#Jjk sukuna

[theorphicangel]

sukuna hates when you thank him for things. it doesn't really matter what it is. whether he did the bare minimum by picking up your stray socks off the floor, picking food up for you when you're overwhelmed by work or buying you that necklace you had in your online shopping basket for months.

he hates when you thank him, the feeling of him getting appreciation is something that still remains foreign to him. he hates the warm fuzzy feeling that builds up in his chest when you thank him and look up at him with nothing but pure love in your pupils. like finally he's worth something in his life, like he's finally done something good in his life. a sign that he hasn't fucked up.

he hates it but loves it so damn much.

[asce-of-hearts]

Sukuna told you he would be getting a new tattoo. Nothing out of the ordinary, I mean, the man was already drenched in ink. Tribal lines and other stuff that made him look all the more masculine.

And then, when you arrive home after a not-so-great day at work. You see it, and your eyes widen, and you gasp in horror.

"You—! You did not!" Your hands come to cover your mouth, in pure shock. And he cocks a brow, still applying some soothing ointment over his skin.

"Did not what?" He asks, spreading his legs further on the couch, as if inviting you to come sit over his lap.

"That's— That's my fucking name, Sukuna!" You come closer, before you touch it you quickly run to the bathroom and wash your hands, then come back. How amusing, you remind him of a little mouse at times. All cute and skittish. Finally, you run your hands over the expanse of skin, where your name and his last name is written in bold italics. All over his left clavicle. "Why did you do this?" You ask in a whimper, lower lip trembling. And he only looks around in utter confussion.

"So everyone knows I'm yours?" He says, it sounds like a question but you know it's a statement, a fact.

"You're not a dog!"

"But I can be. For you."

"That's besides the point!" You say, already flustered. Finally, sitting over his lap, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, shaking.

"I don't get why you're so upset," He sighs, rubbing a hand all over your back. "It's not like I got... I don't know— Another name tattooed." He grumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Because it's... I don't know," You sigh. "Now I feel obligated to get yours."

"Oho?" He smirks, cupping your face between his two enormous hands. "Trust me. It would be my pleasure to have you branded as mine."

TAG LIST

SUKUNA M.LIST

TAGGING: @sunnymmoon @lilithlunas @imvivian @purplechan9 @eroscastle @goldenglow149 @lurexin @stranger00001 @delicatelycraftedbambi @rania200527 @mizzhellsingsstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @lilyalone @oliviathatgirl @eeelieschariot @hannas16 @surelynotaspider @mimihaitani @raxshall @ayn-yurbestie @jellystar-star @janeisnotonline @sukunaspillow @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy @mikeysonlywaifu @w1tchyaurea @poopooindamouf @samstrav @yutterfly @staarflowerr @nanamiswife

[404-mort]

Little break from the Shinjuku battle ❄️

Twitter | Instagram

[retiredteabag]

For someone so exceedingly cruel and aggressive, Sukuna is expertly gentle with you. He always has been, even before you had gained his favor.

He secretly has a deep fear of ever causing you pain, no matter how slight. Once, a very long time ago, he patted your head with a bit too much force and you winced. It nearly killed him.

Very little frightens the king of curses, but the idea of putting you in pain is certainly something he finds nauseating.

When you put your hand in his, he likes to dangle your arm from the wrist, watching your delicate fingers splay out to encircle his own palm. Transfixed.

When you would walk before him, he would only just touch the edge of your clothing, smoothing it in his grasp.

And when you would hold him, it took extreme effort and control of will for him to go no further than ever so softly caressing the back of your neck.

He was always so forceful with everything in life. Bent eternally on revenge, he killed without mercy, reveled in the sight of his enemies terror in his ceaseless attempts to quench his bloodlust; but that all dissipated when you became involved.

Even when you would insist he hold you closer, that he needn’t worry so much about your wellbeing, he would simply sigh, tracing the line of your back.

“I do not worry.”

And yet the only image he could conceive of as nightmarish consisted of his own touch being your demise.

[kamitv]

Your best friend Sukuna is a complete slut.

