#jujutsu fluff

HusbandKuna x Reader who lost her memory

After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.

Everything was so much weird.

When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.

You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.

But the real shock came twenty minutes later.

The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.

fluff

if the grand, terrifying king of curses were an ordinary man, the local villagers would have long since branded him a pathetic, lovesick nuisance and chased him out of the province with pitchforks.

unfortunately for the peace of the mortal realm, he was not an ordinary man, but a four-armed natural disaster currently enduring the spiritual equivalent of a toddler’s temper tantrum because his preferred human refused to look at his latest offering.

uraume stood in the corner of the reception hall, looking three seconds away from crying tears of exhaustion. they had spent the last forty-eight hours tracking down a mythical, glowing lotus that only bloomed on the highest peak of a treacherous northern mountain—a flower said to grant eternal youth or some other useless nonsense—only for sukuna to take it, squint at it, and toss it onto the pile of junk currently swallowing your small living quarters.

“i have nowhere to put this,” you said, gesturing wildly to the mountain of opulence overflowing from your tatami mats. “sukuna, there is a literal hoard of gold coins blocking my sliding door. if there’s a fire, i’ll perish. i’ll be crushed by ancient currency. is that your grand plan? assassination by wealth?”

he didn’t even blink. he was sprawled across his throne, chin resting heavily in his lower left palm, his gaze glued to you with the kind of intense, suffocating focus usually reserved for a scientist studying a microscopic anomaly. if you moved left, his four eyes tracked left. if you breathed a little too loudly, his ears twitched. he looked entirely bored, yet so deeply entangled in your existence that if you suddenly vanished, the sheer force of his withdrawal would probably rip a hole in the fabric of reality.

“then burn the gold,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rattled the sake cups on the table. “or use it to pave the dirt road outside. i don’t care what becomes of it, so long as it sits within your line of sight.”

“it’s blocking my view of the garden!” you thrown your hands up, exasperated but entirely unafraid. anyone else would have been flayed alive for raising their voice to him, but you had quickly realized that you held a bizarre, absolute immunity. you could have slapped his face with a wet fish and he would have simply asked if you wanted a larger fish to finish the job. “and what is this? why did you bring me a third cursed spear? i’m just a minor sorcerer, sukuna. i don’t use spears. I barely use a knife to chop vegetables. what am i supposed to do with a weapon that carries a generational curse of bloodlust? stir my soup?”

a tiny, terrifying smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. he found your indignation utterly intoxicating. he liked the way your eyes narrowed, the way your voice hit that specific, indignant octave, and the fact that you looked at him—a literal god of calamity—as if he were nothing more than an inconveniently large stray dog that kept dragging dead birds onto your porch.

“it pleases me to give it to you,” he stated plainly, as if that explained the absolute geopolitical chaos he had caused by wiping out an entire clan just to steal their family heirloom. “therefore, you will keep it. put it under your futon.”

“it glows in the dark!” you countered, crossing your arms. “it keeps me awake! and speaking of things i do not want…” you pointed a accusatory finger at a breathtaking, blood-red kimono draped over a nearby chest. the silk was so fine it looked like liquid fire, woven with real gold thread and blessed with protective enchantments that could stop a meteor. “i told you, i’m not wearing that. it looks like it belongs to an empress, and i’m just trying to clean the dust out of my kitchen.”

sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly, a low growl humming in his chest. he didn't like the word ‘no’ from anyone else, but from you, it was a challenge that made his (?) heart thud against his ribs like a trapped bird.

in a blur of movement too fast for human eyes to register, he was off his throne. before you could even register the sudden shift in the room’s air pressure, two large, tattooed arms wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the tatami mats.

“hey—!” you gasped, your protest cut short as he dumped you unceremoniously onto his massive lap, his chest a solid, radiating wall of heat against your back.

“you talk too much,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and sending a sudden, involuntary shiver down your spine.

while his primary set of arms locked you securely against him, pinning your hands down so you couldn’t bat him away, his secondary pair of arms reached out, snagging the heavy red kimono from the chest with effortless grace. he didn’t care that he was wrinkling a priceless historical artifact; he only cared about wrapping you in it like a prized pastry.

“sukuna, let go, you boulder of a man—” you squirmed, your elbows digging into his ribs, but it was like trying to fight a mountain.

“hush,” he commanded, though there was zero venom in it. his lower hands worked with surprising, meticulous gentleness, draping the heavy fabric over your shoulders, smoothing down the lapels, and pulling the rich silk tight against your frame. he was entirely clumsy at normal courtship, treating it like a tactical military conquest, but his devotion was so loud it was practically deafening.

he buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his sharp teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave a tingling sensation but never hard enough to break it. his grip tightened, a desperate, possessive hum vibrating through his muscles.

“you think you have a choice in this?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, velvety timbre that made your stomach do a frantic backflip. “if i must burn down the capital just to find a color that matches your eyes, i will do it by nightfall. you will wear my gifts, you will sit on my lap, and you will allow me to provide for you. do you understand me?”

you let out a soft, defeated sigh, your body naturally melting back against his broad chest despite your earlier complaints. your fingers reached up, resting over his massive forearm, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his pulse.

“you’re entirely ridiculous,” you mumbled, a small, helpless smile finally breaking through your faux annoyance. “the capital has very nice architecture. please leave it alone.”

sukuna let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated straight into your bones, his four arms holding you so securely against him that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. “we shall see,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head with a tenderness that would have terrified uraume, entirely content to hold you captive in his arms for the rest of eternity.

a/n: uraume tired of this man’s bs.

