just for a little longer.

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sukuna always fixing your clothes when you're out.

pulling your top up with a big unapologetic hand when it dips too low, giving a generous view of your breasts.

pulling your skirt down and coming to stand behind you when you bend over carelessly, almost flashing everyone around you.

you can certainly wear whatever you want, he doesn't control you, but there are limits.

"you tryna give everyone a free show or something?"

you smile up at him, carefree, tilting your head all cute. "you'd never let that happen, baby."

"tch." he rolls his eyes playfully, trying to hide his smirk as he slides his arm around your waist, pride filling his chest as he scans the room, sure to scare anyone off that looks at you for too long.

"damn right."

toji came through the door, taking his gym shoes off immediately. you were on the couch, blanket pulled to your chin. as you heard his heavy footsteps, you looked over the arm of the couch, meeting his own dark, mischief filled eyes. “no.” you said, beginning to sit up. “no, toji. get back.” you smiled, putting a hand out to distance him. “you didn’t miss me?” he said, a sleazy smile on his face. he stalked closer to you, looking through his eyelashes at your form. “don’t run from it, baby. come feel on me.”

before you could protest, he braced both of his hands beside your head, and laid his body weight on you. you smiled, trying to push him away, but ultimately failing. “toji, you smell.” you said, pressing your hands against his chest. “oh, i missed you baby. mm.. couldn’t stop thinking of you.” he murmured against your neck. “i was doing hip thrusts today. i thrusted how much you weigh.” he said, rubbing himself against you, almost like a dog trying to put its scent on something. “that’s when i thought of you.”

you felt something poking your inner thigh, and you scoffed. “you’re nasty.” you said. “i want you.” he mumbled, sitting up between your thighs. he took your hand, and guided it to his heavy bulge. “i trained. just for you.” he said, his voice in a mockingly pleading tone. he moaned as your hand kneaded his bulge, and he looked down at it, watching as you did so. he looked back down at you, biting his lip. “aren’t you proud of me? trained hard as shit so you don’t have to do any work when we’re fucking.” he said, pushing his damp hair off of his forehead.

he grabbed your hips, pulling them closer, so your covered crotch was flush against his bulge. he gave one slow thrust, and smiled. “i know you feel that.” he said, looking down as he began to slowly grind against you. “you don’t have to do anything, yknow. i can do all the work. like i usually do.” he teased, putting wet kisses all over the side of your neck. he grabbed your waist, and effortlessly maneuvered you, so you were straddling him. “it’s okay, baby. you can act like you don’t want it, but i know you do.” he cooed, running his hand down your stomach. he smirked, biting his lip as he noticed you trying to be subtle, as you “adjusted” your position on him.

“see? that’s my girl, always wanting this dick. it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to hide it.”

© satoskii 2026 ─────────

COMPUTA..?

sugurugeto x f!reader x satorugojo

"Computer? Make these guys super gay and horny"

It was supposed to be a normal dumpster dive. Now you’re home with a magic keyboard that can rewrite reality, a curious Suguru who wants to understand it, and a very irresponsible Satoru who keeps saying “just one more test.” At first, it’s harmless but the more it responds, the more it listens… and the harder it becomes to ignore the kind of thoughts that probably shouldn’t be tested.

tags: 18+, mdni, 3some, oral (m! & f!), train (lol choo choo), handjob, slight tears, spit, praise, anal, double penetration, unprotected p in v, slight satosugu, face riding, gagging, creampie.

wc: 5.5k

a/n: the song... cough cough hint hint. Also, do yall know smosh?

masterlist dividers: @dividers-are-us @/krisrisk @/sister-lucifer

trueform!sukuna x reader | heian era sukuna | wife reader | fluff | drabble

♡ looking for jjk? here you go!

Over the estate, night has settled softly. Birdsong is scarce now, deep in the winter months and atop of a snowy mountain, but the sound of the night chill whistling through the vast hallways of Ryomen Sukuna's estate is peaceful enough.

Snow falls in slow, deliberate spirals beyond the engawa, blanketing the garden in thick white mounds. You sit between Sukuna’s legs, back leaning against the broad hardness of his chest. A faint pink tinge blooms on your cheeks as the chill air nips at your skin.

Two of his hands, inked with thick black bands, are splayed over the curve of your stomach, large palms spanning the swell with a tenderness only you have experienced. His thumbs move absentmindedly, tracing quiet patterns over the embroidered flowers of your silk kimono.

"Are you warm enough?" He asks in that baritone voice of his.

You nod, the half-embroidered blanket falling gently into your lap as your hand rests on top of his. The size difference is laughable. Sukuna scoffs lightly, seeing how small your hand looks resting on his monstrous ones.

"You run very hot, husband."

Another quiet scoff. "Thankfully– or else we'd freeze to death in this temple."

"I did ask Uraume to burn extra firewood tonight," you say. "Though I suppose there is only so much before your estate burns to the ground."

At this, the arm that has been draped lazily across your shoulder, tightens slightly around you. As if two hands on your belly isn't already enough. You bite back a smile. The remaining hand rests behind him, palm against the wooden floorboards, anchoring his towering frame as he leans his face into your neck.

He feels you still as he inhales you in, the sweet scent of myrrh and tonka settling deep in his lungs. A soft exhale of warm breath fans the curve of your ear before you feel a deep rumble in your husband's chest – a hum to let you know he is content.

Then, his sharp chin settles gently in the crook of your neck. Sometimes you think your giant brute of a husband resembles a lazy house cat more than the monster others make him out to be; in truth, you would never say that to him. His ego may not be able to take the hit.

"Have you thought of a name yet, my heart?"

The soft coo of your voice carries slightly in the empty outside. For a moment he doesn't answer, but he elects to hum again. Sukuna thinks about the bundle of him and you growing inside of your swollen belly.