Though you’d never say that aloud—albeit more than true. That's the only way to describe him because why else would he be in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your bed, with his legs spread wide open, fingers wrapped around his thick cock, and groans of your name leaving his lips?

Because he’s a goddamn slut, that’s why. And normally when you interrupt his… sexual acts, you quietly apologize and rush off as quickly as possible.

Yet, here you were, being ordered by your best friend not to run away this time.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself,” Sukuna’s raspy and slightly husked voice drawls out to you, eyes boring into yours from across the room, “Bring your ass over here.”

Funny how he said he wasn’t going to repeat himself only to follow up with a literal repeat of his initial order-

“Now,” He hums, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You stiffen up where you stand, trying your absolute best to keep your eyes anywhere and everywhere else except for the hand he had stroking his cock.

Gulping, “Sukuna-,” He shoots you a pointed glare and you start getting nervous. “You can’t just… j-jerk off in my room and expect me to… to help you.”

“Fuck,” He hisses, your eyes nearly falling on him again as the low noise makes you fidget, “Fine, then get out,” Sukuna tells you.

Your brows push together at the audacity of him, not that it really surprises you anymore, “But-“

“Out. I’ll be done soon,” He cuts off, sitting back and fisting his cock at a quicker pace, eyes drinking in every inch of your still figure.

You didn’t want to look at him. Nor did you want him jerking off in your bedroom. But, you also didn’t want to leave for some strange reason.

Hence why you just stand there and look around your room as if you don’t know the interior already. Sukuna can’t help but crack a smirk as you stand there, his breath growing heavy before he calls your name— watching the way you flinch at the sound.

“Kinda’ awkward if you just stand there, y’know,” He chuckles out to you, finding you oh so amusing.

You frown, “Kinda’ awkward if you just jerk off in my bedroom.”

“It wouldn’t be if you came over here,” He snaps back.

You hate how quick he always is with his responses, something you still haven’t gotten used to throughout all your years of friendship. Swallowing, you just barely glance at the man, “What?” You huff out.

Your eyes were on his and his were on yours. Tension was vexed into his gaze, desire pouring out of his maroon shaded eyes and making you so utterly nervous as you stood across the room from him.

All as he just sat there, shirtless, tattooed and chiseled chest very difficult not to gaze at, large thighs spread lewdly, and hard curved cock twitching within his grasp as precum oozed out his tip.

You couldn’t help the way your gaze dropped for a moment, catching sight of his cock and the way his plump tip glistened under your dim bedroom lighting. His hand movements got noticeable faster as you watched and you drew your thighs closer together.

Sukuna lets out a deep sigh, “Y’know,” The sound of his voice makes you flinch yet again and you lift your gaze as though you’d been caught doing something wrong, seeing the smirk on his face, “You can come get a closer look.”

You bat your lashes at him, “W-What?”

“Is that all you know how to say?” He chuckles, “Hah, just c’mere already,” He suddenly requests, voice softening ever so slightly. “I won’t bite.”

And that’s… roughly how you ended up on your knees in between his legs. With a mouthful of his cock, you don’t even remember what’d come over you after you listened to his request and came close to him.

One moment you started shyly teasing him about being a pervert who jerks off in your bedroom and the next you were curling your fingers around his shaft and making your way down to your knees. Sukuna had let out a long shaky sigh as he watched you settle in between his spread legs, his urge to tease you dying off as some other emotion swelled within his chest.

He’ll never admit it to you but, he was shy. How could he not be when your soft hand begins stroking his cock like he’s just some kinda toy for you to play with—what’d you expect him to do when you look up at him and lean forward to wrap your lips around his drooling cockhead? 

Unfortunately for him, his expression gave away everything and as soon as his dick began disappearing into the warm caverns of your mouth, he was a goner. A hand was now tightly gripped onto your scalp, his breathing unsteady as he watched you suck him off with that pretty ass mouth of yours.

He’ll never be able to forget the sight of drool spilling out from the corners of your mouth while you tried your best to take him all the way into your throat. And his mind just about blanks when you move your hands to his thighs, push them further apart, and then sink down completely—your lips meeting his base.