‘ perm. tag , @sh0dor1

“its ugly..” sukuna says as he carrys your newborn son in the air, you had just given birth and he’s already judging the looks of your kid.. typical sukuna.

“Honey, he’s been in this world for five minutes and you're already judging your own son? give him to uraume so that they can clean him” you say glaring at sukuna

sukuna hands uraume the baby and they go clean the baby. sukuna then fixes the blankets he had thrown on you after you gave birth, he then presses his head to your shoulder “how are you feeling my queen?”

“I'm tired.. and hungry and everything hurts..” you reply softly patting his head and then urame comes back with the baby wrapped in a soft blanket, they hand you the baby before speaking up.

“My queen, I think the child is hungry now, and what shall you name him?”

“hmm… me and sukuna decided on ryo” you say looking down at the baby who was cooing up at you.

“wonderful choice. my queen and king, is there anything you need?”

“Bring her some food and that shall be it,” Sukuna replied as he stared at the baby.”

••

Now you're feeding the baby and sukuna watched you both, watching just in case anything went wrong.

“Kuna, isn't he so cute? and he looks just like you!” you say looking up at sukuna who’s head was on your shoulder.

“I suppose it isn’t ugly.. but I wouldn't say he’s cute.” He replies as he pokes at the baby’s cheek then he moves your breast out of the baby’s mouth to see his reaction which Ryo whines and starts to cry so you slap sukuna’s hand and he laughs then lets go of your breast.

“stop being mean to your own son!”

“relax… that was nothing”

“just admit you love him”

“i don’t love that thing.”

“yes you do”

“maybe a little”

“okay, princess,” he says, bouncing her gently on his knee. “we’re gonna try this again.”

his daughter stares up at him with big glassy eyes, chewing on her fist.

“say ‘dada,’ alright? dah-dah. i’ve been payin’ for your snacks. cleanin’ up your little turds. you owe me.”

she giggles.

“dada,” he repeats slowly, pointing to himself. “daaaa-da. c’mon, baby. i’m your favorite. don’t let your mom win this, she’ll never shut up about it.”

and then—clear as day—she chirps:

“mama!”

toji freezes.

“…again?” he mutters. “mama? you’re really gonna disrespect me like this in my own house?”

his daughter claps.

he sighs dramatically and leans back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like the war’s already lost. “this is bullshit.”

and then—

from his lap, soft and cheerful:

“mama shit!”

he blinks. sits up straight. stares down at her.

“…wait. no. no, no, no, no—shit.”

“mama shit,” she says again, happy as ever, wiggling like she just solved a math problem.

“no, baby, no—don’t say that—say dada, c’mon—”

“mama shiiiiit.” she sings it now. it’s a song.

“oh my god,” he groans, standing up with her in his arms. “what have i done. your mom is gonna kill me.”

he speed-walks down the hall and kicks open the bedroom door.

“babe,” he says, dead serious. “we have a situation.”

you blink at him from the bed. “…what kind of situation?”

“say it again, sweetheart,” toji urges, lifting the baby.

“mama shit!”

you wheeze. you actually wheeze. like, snort-laugh into your pillow.

“toji.” you gasp. “you taught her a swear word?”

“not on purpose! i was trying to win! she keeps sayin’ mama and—”

“mama shit.” louder. confident. proud. toji groans and plops on the bed, baby still in his lap, covering his face.

“she’s gonna get kicked out of daycare before she even gets in.”

“you’re so lucky she didn’t say fuck.”

“…don’t jinx it.”

content: 18+, ask, losing your virginity to your first love.

megumi has learned a lot of things in his eighteen years of existence, knows a lot of things for a fact—undisputable, concrete facts he holds close without a single hitch of a doubt.

for one, he knows that gojo satoru is the most exhausting person to ever walk the earth, a man who breathes eccentricity and thrives on the thin patience of those around him. 

he knows that the vending machine by the training grounds will always swallow his change if he tries to buy the black coffee, and he knows that the early morning chill of the jujutsu tech mountains is the only thing that truly wakes him up.

he also knows that he loves you.

he knows that he’s loved you since junior year, a quiet realization that settled into his bones like a permanent frost and has continued to bloom ever since. 

you are his adoring girlfriend, and he loves you with every single fleeting second he spends in your presence, whether it’s the domestic silence of the dorms, the rhythmic violence of fighting curses, or those terrifying, breathless moments where he is nearly losing his life right next to you.

he knows that you are the first girl he’s ever felt like this for—the only girl he’s ever even allowed close enough to witness the mess of feelings he usually keeps buried. 

you are the first girl he ever bought flowers for (a silent apology to tsumiki, who he knows would understand), the first girl he ever dressed up for to take on a proper date, and eventually—after an annoying amount of persistent pushing from yuji and a harrowing near-death experience at a haunted, decaying estate in the outskirts of kyoto where the both of you were convinced you’d die to a grade one curse that kept you trapped in a loop for two days—the first girl he ever gathered the courage to ask to be his.

it is because of this staggering inexperience with girls, however, and the general lack of a roadmap for things that aren't sorcery or survival, that megumi is not sure—and does not know if he will ever truly be sure—of when the right time to have sex is.

megumi has kissed you plenty of times by now, and granted, the first time was painfully awkward—all clashing teeth and hesitant breaths—as were the first four or five times after that. 

but eventually, he got the hang of things, and the sensation of your lips on his became as simple and instinctive as casting his divine dogs or the fluid motion of unsheathing a cursed tool. 

it became something so simple that he’d gotten used to the way you’d snatch him into empty classrooms at odd hours, pushing him against cold walls or the nearest sturdy object just to feel him close. 