His gaze lifts, drawn past the quiet garden and the veil of snow, to the stretch of black sky above. White peppers the darkness; though winter has stripped it bare, the glow of the stars above remains sharp. You turn a little, your cheek brushing against his in the proximity; your husband's red eyes narrow slightly, as though searching for something from that endless expanse of black overhead.

One star, low on the horizon and burning a little steadier than the rest, light spreading towards the southern coast, glimmers.

"Minami," Sukuna says at last. "Is that to your liking?"

A bright smile overtakes your delicate features when you turn clumsily, facing him fully now. "The southern star?"

The faintest curve touches Sukuna’s lips; it is gone before you can really peer at his sharp mouth but it was there nonetheless. “You are a perceptive little thing– I suppose that is why you're my wife."

"I suppose that's why you haven't eaten me for supper yet," you giggle lightly.

Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, amused, clearly. He rolls his first set of eyes but then they settle on that smile still curling your lips. One of his hands shifts from your stomach to your jaw, his large fingers tilting your face so that he can properly look at you.

The ease of your smile is something which helps him forget who he is – or rather, what he is.

All day, he is something else: A calamity, usually. And a force that bends others into submission; a brutal creature that brings death and ruin to anything he touches. In your presence, it is set aside.

Here, with your laughter still lingering in the cold air like a promise of something greater, with your body so close to his and your warmth pressed into him, he finds that peace of mind he usually cannot get elsewhere.

With the quiet weight of his child beneath his hands, he feels as though that infernal beating thing in his chest may be more human than he lets on.

"If I eat you for supper, who will entertain me with their silly quips and unfunny jokes?"

Your mouth drops in feign hurt, and you land a light slap to his arm. "You can get yourself a court jester."

He smirks, all four eyes glinting in the low light. "I suppose it would do me no favours to eat the one I currently have."

"Excuse you,” you say, narrowing your eyes, though your voice wavers with a suppressed laugh. “I am not your court jester.”

Sukuna’s smirk only deepens. “You assumed the role yourself.”

A quiet huff escapes your lips. Sukuna eyes the smile fighting its way to your face when he rubs tenderly on your bump, his chest feeling particularly warm and full at the blooming red on your cheeks from the cold. Even in his presence, winter has still found its way to your skin.

For a moment he is quiet, and he thinks of the growing life inside you. He hopes she will take the shape of your eyes and your face, and the delicate curve of your nose and the softness of your smile.

“Minami,” he repeats absently.

You tilt your head slightly. “It is a sweet name. I like it.”

He lifts his head, eyes narrowing at some imagined future manifesting beyond the snowy horizon behind your head.

“She will not inherit your sense of humour.”

You let out an immediate, indignant sound at this; on instinct, your hand draws back, ready to land another playful smack to his strong arm but at the last second, Sukuna catches your wrist mid-air.

Effortlessly.

He tuts.

Slowly, Sukuna turns your hand in his hold, bringing the back of it upward to his sharp mouth. His lips press against your knuckles, warm and tender.

The kiss lasts only a brief moment, but he does not release your hand immediately after. Instead, his mouth lingers on the back of your hand.

“I hope that Minami,” he murmurs against your skin, “will not inherit your inclination toward violence, my love.”

｡˚ ｡. ᢉ𐭩 ˚ ࿔ ₊˚ ⊹ ˚ ｡ ˚｡

꒰꒰ 　❤︎ 𓏼 　episode 0 : ryomen sukuna has no heart.

⎯⎯ 　“in an essay of 5 pages or more, reflect on a time someone changed the way you view yourself or others.”

there was nothing difficult about the words themselves.

sukuna understood each one individually.

reflect. change. view.

he stared at the question for a long time. yet, the only reason his pen touched the paper was to write his name. not because he struggled to think of a memory, it was simply because there wasn’t one to think of at all.

no one had changed him. no one had ever come close.

people passed through his life the way everything did—briefly, insignificantly, leaving nothing behind worth keeping. they spoke, they reached, they tried, sometimes more stubbornly than others. it never mattered. in the end, they were all the same: predictable, fragile, forgettable.

the idea that any of them could alter the way he saw himself, influence his worldview… it was almost insulting.

sukuna exhaled quietly, tapping the pen once against the desk.

this assignment assumed something fundamental. that people were shaped by others. that change was inevitable. that somewhere, at some point, a moment existed that forced you to reconsider who you were.

in his mind, it was a flawed premise.

sukuna didn’t need to change, afterall he lived for himself.

no one had changed the way he viewed others. and certainly no one had changed the way he viewed himself.

there had never been a person capable of doing so.

for a moment, he considered stopping. handing it in exactly like that—blank. even though this paper made up 40% of his final grade. failing it meant losing the class, and losing the class meant he’d be barred from competing in championships, which is not an idea he was very fond of.

he pressed the pen down, harder this time.

“if such a person existed, they have not appeared.”

it was a small thing—the absence of a yet. no room left for the possibility that someone might.

so then, why did you end up being the one?

゛ ⸝⸝ ⋆ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 ♡ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

the thing about slumps is that you never know you’re in one. not until your own body becomes foreign — your limbs heavy, your eyes always tired, everything feeling a little... bland.

it wasn’t always like this. you used to love the routine — the mornings, the lunches, the yelling at sukuna to “not let them eat marshmallows before dinner,” the late night runs to get weird snacks, the sunday movie nights where you’d all squeeze onto one couch like sardines.

but lately, you’re just tired. not sleepy - tired in that soul-deep way where even brushing your teeth feels like a whole act. and somehow, your kids notice it before even you do.

you're sitting on the edge of your bed, motionless. your laptop's somewhere on the floor, your phone is still buzzing with unread messages, and you’ve been staring at the same spot on the wall for god knows how long. the curtains are drawn, and the air's too still. when your son pads in, it’s not loud. in fact, it’s too quiet for someone who usually announces every room he enters like a little tornado.

“mommy?” he whispers.

you blink. “hm?”