Now that was a sight to see. 

“F-Fuck,” Sukuna stammered, the sound alone leading you to choke a bit as a moan attempted to leave your throat. His darkened eyes were seconds away from rolling to the back of his skull with how sexy he found the sight of your lips bulging around his thick cock.

When you finally do pull your mouth off of him, he doesn’t even get a moment to breathe before your hands are wrapping around him. He goes from leaning back slightly to sitting up a bit straighter and moving his hands down to one of your wrists, his lips unknowingly quivering.

Then a pant escapes him and you’re bringing your eyes back up to look at him. “Slow, woman—fuck, go… hah, slow.” He says hoarsely.

Oh the desperation on his face was priceless. Why ever would you listen to him when using two hands to jerk him off is all it takes to receive a slightly pouted lip and furrowed brows from him. He probably doesn’t even realize the face he’s making at the moment, too grumpy trying to take control of the situation to feel his features faltering. 

You coo, “Aw, go slow? But, ‘Kuna, I thought this was what you wanted?” 

The nickname you just threw at him has to be evil in some way, shape, or form because the wild twitch it invokes is enough to have your hands tightening their grip around his thick cock. 

Sukuna grits his teeth and you can see a vein popping out in his forehead—he’s so annoyed with you now that the roles have reversed, it’s cute. “Fuck you,” He curses, as if that’ll help him avoid the embarrassment bubbling up within him right now.

“Oh, there he is,” You purr, removing one of your hands just to angle his cock back toward your lips and then tapping it against your skin gently. “S’kinda hard to be mean to me when I’m makin’ you feel so good, isn’t it?”

He swears you’ll be the death of him. He’s never experienced this side of you, nor was he aware it even existed. All he’s ever known you as was his shy roommate who’s so unintentionally attractive that it pains him to be around. Is this really the same woman who was stuttering moments ago when she walked in the room and caught him jerking off??

Sukuna huffs out an almost bratty breath of air, “Stop… talking.” Just as he’s never seen this side of you, you’ve never seen this side of him and fuck is it hot. He’s usually such a big intimidating man and yet here he is literally folding and gasping to your touch.

You completely strip your hands away from his cock and then open your mouth, staring right up into his eyes as you whisper, “Make me.”

All that embarrassment and temporary shyness is gone within the blink of an eye. Sukuna’s stumbling up slightly to his feet and grabbing a firm hold of the top of your head, letting out a gruff sigh while taking his dick into his hands and properly aligning himself with your mouth.

His chest is glistening in sweat and his head is pounding, he was all nervous seconds ago for what? Because of you? Oh please.

It only took those two words of yours for him to remember who the hell he is as he then thrusts his hips forward and quickly fucks himself into your mouth. “That’s more like it,” Sukuna grunts, giving your mouth some mean thrusts as he forces your head to move and meet each one of his motions. “Fuckin’ slut, m-makin me nervous,” He admits hoarsely, his tone aggravated with you. “Who do you think you are, huh?”

You’re obviously too busy getting your face fucked to answer that properly but the moan you let out that leads to drool filthily dribbling out your mouth is enough of a reply for him. Especially when he catches how it drips down onto your thighs. 

Sukuna releases a pretty groan out into the air at the mere sight of you. He thought he was losing his mind before but now it’s even worse. You don’t even have your hands on his thighs to try and brace yourself or control what’s happening—you just let him have his way with your throat, taking things a step further and moving your hands behind your slightly arched back.

Fuck, he needs a picture of this. He desperately needs this display of you burned into the forefront of his mind for the rest of his life. Especially as he starts hitting the back of your throat and you purposefully choke against him. Sukuna’s other hand lifts to cover his mouth because he swears he almost whined.

Your throats too fuckin’ tight, you’re holding eye contact with him for too damn long, and if he feels your tongue flick against that specific vein of his one more time—

“Hnngh—” Sukuna moans, his grip almost bruising as his head flies back and his cock presses right against the very depths of your mouth, hips stalling with the way his orgasm comes rudely rushing out of him. 