he’d grown fond of the weight of you in his lap in the dim lighting of his dorm room, his calloused hands anchoring themselves on your waist while yours tangled deep in his hair, until the only thing his senses were able to process was you, you, and more of you.

your lips were like second nature to him at this point; he could recognize the sweet, lingering taste of your lipgloss in anything, and the feeling of your mouth against his had begun to feel more like home than any physical building ever could. 

megumi had even grown accustomed to the long, heavy nights in his dorm spent making out, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he checked the door was locked—one, two, three times—before finally resigning himself to a night of friction and heat. 

he’d endure being incredibly, almost painfully hard until you finally drifted off to sleep, only then sneaking off into the bathroom to find some form of quiet, solitary relief.

these are the things megumi is used to: the heavy tension of the foreplay, the breathless anticipation of the befores, and all the frantic pieces that sex is made up of. 

but despite the familiarity of your skin, megumi has absolutely no clue how to actually have sex. 

he’d never even considered that at one point he’d have to be the one to decide when the right time was, or that he’d have to figure out the logistics of transitioning from the safety of your usual routine into something so permanent and vulnerable. 

he didn't know how to bridge the gap between the heated grazing of clothes and the finality of being completely bare before you, and the thought that he might fail to be what you needed in that moment was the one fact he couldn't quite master.

he’d gone as far as to ask yuji once, cornering him during a rare moment of downtime to see if he’d ever actually done it before, only for yuji—ever the goody-two-shoes with his heart on his sleeve—to sheepishly admit he was a virgin, too. 

he had tried his luck with kugisaki next, but she had almost laughed him out of the cafe before he could even finish the sentence, and as he walked off with his ears burning red, he could still hear her cackling at him from her seat, the sound echoing down the street.

he had briefly, stupidly considered asking gojo, but the thought was discarded as quickly as it came; he knew he’d probably receive far more information about his teacher and adoptive father’s personal life than he’d ever want to know, and the mental image alone was enough to make him want to summon his shadows and hide inside them.

he’d even resorted to eavesdropping on the conversations between the upperclassmen, hoping for some shred of practical wisdom, but he couldn’t for the life of him discern what exactly inumaki meant by the third “salmon salmon” in a row, and he didn't even want to begin to contemplate the logistics of how panda was having sex. 

and when he once attempted to eavesdrop on todo, he was met with a whole lot of nonsense about him and some random pop star he’d been having vivid dreams about, leaving megumi more confused than when he started.

so, apparently, besides maki zen’in (who was utterly terrifying to approach with such a question) and yuta okkotsu (who was somehow even more terrifying in his own polite, lethal way), megumi seemed to be the only one even concerned with the prospect of having sex at all. 

he felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff while everyone else was either blissfully unaware of the height or had already jumped without telling him how to land.

…

the air in his dorm room felt heavier than usual, thick with the scent of your shampoo and the lingering heat of the summer evening pressing against the windowpane. 

megumi sat on the edge of his bed, his long legs cramped in the small space, watching you as you hummed a tune he didn't recognize while looking through his modest collection of books. 

his heart felt like a trapped bird against his ribs, fluttering with a nervous energy that he usually reserved for high-level exorcisms. every time your shoulder brushed his or your fingers lingered near his hand, a jolt of electricity shot through him, making it increasingly difficult to maintain his carefully cultivated facade of nonchalance.

he had spent the last hour trying to focus on anything else—the way the moonlight hit the floor, the distant sound of yuji’s muffled laughter down the hall, the rhythmic ticking of his desk clock—but his mind kept spiraling back to the same realization: tonight felt different. 

the usual comfortable silence between you had shifted into something charged, a magnetic pull that felt both inevitable and terrifying. 

he knew the layout of your soul better than anyone, had memorized the way you bit your lip when you were concentrating and the specific warmth of your hand in his, yet the prospect of this next step felt like stepping into an abyss without a cursed technique to catch him.

megumi cleared his throat, the sound loud in the quiet room, and shifted his weight. 

he reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sleeve before he finally found the courage to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his touch was tentative, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might shatter if he applied too much pressure. 

when you finally turned to look at him, the depth of affection in your eyes made his breath hitch. he wanted to say something profound, something that would bridge the gap between his internal panic and his outward devotion, but his throat felt tight, constricted by the weight of all the things he didn't know how to voice.

"you're staring," you whispered, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.

"i know," he managed to get out, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in his chest. he didn't look away. he couldn't. he was anchored by you, caught in the gravity of a moment that felt like the culmination of every near-death experience and every quiet morning they'd shared. 

he reached for your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, his forehead resting against yours. he could feel the steady beat of your heart against his own, a grounding rhythm that slowly began to quiet the noise in his head. 

this was you. this was home. and for the first time, the "how" didn't seem as important as the "who."

your foreheads remained pressed together, a bridge of shared heat and frantic heartbeats that kept him grounded even as the world outside the dorm room faded into static. 

megumi closed his eyes, his lashes fluttering against his skin as he tilted his head just enough to find your lips. the kiss started slowly—a soft, tentative brush of salt and sweetness that tasted like the lingering remnants of the peach tea you’d shared earlier and the sharp, clean scent of the soap he used. 

he savored the way you tasted, a flavor he had memorized but never quite felt he could get enough of, feeling the way your breath hitched and caught in the small space between your mouths.

the kiss deepened, growing from a hesitant inquiry into a desperate, rhythmic pull. he could feel the slick heat of your tongue against his, the friction sending a jolt through his spine that made his toes curl against his carpet. 

his hands, though still trembling, found their way back to your jaw, his thumbs tracing the line of your face with a reverence that made his chest ache. he tasted the quiet sigh you let out, a sound of pure surrender that made him feel more powerful and more vulnerable than any domain expansion ever could. 

