ExHusband!Toji was a stark contrast from the man you married six years ago. He had a steady job now, light in his eyes, and was always the first to spoil baby Megumi rotten.

ExHusband!Toji shared custody, but somehow found reasons to show up 5 to 6 times a week, always "just to see Megumi," never mentioning the way his eyes lingered concerningly on your limp leg first.

ExHusband!Toji had a habit of dragging up university, talking about the apartment you shared, the awful cheap ramen you both survived on. And he always ended with the same line of “I miss the simple version of life with just us two.”

ExHusband!Toji was too afraid to voice out his reconciliation attempts outright, so he'd send 6 y/o Megumi home with a peony bouquet "for mama" instead.

ExHusband!Toji tucked a blanket over you when you fell asleep on the couch, pressing a kiss to your forehead like muscle memory, only to disappear into the guest room right next door to sleep alone.

ExHusband!Toji would go quiet and tight-jawed, painfully watching your neighbor flirt with you at your front door, fists clenched like he wanted to punch the guy for wanting to be with his (ex) wife.

ExHusband!Toji started using his evenings to stock your fridge and scrub your house clean before your night shifts ended, baby Megumi trailing behind him and scattering a mess of Legos he’d keep having to clean up.

ExHusband!Toji would release the tension from your shoulders with his calloused hands, lingering a minute too long during what was supposed to be a ‘quick’ massage. Neither of you would move, both of you secretly wanting more.

ExHusband!Toji would panic at a single undelivered text, certain that you blocked him and finally closed the door on him for good.

ExHusband!Toji left a new jacket in your closet the day after he noticed a hole in your old one, not realizing that you liked the old one because it had memories of you both when you wore it as a cover-up during your dates with him. 

ExHusband!Toji's hand stayed wrapped around yours a little longer than needed after you'd already found your balance on the crutches as he helped you out of your car.

ExHusband!Toji kept replaying you finally hugging him first, years after the divorce. It was unprompted and he’dd frozen in your embrace, as your murmured how much you missed him. 

ExHusband!Toji would make baby Megumi the same quiet promise every night, that one day he'd bring his mama home for good (meanwhile Megumi only cared about his dad being a new playmate for his Legos).

a/n: since y'all liked the husband kuna one so much, i figured i'd feed the toji girls right this time 🤭 +1 my freaky aah would be the one running back to toji after the divorce let's be sooo fr

an evening of deep conversations about 'karma' with Heian era Sukuna, as his wife

“Suki?”

He did not look up from the scroll in his hand, though his brows connected in disappointment.

“How many times must I forbid you from addressing me with that name?”

“I meant no disrespect, my lord.” You bowed your head mockingly. “I merely wished to ask a question that has been plaguing my mind recently…”

“Speak.”

“Do you believe in karma? The belief in the principle of ingō”

Sukuna set the scroll aside and turned to face you. The dim room was lit with the last few rays of the setting sun, catching the silhouette of his sharp jawline and the edges of his dark face markings. He sat there hesitantly for a while, lost in thought. “Karma?” he asked, with a groan. “You take me for a superstitious buffoon, brat? Or a monk? Fictitious tales of punishment and rebirth that instill fear in mere mortals..."

“I take you for neither.”

“Then why ask such a thing of someone who is clearly occupied with writing his wife a haiku?”

You giggled, fiddling with the hems of your hakama as you stared at the wooden floor you sat on.

“Because I wonder, Sukuna, if you have ever woken up in the midst of the deep hours at night, bearing the weight of all the lives you have taken.” 

He simply smirked in response.

“Tell me, do you ever feel regret? In fear that it will come back to you?” You inch closer to him, curious for an answer.

“I am the King of Curses, wife. I have and will continue to take everything I desire. Not because it is simply entertaining, but I simply wish to expand my empire and protect what I own,” he continued, looking you in the eye directly now. “The very lineage of monks whose teachings you ask about was scattered into ashes by me for daring to oppose me. And still I sit here, in my house, drinking this sake with a woman who bores me with questions that have obvious answers. When is the reckoning, the result of my bad deeds, bad karma? I am living as any other person.”

“Perhaps not in this life,” you whisper softly. “Perhaps it waits to find you in your next...”

“Then let it wait,” he responded, changing his pitch. “I have never feared what comes to me. I will meet it and tear it apart with my bare hands like I always do,” he says, caressing your cheek with his very hand that destroyed hundreds. 

