super long rant incoming for lads (if you read this i love you to pieces, if not i still love you to pieces): im not always the biggest fan of the reincarnation/past lover trope (which is ironic bc that’s literally the entire foundation of lads lore LMAO) because sometimes it feels like the LI’s are in love with the idea of us seeing as mc in the storyline is the past version of their beloved. i just can’t help but think, like are they actually in love with MC? or are they in love with some other version of her and that’s the only reason they’re drawn to her? it almost feels like they’re projecting who they think she is when she’s no longer the same person at all in this current timeline & lifetime.
it almost makes it feel like current mc is “the other woman” in some sense, even though that’s a bit illogical because the past version of her is literally her but so much time has passed, things change, people change, and mc is a completely different person than who she was in their past lives. bc truly, the only one who i feel like truly loves her present day for who she is, is caleb. i would argue zayne to an extent too because he technically doesn’t have any memories whatsoever of his past lives so him and MC falling in love feels like it’s happening for the first time again, it’s a blank slate.
and not to say that the boys can’t grow to love who she is without painting her as her past version, but a part of it feels ingenuine sometimes to me. bc although she shares the same face, the same body, arguably the same soul as her past self, seeing as it’s again, literally her SELF, at the core of it, she’s not actually her anymore. she’s someone completely different. so sometimes it feels super bittersweet & the lines get blurred. i have a love hate relationship w some of the lads lore for these reasons.
so sorry for the fatass post, but the lore & past life concept in the game always makes me feel hesitant to truly immerse myself into the game (i don’t even actually play the game, everything ik and have seen are from youtube clips that people have uploaded for all the myths, memories, and the overall storyline). this isn’t to say i don’t look forward to new updates and such, i love love lads. but like whenever i indulge in fanfic, especially as a chronic reader of ‘x reader’ fics, i have to separate reader from being MC, which is why i always stray towards non!mc reader bc there’s no tangible lore and past lives/reincarnations attached to a non!mc reader. at least not to the same extent as the og MC depending on how much the author diverges from canon and just basic background context for reader. but overall imo, non!mc reader just doesn’t carry the same heavy implications of the boys’ true feelings when it’s the actual MC vs a non!mc reader if any of that connected 😔
similarly why i also love iseki/transmigration fics as well; basically any concept where the reader is NOT the mc. bc just like in iseki fics, the boys don’t have the same attachments & feelings towards reader as they do MC. it just feels more sincere imo, idk.
i wonder if im just crazy and have too much time to think & talk to myself about this, or if other players/readers feel the same way. bc ik the whole point of an otome game is that WE are the MC. but ive just never been able to fully immerse myself like that, i see MC as a completely separate character, almost like an OC sometimes. like i just can’t connect or fully enjoy any fanfic with MC being the “reader”. i view MC and reader to be two different people if that makes sense.
and again, im completely aware that as the storyline continues, the boys have obviously shown to care and have deep affectionate feelings (love is a bit too ambiguous imo to truly label that as what they feel for mc) for current mc and its probably only going to strengthen as the story moves forth. but my mind still spirals and thinks about all the “what-ifs” and semantics of reincarnation and past lives. i wish i didn’t think this way, the game and concept of it would probably be more enjoyable all around for me, but i apparently hate myself to think too light heartedly, even for a fictional game/story 😭
truly tho, it’s never that serious, i just had to get that off my chest bc i really don’t know if any other (not sane) person felt this ardent & torn about this as i do, which is a little silly honestly but here we are LMAO 🧍♀️ but in the end, there’s something for everyone here in the world of fanfic & delusions! 🫶🏼🫧
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The sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes is filling the air, and you are currently standing at the stove, flipping a slightly burnt blueberry pancake.
Sukuna is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, his damp pink hair falling into his eyes. He’s scrolling through his phone, sipping his black coffee, completely relaxed.
“Hey,” you say, not looking away from the frying pan. “Can you grab the syrup from the pantry?”
“Yeah, I got it babe.” Sukuna rumbles. He stands up, his massive frame easily reaching the top shelf of the pantry. He sets the bottle on the counter next to you, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to your bare shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Thanks, babe,” you smile, leaning into his touch.
It’s a normal morning. A perfectly domestic, quiet morning. And then, the patter of tiny, bare feet echoes down the hallway.
Yuji waddles into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, his spiky pink hair sticking up in every possible direction. He’s clutching an empty plastic sippy cup in one chubby hand, looking incredibly serious for a toddler who just woke up.
He stops in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks at you. He looks at Sukuna.
Then, he takes a deep breath, puffs out his little chest, and yells, “Babe!”
You freeze. The spatula in your hand halts mid-air. Sukuna stops mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes blinking in confusion.
“Did he just…” you whisper, slowly turning your head to look at your husband.
“There’s no way,” Sukuna mutters, his brow furrowing. He looks down at the two-year-old. “What did you say, little man?”
Yuji marches over to Sukuna. He stops right at his father’s bare feet, tilts his head all the way back to look up at the towering 6’4” wall of muscle, and holds up his empty sippy cup.
“Babe,” Yuji says, his voice completely clear and demanding. “Juice. Pwease.”
Sukuna’s jaw drops.
You slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”
“Did you…” Sukuna stammers, looking from Yuji to you, completely bewildered. “Did he just call me babe?”
“He definitely just called you babe,” you wheeze, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.
Yuji, growing impatient with the lack of service, turns his attention to you. He waddles over to the stove, tugging on the hem of your pajama shorts.
“Babe,” Yuji insists, pointing a chubby finger at the frying pan. “Pancake.”
A loud, booming bark of laughter erupts from your husbands chest. He throws his head back, his massive shoulders shaking as he braces his hands on the kitchen island. “Holy shit,” he wheezes.
“It’s not funny!” you scold, though you are biting your lip so hard to keep from laughing that it actually hurts. “He’s going to go to daycare and call his teachers babe!”
“The kid’s got swagger, what can I say?” Sukuna laughs, wiping his eyes. He crouches down, bringing himself to Yuji’s eye level. “Hey. Buddy. Who am I?”
Yuji looks at him like it’s the stupidest question in the world. He reaches out, patting Sukuna’s tattooed cheek with a sticky hand. “Babe.”
Sukuna bites his fist, his face turning red from the effort of holding in another hysterical laugh. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Stop swearing!” you hiss, swatting Sukuna’s shoulder with the spatula. You kneel down next to him, putting on your most serious, gentle mom-face. “Yuji, sweetie, look at me.”
Yuji blinks his big, golden eyes at you. “Yeah?”
You let out a long groan, dropping your head into your hands. Sukuna is practically vibrating next to you, completely useless.