Then he feels you swallowing and even though he was trying to keep you head still, you begin to bob yourself back and forth on his cock while he’s cumming and that’s when a whimper is choked out from his lips. Sukuna’s whole body just clenches and he’s letting out all kinds of sounds as his hand, now shaky, holds onto your head for dear life.

Even when he stops cumming, you’re still sucking and his eyes roll back, voice coming out strained. “S-Shit, fuck—stop,” Sukuna moans again, “Please?” Never in all your years of living did you ever think you’d hear Sukuna Ryomen begging you for something and yet here you are.

You steadily pull your mouth off of him with a slick pop, sting after string of saliva hanging in between his tip and your glossy lips. He’s above you panting for a moment before stumbling back to sit down on the edge of your bed again.

A hand of yours moves to causally wipe your mouth off and you don’t even know if you wanna tease him now or later about what just happened. “So, that was—”

“Don’t speak,” He cuts off immediately, his voice surprisingly airy. “Ever. Never bring this up again.”

You snort, “Promise me you won’t jerk off in my room again, first.”

Sukuna scoffs. “Tch. Whatever.”

Like the vixen you are, you begin to lean toward him again and you don’t know if you image it but he flinches ever so slightly. “Promise me,” You say as your hands meet his knees and you begin to lift yourself up.

His eyes go wide and he internally panics at the sight of you moving. “Fucking fine. I promise.”

Smiling, you move to lean over his tensed body and plant a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy.”

…

Yeahhh, his brain just powered off.

pt. 2

[paranoiddreams]

prev⟺next

Being Sukuna’s girlfriend is not always easy. He’s the type to show his love rarely, but when he does, it’s aggressive, to say the least.

You’ll often wake up with his large hand wrapped around your neck, his warm fingers just long enough to reach around your entire throat. At first, it was startling—a demon man you just started dating who shows basically no affection is choking you in your sleep? Was he trying to kill you and just got tired half way through??

All of your questions cease although, the moment you find out why he does this. You decided to pretend to be asleep one night as you were lying in his royal chambers, covered in love bites from moments before when he decided to suckle and nip at your skin—another strange way he shows his love for you. Your eyes flutter shut as soon as you hear him walk out of the bathroom, knowing he’s just finished brushing his teeth and is now ready for bed.

The mattress dips when he lies down next to you, inches away at first, but when you feel his large frame hover over your face to make sure you’re asleep, he moves right up against your back. You’re surprised to feel one of his muscular arms wrap tightly around your waist, the other reaching under your head so that you’re essentially using him as a pillow. His chest rumbles lowly when his hand moves below your chin, fingers carefully wrapping around your throat as usual.

You’re waiting for a squeeze, the tip of one of his nails jutting into your skin, or even a few harsh words in your ear. But all you feel next is his fingers tightening slowly, the tip of his index hovering just above your pulse point, before pressing into your soft, pliant skin. You feel your heart race against the pad of his finger, then another rumble from his chest against your back.

“Mine,” he whispers gently, before running his thumb over the soft edge of your jawline. He then presses one last kiss to the top of your head before lying his head down and closing his eyes.

Let’s just say, you never question his weird, sometimes animalistic, possession over you; because in reality, he’s just a big guy who doesn’t know how to express his unyielding love for you.

It’s givinggggggg tiger!sukuna. Should I…explore the waters of that concept more? I probably will despite the reaction to this💪🏻🫡

[ninikrumbs]

The look of love, the rush of blood

Sukuna x reader. est relationship. down bad Sukuna

BoyfriendSukuna wasn't clingy or needy. He's not the type to cry over a day without seeing you, nor is he the type to pester you with constant messages or calls about your where abouts and annoying you to come see him. A simple text about your plans for the day or even a post it note on the fridge -for the days you slept over which was almost everyday - was enough for him. He was possessive, but he can survive a day or two without you.

Or so he thought.

BoyfriendSukuna was dropping you off your best friends house for an impromptu sleepover. Your best friend just got dumped and now you need to be her shoulder to cry on or whatever. That was fine or at least it was until you mentioned that you didn't know when you'll be sleeping over his place cause apparently these things "take time" and are "unpredictable."