he was drowning in the taste of you, in the soft, wet heat of your mouth and the way you leaned into him as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.

the transition from sitting to lying back was less of a graceful descent and more of a series of cautious, fumbling adjustments.

megumi’s hands, usually so steady when weaving complex shadows, felt uncharacteristically heavy and uncertain as they slid from your waist to your hips, guiding you back against the mattress. 

he followed you down, hovering over you with his weight braced on his forearms, his dark hair falling forward to shield the both of you from the rest of the world. 

the making out continued almost immediately—a familiar refuge from the mounting tension—but today there was a frantic, searching quality to the way his mouth moved against yours. his kisses were deeper, tasting of a desperate kind of devotion, and as his hands began to slide beneath the hem of your shirt, he suddenly faltered.

he pulled back just an inch, his breathing shallow and jagged, and began nervously gnawing at his lower lip. he looked away, his gaze fixing intently on a stray thread on his pillowcase as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room, while his thumb traced aimless, shaky circles against your skin. 

the silence stretched out, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of the dorm's air conditioning and the frantic thudding of his own heart.

“gumi?” you whispered, your voice soft and laced with concern as you reached up to cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “you okay?”

megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a lifetime, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. he cleared his throat—a harsh, dry sound that cracked in the quiet air—and swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing nervously. 

he looked like he wanted to bolt, like he’d rather be facing a special grade curse with no cursed energy than sitting in this silence.

“i… i was just thinking,” he started, his voice barely a murmur, drifting off before he could find the right path through the sentence. he cleared his throat again, more forcefully this time, his ears turning a deep, vivid shade of pink that matched the heat radiating off his skin. “i wanted to ask… if you maybe… wanted to… try?”

you blinked up at him, your fingers still tangled in the soft dark strands at the nape of his neck, your expression a mix of curiosity and growing realization. “try to…?”

“um. you know,” he stammered, his nonchalant mask completely shattered now, leaving behind only the raw, honest vulnerability of an eighteen-year-old boy who was hopelessly in love and entirely out of his depth. 

“try… the, uh… the next thing.” he gestured vaguely with one hand toward the space between your bodies, his eyes darting back to yours for a split second before skittering away again. “the… you know. sex—if you wanted to. with me. now.”

you smiled, the expression so soft and genuine that it seemed to melt the rigid tension holding his shoulders together. 

you didn't laugh or make it a joke; instead, you just moved your hand from his neck to his cheek, your thumb stroking over the sharp line of his cheekbone until he finally forced himself to meet your eyes again. 

"megumi," you breathed, your voice a gentle anchor in the sea of his panic, "i want to. i've wanted to for a while."

the relief that washed over him was visible, his eyes closing for a brief second as he let out a jagged exhale, but it was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of heat when you reached for the hem of your own shirt. 

his eyes widened, tracking the movement with a mix of intense focus and a sudden, overwhelming urge to look anywhere else. as you pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it aside, leaving yourself bare before him in the dim light of the dorm, megumi felt like his brain had short-circuited.

he’d seen you in your uniform, in sweatpants, and in various states of disarray after missions, but this was different. this was intentional. this was a level of vulnerability he wasn't sure he was prepared to handle, even if he’d been dreaming about it for months. 

his hands stayed frozen where they were on your hips, his fingers twitching against your skin. he looked at you with such a concentrated, reverent intensity—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted—that for a second, you wondered if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

"you're... you're really beautiful," he managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. it was the most honest thing he’d ever said, stripped of all his usual stoicism.

slowly, tentatively, he reached out one hand. his fingers were trembling just a fraction as he grazed the skin of your ribs, his touch so light it was almost a ghost of a feeling. he followed the curve of your body like he was mapping out a new territory, his touch growing slightly firmer as he realized you weren't going to pull away. 

when his hand finally moved toward his own shirt, his movements were clumsy, his fingers fumbling with the fabric in a way that was entirely uncharacteristic of the boy who could form complex shadow puppets in a millisecond.

as he pulled his shirt off and cast it onto the floor, his pale skin looked almost silver in the moonlight. he looked lean and muscular, covered in the faint, silver-white scars of a sorcerer’s life, but in this moment, he didn't look like a weapon. he just looked like megumi. he hovered over you again, his bare chest inches from yours, and the sheer heat radiating between you was enough to make his head spin.

"i don't... i might not be great at this," he whispered into the small space between your lips, his nonchalance having been completely replaced by a desperate need to do right by you. "but i want to be. for you."

you responded with a small, reassuring smile that seemed to be the only thing keeping him from drifting away into his own head. "it’s okay," you whispered, your voice a soft tether in the quiet room. "we can learn together."

the words felt like a physical weight lifting off his chest. he looked at you, really looked at you, and the sheer adoration in his dark eyes was enough to make your heart skip.

 you didn't give him time to overthink it, reaching up to thread your fingers through the damp, dark hair at the base of his neck and pulling him back in for a soft, lingering kiss. 

it was a slow, grounding contact, a silent promise that there was no rush and no right way for this to go.

as he kissed you back, his movements became a little more fluid, driven by a growing heat that was beginning to override his stuttering nerves. 

he shifted his weight, his knees sliding hesitantly between your legs, trying to find a rhythm that felt natural. the clumsiness of it all was almost grounding, a reminder that for all his talent as a sorcerer—for all the lethal precision of his shadows—megumi was still just a boy learning the curves of the person he loved.

when he finally lowered himself back down, the initial contact of bare skin on skin made him jump slightly, his body tensing at the sudden, overwhelming sensation of your warmth pressing against his chest. 