“No, baby,” you say, looking back up. You point to yourself. “I am Mama. Ma-ma.”
Yuji stares at you.
You point to Sukuna, who is currently trying to compose his face into something resembling a responsible parent. “And he is Dada. Da-da. Not babe.”
Yuji looks at Sukuna. He looks at you. His little eyebrows furrow in deep toddler concentration. He’s processing the information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Mama,” Yuji says slowly, pointing at you.
“Yes!” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Good boy!”
Yuji then points at Sukuna. “Dada.”
“Exactly,” Sukuna nods, looking incredibly proud. “Nailed it, little man.”
Yuji smiles, a massive, gummy grin that lights up his entire face. He looks thrilled with himself. He holds up his sippy cup again, looking right at Sukuna.
“Dada babe! Juice!”
“I give up,” you sigh, standing back up and walking over to the fridge to get the apple juice. “We’re raising a tiny frat boy. This is entirely your fault.”
“My fault?!” Sukuna gasps from the floor, trying to catch his breath. “How is this my fault?!”
“Because you call me babe every five seconds!” you argue, pouring juice into the plastic cup. “You never use my actual name! You never call me mama! He literally thinks ‘babe’ is a universal pronoun!”
“You call me babe too!” Sukuna defends himself, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. He looks entirely too amused by the situation. “I haven’t heard you call me ‘dada’ unless we’re in the bedroom, and even then—”
“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you shriek, your face flushing a shade of red as you shove the sippy cup into his chest. “Not in front of the child!”
“What? He doesn’t know what that means,” Sukuna smirks, standing up and effortlessly pulling you by the waist until your back is flush against his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.
Yuji happily takes his juice, taking a long sip before waddling over to the living room to watch his cartoons, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis he just caused.
“We have to actively start calling each other Mama and Dada around him. Seriously. I am not having my two-year-old walk around the grocery store yelling ‘babe’ at me.”
“Alright, alright,” Sukuna chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. He presses a soft kiss to your hair. “We’ll be better. Strictly Mama and Dada from now on.”
“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him.
“Yes, mommy..” he laughs, kissing your cheek. You groan, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “I hate you.”
an: i'm laughing my ass out with the tiktoks of toddler calling their parents babe! please let me marey Sukuna :c art by: umeka ryomen on pinterest here! the dividers and GIF i got from pinterest! please let ne know who the owners are if u know!
instead, you stopped in the doorway and forgot how to move.
the room was quiet almost fragile. pale afternoon light leaked through the curtains in soft stripes, painting the sheets gold.
and there they were.
baby!yuji was sprawled across sukuna’s chest like a starfish, one chubby cheek smushed against bare skin and tiny fist tangled in the collar of your husband’s shirt.
and sukuna..looked devastatingly human half-asleep.
his face was softened with exhaustion, eyes still closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks.
both their heads were a soft messy tuft of pink.
you felt your heart physically hurt.
and for a moment, neither of them noticed you.
until the floor creaked.
yuji stirs first with a tiny whine, blinking blearily. his little eyes are unfocused, heavy with sleep, and the second he spots you standing there his entire face lights up.
“mama…” it comes out all raspy and small his little hands reaching for you immediately without even sitting up properly.
and your husband, still barely conscious, tightens his arm around his son on instinct, protective even in slumber. his eyes crack open slowly.
“what..” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
he sounds offended by consciousness itself it could not get more ridiculous and adorable than that.
you simultaneously want to laugh and pounce at him because he just looks so soft!
yuji continues make grabby hands at you and unable to resist you walk over, perching on the edge of the bed making the mattress slightly dip.
bad decision.
because suddenly both of them gravitate toward you like magnets.
yuji crawls directly onto your lap with all the coordination of a sleepy toddler, burying his face into your stomach while sukuna exhales deeply beside you, eyes already falling shut again as he tucks you close to his side almost pulling you on top of him.
someone is being clingy..
his cheek is warm against your neck, hair tickling your skin. he smells like sleep and something comforting you can never name properly.
“you’ve both been napping for so long” you whisper, “it’s time to wake up” while both of them grunt a daft refusal and curl into you tighter.
yuji is already dozing off again, tiny fingers curled into your shirt.
sukuna shifts quietly before mumbling, barely coherent, “cold without you”
you blink at him.
then at the child asleep in your lap.
then back at sukuna, who seems to realize what he admitted a full three seconds too late because one eye opens again, glaring weakly.
“don’t”
“i didn’t say anything”
“don’t let it get to your head”
“oh it’s getting to my head alright”
he groans.
“too late” you grin.
despite the threat in his voice, he presses closer anyway, half asleep again before the conversation even finishes.
and somehow you too fall asleep surrounded by tangled blankets and warm bodies and terrible bedheads.
firefly; i just LOVE soft sleepy nap time fics it’s the most domestic thing ever RAHHH (do u guys want me to write longer fics? i kinda like the bite-sized format but lmk!)
the sun pours over your body as you walk along empty handed with sukuna holding all the bags and beach equipment. baby!yuji patters along on the mildly hot sand, running on levels of adrenaline only a six year old could muster.
the beach is filled with families similar to yours, children playing in the water, people tanning in the deliciously hot sun and rounds of volleyball being tossed around by large friend groups.
sukuna places down your lounging chairs with an attached shaded umbrella, and plops down with all the bags containing various miscellaneous things.
yuji sticks his tongue out slightly, eyes lighting up with mischief and tries to make a beeline for the water before you grab him by the collar.
“no one gets out there without sunscreen” you wave a finger at him, instructing him to settle down.
yuji pouts impatiently swinging his legs while you get out the bottle of kids sunscreen and rub it on every bit of his exposed skin.
your son wrinkles his nose when you reach for his face applying the lotion in soft rhythmic motions. you proceed to pinch his cheeks and give him a little kiss there while yuji giggles.
sukuna watches you fuss over the brat with mild amusement. his eyes squint under the sun, and drop to admire what you’ve got on.
a frilly little thing exposing your beautiful curves.
sukuna scans the area noting any men looking towards your general direction and stares them down with a cutting glare only he could manage. a look that screamed ‘look away before i come dislocate that head myself’ for good measure.
while yuji runs off to play in the sand, you turn to him with the sunscreen bottle in hand and a knowing smile.
“your turn”
sukuna scoffs from where he’s sprawled back in the beach chair, one arm lazily hanging off the side.
“i don’t burn”
“yes you do”
“i literally don’t”
“your nose got pink last time”
his eyes narrow immediately, “it did not.”
“you then complained that it itched and brooded about it the whole time”
“i don’t brood”
you hum ignoring his offense entirely and pat your thighs.