“What if it does not come for you? If it comes for me instead? Because the karmic entanglement is not just for you, but for who belongs to you?"

He did not move. But the air around the both of you seemed to grow tense, his eyes flickering with regret in his statement.

His tone was devoid of all mockery now. “Then I would reduce the heavens to flames and dust. Whatever mythical force you talk about, “karmic” or otherwise… I would tear through the very concept of space and time to be there for your sake. I’d destroy myself to be reborn in every lifetime you’re in.”

Although his frown disappeared, you could see the anxiety carved across his face now. His hand found your silk sleeve and grasped it, as if the fabric were the symbol of what he would destroy for you. 

“I have never known balance. Whether it be good or bad. I take. I don’t give power to anybody to attach that karmic recompensation you talk about. You…” He paused to face you again. “You are the first thing I have chosen to attach myself to, wife. Not out of compulsion to be kind, but because I simply wanted to. I desired you. If the universe seeks to take you from me, then it can try. I will wait for whatever it has to offer me.”

You were taken aback by his eloquent response. 

As the moon shone brightly on the bedroom porch, and you both sat beside each other in silence again, you lay your head on the side of his upper right arm for comfort. 

“Then I shall stay too,” you smiled. “For as long as the universe permits us to.”

He reached for the stray strand of your hair that kept blocking your line of sight and tucked it behind your ear in response to your head resting. 

“You are a foolish lady, brat.” He said.

“Sure.”

“To love a curse such as I.”

“I know.”

He drank his sake and said nothing more. His lower right hand found the small of your lower back, gently caressing it and pulling you closer to his side in one swift motion. And when you kissed his cheek, he did not draw away. His heartbeat simply picked up pace.

The distant sound of bells from the nearby temple matched the tempo of his heart, as you both sat there.

Ironic, you thought. He never destroyed this temple.

But perhaps the King of Curses had this strange way of not destroying things you were inherently attached to. 

Maybe his karma was to ache and be soft for a mortal being like you.

a/n: i was originally going to write a haiku in sukuna's pov because the heian era sukuna images on my pinterest feed made me feel some typa wayyyyy

BUT i was talking to a friend about karma yesterday and how STRONGLY i don't believe in it anymore, which is polar opposite from my stance a couple years ago and this idea instantly clicked

honestly, i lowkey want to write an archaic gojo born in heian era just for funsies let's see 🤭

picture/art creds: Mibs on Pinterest (lmk if i can tag the actual artist!!)

original artist is @ 2468carp on X!!

ExHusband!Toji oneshot, where he finally gets his wife back (part 2 of ExHusband!Toji headcanon) (mdni 18+ nsfw, fluff, wc: 2.2k)

ExHusband!Toji had been acting strange ever since the hug. It was one weak, unguarded moment between you two that neither of you had planned for, especially not you. Since then, he'd taken to texting you every few hours, always with some flimsy pretext. Megumi's preschool pickup. Whether he could stay the night, "just in case" since you still couldn't walk without your crutches. How your place was closer to his job than his own apartment (which was true, to be fair). Any excuse to keep himself inside the perimeter of your life.

None of your mutual friends would've disagreed that he used to be the wifeman of the friend group. After the divorce, he'd gotten quieter about it. He still cared, obviously, and that care had formed into something more delicate ever since Megumi let it slip, mid-babble, that mama had broken her leg during one of his weekend visits.

It felt good. Having someone who noticed you, when the rest of your life had narrowed down to the capitalist cycle of earning, buying, spending, surviving. Your divorce had been a clean settlement – nothing owed on either side, child support accounted to whatever percentage he could manage back then. Now he had real income, and he was finding every way he could to spoil Megumi with it. But you knew exactly what that money used to disappear into. Gambling. The thing that had ended you two in the first place.

You still remembered the bonus from your first job out of college. The one you'd saved, dollar by dollar to buy a used car you could both share. Toji had cashed it out on a crypto betting site instead. Lost it all. Lost more than that.

You were tired. Tired of hoping he'd change, tired of the hurt that came every time he didn't. He'd been good to you in every way that wasn't money, and that made it worse, somehow. Knowing he came from an elite family, and that he was too proud to ever ask for help. You'd begged him to just call them, just this once. He apologized every time and never did it. It wasn't the losing that broke you in the end. It was watching him choose his pride over fixing what he'd broken.

