jayzioxx

[jayzioxx]

hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god

[jayzioxx]

mamakuna showing babykuna pictures of dadkuna and mamakuna when they started dating to then getting married : 3

this was such a sweet thing to write, thank you for requesting :)

sometimes, when you feel particularly sentimental, you like to take out an old shoebox hidden in the back of your closet—a silly little memory box from when you and sukuna were still young, brimming with more ambition than the capitalist machine could ever contain.

and, naturally, babykuna, with her insatiable curiosity and her obsessive love for anything you do, wiggles herself onto your lap, her chubby hands grabbing at the pictures you pull out. "what’s this one, mama?" she asks excitedly, waving around a photo.

it’s an old one. a bit worn at the edges. you smile fondly as you look at it—it's from back when you and sukuna were just coworkers, sitting stiffly in a boardroom, surrounded by serious-looking people in suits. your hair is neatly pulled back, and sukuna’s? a disaster. 

"this was when papa and i worked together at our old job," you explain, pointing to yourselves. babykuna squints at the picture, then at her father sitting beside you, who is watching the two of you with amusement. "papa looks like he fought a tornado," she says matter-of-factly. sukuna scoffs. "it was called having style."

"it was called oversleeping and showing up late," you correct, laughing. sukuna grumbles under his breath, but babykuna is already diving into the box again, plucking out another picture. this one is years later—in front of the building of sukuna's newly formed company. his tie is a bit loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and he's beaming—really beaming—in a way he wasn't in the last picture. "this is when papa started his own company," you explain, brushing your fingers over the photo.

"he looks so happy!" babykuna giggles. "yeah," you chuckle, nudging sukuna. "he was so happy he picked me up and spun me around right after this was taken."

"that’s called celebrating," sukuna says smugly. babykuna nods seriously, then turns back to the box.

next, she pulls out a photobooth strip—four little snapshots.

first one: you and sukuna sitting side by side, a little stiff but comfortable.

second one: sukuna leaning in a little closer, you both mid-laugh.

third one: you two are cheek to cheek now, eyes crinkled with amusement.

fourth one: sukuna halfway through biting your cheek. your face is a picture of betrayal.

"papa, why are you eating mama?!" babykuna exclaims, horrified. "i was just showing my love," sukuna grins.

"with your teeth?!"

"yep."

"ew."

you sigh, shaking your head, but the next picture has you laughing immediately. it’s a shot of you and sukuna in matching santa costumes, both looking like you were dragged into this against your will. your mouth is open mid-yell, probably reacting to sukuna biting your cheek—again. "uncle gojo's birthday party," you say, still laughing.

babykuna stares at the photo. "papa," she says slowly.

"yeah?"

"why do you keep biting mama?!"

"i like the way she tastes."

"ewwww!"

and then finally—she finds the last set of photos. polaroids, from your wedding. not the big, polished, magazine-worthy shots hung around your home—these ones are natural, candid, genuine. one where you and sukuna are laughing mid-toast, your glasses clinking together. one where sukuna is helping you fix your veil, an unexpectedly soft look on his face. one where you’re leaning against his chest, eyes closed, his arms wrapped around you. babykuna gasps dramatically. "mama, papa, you look so boo-tiful."

"yeah?" sukuna murmurs, looking over the photos with a soft smirk. babykuna nods. "like princess and dragon."

you snort. “who's who?” 

she blinks. 

"…obviously papa is the dragon."

sukuna grins, ruffling her hair. "damn right."

babykuna presses the photos to her chest, looking between you and sukuna with the happiest little smile. "i wanna keep these forever."

sukuna leans back, watching the two of you gush over the memories, and realizes something - he's already won everything he's ever wanted.

[jayzioxx]

[jayzioxx]

[jayzioxx]

random texts with scara! pt 5

scaramouche x reader

masterlist — previous

ignore timestamps

if ure not actually bitchless sorry for the last image no im not ure reading a scara fanfic 🫵😂 jk ily ty for reading

if u saw me mistake peace for piece no u didnt (i fixed it pls i promise im not stupid)

[jayzioxx]

there are two types of writers.

“this plot has been in my head for 10 years and finally it’s perfect.”

“what if frogs had a secret government?”

[jayzioxx]

This is probably why i suck as an artist and a writer lmao

“how do you plot / plan your book?” very bold of you to assume i do that.

[jayzioxx]

sukuna and reader need to start saying no to their daughter otherwise she’ll turn into a snob

"you two need to start saying no to her, or she’s gonna turn into a snob," uraume says, arms crossed as they watch babykuna get hand-fed a strawberry by sukuna, who is fully crouched next to her little princess throne (a custom, ridiculously expensive high chair) like some kind of devoted servant. "you realize," sukuna scoffs, popping another strawberry into her mouth, "that at the end of the day, she’s a sukuna."