“c’mere”
he stares at you for a long second before clicking his tongue and leaning forward anyway because despite all his dramatics, sukuna has never once denied you when you used that tone on him.
you snort as sukuna settles in front of you. his massive frame blocks the sun completely and he smells like saltwater and heat already despite barely having stepped into the ocean.
you squeeze sunscreen into your palms and rub it across his shoulders.
his muscles flex beneath your hands while you smooth lotion over the dark markings curling along his skin, careful and thorough despite the way he eyes you.
you drag your fingers over his neck and jaw, rubbing sunscreen into the bridge of his nose while he looks deeply inconvenienced by affection.
“look down”
“this is humiliating.”
“look down, so i can get the back of your neck.”
he grumbles under his breath but tilts his chin downward anyway. his previously bored, half lidded eyes, dilate at the sight of your cleavage, right. in. his. face.
how blissful.
yuji bursts into giggles. you had spiked up sukuna’s hair to stand up in a funky way.
“you look funny papa”
sukuna grimaces.
“want me to throw you into the ocean?”
“yeah!”
“…”
you laugh so hard you nearly smear sunscreen into sukuna’s eye.
you take turns, with sukuna now applying sunscreen onto your back.
eventually yuji tears off toward the shoreline with a plastic bucket in hand, sandals abandoned somewhere behind him.
you lean back into your chair with a satisfied sigh while sukuna sits beside you, one arm draped lazily behind your head.
for a while the two of you simply watch.
yuji jumps over tiny waves, yelling triumphantly every single time he successfully crosses one.
he crouches to collect shells with complete seriousness only to abandon them three seconds later because another wave has appeared.
his little laugh carries over the water. your chest feels warm.
“he looks like you when he gets excited,” you murmur, nuzzling against the base of sukuna’s neck.
“poor kid”
you elbow him lightly, “it is cute sukuna, you are cute”
before sukuna can mull over your words, yuji suddenly turns around spotting the two of you immediately.
“papa!! come here!!”
sukuna pretends not to hear,
“papa!!”
you mouth a slight ‘go’ as your husband sighs dramatically before obliging as per usual.
the water reaches just beneath his knees when yuji grabs his hand excitedly and starts dragging him around with all the strength a six year old could possess.
you pad in after them enjoying the waves and the feel of soft sand beneath your bare feet.
you smile to yourself. it is almost absurd seeing sukuna getting ordered around by a child carrying a neon orange shovel.
yuji points toward a lopsided sandcastle near the shore, “help me make it BIGGER” he sticks his arms out to act out how big he wanted it to be.
sitting back down on your chair you try not to look too amused as sukuna crouches down into the sand.
his large hands awkwardly shape wet sand while yuji gives deeply unnecessary instructions beside him.
“more tower”
sukuna looks over at you, pleading for an escape. you wave him off.
“it’s a sandcastle not a fortress” he mutters back.
“more tower” yuji runs about, sometimes gathering sand and sometimes water. most of the time being largely unhelpful.
sukuna clicks his tongue and adds another tower.
hours later the sky begins softening into gold.
yuji’s exhausted enough now to become clingy, dragging his feet through the sand while holding onto sukuna’s hand.
“i need to wash my feet” you brush sand off your legs with a tired groan.
before you can even move, sukuna bends down and scoops you into his arms effortlessly.
you yelp, “kuna—”
he pats you lower thigh,“stop squirming”
people nearby glance over briefly before immediately looking away once sukuna glares in their direction.
you hide your snicker against his shoulder while he carries you toward the rinse station near the boardwalk.
the water runs cool over your feet as he holds you securely against his chest, an arm around your waist like you weigh nothing at all.
yuji stands beside him sleepily rubbing his eyes.
once your feet are clean, sukuna sets you carefully onto the bench.
then without a word, he crouches down.
you blink.
“..what’re you doing?”
he grabs your sandals from beside the bench.
“your feet’ll get dirty again.”
years of loving him and your heart still stutters stupidly.
sukuna slides the sandals onto your feet one by one with mild annoyance etched across his face, but you know better. his love language when it came to you, was acts of service.
meanwhile yuji watches with narrowed eyes, “papa..?”
“what.”
“that’s sooo romantic” he smiles ear to ear.
sukuna immediately flicks water at his forehead.
yuji screeches dramatically while you laugh loud enough that people turn to look again.
“where did he even learn that?” sukuna asks, a mild smile overtaking his usual harsh features.
you shrug, in a dream-like trance, the domesticity of this moment making your heart soar.
and for once, sukuna doesn’t care at all.
firefly; you guys wanted longer fics so hehe i hope this was good
[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna dealing with your mood swings while pregnant :: tags. wife!reader. fluff, sfw. pregnancy. size diff reader gets called ‘woman, brat’ :: wc. 1.8k
you’re crying in your chambers, the volume of your cries overshadowing sukuna’s arrival at the estate. you hiccup and sniffle as you sit in the corner of your shared chambers. there really isn’t an end to your mental breakdown.
you’re prone to mood changes because of your pregnancy, already being seven months along. your belly is as round as a globe, sticking out from under your kimono.
you hold onto your lower abdomen while mumbling to yourself. “not fair,” you rub your blurry eyes with your free hand.
the bedroom doors suddenly swing open.
you lift your head from your knees and make eye contact with your husband who looks rather . . . upset. somehow more upset than you are at the moment.
you whimper as his big and intimidating stature dwarfs over yours while you’re stuck in the corner. when you look up at him, you cry even louder. seeing that familiar face after two whole days of suffering in this place alone gets you even more emotional.
after sukuna entered the room, his gaze had immediately fell upon your quivering figure.
he raises an eyebrow as you cry louder once you spot him, the sound breaking his ear drums. he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone.
“enough with the tears,” sukuna grumbles as he crosses the room in a few long strides. his presence is both imposing and protective as he looms over your small figure.
his eyes flicker over your body—taking in the sight of your round belly. he can’t deny that the view makes his shoulders relax, relieved to see his wife do well after two days.
sukuna kneels down before you, his eyes narrowing as he notices the tears running down your cheeks. who knows how long you’ve been sobbing? the realisation that no one’s checked on you while you’ve been crying like this irks him.
the king of curses will make sure that every single servant—and especially the ones assigned to you—pay for not noticing your sour mood sooner.
“damn it, woman,” he curses under his breath, his words laden with both irritation and a sense of concern, “what’s gotten into you now, hmm? why the blubbering mess?"
you hiccup, gasping for air as sukuna kneels down to your level, something he rarely does. one of his hands reach out to wipe a tear from your cheek, his expression stoic and unreadable while he does so.
“welcome home,” you utter, remembering to greet him properly.
you wipe your own tears away and try to explain the situation without it sounding absurd. “i—i went down to the kitchen to get som-something,” you stammer, trying to spit it out before sukuna’s irritation spikes.