“can i touch your feet?”

you look down. he’s crouched at the edge of the bed, tiny hands already reaching for your ankles. you nod, confused. “why?”

he shrugs. “i saw daddy do it when you were sad that one time.”

before you can even process that, your daughter skips in — not with her usual dramatic flair — but with a thick book clutched to her chest. it’s the kid’s version of greek mythology you bought her from the school fair. she sits beside you, opening it with careful fingers.

“i’ll read to you,” she announces. “because when i feel sad, you read to me.”

Pairing: SoftBoyfriend!Sukuna x insecure!reader cw: fem!reader, mentions of body insecurity, chest, comfort fluff, worship, Soft Sukuna, light mentions of smut, lace lingerie

For the lovely: @cutestgirllyyyuu <3

Request for my Interlaced event

You had always been insecure about your body.

The comments you heard about it throughout your childhood and teenage years stuck with you more than you'd like to admit.

Especially the ones about your chest.

You couldn't control that, when you looked "more developed" than your friends or other girls your age.

Always sexualized by boys or getting odd looks from men, you grew to hate it.

Only wearing baggy clothes and avoiding swimming in the summer, don't even get me started on sleepovers or events where you had to dress more formal.

You thought you'd never get a boyfriend because of this, how unsure you were about your own skin.

They say you shouldn't love someone before you loved yourself.

You guess you got lucky.

Starting university you struggled to make friends, besides this one guy.

You were paired with him for some creative presentation.

His eyes only looked at your face, even if he looked a bit scary- those red irises and tattoos all over.

But he never once opened his mouth to drop a lewd comment or vile remark.

A stupid crush started to form.

You really liked Sukuna, spending lunch with him outside on a bench.

He smoked while you ate your sandwich.

He became something that made you feel more secure in yourself- even if Sukuna didn't know it.

He thought you were a shy mouse hanging by a big cat. In a good way.

After a few months of this, he asked you out.

You will never forget the bashful look on his face, and the little card he drew of your cute face as a gift.

Your face, he adored it.

Loved seeing you smile or how your expressions changed when he spoke to you.

Never your body.

It was bound to happen, it was his birthday and you wanted to surprise him.

You've seen a bunch of girlfriends buying lacy lingerie to wear for their boyfriends as gifts.

You had bought one that was like a sheer babydoll dress, the cups for the chest sheer and frilly.

What was supposed to be a romantic surprise ended up with you crying in the bathroom, not wanting to come out.

You had told him to wait in the bedroom, that you had to get something.

You changed into the pretty outfit- and your body just didn't look right.

A few soft knocks came from behind the door.

"Hey… i can hear you crying, yknow. What's wrong, baby?"

"…"

"Babe… unlock the door."

You turned the lock, hands moving to cover your chest and stomach. Your face having an embarrassed look, tears still pearling down your cheeks, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to try to calm down.

Sukuna just looked at your face, his own features shifting from a frown to a more gentle look.

Your face, he didn't even look down once.

"Baby… why are you crying?" He mumbled, stepping inside and reaching large palms to cup your sad face, wiping away the tears.

"Suku… i just.. hic.. wanted to surprise you… but i look so bad, I'm so sorry.."

Sukuna sighed, placing a small kiss to your temple, finally looking down to what you were trying to hide.

A hand slid down from your face to lightly pry your shaking arms off of your front, wanting to see.

"You're beautiful. You know i love how you look. Don't hide from me."

You sniffled, shifting to move closer, hugging him and hiding your face in his chest.

"You look real good…really good, now stop crying." Sukuna wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to him.

He guided you back to the bed, turning the lights low so you wouldn't feel too exposed.

Sukuna sat you on his lap, tender eyes looking over the lacy fabric, hands worshiping your sides, your chest, fingers running across your thighs. A palm feeling your soft flesh and tummy.

You never liked letting anyone see your body, but the way Sukuna looked at you… made you feel bashful and wanted.

He made sure you were comfortable, letting you take your time with things.

Making love with him felt so special, like your souls tangling up in one another. Soft kisses meeting and sweet nothings exchanged.

Suku was a happy birthday boy.

And you felt the burdens of your insecurities slowly vanish.

Yoon's notes: maybe i should just start venting in my fics this was so healing to write

art: @/ hunnismoker on x

masterlist

tags 1/2: @maplewood-valley @s0me1n3w @blu-goingdark @darlingbambii @whispers-of-aurora @xqce @cactusvolumes @deartoru @sxno0 @yeschefcarm @puppyrawpawz @dustypepsi @izeizebaby @Imbetter111 @stellarixe @deftoneslut @itstotallynotbrina @mimiiis @yorikae @astutetwilight @ghonegh0stwrit3r @1cckedheart @kissmatz @sxpernova @satorusdollie @itimisu @chloeee20 @liahcharms @jinjoohaaa @theartofsugarcoating @fruitypatootie @iluvfictionalmen4eva @jj5110 @magicalpeenpoo @Iilteef @zukobendsme @namjooningera @intrepidsnakespecter @pjselee @qdamselettep @jaaazy @kebablover @suckerforsatoru @milf-ivy @love-d-luxe @mrskamikazekaito @gloriouscollectormusic @cursedkisss @lilithkleia

want to join the taglist? HERE

©yoonsucks

all work belongs to @yoonsucks , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

visiting sukuna’s place sometimes entailed entertaining his tiny, beady eyed, absolutely adorable nephew yuji.

he had the same blush pink hair to match your boyfriend’s, the same eyes, and the same amount of spunk to match sukuna’s grumpy ass.

“hey pretty lady!!”

“hi yuji~” he practically squealed before lifting him up into the air and spinning him around.

he was giggling in your arms, burying his stupidly chubby cheeks into your shoulders before grabbing your face and tugging at it as if it were playdough.