his knee knocked against yours in a way that would have been embarrassing or clumsy in any other context, but here, the air was already so thick with affection and honest desire that it didn't matter. 

he let out a tiny, huffed breath of a laugh—mostly at himself and the ridiculousness of his own heart—and buried his face in the crook of your neck for a second, his nose brushing against your pulse point to hide the sheer, vivid red of his face.

his hands were everywhere and nowhere at once, trying to find a place to settle that felt right. he accidentally pinned your hair under his elbow as he tried to shift his weight, leading to a hushed, "sorry, sorry," and a frantic adjustment that ended with him almost rolling off the side of the twin-sized bed. 

it was a far cry from the cool, composed megumi the world knew; here, in the privacy of his room, he was all tangled limbs and hesitant fingers.

he started to trail kisses down your collarbone, but he was moving so cautiously, so afraid of overstepping or doing something "wrong," that his movements felt a bit disjointed. 

every time you let out a soft sound, he’d freeze, his eyes snapping up to yours with an expression that asked is this okay? did i hurt you? without saying a word.

"megumi, you can breathe," you whispered, reaching down to guide his hand back to your waist. "it's just us."

he nodded against your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction as he began to find a rhythm. he experimented with the weight of his body against yours, finding the sweet spot where he wasn't crushing you but could feel every inch of your warmth. 

the transition from kissing to the actual removal of clothes was where the nonchalant fushiguro megumi truly met his match. 

he pulled back just enough to reach for the waistband of your pajama pants, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tentative, questioning pressure. it wasn't a smooth, practiced motion; it was a series of small, awkward shimmies as he tried to help you navigate the fabric down your legs without accidentally kicking him off the narrow bed. 

his ears were burning a deep, painful crimson as he then turned his attention to his own clothes, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants with a clumsiness that would have made anyone else scoff. the metallic click of the zipper sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room, and he had to take a sharp, steadying breath just to keep his hands from shaking too noticeably.

once you were both left in the barest of layers—you in just your bra and panties, and him stripped down to the basics—the reality of the moment hit him with the force of a physical blow. 

his eyes traveled over you, taking in the soft curve of your stomach and the way the moonlight played over your collarbone, and for a second, he looked like he’d forgotten how to function.

his hands, though still a little shaky and prone to hesitating, began to explore with more intent. he moved them from the dip of your waist, where his palms felt like branding irons against your skin, down to the gentle curve of your thigh. 

he was so careful, his touch so light and careful, until he heard the way your breath hitched—a small, broken sound of genuine want.

it was that sound that changed everything.

realizing that you were actually enjoying this—that you weren't just tolerating his fumbling but were actively responding to the way his calloused fingers grazed your skin—allowed a bit of his natural composure to bleed back in. 

he stopped overthinking the logistics of what came next and started focusing on the feeling of you under him. he shifted his weight more confidently, his hands growing firmer and more possessive as he realized he didn't have to be afraid of you. 

a low, barely audible hum of satisfaction vibrated in his chest when you arched into his touch, and the shy, nervous boy from a few minutes ago began to dissolve into the young man who knew, with absolute certainty, that there was nowhere else in the world he was meant to be.

there was a moment where he tried to be smooth—trying to hook his thumb into the waistband of your underwear—only to get his finger caught in the fabric, resulting in a muffled curse that made you giggle.

the sound of your laughter seemed to break the last of his rigid fear. he pulled back just enough to look at you, a lopsided, shy smile finally breaking through his nerves. it wasn't the perfect, cinematic scene he’d probably worried about, but as he leaned down to kiss you again—this time with more teeth and less hesitation—it felt infinitely better because it was real. 

the fumbling and the awkwardness were just parts of the map he was drawing, and for the first time in his life, he didn't mind not knowing exactly where the road led.

the more you leaned into him, the more the silence of the room began to fill with the sound of his voice—not the sharp, clinical tone he used on the training grounds, but something low, wrecked, and breathless. 

as his hands mapped out the curve of your hips and the soft skin of your stomach, he couldn't help the quiet praises that tumbled out of him. "you're so beautiful," he murmured against your jaw, his voice cracking with the weight of it. 

"god, you’re perfect. i can’t... i can't believe you're mine."

the kissing shifted then, losing its tentative edge and becoming something much deeper, much hotter. he was devouring you now, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that felt like he was trying to pull the very air from your lungs. 

as the heat between you reached a breaking point, you found yourself instinctively arching up, grinding your core against his thigh to find some semblance of relief. 

the friction was electric, and megumi let out a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your lips. he was painfully, visibly hard against you, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back.

your breath came in jagged, heavy hitches, and you finally managed to break the kiss just enough to gasp out his name. "gumi..."

it was a plea, an invitation, and a question all at once. you reached down, your fingers find his hand and guiding it toward the center of your heat. 

when his fingers pressed against the damp, thin fabric of your underwear, feeling the slick evidence of how much you wanted him, a literal jolt of electricity seemed to snap through his entire frame. his eyes blew wide, dark and unfocused, as he realized just how ready you were for him.

he didn't pull away this time. instead, he leaned back in, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as he tentatively hooked two fingers under the elastic of your lace. he pushed the fabric to the side, his touch hesitant but determined, and slowly, so slowly, he slid one finger inside of you.

you let out a sharp, sudden gasp directly into his mouth, your body jolting against his at the newness of the sensation. 

megumi froze instantly, his heart hammering against your chest like a trapped bird. he pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching yours with a frantic, protective intensity.