“but they didn’t have the food i craved. they’re out of mangoes,” your wailing starts again just at the mention of the fruit. it felt like the most devastating moment in your life when the maids told you that they were out of mangoes.
sukuna’s annoyance quickly dissolves upon hearing your explanation. the revelation that you’re crying over mangoes seems so unbelievable, so absurd, that he can’t help but let out a dry huff of laughter. an amused smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.
he brushes the remnants of the tears away from your face. his rough fingers pause at your chin, giving it a light tap. “mangoes, huh? y’re out here bawling y’r fucking eyes out like a baby for some damn mangoes?”
despite his tough exterior, sukuna knows that pregnancy hormones often amplify emotions, making even the smallest things a cause for crying. and right now, you’re stressing and sputtering over some mangoes.
“mangoes,” you nod and cry softly, watching as sukuna rubs your cheeks with his manly fingers, enjoying his rough touch.
you guess by just the increased toughness of his calluses that your husband has worked hard while he was gone.
though, mangoes are your current craving and not having them meant war to you. it’s all you can focus on—even if your beloved is right in front of you.
“i need them,” you whine and pout again. your hormones make it difficult for you to calm down.
you do, however, try your best to stop crying. you clean your face with the sleeve of your kimono and bite on your bottom lip to refrain from bawling your eyes out.
“i want my mangoes,” your voice is hoarse as you glance up at sukuna, “please?”
sukuna hates to admit it, but his expression softens upon hearing the hoarse tone of your pleading voice. the view of your tear-streaked face and the knowledge that you’re experiencing pregnancy cravings makes it difficult for him to maintain his usual firm demeanor.
the king of curses sighs, his annoyance replaced by a reluctant acceptance of your plight.
“tsk, damn it,” he mutters, lazily resting his head against the palm of one of his hands, “y’re really gonna make me fetch you some mangoes?”
here you are, a grown woman crying and begging like a kid for a sweet, juicy mango. he’s seen you in many states—happy, sad, tired, excited—but never quite as emotionally overwhelmed just for a piece of fruit.
sukuna’s large hand reaches out to pat your head in a surprisingly gentle manner, a rare display of his softer side.
you pout at him and lean into his touch. you come up with something witty to say, as you always do.
“well, yes, you’re the one who got me pregnant,” you comment in a teasing way, sticking your tongue out at your husband.
no matter what sour mood you’re in, you can still be sassy.
though it doesn’t last long before your bottom lip trembles again. “i can’t do anything about it. the baby craves mangos,” you sniff as you rub your baby bump to emphasise your desire.
sukuna’s smirk wides at your retort and the playful gesture. even in your distraught state, you had the audacity to sass him. cheeky little woman, he thinks.
your husband scoffs, his large hand roughly ruffling your hair again before pulling away.
“‘n i don’t regret a thing. even if i gotta put up with y’r cranky ass.”
you roll your eyes at sukuna’s reply. you know you’re an emotional mess, but you can’t care less. you’d dl anything for your mangoes—those juicy ones that you can eat a dozen of in one sitting.
“the maids said that the mangoes were out of stock in the towns ‘nd villages nearby,” you continue while you carefully stand up from the corner. you’re trying your best to stay rational.
you’re extremely hungry and haven’t eaten ever since breakfast. that’s how stubborn you are being.
“but i’m hungryyyyy. want my mangoes,” you sigh and nearly stomp your feet out of frustration.
“yeah, yeah—fuckin’ hell,” sukuna groans, watching you slowly stand up, your pregnant belly protruding like a perfect sphere. it’s a constant reminder of the effect he has on you and it makes him proud.
he helps you stand up by holding onto your arm, sharp eyes focused on your body to make sure you don’t strain a single muscle.
after you manage to stand up straight, you walk with sukuna to the kitchen to find something to eat—perhaps some other fruit will satisfy your cravings for now.
sukuna follows behind you, his steps long and leisurely while your shorter strides keep the pace with him. as the two of you walk towards the kitchen, he continues to listen to your repeated mantra.
it’s driving him insane.
“mangoes, mangoes, mangoes. i fuckin’ get it, brat,” the king of curses swears he can feel the vein in his forehead throb.
you’re lucky that he ‘tolerates’ you as his wife.
it’s something more than just ‘tolerating’ you, of course, but openly admitting to loving you, even in the slightest, is something sukuna would never do.
if someone would ask him why he goes the extra mile for you, his answer would be that it’s simply because you’re carrying his heir. however only he knows the full truth, the sappy secret he’ll forever keep to himself.
before you arrive at the kitchen, you bump into uraume.
they glance from sukuna to you and bow. “good day,” they greet you with as much respect as they do to sukuna. they’ve been doing so ever since you gained your title as his wife.
the king of curses folds all four of his arms over his chest. his lower pair of eyes are still focused on your impatient self, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. he just knows you’re holding yourself back from asking for your craving again.
sukuna clicks his tongue and nods his head at you while he speaks to uraume.
“keep an eye on her while ‘m gone. feed her what she wants,” he says in his deep voice, his tone commanding and firm.
uraume remains quiet for a second. sukuna had recently came back from a mission and is once again heading out for some ambiguous reason, but they know better than to question their master.
“where are you going, hubby?”
you of course, get a free pass.
you don’t hesitate at all before questioning your husband. sukuna scoffs when he hears your voice ask him such in an oblivious manner. you should known where he is departing to.
“where’d you think, smartass?” he pinches your nose, causing you to swat his fingers away out of instinct. he gives up on your nose and moves to squeeze your cheeks together in a gentle yet firm manner.
you huff at his antics. sukuna grins at your frown and pout before releasing your jawline with a faint push.
“you better hold on ‘til i come back with y’r stupid mangoes,” he scoffs while turning around to walk to the entrance, “and when i do, i don’t wanna hear ‘nother squeak, understood?”
sukuna seems to have made another mission for himself; find his heavily pregnant wife mangoes before she goes absolutely insane.
your face lights up and you nod repeatedly. your heart melts when you realise that he’s actually putting effort to satisfy your needs. he may be harsh and stern at times, but his actions speak louder than his words.
“okay! love you, ryo!” you call out to your husband as he disappears behind the gates.
as expected, your words are met by silence.
that’s fine with you. not hearing an ‘i love you’ back doesn’t hurt you as much as it did at the start of your relationship.
you know sukuna cherishes you in his own special way. if he didn’t, you’d be dead long time ago. on top of that, he would not go out on a hunt for mangoes right after coming back home if he didn’t like you.