“i swear you only come over for him.” you barely register sukuna’s voice, before he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your neck softly before shooting the smallest glare in yuji’s direction.

“i mean can you blame me? look at him he’s adorable!”

“he’s manipulative that’s what he is.” sukuna says, still glaring at yuji before slowly walking you over to the couch, right before you have yuji seated on your lap, giggling, his hands running through you hair with the fascination only a kid can posses.

“he’s a kid, kuna.”

“he has you fooled already, woman.” sukuna’s grumpy expression has yuji bursting into a fit of laughter in your lap, hiding in your arms the second sukuna scoffs in his direction.

soon enough, the tree of you are huddled on the couch, your eyes glued to the tv screen trying to follow the plot of shitty movie yuji decided to pick out for the three of you, unbeknownst to you, the two pink haired menaces were having a staring contest—every moment sukuna tried to wrap his arms around you, yuji would bite down on them like the little gremlin he was.

“watch it brat, you’re on thin ice.” he warned, only to have the pudgy toddler stick his little tongue out at him.

“both of you. QUIET.” you whisper-shouted, and that’s exactly what got the two of them to have their mouths shut. momentarily, of course.

but the moment you yelled—they couldn’t keep their eyes off of you. sukuna was absolutely enamoured, he loved you, and everything about you was absolutely far too good for someone like him. yuji on the other hand, believed with the entirely of his tiny heart, that you were a princess. you always wore flowy dresses, your hair accessorises to match, your hands were always soft, and your smile was only something princesses possessed.

“k..kuna she’s toof pretty for you.” yuji mumbled in your grasp—and that’s exactly had you hysterically giggling while sukuna was utterly baffled that his little brat of a nephew had the balls to say that.

“i’m gonna kick him out.”

“you’re not kicking out a child, kuna.” you say between breathy giggles, and for a moment, sukuna agrees. you are too pretty for him, but guess what? that’s exactly why he was never going to let you go. you’re so far from his universe, but you’re still here, holding his nephew in your arms, giggling on his couch, curled up by his side.

“issok y/n, if you leave uncle kuna, you’ll still love me, okay?” yuji says almost pouting at you, his puppy eyes almost teary while he juts his lip out.

“don’t worry, i’m never leaving, yuji.” you looked right at sukuna while saying it, your eyes soft, your smile almost dangerously softer. you didn’t say it like it was a stupid joke, you said it like it was a promise. that you’d always be here, stuck by his side.

and for a split second, sukuna’s grateful for the stupid brat and his antics. and even if he’d never admit it out loud, he wouldn’t trade the two of you for the world. and before you knew it, the three of you were cuddled up on the couch, dead asleep, with yuji snuggled up in your arms while while sukuna had you tucked in his.

you really were like a princess. yeah, and you really were too pretty for him. but oh well, you were stuck with him for the rest of your life.

anotha reupload huhu. i will work on long fics soon <3 ! @yoonsucks @yorikae @sugusplaything

dividers: @/pixopix .

hi reader, i'm leia ♡ welcome to the navigation page for all things JJK

i used to be hecatetears on tumblr !

my non jjk writing is linked here

all the fics are marked as MDNI; most of my work contains adult themes/profanity/some level of smut

────₊˚────₊˚────₊˚────

satoru gojo

♡₊˚"she's not so innocent after all" | fratjo x reader | college au; fraternity au | smut, fluff, lil bit of crack | oneshot | what happens when utahime shows your friend, satoru gojo, messages about the obscene things you want him to do to you? | 4k words

choso kamo

♡₊˚ better; drummer!choso x reader | college au | fluff | drabble | a lazy sunday morning in his arms | 1k words

suguru geto

♡₊˚ "cry for me" | coach!suguru x figureskater!reader | figure skating au | angst and fluff | tw: mentions of weight | in which suguru will do anything to make you perfect while you'll do anything to be out of the game | 7.8 k words

♡₊˚ odette | college!geto x ballerina!reader | ballet au ; college au ; enemies to lovers | angst and fluff | at JJKU, suguru geto excels in classical ballet – he's also the object of your greatest ire; when nanami, your maître de ballet, chooses you to play odette, and suguru as prince siegfried for your college's production of swan lake, you find your heart waning just as he does too | 8k words | ♡₊˚part one

ryomen sukuna

♡₊˚ snippets of his life: sukuna's instagram | college au | frat!kuna | college au; fraternity au | just a little something of what i think frat!kuna's instagram would look like

♡₊˚ a little life | frat!kuna | college au; fraternity au | fluff, angst & all of the inappropriate stuff | long oneshot - 4 chapters complete | your brother's warning to stay away from frat guys lingers in the back of your mind constantly — but how can you when ryomen sukuna himself is begging you to help save his english grade? total 53k words | ♡₊˚ part 1 | ♡₊˚ part 2 | ♡₊˚ part 3 | ♡₊˚ epilogue

˚｡⋆ frat!kuna headcanons ⋆｡˚ | headcanons | college au | just some random yapping ab fraternity au sukuna | little bit of frat!sukuna x reader at the end | 1.4k words

˚｡⋆ finance!sukuna headcanons ⋆｡˚ | headcanons | finance au | in the big scary world of wall street, ryomen sukuna dominates the game | 2.4k words

˚｡⋆ frat!kuna headcanons #2 ⋆｡˚ | frat!sukuna x reader | college au ; fraternity au ; exbf!sukuna | headcanons | "remind me why we're taking a break, it's obviously insane" | 1.3 k words

♡₊˚ snippets of her life: sukuna's girlfriend | frat!kuna | boyfriend!sukuna | college au; fraternity au | what i think your instagram would look like as sukuna's gf

♡₊˚fair game | manager!sukuna x analyst!reader | finance au | office au | fluff-ish | oneshot | high finance, high tension — and the one thing that isn’t negotiable? sukuna’s claim on you | 3k words