Surprising even himself, he didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. He realized if you weren't sleeping over his apartment, he'd usually crawl into your bed late at night. Still he thought it wasn't a necessity, that falling asleep next to you was a want not a need. Yet now that he doesn't have that option..

Vein throbbing, Sukuna can give your best friend tonight, but tomorrow you will be back on his bed where you belong.

You were saying your final goodbyes in front of his car window. Eyes bright and laced with a warmth he believes you only reserve for him, "Bye, Kuna! Ill give you updates everyday!"

He grits his teeth. Why did it sound like you were going on a month long cruise?

"Oi." He calls out before you could turn around.

Tilting your head, "Kuna?"

For a moment he kept quiet. Carmine eyes taking their time drinking you in, having his fill of you as if he won't see you for weeks. They snap to back to your pretty face, tracing every slope and curve. "Come closer, brat."

And you do which makes his lips curl a bit. Always so obedient for him.

With his left hand, his touch firm yet gentle on the back of your head as he pushes your face towards his.

Soft lips against his rough ones, kissing you long and fervently, devouring you whole in one kiss. He feels you melting into it, whimpering such pretty sounds into his mouth. The tension finally eases out of him and it takes everything in him to pull away.

"Ill pick you up tomorrow," He murmurs against your lips, breath mingling with yours.

You blink. Once. Twice, "But Kuna-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, but softer this time. Gentle even. "No buts, brat. Ill pick you up tomorrow evening at the latest. She gets no more than that. You can visit here everyday for all I care, but you're sleeping with me."

A knowing smile teases your lips, "Are you gonna miss me that much, Kuna?"

"Shut up." He grunts, rolling your eyes at how pleased you look.

You burst out laughing and he hates at how pathetically melts at the sound. How it makes his insides warm like some love sick fool.

After brushing a imaginary tear from your eye, you lean back to his face and press a soft kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry. Ill have one of our other friends sleepover tomorrow night."

"Whatever."

Your smile widens into a grin, "I'll just tell them my big bad boyfriend can't sleep without me."

"Don't you dare-"

You run towards the door before he could do anything, laughter ringing out the driveway. And the way you smile makes his chest tighten in the most pathetic way.

The moment you disappear from view. He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He didn't realized he was so down bad that going home without you felt like a life sentence.

So pathetic. So damn pathetic for you.

[tojislovergirl]

safe word ft. jjk men

with special guest…SUKUNA

based on this ask

cw: angst with comfort, swearing, not proofread

a/n: i think i am going to close requests for now until i get caught up on the ones i have in my inbox right now <3

[metranart]

🔞---> Watch what Sukuna is watching... 😏

[innaillus]

successor of an old piece

[theorphicangel]

papa!kuna getting up on stage when his daughter has stage fright.

she's been excited about her solo for weeks now, the endless rehearsals in the front living room on an early saturday morning. you ran through her lines almost everyday and helped her recite the songs just before she fell asleep.

it had gotten to the point where sukuna was humming her recital song in his own fucking sleep. but anything to make his baby girl happy, right?

she had wanted everything to be perfect and was excited to impress her parents. the night before she had her outfit all ready and waiting on the chair beside her despite the recital not being until the next evening.

but now she stands under the headlights of the school stage with many eyes peering at her and the piano instrumental playing in the background.

you had your camera up and ready for her solo but suddenly you place it down once you realise your child has stage fright. her kindergarten teacher prompts her to start, replaying the chord but the words seem stuck in her throat.

you glance at sukuna with worry in your eyes and he glances back with his face deadpanned but you know he's panicking inside. your daughter fiddles with her hands becoming more anxious with every second passed on stage in complete silence.

it's one of the worst feelings to experience as a parent; the panic of not knowing what to do or how to comfort your child in a situation and to be honest your heart just breaks.

before your mind could even comprehend to go and pick up your daughter Sukuna stands up with urgency and walks over to the stage. the whispers and murmurs continue until you see your husband getting up on stage and joining your daughter.