"which is exactly why i said what i said," uraume deadpans. but you shake your head with a knowing smile, reaching out to smooth down your daughter’s hair. "not entirely. her papa might be a nightmare, but i’m here to balance it out," you say, tapping her chubby little cheek. "besides, we teach her to be grateful for what she has, right, baby?"

babykuna munches on her strawberry, eyes shining as she nods vigorously. "gotta have courage, be kind, and say 'thank you' when i get stuff!" she recites, somewhat garbled through her mouthful.

"exactly," you praise.

uraume squints. "yeah? and what about when she throws a tantrum because she wants an extra present?"

"mama says i can’t always get what i want," babykuna says sagely, raising a chubby finger. "and papa says if i cry enough, sometimes people cave in."

uraume turns to you with the most unimpressed look. "are you kidding me."

you glare at sukuna. "excuse me?"

he shrugs, entirely unapologetic. "what? it’s true."

you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. "baby," you sigh, "we do not manipulate people to get things."

"right," she nods. "we ask nicely."

"…and if they say no?"

"make the saddest face ever."

uraume gapes at you. "she’s already a menace."

"she’s just smart," sukuna says proudly, booping babykuna’s nose.

"i say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’!" babykuna exclaims, throwing her arms up in pure delight. uraume sighs, rubbing their temples. "you guys are so doomed."

on a more serious (author's) note, sukuna would not allow his daughter to turn into a snob :P he is sukuna after all, and reader is always there to smoothen things out.

[jayzioxx]

"if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life" except i do love writing, and yet every time i open my document, i feel like a victorian child being sent to the coal mines, so where’s the lie.

[jayzioxx]

the supposed "rivals" ...and rafayel lol

[jayzioxx]

[jayzioxx]

Hot take

Jerking off to abuse makes you just as bad as an abuser. Romanticizing and sexualizing abuse downplays the seriousness of the issue. Romanticizing war breeds more war. Cuss me out all you want, but making OTHERS issues YOUR sexy desire ignores the actual harm of them. Rape is not fun, and if you've never felt the fear of it or never empathized with someone who's experienced it, then you'll probably never understand. Think of why chinese people hate mha because of a villain being named after a true villain from ww2. It's silly to you, but making an issue entertainment washes away people's perception of how bad it is.

Curse me, block me, idc. Some of yall need to open your eyes and see that just because YOU hate society and think it's issues are funny doesn't mean you're cool for "breaking away from social norms" or whatever. If you think you're cool for that see a psychiatrist

[jayzioxx]

The eight stages of writing :

- this is awesome

- this is slightly less awesome

- this is shit

- I’m shit

-oh god oh fuck what the hell am I doing

-wait this might not be that bad actually

- How the fuck is this working

-This is awesome

[jayzioxx]

Anyone else thinks that it’d be funny if theres was a minor panic in the city every time one of the LIs wasn’t having a good day?

Xavier accidentally slept when he was reading and the book he was holding fell onto his face and suddenly everyone in the city gets flashbanged for like a split second

Rafayel spilt paint over his nearly finished painting and now everyone is calling the fire department cuz they’re smelling burning

Zayne is feeling a little under the weather and suddenly the weather forecast is reporting an oncoming snow storm in the middle of summer

Sylus has his record delivery delayed and suddenly the ground in the N109 zone looks like its a bit dark and misty

Caleb had to use his last apple to save up on bullets and suddenly the gravity is a little wonky

No? Just me?

[jayzioxx]

Dude....im so short with them.... im cackling

this is a random post, but i saw someone on tiktok do this

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

this is who is protecting them

miss bodyguard more like midget bodyguard

PLEASE I’M ONLY 5’0–

theoretically, I could give sylus head while standing-

[jayzioxx]

love your writing style kash!! thank you for the beautiful fica that are so soft and heartwarming to read 😞🫰

could i request for a scenario where mamakuna is sick (like a flu/fever) and how babykuna and dadkuna work together to help her feel betterrrrr 😇 -v

the flu had been going around, and you knew it was only a matter of time before it got you. but knowing it was one thing—experiencing it was another. it hit you like a truck. fever, chills, congestion—the works. so when you called sukuna at his office, your voice hoarse and pitiful, he dropped everything, canceled an entire board meeting (screw the shareholders), and stormed out. by the time he gets home, he's expecting pure chaos. maybe the maids scrambling, maybe you barely conscious—something. instead, he walks into your shared bedroom and stops dead in his tracks.

there, at the edge of the bed, is babykuna, her tiny legs swinging, her face set in deep concentration as she places all her plushies around you in a perfect protective circle. labubu is at your pillow. sonny angel squad is stationed near your hands. he even spots one of his socks stuffed into the arrangement like some sort of talisman.

"…what are you doing?" sukuna asks, raising a brow. babykuna, without looking up, adjusts a bunny plush near your shoulder. “making mama better.” sukuna sighs, making his way to the bed, crouching beside you.