♡₊˚quiet ripples | heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna | fluff | oneshot| "a king of curses feared by the world and yet, a husband and father in the quiet sanctuary of the garden" | 2.2k words

♡₊˚ total devotion | rockstar!sukuna x reader | band au | angst & smut | oneshot | based on this cover of how deep is your love (mitski) | 4k words

♡₊˚ still spring | heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna fluff | drabble | 1k words

♡₊˚ fleeting things; futile feelings | sukuna x curse user!reader | modern au; sukuna is a sorcerer at tokyo jujutsu high; angst & fluff | drabble | what happens when a mission goes wrong? | 1.6k words

♡₊˚crimson thread | heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna fluff | drabble | 1.6k words

♡₊˚spring showers | heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna | fluff | oneshot | 1.4k

♡₊˚那些年，我們一起追的女孩 | frat!kuna x reader x frat!toji | college au; fraternity au | angst & fluff | oneshot | toji may have gotten the girl, but sukuna knew her first | 2.7k words

♡₊˚ wife!reader drabble 1 | trueform sukuna | heian era sukuna | fluff

˚｡⋆ idol sukuna headcanons

toji fushiguro

♡₊˚ flatmate!toji drabble #1 | flatmate!toji x reader | college au; fraternity au | fluff and angst | oneshot | living with toji isn't easy when he's gruff, unfettered, messy and rough - but somehow you don't really mind it | 2k words

kento nanami

♡₊˚ and the swans sing | president!nanami | president au ; husband!nanami x reader | angst | oneshot | 'dive in, dive deep and in dark blue my sweet. brushing up from the water where the ice meets' | 3k words

hiromi higuruma

₊⟡ "honestly, your age is showing" | prof!higuruma x reader | college au | age gap | smut | oneshot | you love grocery shopping with higuruma, especially when he's threatening to fuck you in the wine aisle | 3k words

♡ looking for more of my work? here you go!

♡ my non jjk writing is linked here

With a long sigh, your husband settles beside you on the soft bed. The covers dip as he shifts his weight, eventually settling to face you on his side.

The moment Zuko steps into your chambers, the weight he carries from the day begins to shift and it does not disappear entirely, but is made bearable. In court, surrounded by voices that are foreign to him, or laced with poison and dishonesty, his mind usually isn't there but here, in the stillness of this room, with you.

He sighs.

Candlelight flickers, shadows dance across the walls. His hand, slender and pale, reaches over and brushes a thick strand of hair away from your face.

"I haven't seen you all day, my love."

For a moment he thinks you may be asleep, but then you smile, content, and hum something that sounds a little like "my ever preoccupied lord".

Your eyes are still closed, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as they trace over your wispy lashes, the soft outline of your lips, and the gentle curve of your jaw.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

In the low light of the orange flame, the fire lord lets his gaze dip to the round swell of your stomach, draped in the thin silk of the sheets. You feel the warmth of him as he rests a steady hand against your bump.

"He has been kicking all day," you say tiredly. "Restless, just like his father."

For a second, Zuko is quiet, and then he chuckles softly. "I think he is a she."

"It's a boy."

Zuko scoffs, his thumb beginning to run circles over your skin. "It's definitely a girl– I saw it in a dream."

“You trust a dream over me?” you murmur, finally opening your eyes to look at him, lashes heavy with sleep. Your husband's hand leaves your stomach and rises slowly, as though reluctant to part from the warmth there, before coming to cradle the side of your head instead.

Zuko's agile fingers slip into your silky hair gently, combing through the strands repeatedly. A soft sigh escapes you.

“I trust my instincts,” says Zuko with quiet certainty. His gaze lingers on you, golden eyes soft in the candlelight. “And I think she’ll be strong...” A pause. The faintest smile. “Like her mother.”

Too tired to debate, you let your gaze linger on him.

Everything about his being is deeply unfair, you think to yourself; the way Zuko looks when he is alone in your chambers, completely stripped of armour, and his title and responsibility of the nation, and of everything that once made him seem untouchable the first time you laid eyes on him almost thirteen years ago.

He was just a child then, rough around the edges, and so determined to prove his worth.

Now here, Zuko is only yours. His hair has grown long, dark and loose, cascading over his shoulders and splayed against the sheets in dark inky waves. A few strands fall forward as he leans closer, framing his face, softening the sharp lines of his nose and mouth.

You reach up without thinking, fingers tracing his jaw to the tip of his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur.

“Like what?” Zuko asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"This one isn't even born yet... and I'm already thinking about giving you more."

Zuko barks a short laugh, eyes glinting with amusement. "Is that so?"

His hand, still threaded in your hair, shifts to cup your cheek, a warm thumb brushing just beneath your eye slowly. You hear the faint hitch of his breathing when he leans in; soft lips press against yours unhurried, like he is savouring the taste of you. Lingering for just a moment longer, he shifts and presses another one to the corner of your mouth.

When Zuko pulls away reluctantly, eyes still half-lidded and gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, your fingers drift towards him and tuck behind his ear, a strand of his dark hair.

“Do you remember,” you say quietly, tease threading through your voice, “when you used to hate me?”

Zuko’s expression shifts. His dark brows knitting together in disbelief. He thinks back to the time you gave him concussion with Aang's airbender staff. You were angry with him, and if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the impact of the wood on the back of his head. It was not an accident. Zuko had called you weak. You decided to show him otherwise.

“I didn’t hate you,” he says, though it comes a little too quickly. "I admit– I wasn't very kind."

"And now I'm having your child." You hum, lips curving faintly. “Who would have thought?”

Zuko exhales through his nose, something between a scoff and a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes. You slip out of his grip when your turn away from him, yawning a quiet 'goodnight', that stupid smile still on your face.

His eyes trace the curve of your shoulder, the rise and fall of your breathing, and then finally the gentle swell beneath the silk sheets. Thirteen years, he thinks. An entire decade has passed, and somehow he had gone from a foolish, angry boy who didn’t know how to speak to you without cruelty to a man who can now call you his wife.