You thought about Megumi as a newborn, crying every hour while the two of you took turns pacing the apartment, half-delirious, wondering when… if this was supposed to start feeling like the life you'd signed up for. Toji had tried. Odd jobs, graveyard shifts at the gas station, just to break even on rent with nothing left over. Date nights? Sundays were McDonald's dinners, and you came home to burn the rest of the evening on reruns because there wasn't money for anything else.

When Toji walked in with Megumi on his hip that afternoon, in a suit tailored close enough to make his wide frame look almost feral, you found yourself looking anywhere but at him. You still loved him. But you owed it to the version of yourself who'd been disrespected not to forget it that easily.

"Got us tickets," he said, watching your face for a reaction. "Theme park. Next weekend."

"Papa taking us to Disney!" Megumi wriggled out of his arms and did a full lap around you like a playful kitten.

Megumi had never understood divorce. You two had separated only months after he was born, so as far as he knew, his parents just happened to live in different places. He could see they loved each other. He wouldn't have believed you if you'd tried to tell him otherwise.

"Toji, you didn't have to do this. I was already planning to take him over winter."

"He kept asking. Figured you could use the break too, with the leg."

"It's basically healed. Doc said I can get the cast off this week."

"Even better. You can just sit on the rides. I booked the resort too."

"That's way too much… we could've just done a day trip–"

"I owe you." His eyes drifted, to the peonies on your coffee table (the ones he'd sent last month, with no occasion for). "For all the times I put you through it, not stepping up. Let me do this. It's one fractional way to say sorry." He continued, "Booked two rooms. Didn't want to put you in an awkward spot. You and Megumi can take one."

You nodded, even though the idea of a "family" trip with your ex-husband sat uneasy in your chest. Megumi was 6. He didn't need to understand any of the complicated parts yet until he was older.

The park was everything a child’s fever dream is made of. Megumi rode the teacups 4 times in a row and declared them, each time, his new favorite. He came home from the gift shop weighed down with a stuffed Mickey nearly his own size, a light-up sword, and a bag of tajin candy Toji definitely should not have let him finish before dinner. The spice was heavy on his stomach, which was exactly why, somewhere around 8 that evening, Megumi threw it all back up over the hotel bed.

Toji didn't even flinch. He scooped him up before you could get to the bathroom, murmuring something while he ran the water, cleaned him up, coaxed a dose of children's nausea medicine into him with immense patience you didn't remember him having when Megumi was a baby. By 9, Megumi was fast asleep in your room, and you found yourself standing in the hallway outside Toji's door instead of your own.

You knocked. He opened it already looking like he hadn't expected you, first two buttons undone.

"Hey." You shifted your weight on your left hip. "Thank you. For today. For all of it, actually. I’m sure he had the best day in a while."

"Wasn't just for him." He leaned against the doorframe. "I'm trying, you know. To be a better father."

"You already were one."

"I meant..." he shook, “I'm trying to be a better husband."

"Toji..." Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. "We're not… we haven't been that in a long time."

He didn't argue. He just looked at you with those glazed emerald eyes, and you hated how much you still liked the way he looked at you.

"I know what I lost. I'm not asking you to forget it. I stopped gambling. Two years now. When I feel it creeping back, that fucking itch… I spend on you two instead. Buy Megumi something dumb, send you flowers you don't ask for.” he chuckled, “Same rush, different bills. Doesn't affect either of your futures." A humorless huff. "Therapist's idea, not mine. But it's worked."

You didn't say anything. He goes to therapy now. You didn't trust what would come out if you opened your mouth.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. He always used to be able to read you better than you read yourself. "I'm not asking you to answer that tonight, I just needed you to know I'm not who I was."

The hallway was eerily quiet. Somewhere down the corridor, the silence was broken by a vending machine rattled and went still. You stood there a second longer than you needed to, and then you closed the distance, fisted a hand in his shirt, and kissed him.

He made a low sound against your mouth like he hadn't let himself believe this could happen, and then his hands were at your waist, careful of the leg that wasn't fully healed, walking you both back into the room.

He tasted familiar, and comforting. The friction of the scar on his lips felt like coming home to something you'd convinced yourself you'd lost the key to. He was different now, in the ways that mattered and the ways that didn't. His attention was on you and you alone. 