"baby, i have an entire medical team on speed dial. your mama doesn’t need—"

"papa, hush," she interrupts, waving a hand at him dismissively. “you don’t get it. they give comfort. the magic of the plushies is real.” sukuna opens his mouth, then closes it. you, meanwhile, weakly lift your hand. “it’s okay, love. i believe in the plushie magic too.” babykuna nods sagely, satisfied.

but sukuna is still sukuna, so even though he knows the maids could easily take care of you both, he wants to do it. so he sighs, rolls up his sleeves, and trudges to the kitchen. if you’re sick, then fine, he’ll do this properly. twenty minutes later, he returns with a bowl of steaming hot chicken soup, the way you like it. perfectly seasoned, just the right amount of garlic, and not a vegetable in sight (because he knows you’d push them aside). but before he can even set it down—

"mama should eat bread and jam," babykuna suddenly announces, pointing a spoon at you. sukuna’s eye twitches.

"she needs soup."

"she needs bread and jam."

"she needs something warm."

"bread is warm if you toast it."*

sukuna rubs his temples. "she doesn’t need bread and jam, brat—"

"what about appy juice?" babykuna interjects, swinging her legs, completely unfazed. "appy juice is good."

"baby, soup is literally proven to—"

"orange juice?"

"oh my god."

you, snuggled in your fortress of plushies, weakly smile, watching the two most important people in your life bicker over what’s best for you. sukuna sighs in defeat, scooping a spoonful of soup. "open up, baby," he murmurs, bringing it to your lips. before you can take a sip, babykuna gasps. 

“wait! the plushies have to approve first!”

sukuna, face blank, stares at his child. 

"…you’re kidding."

but babykuna is dead serious. she picks up labubu, holds it over the soup, then dramatically nods. “labubu says okay.” sukuna exhales slowly.

"great. tell labubu to shut up next time."

babykuna gasps in pure, unfiltered betrayal. “you take that back.” 

you, sick as you are, wheeze at the scene, your fever momentarily forgotten.

[jayzioxx]

dadkuna sending minikuna to her first day of kindergarten

you'd think that as parents, you and sukuna would be the composed, rational ones on babykuna’s first day of kindergarten. you really would. but no. it’s not even 7 a.m., and your daughter has already kicked off the day with orders.

“mama, i need my hair in pigtails,” she declares, standing on the bathroom counter to look at herself in the mirror. her little hands are on her hips, labubu tucked securely under her arm like it’s an essential part of the process. “use the rainbow dash hairbands. the ones with the extra hair.” sukuna, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, raises a brow. “you mean those ridiculous blue and purple extensions?”

“they’re not ridiculous, papa,” she deadpans, turning to glare at him. “they’re fashion.” you, wisely staying out of their never-ending battle of wits, finish tying her hair, securing the rainbow dash extensions in place. 

“mama, i look amazing,” she gasps, flipping her pigtails dramatically. “now let’s go. school is waiting.” and just like that, you, sukuna, and babykuna pile into the car and make your way to the kindergarten.

the moment you reach the school gates, you kneel down in front of her, hands on her little shoulders, giving her all the essential parent-to-child advice.

“be nice to your classmates,” you say, fixing her collar.

“listen to your teachers,” you add, adjusting her tiny backpack straps.

“say please and thank you,” you remind her, smoothing down the fabric of her uniform.

sukuna, towering beside you in all his six-foot-four glory, nods seriously, taking a deep breath as if preparing for war. he kneels down next to you, placing a massive, warm palm on babykuna’s head. “yeah, uh… do all that.”

babykuna, staring at him with a completely flat expression, blinks once.

twice.

a long pause.

“papa,” she finally says, “you just copied mama.”

sukuna visibly falters.

“no, i didn’t,” he grumbles.

“yes, you did,” she says, tilting her head. “why are you sniffly?”

sukuna, absolutely not crying, clears his throat aggressively. “i’m not sniffly.”

“then why do your eyes look weird?”

sukuna sniffles louder. and now it’s over for him. this absolute menace, this warlord of the corporate world, this terrifying force of nature, is now kneeling in front of his five-year-old daughter, on the verge of emotional collapse, because she’s leaving him to go to school for a couple of hours.

“you don’t have to go,” he blurts out.

“papa.”

“i can homeschool you. we’ll hire the best teachers. i can buy the school. you don’t have to leave me—”

“papa,” she deadpans again, patting his head like he’s the child. “i’ll be back later. calm down.”

sukuna is sniffling so loudly now that a passing teacher stops to glance at him in concern.

“i just—” he exhales sharply, rubbing his face. “you don’t need me anymore.”

“papa, you are shoooo dramatic.”

and with that, babykuna grabs labubu, adjusts her rainbow dash pigtails, and struts confidently into the classroom without a single glance back. sukuna, still kneeling, stares after her, hand clutched to his chest like he’s just been mortally wounded. you, standing next to him, sigh. “you’re embarrassing us.”

sukuna just sniffles harder.