Another quiet exhale of disbelief leaves him, softer this time.

Careful not to wake you, Zuko shifts closer, draping an arm over your sleeping form, pulling you in and trapping the warmth of your body against his. He thinks that luck does not even begin to cover it – somehow, impossibly, you had chosen him.

And somewhere between deep sleep and consciousness, with the amber glow flickering in the corner of the room and the rest of the world reduced to the soft huff of your breathing, he hopes once again sleep will be kind to him: That it will give him you again.

And his daughter, tiny and bright, with your stubbornness and his fire, reaching for him with tiny hands.

⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆

♡ looking for more of my work? here you go!

☼ cw ; fem! reader, fire lord zuko, being late to a meeting because you can’t stop riding zuko, mentions of all the babies you guys have, sokka being sokka. the gaang’s all here (after the sex).

☽ ⋆ ⋅ m.list

“Come on Zuko— one more time? Please?” You’re panting, naked, hands braced on Zuko’s sweaty chest as you grind back and forth in his lap.

His breath hitches from the sheets, squeezing your hips. “Seriously? I’m already late. How does it— fuck. Stop that!” Zuko frowns and pinches your ass when you tighten around his cock on purpose.

“How does it look if the Fire Lord can’t stop fucking his wife long enough to attend a simple meeting with the Avatar?” He continues.

Zuko is still half hard inside your pussy, cum trailing down his shaft— filling out thick and hot by the second.

“Then why are you getting hard again?” You tease, dipping down to suck on his throat.

“That— that’s unfair,” he moans. You draw back to look at his face, and his cheeks are flushed such a similar color to his scar it almost blends together entirely.

“And if you really thought this meeting with Aang was important you wouldn’t still be in bed with me.” You place your palm over Zuko’s mouth, grinning at the way his eyes go wide and his cock twitches.

“Now shut up and let me ride my husband one more time.”

When you walk into the fire temple chambers where the meeting is taking place, the entire group is there.

Aang and Katara share a look, laughing at the picture you and Zuko make. Hair mussed and clothes ruffled, a hickey high on Zuko’s throat.

Sokka looks thoroughly annoyed and throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Seriously dude?!” He shouts, jumping from his chair and jabbing a finger at the poorly hidden hickey. “This is why the fire temple is crawling with your offspring!”

Toph snickers, and Zuko doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.

what's the buzz? you had him at "fuck." sukuna wasn’t the type to get caught up in things, but you stuck with him. slowly, without either of you trying, he let you in. but love isn’t always enough.

be careful, he bites if you ask nicely! 1.6k words. no reader gender implied. coffee-shop/barista au. angst. axed ending

notes from the matchmaker . . . main masterlist is here. this is a super short fic, i think i'd consider it a drabble. thank you for reading ^^

You had him at “fuck.”

Not in the poetic, love-at-first-sight way. No, Sukuna was halfway through a mind-numbing shift, barely holding onto his patience, and the last thing he expected was to look up from the register and see you—frowning at the menu board like it had personally wronged you, muttering expletives under your breath. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet, defeated, “fuck.”

He almost snorted. Almost.

Instead, he watched. Watched as you shifted on your feet, clearly overwhelmed by the obscene number of drink choices. His coworkers would’ve jumped at the opportunity—flirted, recommended something ridiculous just to keep you talking, maybe even snuck their number onto your cup with a little smiley face. But Sukuna just cleared his throat, and when you looked up at him—eyes wide, startled—he pointed at the menu behind him.

“Matcha latte,” he said.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ll like it.”

You tilted your head, considering. Then, to his surprise, you smiled—not the practiced kind, not the polite, obligatory kind he was used to, but something warm. Something real. The kind that made the corners of his own mouth twitch in response.

“Sure,” you said, nodding. “I’ll take that.”

You knew exactly who he was… and stayed

Tw : MDNI, 18+

Part 1 Part 2

Sukuna knows he fucked up.He knows he deserves the award for The Biggest Dickhead of the Year.

You spent your birthday alone because he was too busy being a selfish prick to remember the one person who’d been there for him for literally everything.

You were there when his mom got sick.You were there when his dad was a drunk asshole. You were there when he failed maths and thought his life was over. You were there for every birthday, every breakup, every panic attack about nothing and everything. And somewhere along the way you stopped being his best friend and became…. just a girl he fucked.

When did he stop seeing you?

When did he stop noticing you were there?

What’s killing him is that you just gave up on him. You didn’t scream or throw shit or demand explanations…he could handle anger. You looked exhausted. Tired of him. Tired of being the person who cared more.

Fix it. He has to fix it.

But how the fuck do you fix fifteen years of friendship that you torpedoed in six months?

☾☾☾.

Heartbreak, as it turns out, is fucking exhausting.

Not in the romantic way movies portrayed it. No standing in the rain, no meaningful stares out windows while sad music played.

Just bone deep exhaustion.

You’re extremely fucking confused when Sukuna shows up at your apartment ten days after your birthday….. ten days of radio silence, ten days of you ugly crying into ice cream and deleting his number only to restore it from recently deleted like the pathetic creature you are……. with flowers and mochi. Not just any mochi. Mochi from your favourite place that’s twenty three minutes across town in traffic. You know because you’ve driven there multiple times. Usually when you were having a shit day and needed something that felt like a small extravagant fuck you to responsible adult decisions.

He’s holding it out like a peace offering. Like it’s a white flag. Like it’s anything other than what it actually is, which is a desperately transparent attempt to buy forgiveness.

You stare at him through the crack in your door chain lock still on….. and he looks… bad.

You can tell he hasn’t slept properly, which you know because you’ve seen Sukuna on two hours of sleep after exam season in university and he still looked better than most people do on a full eight. There are actual shadows under his eyes.