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"love, no... don't go," nanami rasped, voice low still laced with sleep. his breath tickled the back of your neck as he spoke. the hold of his hand around your waist was somehow tighter, even after when you thought you couldn't possibly get any closer than this; your back on his chest without any space in between.
"let me gooo, i want to make my coffee," you whined softly, the tone made it apparent that you couldn't hold a smile at the sight of your usual collected man being so clingy. provoking him further, you once more tried to release the grasp of his hand on your stomach. the man responded with a disapproving grunt, the vibration from his lips against your skin made you shiver.
"stay, please. i'll make it for you later," he pleaded, trailing lazy kisses along your shoulder blade in hope to get you stay in bed, going as far as bringing his leg over both of yours, practically keeping you in his embrace. you chuckled.
"but i want it now," you replied, yet despite those words you couldn't help but put your hand on his cheek, seeing how the blond nuzzled closer to it, chasing the contact like a cat basking under the attention.
"not yet," he murmured, doubling down by gently turning you over, bringing you closer as you rested your head on his chest. you caved under his relentless touch, both his arms folded snugly behind your back. nanami wore a satisfied smile, like he just achieved something great. "i need another hour of this. of you."
"didn't know i'll be held hostage in some mornings when i went into this marriage," you teased, the comfort of his warm hug made you abandon the scheme you never planned to follow through. your fingers made their way to draw random patterns on the navy shirt he was wearing.
he caught your digits, planting a soft kiss at the back of your hand, "and you promised to accept me as i am in your vow, so i'm afraid you'll have to put up with this for the rest of your life."
⋆˖ you’re mad at husband!kuna for teaching your teenage son how to flirt like a certified player (ꐦ ¬_¬) 🗯️
you were in the kitchen washing dishes when you heard it.
the low rumble of sukuna’s voice drifting from the living room, talking to your sixteen-year-old son like he was passing down sacred wisdom.
“listen, kid. if you want her to notice you, stop acting like a nervous fool. remember that confidence is everything. walk up to her like you already know she wants you. maintain eye contact. smirk a little. tell her she looks good but make it specific. not some generic ‘you look pretty today’ crap— she’s heard that a thousand times before. instead, look her in the eyes and say ‘you’re a distraction & it’s making me act up’ trust me, girls eat that up everytime.”
your son’s voice came next, sounding like he was genuinely considering this terrible advice. “… and if she laughs?”
“then you’re already halfway there. laugh with her, lean in closer, drop your voice a little. make her feel like she’s the only one in the room. and if she touches your arm? you’ve won. that’s when you ask for her number. don’t hesitate, strike while she’s interested.”
you stood there, sponge frozen in your hand, listening to your beloved husband teach your son how to flirt like a certified fuckboy. by the time sukuna started going on about— ‘if she bites her lip, she’s probably thinking about kissing you’, you’ve had enough.
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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Iguro Obanai has it all perfectly planned out: arrive at the village, investigate the reports, eliminate the demon, and return before sunset on the second day. However, four days pass, four entire days without any news from you.
It's not something that worries him too much, or at least that's what he tries to tell himself. He knows you're capable of defending yourself. They've worked together enough times for him to know exactly what you're capable of. Even so, the fact that you've disappeared without sending a messenger crow is starting to irritate him.
Raindrops drum steadily against the roof of the estate while Obanai sits beneath the wooden eaves. The atmosphere is peaceful, but he can't bring himself to enjoy it.
It's not like you to disappear without saying anything.
Night has already fallen completely when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching from the main road. Instinctively, he looks up, and you emerge through the curtain of rain completely soaked, your uniform stained with mud, dry leaves tangled in your hair, and to make matters worse, you're smiling.
Obanai feels part of the tension that's been building over those days disappear the moment he sees that you're safe and unharmed. The rest immediately turns into irritation, because it's impossible for someone who has just returned after disappearing for several days to look so pleased with themselves.
"You're late," Obanai says with a frown once you step through the sliding doors.
"I know," you sing softly, pulling a leaf away from your forehead with a grimace.
"Four days late."
"I know that too."
Obanai's frown deepens. "And are you planning to explain that?"
"Well..." The hesitation in your voice is enough to put him on alert.
As you get closer, he starts noticing small details: the way you walk seems slightly uncomfortable, your arms remain stiffly pressed against your sides, and the haori draped over your shoulders looks strangely bulky.
Something is wrong. Obanai's irritation grows, because experience has taught him that when it comes to you, 'something is wrong' usually means you're about to give him a headache.
Then something moves beneath your haori, a small lump, then another one moves.
Obanai's eyes narrow, and you remain completely still, hoping somehow he didn't see that.
The hope doesn't last long because a tiny brown head appears from between the folds of the fabric, followed by two more.
The silence stretches.
"No," Obanai finally breaks it.
"No what?" you ask with a frown.
"You're not doing this."
"I don't understand." You tilt your head with fake confusion. "Doing what?"
"Whatever it is you're thinking," Obanai accuses, pointing a finger at you. "I'm warning you, animals are responsibilities, care, problems, noise..."
The sentence trails off because the puppies climb down onto the ground, their tails wagging. You let out a soft sound as you crouch down to pet one of them on the head. Cute things are your weakness, and Obanai knows that perfectly well, unfortunately.
"I found them near the forest," you explain quickly. "They were alone, freezing, and starving."
"It's still a no."
"But they don't have a mother. I found her dead not far from where they were..." Your lips form a pout as you continue gently petting the puppy.
"I already told you, we don't have time to take care of them. Puppies that young need constant attention, and we're always out on missions." Obanai crosses his arms.
You hate that he's right, but you still can't just leave them behind.
"Just for a little while, please, until we find them a home. Kanroji-san can look after them while we're gone."
One of the puppies chooses that moment to approach Obanai, who watches it with obvious suspicion. Kaburamaru tenses on his shoulders and hisses at the furry creature as it sits beside Obanai’s feet.
It's small, ridiculously small. Its paws are far too big for its body, and it walks with the clumsy awkwardness typical of young animals. Then the puppy seems to make a decision and offers him its paw.
Obanai stares at the paw in disbelief, and you press a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing and ruining the moment.
"What is it doing?" he mutters as the puppy lowers its paw and tries again.
"I think he wants to say hello," you finally let out a small laugh.
Obanai looks offended. "I don't want to say hello."
The scene is so absurdly innocent that it's irritating. Obanai holds the animal's gaze for several seconds, trying to stand firm by reminding himself of every reason why this is a terrible idea. Logic is completely on his side.
The puppy keeps wagging its tail anyway.
They're small movements, slow and hopeful, as if it's completely convinced everything will work out.
Obanai makes the mistake of looking at you and discovers you're watching him with exactly the same expression. You have the same confidence that he'll eventually give in, and the worst part is that you're almost always right.