"is that... is that okay?" he whispered, his voice trembling with the fear of hurting you. "did i—do you want me to stop?"

you shook your head quickly, your fingers tightening in his hair to pull him back down, a soft "no, don't stop" dying in your throat as you nodded against him.

as he felt the soft nod of your head, megumi let out a shaky, relieved exhale against your lips. he began to find a slow, steady rhythm, his movements careful as if he were handling something priceless. 

he watched your face with an intensity that was almost overwhelming, his dark eyes tracking every flicker of your eyelashes and every twitch of your lips. 

when you reached down, your fingers overlapping his to silently encourage him to add another, he obeyed without a second thought, his breath hitching as he felt you stretch and accommodate him.

it didn't take long for his sharp, observant mind to start piecing the puzzle together. megumi noticed that if he angled his fingers just so—curving them upward in a specific, hooked motion while his thumb rhythmically brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top—you made these really good, broken sounds that sent shivers straight down his spine.

he became obsessed with those sounds. because he was so naturally gentle and possessed a sorcerer’s knack for pattern recognition, he quickly mastered the cadence that made you come undone. 

he watched as your thighs began to clench instinctively around his hand, your back arching off the mattress as you tried to press closer to the source of the pleasure. your kissing became sloppier, more desperate, your mouth moving against his in a way that was frantic and uncoordinated as your senses began to blur.

megumi was far better at this than he had any right to be. his fingers moved with a fluid, consistent grace, hitting that specific spot with a precision that made your vision swim. 

he was leaning over you, his own breathing heavy and labored, his dark hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. he looked like he was witnessing a miracle, his usual stoicism completely replaced by a raw, hungry devotion.

just as the tension in your body reached a fever pitch, you reached down and gripped his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin to halt the movement. your irises were dark, blown wide with a hazy heat that made his heart stop.

"megumi," you gasped, your voice a wrecked, breathy shadow of itself as you looked up at him. "i’m ready. gumi, please... i want you."

megumi’s hand flew back from the heat of you as if he’d been burned, the sudden shift in momentum sending him into a mild, frantic tailspin. he practically tumbled off the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with a dull thud as he scrambled toward his dresser. 

he began fumbling through the top drawer, his hands shoving aside neatly folded socks and school shirts while he muttered a string of curses under his breath.

 he was looking for the box gojo had tossed at him with a wink the day after the man had "accidentally" strolled into the common room while the two of you were mid-makeout—a memory that made megumi’s blood boil even now.

"where is it... damn it," he hissed, his fingers finally snagging the edge of the cardboard. he pulled out a foil packet, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped it twice. 

the packaging was stubborn, refusing to tear under his frantic grip, and for a second he looked like he might actually use a cursed technique just to open the damn thing.

once he finally managed to rip it open, he kicked his boxers away, and the sight of him—fully, achingly hard and pressing up against his own stomach—was enough to make your own breath catch. 

he was trying to roll the condom on, but the combination of his trembling fingers and the sheer weight of the moment made it a clumsy, uncoordinated mess. 

he was acutely aware that this wasn't the smooth, cinematic "sexy" experience he’d seen in movies; he felt like a fumbling mess, his ears ringing with the sound of his own pulse.

the stress of the logistics was a total mood-killer, and by the time he finally got the latex settled, his nerves had won a temporary victory—he was now only half-hard, the iron-clad confidence of a moment ago wavering in the cool air of the room. 

he climbed back onto the bed, looking at you with a mix of apology and raw frustration.

"sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "i'm—give me a second." he leaned down, capturing your lips again in a kiss that was meant to ground both of you. 

it started slow, but as your hands found his chest and your legs tangled with his, the familiar heat began to surge back into him. the friction of your body against his worked its magic, and he felt himself thickening and hardening again, the primal urge to be inside you finally overriding the last of his anxiety.

he pulled back just enough to line himself up, the tip of him brushing against your entrance. he paused there, his arms trembling as he braced his weight above you. megumi took one long, deep, shaky breath, his dark eyes searching yours with a depth of sincerity that felt like a physical weight on your chest.

"are you sure?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, his gaze never wavering from yours. "are you absolutely sure you want this?"

you reached up, your fingers tracing the sharp, nervous line of his jaw as you pulled him closer. "more than anything, megumi."

the first few inches were a struggle of pure friction and overwhelming sensation. megumi moved with a cautious, agonizing slowness, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. 

as he began to push forward, he saw you wince, your eyes fluttering shut as your body tried to adjust to the sudden, blunt intrusion. he froze instantly, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he braced himself over you, his knuckles white from the pressure of holding himself back.

"are you okay?" he managed to choke out, his voice thick and strained. "i can stop, we can—"

"it's just... it's big, gumi. that's all," you whispered, your breath hitching as you tried to relax into the mattress.

a sudden, involuntary flutter of pride bloomed in his chest at your words—a primitive, masculine spark that flickered through the haze of his anxiety—but he pushed it aside to focus entirely on you. 

he waited, his eyes locked on yours, watching for the moment the tension in your face began to soften. only when you gave him a small, encouraging nod did he continue, slowly pushing further into the narrow heat of you.

he could feel the incredible tightness of your walls fluttering against him, the sensation of your body stretching out to accommodate his size. it was a slow, rhythmic transition that felt like it was taking hours, every fraction of an inch sending a fresh wave of heat crashing over his senses. 

he felt the resistance give way slowly, his body sinking deeper and deeper into yours until finally, he was bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

the feeling was nothing short of heavenly. it was a staggering, all-encompassing warmth that made his head light and his vision go momentarily dark. 

he stayed there for a moment, completely still, buried deep inside the person he loved more than his own life. 

the sheer, overwhelming physical reality of the connection was more than he had ever prepared for. his mind was racing, a single, frantic thought echoing through his skull in a repetitive loop.