And his usual expression…. that infuriating smirk that says he knows he’s hot shit and you’re probably thinking about him naked… is completely absent. Replaced by something that looks almost… nervous?

Ryomen Sukuna. Nervous. The same man who once fucked you against your kitchen counter, maintained eye contact the entire time, and then had the audacity to eat your leftovers after.

“What do you want?” Your voice comes out flat, which is good. Flat doesn’t show that your heart’s jumping just from seeing him standing there.

“To talk.” He lifts the mochi box slightly.“Please.”

‘Slam the door in his face.’ That’s what your best friend would say, right?

‘Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning’ At least listen to Dua Lipa. You’re undoing all the progress you’ve made.

What progress? You’ve made zero progress. You’re a mess.

So you undo the chain and let him in, because apparently self respect is a myth and you’re living proof.

He steps inside and immediately your apartment feels smaller, which is saying something because it’s already pretty fucking small. It’s not even that Sukuna’s particularly huge, he’s tall, yeah, but it’s more about the way he takes up space. The way he’s always had this gravitational pull that makes you orbit him whether you want to or not. You’ve been orbiting him since you were kids. Maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe you never learned how to exist in your own solar system.

“You have five minutes,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, which is definitely a defensive position but also necessary because you’re not wearing a bra and you’re not about to let him think this is that kind of visit.

“I fucked up.” The words come out so fast like he’s been practicing them.

You can’t help it… you laugh. “Oh, wow. Groundbreaking. Should we call the press? Alert the media?”

His jaw does a tiny clench that you’ve seen a thousand times, usually right before he says something he knows is going to start a fight. But he doesn’t. He just takes it. Absorbs your sarcasm because he deserves it.

“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” he continues, and his voice has this quality to it that you’ve never heard before. It’s rough.“I know showing up with flowers isn’t enough. I know…” He stops and runs his hand through his hair and you watch it happen, watch the way his fingers drag through the pink strands and leave them sticking up at odd angles. “I’m fucking drowning without you.”

Your chest squeezes painfully. Like your heart’s being wrung out like a wet towel. You ignore it. You’ve gotten good at ignoring things. Six months of practice.

“You forgot my birthday, Sukuna. You went on a date with someone else and then you showed up here expecting me to be available? Like I’m some 24 hour convenience store for your dick?” The words come out quieter than you intended. Less accusatory and more… hurt. Which you hate. You wanted to sound angry.

“No, I…….”

“Do you even know what that felt like?”The words explode out of you and you’re not yelling, not quite, but your voice is definitely raised and you can feel the tears threatening and fuck, you don’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. “Waiting all day for a text. Checking my phone every five minutes like a fucking idiot?

He looks wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked, and some petty part of you is glad. Wants him to hurt the way you hurt. “You’re right. About all of it. I treated you like shit. I took you for granted because you were always there and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Apology noted. Was that all?” you say, and you’re proud of how steady your voice is. How calm. Like you’re not actively falling apart inside.

“What…no……” He runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to say anything.” And oh, there’s the anger. It’s bubbling up now, hot and acidic. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just walk away. You’re good at that.”

He flinches at your words “please…” He pauses “The last ten days have been hell without you. I miss you.”

“You miss fucking me.”

“No.” His voice comes out sharp. “I miss hearing about your day. I miss you stealing my hoodies. I miss the way you laugh at stupid shit. I miss you falling asleep on my couch during movies. I miss you.”

“Don’t do that” You can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Don’t try to…. ”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words land and it feels like getting punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time. White noise fills your ears where thoughts used to be. You’re vaguely aware that your mouth is open…. definitely looking stupid……. but you can’t seem to close it. Can’t seem to do anything except stand there and replay those four words over and over

“What?”

“I’m in love with you.”He steps closer and you step back. Your spine hits the kitchen counter. “I’ve been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long. Maybe always. Maybe since we were kids. I don’t know. But I know that I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid an….”

No.

No, he doesn't get to do this.

He doesn't get to say the words you’ve been dying to hear for months…. not now, not after everything, not when you’ve finally started to piece yourself back together.

“Bullshit.” Your voice shakes. “No feelings, no strings, remember?”

“I was wrong.” He moves closer. You let him this time, too shocked to move. “I was fucking wrong about everything.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You don't even try to stop them.

“Ten days,” he continues, voice raw. “Ten days without you and I’ve been losing my fucking mind. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think about anything except how badly I fucked up.”

“Stop.” You are full on sobbing now “Just stop talking.”

“I love you.” He reaches for you, then drops his hand when you flinch. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m begging. Please. Let me fix this.”

You stare at him through blurry vision. This is what you’ve wanted, isn't it? For months, this is all you’ve wanted… for him to choose you, to love you back.

But now that you have it…

“I can’t….. after everything, I can’t just jump back in like nothing happened.” You want to believe him. You wantto believe him so badly it physically hurt. It’s like this ache in your chest that radiates outward, makes your fingers tingle and your throat tight. But you’ve been hurt before. So many times before.

“I’ll wait.” He says it without hesitation. “However long you need. I’ll wait.”

This is stupid. This is the kind of shit that happens in romance novels where the emotionally constipated man child suddenly becomes a feminist poet who understands feelings and the girl forgives him and they have passionate sex in the rain and everyone forgets that he was a dick for the first two hundred pages.

Real life doesn’t work like that. Real life is messier.

You wipe your eyes and try to compose yourself. “I need you to leave,”

That hurts more than he expected. More than anything has hurt in his entire fucking life.

He nods, stepping back immediately. He makes it three steps before you stop him. “Sukuna?”

He turns back

“Yeah?” He looks at you with so much hope in his eyes it hurts to see.

Giving Sukuna a second chance to prove himself is like giving a gambling addict chips and expecting them not to hit the casino. It’s like trusting a cat to guard your sandwich. It’s doomed to fail.