A resigned sigh escapes his lips.
"Two weeks."
Your eyes light up.
"Two weeks?" you repeat, unable to hide the excitement in your voice.
"Only two," he emphasizes.
"And what if they find a home before then?"
"Perfect."
"And what if they don't?" you murmur, too afraid of that possibility.
"They will."
"And what if—"
"They will," he interrupts.
You stop and give him a small smile. Clearly, he would never be able to get rid of animals like these so easily, otherwise you wouldn't have chosen him as your boyfriend.
You crouched down to pick up one of the puppies, pressing a loud kiss to its head while completely ignoring the sound of Obanai gagging in the background. They're dirty, but nothing a bath can't fix.
"Did you hear that? You have permission now."
As if the puppy understands, it immediately starts licking your cheek, making you laugh.
"It doesn't have permission."
Yet, completely contradicting his own words, he ends up crouching down and running his fingers over the puppy's head.
"Don't do that, dog. You're already causing enough trouble." He scoffs, pushing the puppy away from your face with one hand while avoiding looking at you directly.
"Obanai!" you complain. "Of course they have permission, at least temporary permission."
Obanai is about to respond when Kaburamaru slowly slides down Obanai's arm toward the puppy. You swallow hard as you look at the size difference between the snake and the puppy. If Kaburamaru wanted to, he could swallow it whole in a single bite, but you trust him just as much as you trust Obanai.
The two animals remain still, staring at one another until the puppy sneezes and Kaburamaru quickly pulls back.
Obanai sighs again and walks a few steps away. You pass by him on your way to the bath with the puppies in your arms and give him a small kiss on the cheek in thanks.
Even though he'll never admit it out loud, the battle was lost from the moment you appeared walking through the rain with three puppies hidden beneath your haori, and once again Obanai realizes that the real problem isn't you.
It's himself, because he's never learned how to tell you no when you look at him like that.
seijoh4 minus iwaizumi traps you in your own apartment so they could gift you to iwaizumi.
wc: 1.4k, no idc if them living tgt don’t make sense.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY IWA-CHAN :3
the scent of oikawa’s overpriced cologne was the first indicator that security had been breached. the second indicator was the colossal, neon-pink satin ribbon currently being looped around your torso with the frantic urgency of a group of teenagers trying to wrap a fragile porcelain vase before their parents got home.
“hold still, y/n-chan! if the bow isn’t symmetrical, the entire aesthetic integrity of the birthday surprise is compromised!” oikawa hissed, his fingers flying through the silky fabric as he knotted it around your waist.
“you’re going to suffocate her, you idiot,” matsukawa muttered from the corner, leaning against your kitchen counter while casually eating one of your strawberries. “and if she dies, iwaizumi will literally liquefy our bones and drink them like a protein shake.”
“i’m executing a flawless vision!” oikawa protested, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
you were sitting on your own living room rug, thoroughly bound from the waist up in a massive, glossy pink bow. you looked like a very expensive, slightly confused gift basket. the aoba johsai third-years had broken into your apartment exactly twenty minutes ago under the guise of ‘intelligent birthday operations,’ and instead of screaming for help, you had mostly just been impressed by how fast hanamaki could tie a double-knot.
“honestly, i feel like a fancy ham,” you said, shifting slightly to see if you could move your arms. you couldn’t. they were pinned quite securely to your sides. “is the candlelit dinner really necessary if i can’t even pick up a fork?”
“iwa-chan will feed you,” oikawa said, waving his hand dismissively as he lit the final tea light on your coffee table. they had cleared away your textbooks, replaced them with a white tablecloth, and ordered an obscene amount of high-end takeout. “in fact, he will probably view this as the greatest day of his entire mortal existence. now, quiet! i hear his footsteps. everyone, to the balcony!”
in a flurry of squeaking sneakers and hushed arguments about who was stepping on whose feet, the three boys scrambled out through your glass doors, shutting the curtains behind them just as the front doorknob jiggled.
the door swung open.
iwaizumi stepped into the apartment, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed in that permanent, default scowl he wore whenever he had been left alone with oikawa for more than five minutes. he was carrying his gym bag, looking thoroughly exhausted by the mere concept of his own birth anniversary.
“oikawa, if you hid my keys in the bushes again, i’m going to—”
he stopped dead in his tracks.
the apartment was dimly lit, glowing with the soft, flickering warmth of a dozen tiny candles. the scent of cherry blossoms and spicy takeout filled the air. and there, sitting precisely in the center of the room, was you. wrapped in a giant pink bow like a prize-winning show pony.
iwaizumi’s brain stalled. his brain completely derailed, flew off the tracks, and exploded into a spectacular fireball of adoration. his gym bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. his eyes dilated so fast they looked entirely black, his chest heaving as his lungs suddenly forgot how to extract oxygen from the atmosphere.
“hey,” you said softly, giving him a little helpless wiggle of your shoulders. “happy birthday.”
the sound of your voice seemed to snap a cord inside him. iwaizumi was across the room in a fraction of a second, dropping to his knees before you with a force that rattled the floorboards. his hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, utterly terrified of touching you too hard but looking so intensely starved for your presence that it was borderline feral.
“what did they do to you?” his voice was a raw, low rasp, thick with a terrifying amount of protective instinct. his fingers immediately went to the knot of the ribbon, his knuckles brushing against your ribs, sending a massive jolt of electricity straight down your spine. “are you hurt? did that dumbass hurt you? i’ll kill him. i’ll bury him in the school yard.”
“i’m fine, i promise,” you giggled, the sound light and bubbly in the quiet room. “they didn’t hurt me at all. oikawa was very specific about not wrinkling my shirt. they wanted to give you a proper present.”
iwaizumi’s gaze locked onto yours, and the sheer, crushing weight of his devotion was enough to make your breath catch. he looked at you the way an ancient, desperate traveler might look at an oasis after a century in the desert. there’s a terrifying, beautiful affection in his eyes—a silent admission that you held his entire heart in your hands, and if you squeezed even a little bit, he would gladly disintegrate into dust for you.
“you’re the only present i want,” he muttered, his voice dropping so deep it resonated in your chest. his thumbs stroked over the fabric of the ribbon, his eyes tracking the line of the pink silk up to your collarbone, before snapping back to your lips with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “you shouldn’t be wrapped up like this. it makes me want to lock you in this room and never let anyone else look at you again.”
your heart did a violent, joyful flip-flop against your ribs. “is that a threat, iwaizumi?”