holy shit, he thought, his eyes blowing wide and unfocused as he felt your internal muscles clench around him in a tight, welcoming pulse. holy shit, i’m gonna cum in two minutes.

as the initial shock of the connection settled, megumi forced himself to move, though his muscles felt like they were vibrating with the effort of holding back. 

he started with slow, shallow thrusts, his hips rocking against yours in a rhythmic, tentative glide. but even with his self-control at its peak, he couldn't stop the low, gravelly groans from slipping out of his throat—sounds he didn't even recognize as his own.

he felt everything. he felt the velvet ridges of your walls hugging him tight, the way you arched off the blanket when he adjusted his angle, and the specific, intoxicating way your breath hitched every time he pulled back. 

then, with one deeper, more deliberate push, he hit that soft, spongy spot at the very back of you. your eyes rolled back, a sharp, broken sound escaping your lips as you bit down on them, and megumi felt a surge of heat so violent it made his vision swim.

you felt incredible—too good, honestly. you were soft and hot and so welcoming that it was becoming a physical struggle not to just lose himself. 

he looked down at you, seeing the way your hair was fanned out across his pillow, your skin flushed and damp with sweat, and his heart felt like it was going to burst. 

he loved you so much it was terrifying; it was a weight in his chest that made every sensation feel ten times more intense.

he tried to maintain that slow, agonizing rhythm, his knuckles white where he was gripping the sheets, but his self-control was fraying with every heartbeat. the friction, the sound of your moans, the way your thighs were trembling against his—it was all too much.

"megumi," you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him down toward you. "you can go faster. please, gumi... faster."

the permission was the final thread to snap. he didn't need to be told twice. his pace quickening as his thrusts became deeper, more purposeful, as he chased the feeling of being completely consumed by you. 

you were letting out these soft, melodic moans that seemed to sync up with the rhythm of his body, and megumi felt a heavy, primal coiling deep in his gut—a pressure that was rapidly building toward a point of no return.

the nonchalant, composed sorcerer was nowhere to be found; there was only a boy, breathless and overwhelmed, who was about to break.

the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your frantic, rhythmic breathing and the heavy, wet heat of the friction between you. you were shaking underneath him, your fingers clutching at his forearms as your head tossed back against the pillow. "gumi... im gonna... im gonna—"

megumi’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. he squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body rigid and vibrating with the effort of holding back. he wanted to wait, wanted to let you reach that peak first, but every time your walls spasmed around him, it was like a direct current of electricity straight to his brain. 

he focused on the sound of your voice, on the way your name felt like a prayer in his mind, and waited until he felt the sudden, violent clench of your climax rippling through you.

you cried out, your body arching one last time in a beautiful, desperate surrender, and that was it for him. he couldn't hold back anymore. he let out one final, deep, guttural thrust that bottomed him out completely against you, and then the coil in his gut—the one that had been winding tighter and tighter since the moment he asked if you were sure—finally snapped.

the uncoiling was a physical shock, a white-hot release that felt like it was tearing through his very soul. he felt the snap, the sudden, overwhelming rush of heat as he came inside you, and your name tumbled out of his lips in a wrecked, breathless sob. 

he felt completely unstrung, his strength leaving him all at once as the world narrowed down to just the two of you, his forehead dropping back against yours as he continued to pulse inside you. 

he began to move in slow, shallow, grounding thrusts on the comedown, the frantic pace replaced by a heavy, languid rhythm that was purely about being close to you.

he found your lips again, tasting the sweetness of your mouth through the salt of your shared sweat. his breathing was jagged and heavy, echoing your own, and he could feel your thighs still trembling against his hips, the aftershocks of the moment still humming through both of your bodies. 

for a long time, the only sound in the dorm was the ragged, synchronization of your breath and the distant, fading ticking of the clock, marking the end of the first time and the beginning of everything else.

the heavy, languid silence that followed was broken only by the sound of your shared, erratic breathing. 

megumi stayed buried deep inside you for a few moments longer, his head tucked into the crook of your neck as he waited for the world to stop spinning. when he finally found the strength to move, he pulled out with a slow, careful friction that made you let out one last, shaky exhale.

he sat up at the edge of the bed, his back a map of lean muscle and silver scars in the moonlight. with hands that were still slightly unsteady, he took care of the condom, knotting it and tossing it into the small trash can by his desk with a quiet, final thud. 

he grabbed a stray shirt from the floor to quickly clean himself and you, his movements efficient but incredibly tender, his touch lingering on your skin as if he were still trying to convince himself that tonight had actually happened.

once he was settled, he climbed back into the narrow twin bed, which felt smaller than ever with both of your bodies occupying the space. 

he pulled you back against his chest, your back fitting perfectly against his front in a tangle of limbs and damp skin. the room was still warm, both of you sticky with sweat and the salt of the evening, but neither of you seemed to care.

he draped one heavy arm over your waist, his hand splaying across your stomach to hold you close, while he tucked his face into the back of your neck. 

he felt a profound, quiet sort of peace settle over him—the kind of stillness he usually only found in the depths of his shadows, but this time it was filled with light.

megumi leaned forward, pressing a lingering, gentle kiss to the side of your forehead. "i love you," he murmured, his voice finally regaining that low, steady nonchalance, though it was softened by a depth of affection he no longer felt the need to hide.

note. art creds to @/hunnismokah — it's 2.12 and i just had to whip this up after thinking of it. genuinely tweaking bcs i was sure i had an idea for a drabble this afternoon but i completely forgot about it . . . and now i'm angry. anw, hope you like this one! CAITA update tonight, ok? 😀

You wondered why Satoru was acting as if your daughter wouldn't sleep with the both of you anymore — he was the one who suggested that she should start sleeping on her 'big girl bed'. Hence, why he bought the unicorn themed bed frame with the most squishy mattress in the store.