But a stupid, naive part of you wants to believe that he can change. “If you actually mean this…” You wipe your eyes. “If you’re serious about this…prove it.”

Relief crashes over his face…. Like you just told him he’s been pardoned from execution. “How?”

“Figure it out.”

And for the first time in ten days, Sukuna feels like he can breathe.

You don’t t know if this can work.

But maybe it is worth finding out.

If he proves it.

☽☽☽.

He proves it slowly.

Not with flowers (though he sends them anyway, your favorites, every Sunday). Not with expensive gifts (though he leaves your favorite mochi on your doorstep some mornings).

And somewhere along the way, you soften.

You let him take you to dinner (not a date, you insist, even though it feels like one). You let him drive you home (you don’t invite him up). You let him text you (and you text back).

Three months after that night, you let him kiss you.

It’s different this time… Softer. Like he's cherishing every moment, memorizing the feel of your mouth, the taste of you, the way you sigh against his lips.

Six months later, you’re in his bed (your choice this time, you’d insisted), and he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

You turn in his arms to face him. Your eyes are heavy with sleep, your hair a mess, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. “I love you too”

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

Not proofread 😭 I'm sorry

♯ i suddenly feel the need to write a drabble in the middle of the night (half asleep too) so i'm sorry if this doesn't make much sense.

Sukuna knows something is wrong the second he steps into the kitchen. It's too quiet, a suspicious quiet at that.

Usually, by this hour, there is noise—loud noise, even. Cartoons playing on the TV, your daughter running around, you laughing at some reality show. But now? Silence.

That kind of silence that means trouble.

Sukuna sets his keys down on the counter, and his eyes move toward the dining table.

And there you are. You and your daughter, sitting side by side silently like two criminals.

Between you, there's an empty family-sized ice cream tub. You forbade him from touching it and told him to save it later for a movie night, but apparently, you didn't listen to your own rule.

Sukuna stares at the empty tub, then at you, then your daughter.

You smile innocently, like you didn't just break your own rule. Your daughter copies you immediately, though it's less convincing because there is still chocolate on her face.

Sukuna exhales slowly. "...Why are you eating ice cream before dinner?" he asks, looking at your daughter.

"Mama said ice cream make bad days go away!" She says innocently.

"I did say that," you point at her. "But i also said only one scoop! Not the whole tub!" you say as you lick the remaining ice cream from your spoon.

"But you're eating the whole tub, right?" he asks flatly.

You blink. "Uh, yeah..?"

"Kids follow what their parents do, you know."

You roll your eyes as Sukuna gives you a half-hearted glare.

Your daughter is already on her feet, lifting her spoon like it's an evidence.

"I was sad because Papa said no cookies."

"And your solution is," he says, now looking at you. "giving her more sugar."

"She was looking at me with her big doe eyes, how could i resist?!" You say, crossing your arms defensively.

Sukuna closes his eyes for a long second, letting out a heavy exhale. When he opens them again, his gaze is even firmer than before.

He crouches down so he's at the same eye level as your daughter.

"Listen," he starts firmly. "When i say no ice cream, no cookies, or whatever sweets before dinner, you listen."

"But Mama said yes.." Her voice comes out smaller this time.

"It doesn't matter if Mama said yes," he glances at you. "Sweets are not good, especially if you haven't eaten dinner yet."

It was silent for a moment. Your daughter is now sitting on your lap, her head resting against your shoulder. She fiddles with your sleeve, clinging a bit tighter.

Then you hear her sniffling, small and uneven.

Your eyes widen as you try to look at her, but it's useless. She buries her face in your shirt, refusing to look at you.

"Hey, sweetie," you say softly as you rub her back. "It's okay."

Sukuna doesn't move. He just watches her. A part of him feels bad for scolding her, but if he doesn't, she won't understand.

"I'm not mad," he says finally.

Your daughter is still crying silently, but she turns her head slightly to look at him, her lips wobbling as she tries to stop.

"I'm not mad, sweetie," he repeats. "But i need you to understand, okay? Even if Mama says yes, a rule is still a rule. No sweets before dinner. I need you to listen."

Your daughter sniffs softly, still trying to steady her breathing. She nods, but it's small.

"...Okay," she whispers.

Sukuna nods back at her, his gaze softening as he looks at her. His hand reaches out to gently ruffle your daughter's hair. She leans into his touch immediately, like it's something she's been waiting for.

"Good," he smiles slightly, but it changes back to a thin line as he looks at you. "And you—"

"I know, i know. I'm the problem," you sigh lightly.

"At least you're aware."

You shrug at that, still keeping your daughter on your lap. She shifts slightly, her eyes heavy with sleepiness after all the crying. Her fingers curl into your sleeve again, calmer now but still needing comfort.

Sukuna notices, and his expression soften just a fraction. "Next time," he says quieter. "Don't undermine what i say in front of her."

You glance at him, and this time, you don't joke. "Sorry," you say with a small smile. "Shouldn't have given in to her, she was begging, and i couldn't resist."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Shouldn't have."

You nod once, no argument this time.

"Don't make a habit out of it," he adds.

"No promises."

He gives you a look.

"I mean, i'll try," you correct yourself immediately.

Suddenly, your daughter mumbles, eyes half-lidded.

"Papa, no more ice cream?"

Sukuna looks at her again. "No more before dinner," he says, voice gentler now. "After dinner is fine."

That earns a small relieved sound from her.

"Okay," she says as she relaxes fully into you again, her eyes drifting shut this time.

"Oh, she's out," you huff out a small laugh. "She haven't eaten dinner yet.."

"Let her rest for a bit," he says. "Then we wake her up for dinner."

You hum, getting to your feet as you carry your daughter with you.

"I haven't cooked though," you admit. "Fried egg, is that okay?"

"I'm up for anything," he says as he approaches you, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

The gesture is brief, but it's enough to make you flustered.

"What did you do to Sukuna?"

"Don't start."