When he undid your blouse, he was gentle, as if you were a porcelain doll. His soft touch was mesmerizing, and he felt steadier under your hands, more solid, and clearly more muscle. When you ripped his shirt off, you felt your breath hitch. Bigger build, more defined muscles, and the thin layer of sweat glistening on his pecs made him look like a sculpted god. As your palms instinctively pressed against his chest, kissing him intensely like your tongues were battling all the lost time away, you could tell he was actually sleeping and actually eating well, taking care of himself. 

But the way he paid attention to you was the same, only more so, like he'd spent all the years recognizing every way he used to fall short and was quietly, deliberately making up for each one. His hands met the curve of your waist, thumbs rubbing slow, calming circles on your belly. They slipped up to undo your white lacy bra, fingers trailing on the slope of your breast, pinching each perked nipple, and soothingly licking them right after, as you winced in the slight pain.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he said, head tilting to access the divot of your collarbones, placing kisses and licks like he wanted to taste every inch of you.

“Fuck… I…Toji.” You managed to conjure, with the softest moans of pleasure escaping your lips.

“Hmm? What’s the matter, wife.” He asked, knowing the title was the complete opposite of your current situation with each other.

But he didn’t let you answer. He slid off your silk skirt deftly with his strong grip, leaving your goosebumped thighs exposed under his touch.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, Mrs. Fushiguro.”

Your heartbeat picked up as he slid you to the edge of the bed, falling to his knees and placing himself between your thighs like he was begging you to take him back. You avoided eye contact, ignoring what was about to happen, knowing you had broken the promise with yourself.

He gently gripped your knees to spread them apart, placing kisses on your inner thighs as your knuckles gripped onto the sheet from the foreign sensation, after all these years of the lack of intimate touch. The tip of his tongue made a slow, maddening circle around your clit, before placing his mouth to suck on you. The feeling was overstimulating, and you couldn’t help but change your grip to his raven black hair, that was slightly grown out now. But your hands on his head made him go wilder, his lips mumbling promises that made his hot breaths leave your cunt throbbing. And before you could even say how close you were, his tongue instinctively flattened against your organ, dragging up and down like it knew from the years of tasting you, that you were about to come undone. 

The rest of the night was filled with muffled moans, tongue-fucking each other like it was the last time you’d ever see each other, his unbearably hard cock glided in and out of you, while his thumb rubbed slow circles over your already spent clit. He muttered “I love you”s as he nestled into your neck, burying his face, moving his hips obscenely, rhythmically, as he fucked the pain of not having each other, out of you.

And all you could do was moan, and sigh, and scream his name as you let him take care of you, returning terms of endearment that one doesn’t use for their ex-husband.

Afterward you both lay tangled in the hotel sheets, his fingers tracing absent lines along your spine, and for a while neither of you said anything at all.

"So," he said eventually, into your hair. "Reconciliation. Hypothetically."

You huffed a laugh against his beefy chest. "Hypothetically."

"I'm serious." He shifted, propping himself up enough to look at you. "I'm not gonna pretend those years erased what I did to us. But I want the chance to keep proving it wasn't a phase." He reached over to the nightstand, where the remains of Megumi's theme-park spicy candy bag sat, and pulled out a ring-shaped gummy, translucent under the lamp light, sliding it onto your ring finger with a straight face.

"Toji…"

"Diamond's coming. Or emerald. Whichever one you’d prefer. This is just so you know I'm serious in the meantime." His voice dropped. "A lifetime of trying to make it up to you. That's the offer. Take your time with it… I'm not going anywhere."

You looked down at the ridiculous candy ring catching the light on your hand, and then up at him, and didn't pull your hand away.

“You better cry on your knees when I’m walking down the aisle again, Fushiguro.”

In which you test your Sephora lipstick haul on Sukuna because you're (slightly) colorblind (slightly suggestive, fluff, crack)

Impromptu buying 6 lipstick shades just because they were on sale wasn't a great idea. But what else could you do? Sukuna loved when you wore red. So much so, that it made him go quiet and watchful across any room you were in, plotting ways to have your mouth on him later that night. And with the store out of testers, you decided to take the plunge and test them at home instead.

The problem? You were slightly colorblind. Protanomaly made reds look darker, almost green. The subtle differences between shades weren't noticeable on your lips, especially testing them one by one instead of swatching them all at once. You wanted a blank canvas, and you couldn't risk smudging your fresh spray tan on your wrist either. 

The only "logical" solution? Testing them on your husband.

"Babe?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you tell the difference between these reds?"

"No. That's like asking me to guess between a yam and a sweet potato."

"They're different?"

"Exactly."