"Just one more week, please?" He practically pleads softly, his forehead was pressed to your shoulder.

Your two year old daughter was hooked in his other arm, happily patting his arm. Today would mark the first day she'll be sleeping in her own room, on her big bed alone. Satoru had suggested that for the past month, look at him now.

He groans out when you don't budge, "Satoru, you bought her a bed."

"And the bed isn't running anywhere, am I right, sweetcheeks?" He coddled your daughter, clamping her chubby cheek in between his teeth gently, "You want to go night night in daddy's arms, right baby? No sleeping on the big girl bed. Only princesses who hate their daddy sleep on the big girl bed!"

Your daughter blissfully squealed, it was a quarter past her bed time and she was still yet to be laid down. Satoru peppered her cheeks with kisses, the loud smooches making her squeal with delight. Little legs kicking the air joyfully, "See? Even she agrees to sleeping with us."

"Satoru, please."

"Mommy's a party pooper, she doesn't want to sleep with you," Satoru sulks, standing up, "doesn't matter, daddy will go night night in your unicorn bed!"

You watch him leave in amusement, you just know he's not gonna stay for long in there.

Like you guessed, Satoru came rushing back to your shared bedroom with an offended look, "She just kicked me out of her bed, how rude. Is it wrong for a dad to want to have his little girl sleep with him forever?"

You chuckled softly, feeling his side of the bed dip. Satoru had his back turned on you, "You're sulking again," he grunts out.

"My little girl is already not so little."

"She's two."

"And already kicking her daddy out of bed," he mutters bitterly, "I bought that bed, I thought she loved me more than anything in the world. She chose me over her favorite pizza toy, that makes me the favorite!"

You rubbed his back, "You're being too dramatic, baby."

"You don't know how it feels to be a dad," he turns to look at you, the pout still lingering on his lips.

The door to your shared bedroom opens slowly, you look up to meet the teary eyed two year old standing there. Nose red and filled with snot, her fingers dipped in between her little teeth.

Satoru was up on his feet, cooing softly, scooping her up into his arms, "See? Now, mommy and daddy's bed is way better than that unicorn bed, right?" He bounces her gently, wiping her cheeks.

Your daughter buried her face into his neck, making his eyes squeeze shut. He turns to look at you with that pleading look in his eyes, "Please, baby? Just one more week. I promise, look at her, how can we do this?"

Satoru rubbed your daughter's little back gently, "There, there little one, daddy's here now," he whispers softly, pressing a kiss to her head, "did you have a bad dream? Did you miss daddy? Did you see the boogeyman?"

You awe at him, shaking your head before finally nodding, "Fine. One week. Then she goes on the big girl bed."

Satoru cheered happily, laying your daughter in between you both. She settled in quickly, her hand fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Satoru tucks her in, pressing yet another kiss to her head, "Night night, baby, mommy and daddy loves you."

Your daughter yawns softly, a sleepy smile popping on her face, "Ight, ight," she mimics him, waving slowly as slumber began taking over her systems.

"Can I offer a bargain?" Satoru asks, "Two weeks."

"One week or tomorrow."

"One week, ma'am."

Part I │His wife in the Garden│

CONTENT. MDNI 18+. Fluff, Suggestive. │MASTERLIST│

The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the persimmon and nashi pear trees, casting dappled gold across the winding stone path of Sukuna’s private garden. The air was thick with the sweet, heavy scent of ripening fruit. Juicy kaki persimmons hung heavy and orange while pale nashi pears glowed perfect and round. It was one of the few places in the sprawling estate that felt almost peaceful.  

Almost.  

Because you were there.  

Your husband walked a few steps ahead of you, four massive arms loosely clasped behind his back. Black tattoos shifted over powerful muscles with every slow stride. The King of Curses moved like he owned the very ground beneath his feet, which of course he did. His crimson eyes scanned the trees with lazy disinterest while the lower mouth on his stomach occasionally parted to taste the breeze.  

You had never been one for quiet strolls.  

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭/𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨, 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨, 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨, 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐢’𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐧. 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐭𝐰🤭 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

gojo

the second he notices you’re crossing from tipsy into drunk, he’s tuned in — not in a controlling way but in that lazy and watchful way where his hand never leaves your lower back.

he doesn’t stop you from having fun. if you’re laughing too loud, dancing off beat, or rambling about fries like it’s philosophy, he’s hyping you up. “you’re a genius baby. fries are life changing. say it with your chest.”

if you start wobbling, he steadies you without comment. a hand at your hip or an arm around your shoulders. it’s smooth enough it looks casual but he’s not letting you go anywhere on your own.

when you get emotional, he doesn’t roll his eyes or tease you in a mean way. he crouches down, gets eye level, and jokes soft enough to make you crack a smile. “baby don’t cry or you’ll ruin my shirt. then i’ll have to walk around shirtless and that’s not fair to anyone else here.”

if you turn clingy, he just lets you melt into him. lets you tug at his shirt, hang on his arm, tuck your face into his neck. sometimes he’ll mutter, “you’re ridiculous,” but his hand is already rubbing circles on your back.

if you get quiet and tired, he doesn’t ask twice. he scoops you up, takes you home, gets you into bed. shoes off, water by the nightstand, hair pushed out of your face and bonnet on.

he’ll sit on the edge of the bed after, brushing his thumb over your cheek while you’re half asleep. a soft little, “goodnight, pretty girl. you did great,” before he finally crashes next to you.