“it’s a promise that once it happens again, i won’t hold back,” he growled softly, finally tugging the golden knot loose.
the ribbon slithered off your shoulders like water, pooling around your hips in a mess of pink satin. the moment your arms were free, iwaizumi didn’t waste another millisecond. he surged forward, his massive, calloused hands framing your face with a tenderness that completely contradicted his terrifying expression. his palms were warm, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin for the rest of eternity.
when his lips met yours, it was less of a casual kiss and more of a total spiritual surrender.
he kissed you with desperate, heavy hunger, his mouth moving over yours with a frantic need to consume and be consumed. it was a bruising, deeply romantic sort of worship. he groaned against your mouth, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you even closer, erasing every single millimeter of space between your bodies.
you wrapped your newly freed arms around his neck, pulling yourself up into his lap. he welcomed the weight instantly, his strong beefy arms locking around your waist like iron bands, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might evaporate into thin air if he loosened his grip by a single fraction.
“god, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your lips, peppering short, hard kisses along your jawline, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “i’m losing my mind. you’re going to kill me one day, i swear to god.”
“you’re doing great for a dead guy,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of sweat and laundry detergent that was uniquely him. you nipped gently at his earlobe, feeling the sudden, violent shudder that went through his massive frame.
“don’t do that unless you want this table knocked over,” he warned, his voice incredibly thick as his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin through your clothes with a possessive strength that made your toes curl. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a liquid, molten heat. “i mean it. i’m so crazy about you it’s actually making me sick.”
“good,” you said, reaching up to smooth down the unruly spikes of his dark hair, your fingers lingering on his forehead. “because i’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”
he stared at you, his expression softening into something so purely, profoundly tender that it looked almost painful for him to hold. he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he just breathed you in, his thumbs tracing slow, heavy circles against your waist.
“happy birthday, hajime.”
“it’s a happy birthday now,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering seal of absolute devotion.
from the balcony, a faint, muffled snicker broke the silence, followed by the distinct sound of oikawa being violently elbowed in the ribs by matsukawa.
iwaizumi didn’t even open his eyes, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction more as a small, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “ignore them. if they stay out there long enough, they’ll freeze, and then i can throw them into the trash incinerator tomorrow morning.”
n: sweet, sweet iwa. happy birthday :3
i have a discord server haha hi guys :3 we got a tag thanks to eme, soup, and maddy !
suna will protect you from the big bad dog (a tiny chihuahua) ; fluff
it’s pouring rain, and you’re trapped under the tiny, rusting tin roof of an old bus stop in the middle of nowhere. to make matters worse, a very small, very wet, and very angry chihuahua is currently standing three feet away, baring its microscopic teeth at you.
suna is leaning against the rusted metal pole, his hands jammed deep into his school trousers, watching the dog with genuine, academic interest.
“do you think it can smell fear?” he asks, his voice entirely too calm for the situation.
“rin, do something. it looks like it wants to eat my shoelaces.”
suna slowly takes one hand out of his pocket. he reaches down, grabs the back of your wet blazer, and casually lifts you inches off the ground, shifting you behind his broad torso like he’s moving a piece of furniture. he steps forward, his long sneakers splashing in a puddle, and stares down at the dog.
he narrows his eyes into two thin slits, tilts his head at a ninety-degree angle, and lets out a tiny, high-pitched pfft sound from the back of his throat.
the chihuahua blinks, looks at suna’s massive height, lets out a small whine, and bolts into the bushes.
suna turns around, his face completely blank as he looks down at you. he reaches out, his thumb catching a drop of rain on your cheek and wiping it away with a rough, heavy pressure that makes your head tilt. “weak,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a very faint, lazy smirk that vanishes before you can even process it. “you’re lucky i’m taller than a rat. let’s go, the bus is coming.”
n: i’m so sleepy, i kept yawning while proofreading :3 my eyes keep closing. i’ll tag everyone tomorrow, i’m genuinely drifting off. @huhyeni i loaf you, iyaaaa !!
When Satoru bought a new bed for you two to share, you had assumed it meant you would finally regain some personal space.
This was proven to be, in fact, false.
This was the third night in a row that you had been awakened by your husband's long limbs smacking you in your sleep. One lanky leg flopped over your own shorter legs while his arm draped over your stomach. It had become a routine of sorts; he would join you in bed around 4AM after finishing his duties, then around 5AM, he would begin his shenanigans.
At first, it was smaller, less irritable things like accidentally nudging you in his sleep, or snoring, but as time went on, his unconscious body seemed to turn restless. Satoru began to spread out on the bed, taking up around seventy five percent of the mattress, leaving you a sliver of space to occupy.
His lanky frame lay sprawled on the bed, limbs stretched out on top of your own as if you were his personal body pillow.
It eventually became insufferable; you couldn’t sleep with his constant invasion of your personal space, so you begged him to buy a bigger bed.
And that he did, except it somehow made the problem worse.
Now you lie awake, 5:17AM, with your husband snoring happily next to you, his leg draped over your hip, arm stretched over your collarbone, and face tucked into the crook of your neck. You didn’t understand how he managed to somehow take up the entire king-sized bed.
You huffed, trying — and failing — to push his body off of you, “Gosh, why are you so damn heavy?” You muttered under your breath, hand moving to nudge him awake.
“Toru, get up!” You whisper shouted, “You’re suffocating me, you oaf.” Gojo blinked groggily, bright blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room, “As much as I adore you, I’d like to get my three hours of beauty sleep, babe.” He groaned, nuzzling further into your neck, “Yeah, Toru. Me too, get off.”
He whined, pulling you further into his embrace as if he was trying to trap you. You rolled your eyes at him, hands still trying to push him away so you could actually enjoy your sleep. “Why do you hate me? I’m just trying to cuddle my wife,” he peeked up at you, blue eyes widening in faux puppy eyes.
“No, you’re suffocating me. Seriously, baby, how do you take up so much space?” He lifted his head, gasping in mock offence, “Are you calling me overweight? That’s so hurtful, I’ll have you know I have an amazing physique.” You stifled a laugh, brushing your fingers through his snowy hair, “Yes, Toru, I can see that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all those sugary snacks caught up to you.”
“I’m just saying you sprawl out a lot, Toru, I’m trying to sleep, and I feel you practically on top of me.” He hummed into your neck, seemingly contemplating how to respond, “I just enjoy being close to you, is that a crime?”
You giggled, “It is when I’m practically being strangled.” Satoru whined louder this time, “It’s not fair, you deprive me of physical touch, babe.” You swatted his shoulder lightly, “Be quiet, you big baby. No one said we couldn’t cuddle. I just said stop confusing me for the mattress.” He pouted, “But you’re so soft.”
Leaning down, you kissed his pursed lips, “Just cuddle me like a normal person, okay?”
“But I’m not normal,” he sleepily argued.