"And here I thought it was because I was colorblind."

"Nope. They all look the same, wife."

"Ugh. Just come here." You motioned him over, lying back on the carpet, splayed out with your shopping bag beside you.

He walked over slowly, unhurried, like he already knew you'd wait. Stopped in front of you, arms crossed. Very serious. As though you'd summoned him for a scolding instead of lip swatches.

"Ugh. What a diva."

You grabbed his wrist and yanked him down. He let you – he always let you, even when he pretended otherwise, and folded himself against the coffee table, close enough that his knee pressed into your thigh.

"Put it on."

"Are you crazy?"

"How else am I supposed to swatch the shades? Or give me your wrist."

"Hell no. I have errands to run in an hour. Not doing that."

"Does that hurt your masculinity, husband?"

"I'm wearing Hello Kitty pajamas right now, so no. I just don't want random red streaks on my mouth and hands looking like I got into a cat fight."

"Fine. Then be useful and describe the shades as I try them."

"Okay." Said like he wasn't interested, though his eyes hadn't left your mouth since you cracked the first cap open. He wasn't colorblind, he just had never once in his life needed the vocabulary to talk about depth and undertone in a color. He was learning fast.

You picked up the first lipstick and painted it on slowly, watching him watch you do it. "Dark red or medium red?"

He leaned in, way closer than the question required, studying your lips like he'd been starving. "Darker. Like a rose."

"Good description." You set the lipstick down. "I need your face too."

"What? Why?"

"Shut up." You gripped his jaw and kissed his cheek, deliberate, lingering half a second too long. Felt the muscle under your fingers go stiff.

His skin was suddenly way too warm. "Woman. I told you."

"Don't care." You stuck your tongue out, entirely too pleased with your antics.

You wiped off the shade, applying a new one across your lips, slower this time, making a show of it. "This one?" You pouted.

His jaw ticked. "Bright. Neon."

"Good boy." Another kiss, closer to his mouth this time, close enough to feel his breath.

And another. And another, until his whole face was marked up in red, and he'd gone very still and very quiet the way he only did when he was working hard to stay in control of himself.

"So… which one did you like best?"

He finally looked at you properly, eyes half-lidded, voice dropping low. "The one that matches my eyes. The crimson. Numero 3."

"Noted." You patted his cheek, all business. "Now off you go for errands."

He didn't move. Just watched you, something dark settling behind his stare as he smirked.

"What?"

"I think you need to learn a lesson."

"For what?"

"For using me as a fucking tester." He caught your wrist before you could pull away, thumb dragging slow over your pulse point.

"Sure. I'm not scared of your threats."

"Oh, you will be." He pulled you into his lap like it cost him nothing. "Not after I've worked over your other lips until you're screaming my name."

a/n: do i need to touch grass? yes. will i continue to write soft sukuna until eternity? also yes. "that's not who he is" shush. it's all fiction, baby girl - let live.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: 18+ ONLY

hiii!!! I'm Lishie, a 24 y/o getting back into writing realistic adult fiction after a writing hiatus since 2018!! The majority of my writing will surround the JJK universe for now (specifically for my husband, THEEE Ryomen Sukuna). Open to writing requests. Open to writing for commissions as well (non-fandom copyright free stuff). Engagement through comments that help critique my work and reblogging tremendously helps! There might be typos even after proofreading, so please bear with me. DO NOT feed any of my work to AI. DO NOT copy my work or translate it into any other languages. 

Series: intoxicated by your love (sukuna series) Latest: intoxicated by your love (ch. 4) Oneshots: the sky high club (sukuna) chef!sukuna x f!reader Other: modern husband!sukuna headcanon deep conversations with heian era husband!sukuna

ex-husband!toji headcanon

i fear you’re cooookingggg (dw, im personally spreading the sukugo >> satosugu propaganda)

also do we share the same brain? because i was just thinking about this ~

current sukugo brainstorming:

- you’re heian-era sukuna’s wife, and gojo is one of your most trusted servants at the palace (but he’s an undercover spy from an enemy kingdom so he kidnaps you seeking revenge, eventually leading you to develop stockholm’s syndrome)

- you’re inmate sukuna’s defense attorney and gojo is the prosecutor, and you take some not-so-legal, dangerous steps to win your case 👀

I just wanted to tell you I love your writings, this is exactly what I like to see 🥹

I hope you know I'm always waiting for you to post on your blog <3

hellloooo,,