I'm here to drop a fic(lmao once in a blue moon atp)
Warning: lots of cursing, a little too sweet, maybe.
Pregnant Wife x Sukuna (Modern AU)
Sukuna had fought wars, broken bones, and stared down death more times than he could count. None of that, none of it, compared to the absolute chaos of living with his pregnant wife.
It started at 2:37 a.m. on a Tuesday.
You nudged him awake, eyes glassy and desperate.
âSukuna. I wantââ you paused dramatically, as if it was life or death, ââspicy ramen. With ice cream. Vanilla.â
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. âSpicy ramen and ice cream? What the fuck kind of combination is that?â
âYour child wants it,â you snapped, arms crossed over your very round belly. âAnd you love me. So youâre gonna get it.â
He muttered something vulgar under his breath, but fifteen minutes later, the King of Curses was standing in the fluorescent glow of a 24-hour convenience store, shoving ramen and ice cream into a basket while glaring at the cashier like donât even ask.
The cravings only got worse. Pickles dipped in peanut butter. A sandwich stacked with sardines and Nutella. One time you cried because he brought you strawberry yogurt instead of blueberry.
âAre you fucking serious right now?â he growled, staring at the unopened cup of strawberry yogurt on the counter.
Tears welled up instantly. âYou donât even care about me or the baby! Strawberry is disgusting, Sukuna! Disgusting!â
For a moment, his eyebrow twitched like he might actually lose it. But then, with a heavy sigh, he stalked out the door, muttering, âBlueberry, or I wonât hear the end of this shit.â
Mood swings? Oh, you had plenty.
One morning you clung to his neck, sobbing into his chest. âYouâre the best husband ever, I donât deserve you, I love you so much.â
By noon, you were throwing a pillow at his head. âYou donât do anything around here! I canât even bend down to tie my shoes and you just sit there!â
He caught the pillow mid-air, glaring. âTie your shoes? Woman, I literally carried you up three flights of stairs yesterday because you said the elevator felt âjudgy.ââ
You sniffled, looking at him like he just committed a war crime. â...Youâre still an ass.â
âYeah, yeah. Sit your hormonal ass down. Iâll tie your damn shoes.â
But here was the thing: no matter how insane the cravings, how sharp the mood swings, how heavy the nights got with your back aching and your belly sticking outâSukuna never faltered.
When you complained about your weight, whispering, âWhat if Iâm too heavy for you now?â he just scoffed, picked you up effortlessly, and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.
âYouâre carrying my kid,â he said gruffly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze, âyou think I give a damn about numbers on a scale? Youâll never be too heavy for me. Iâll carry you until I fucking die.â
And he meant it. He carried you to bed, carried you down the stairs when you waddled too slow, carried your shopping bags, carried all of it.
The night before your due date, you were curled against him, your belly pressing into his side. You looked up at him with teary eyes.
âAre you scared?â you asked softly.
He looked down at you, one big hand stroking the swell of your stomach.
âOf being a dad? No.â His voice was low, steady. âOf losing you? Yeah.â
You blinked, surprised at his honesty. He almost never admitted weakness.
He kissed your forehead roughly, almost angrily, like he didnât want to give away more than that.
âBut youâre strong. Stronger than me. Youâll make it through. And when this kid comes out, Iâll love them just as much as I love you. Even if they want fucking pickles on their pancakes.â
You laughed wetly against his chest, and for once, your cravings and moods didnât feel so overwhelming. Because Sukunaâyour crude, terrifying, stubborn husbandâwas always there.
Even at 2:37 a.m. with ramen and ice cream.