You laughed, tugging lightly on his messy hair, “I know, baby. I know.”
imagine doing that tiktok trend with yuji where you set your phone up, run as fast as you can like your life depends on it, and see how long it takes for your boyfriend to catch you.
and when you explain it to him he just shrugs with a gentle little smile and says, “sure, babe. sounds fun.” because your sweet boy would do anything you ask him to.
so with your phone propped up, you quickly hit the record button, then break into a sprint while yuji waits with his hands in his pockets, watching you closely and counting to ten like you told him to.
and you keep count in your head, too. to make sure he’s not cheating of course.
but it’s something about seeing you run from him that entices him in a way he doesn’t expect. makes a delicious anticipation bubble inside him, makes his jaw clench. his lips take to a smirk once he realizes that’s what you wanted, and then he takes a breath.
“ten.”
he takes off immediately, a little dirt kicked up in his absence from how powerfully his foot launched him into motion.
and you’re a mess of giggles as you run, heart beating against your ribcage because you know it won’t be long. you don’t bother looking back, you know you can’t outrun him.
you haven’t even blinked twice when a pair of strong arms snake themselves around your middle and he’s got you caged in the air with a low grunt, your backside pressed against his chest, feet kicking and flailing as you squeal between laughter for him to let you go. his hold only tightens further, biceps flexing with a little more effort when you squirm. his hands are locked on his forearms that bind you to him, ensuring you won’t be going anywhere.
you can feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat, the heat of his body and it makes you pull your bottom lip under your teeth. there’s no need to wonder if this excited him as much as it did you, because you can feel it.
it’s exhilarating, to say the least. you’re completely out of breath, and just as you expected, he’d barely even made an effort.
the sharp of yuji’s canines gently nip at the shell of your ear to make your breath catch in that way he likes, his voice low and smoldering, yet sending a shiver down your spine when he whispers,
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megumi’s different when he’s sick, really different. but you can’t say you mind.
your usually stoic, collected, unemotional boyfriend is suddenly all over you, clingy as a koala. it’s pathetically adorable.
your hand is flat against megumi’s forehead, checking for a temperature, and he’s blatantly leaning into your touch. a kiss pressed to your knuckles, another to your palm.
you get up to make soup and he pulls you back towards him with surprising strength, for someone who’s sick. a surprised squeak leaves your mouth as you’re tugged into his warm arms, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
“don’t go,” megumi mumbles, pouting.
you laugh quietly, hand threading through his hair. “i’ll be back in a minute, baby. just gonna make you something warm so you feel better.”
he huffs, tightening his hold on you. “you can do that later. ‘s cold without you.”
“i’ll give you more blankets?”
“it’s not the same,” he grumbles. then he sniffles, a quiet, sickly sound. it tugs at your heartstrings, and you wonder whether he was faking it just for the attention.
you exhale, amused yet unrelenting. “i’m sorry, gumi. i have to, okay?” somehow, some way, you untangle yourself from his tight embrace and stand up.
megumi whines, reaching for you, and you fight back a smile.
“i’ll be really quick, baby. promise.” you press a peck to his warm forehead, tucking him more properly into the blankets before slipping out of the bedroom.
not even a minute goes by before you feel megumi’s presence in the kitchen. you smile softly as his arms come around your waist, chin resting heavily on your shoulder.
“you should be in bed, baby.”
“i know,” he mumbles almost guiltily, breath warm on your neck. he watches you cut the vegetables, spiky hair tickling your skin. “it was just really cold without you. horrible.”
“horrible indeed,” you humour him, reaching back to scratch his scalp. he exhales, eyes droopy as he melts into you. “i told you i’d be back soon, no?”
“but you were taking forever,” megumi groans earnestly, eyes opening to peek at you.
“i was away for one minute.”
“a minute too long.” he says, sniffling and shutting his eyes again. “i almost died.”
you giggle, pouring the finished soup into a bowl. “i’m really sorry,” you say as you lead him back into the bedroom, pulling him behind you like a sad puppy. “won’t happen again.”
“good,” megumi huffs, satisfied.
his eyes trail over you as you get him settled in, cocooning him in blankets and pressing the bowl into his hands. you know exactly what’s coming next.
megumi locks his gaze on yours. “is it cuddle time now?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and shiny, lips downturned as though he might burst into tears if you refused.
the sight of him like this is so unexpected, so precious. you almost give in. almost.
“nope,” you say, trying to sound as firm as you can muster. you press the soup bowl further into his hands as his bottom lip quivers. “drink first, then cuddles.”
“and- and you won’t even feed me?” megumi warbles, sniffling sadly. “i’m dying, you know.”
“you’re not dying,” you sigh, sitting down next to him. “but fine, i’ll feed you. only cos’ you’re sick.”
the biggest smile breaks onto his face, eyes clearing up immediately as he hands you the soup bowl. your megumi wouldn’t smile like this in a million years, and you try to savour it.
he’s almost giddy with affection as he presses the soup bowl into your hands, cozying up to you and pressing his face into your chest. “you’re the best,” he mumbles happily.
you can’t wait to tell your boyfriend about this when he’s well again.
content. angst cause rafayel made me mad again. MCD. non-mc! reader
the bride of the sea god had the ability to breath underwater.
the bride of the sea god didn’t require a kiss every time she submerged beneath the surface of the ocean, lungs accustomed to the viscosity of the water due to the bond.
rafayel still chose to seal his lips over yours when he invited you to a romantic swim date, sturdy hand gently dragging your body into the waves as he breathed life beneath your ribs with a kiss.
…so why were you like this?
why were you limp against the damp sand, eyes staring soullessly into his storming orbs as he pressed and pressed and pressed both his palms onto your chest, trying to resuscitate your dead body.
“my pearl, please…” he begged between harsh gasps of air, entire body quivering on top of yours as he pushed against your upper torso with all his might. “please, i can’t lose you again.”
heavy globs of tears traversed down his cheeks, looping over his trembling lips and dripping down to your paler skin. you were completely unresponsive, body spasming into the sand solely because of rafayel’s strength.
“i c–can’t– why?” he punctuated with a harsh intake of air, fastly filling his lungs and leaning down to kiss your lips.
to pass life, as he always did.
your chest puffed slightly from the air, but... that’s all it did. there was no movement, no reaction.
no sign of life in you.
“why, why, why, why?” at last, exhausted from the compressions, rafayel chanted like a mantra the question plaguing his mind.
guilt eating at his heart, whole being shaken by grief and terror, he toppled over your body and cried loudly into your cold shoulder.
you were dead and he would never know why.
you were dead and he would forever blame himself for it.
you were dead because you were not the sea god’s bride.
his kiss did bring you temporary life, but also eternal slumber.
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