he kneels down and whispers something in her ears before taking her hand. the two of them face the crowd and before you know it their lips begin to move in time with the piano instrumental.

your confusion melts into a smile once you realise that the sukuna ryomen is...singing. on stage in front of everyone. for his precious baby girl.

his voice is gruff compared to your daughter's sweet tone but he's in tune and on time with the lyrics. you had no idea he had learned the lyrics this well. the words came to him naturally with so much ease and perfect timing right and everything. he accompanies her throughout the whole song and you watch her pick up her confidence with her dad by her side.

they finish the song and the crowd of parents and kids on stage clap with cheers and whoops. and your husband and daughter take their well deserved bow. coming off stage sukuna is praised by all the parents out there, standing immediately and patting his back.

'i don't know what i would have done if it was my kid, good job out there'

'mr ryomen I didn't know you could sing'

'you two were great! you should be very proud of yourselves!'

they quickly find you through the crowd of parents reuniting with their own children and lift your daughter into a hug.

you kiss her chubby cheek and congratulate her for doing so well out there and she gives toothy smile, 'i couldn't have done it without papa.'

'that's true, my love.' you grin, 'but you did so well, m'so proud of you for being so brave.'

sukuna stands by awkwardly, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks as all eyes seem to be on him in the room. but he keeps his focus on his daughter and shuffles her pink hair, ' you did well brat.'

'thank you papa.'

after letting your daughter run off and wave goodbye to her friends for the night, you turn to sukuna with a grin.

'wow...I didn't know someone had a good singing voice.'

'yeah, yeah, just don't make a big deal about it.' he groans under his breath, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

‘mr popular huh’ you murmur, watching as parents continue to give their congratulations. 'don't let the fame rush to your head now, kuna'

'if she wasn't part of it i'd make you delete that goddamn video.'

you hum along, 'You know I'll rewatch it tonight.'

'whatever, knock yourself out.'

[hy0rii]

never yours

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/No Comfort Word Count: 2,328

being first never meant being loved

You, Ryomen Sukuna’s first wife, were strolling through the estate's gardens late at night. During the moonlit walk, you noticed your husband and Lady Mirai sitting on a bench chatting, laughing, and sharing soft kisses, an affection you had never received. Never will.

Sukuna’s gaze on her is soft and affectionate. So tender, it makes him appear humane. That woman had made your ruthless monster of a husband into a lover. 

Your footsteps falter as the scene before you becomes too much to bear. The cool night air feels like ice against your skin, but it’s not the chill that makes your heart ache. It’s the unbearable sight of him, the man you once thought you understood, now offering tenderness to another.

You almost don’t recognize him. The monster you married, the one who had only ever been cruel, cold, and calculating, now sits beside this woman as if he’s been made human by her touch. His hand caresses her cheek, his gaze so tender and full of adoration, making your breath catch in your throat.  

That was never for you.

You gave him everything, sacrificing pieces of yourself in ways no one could understand. You loved him fiercely, despite everything. You tried to be the one who could pierce through the darkness within him, but now it’s clear. Lady Mirai has done what you never could. She has made him vulnerable in ways you were never allowed. 

Were you ever enough?

Your feet carry you away from them, from the bench where they sit, entwined in a world you are no longer a part of. 

As you quietly distance yourself, your departure from Sukuna’s side doesn’t go unnoticed. His attention is suddenly taken away from the blissful moment, his crimson gaze swiftly following the shift of your form. He observes your receding silhouette in the distance, his eyebrows furrowing in a subtle expression of contemplation. He knows you too well; he feels your sadness, jealousy, despair. But the sight of you escaping only intensifies his confusion, igniting a flicker of regret deep within him. 

Your steps are soft, silent, barely a whisper against the cold stone path. The hem of your robe trails behind you like a shadow, dragging the weight of everything you can’t say. Everything you can’t feel without breaking. You move like a ghost through the estate grounds, unseen, unheard, as though your presence no longer matters. 

The night presses close around you. You take a deep breath, slow, but it does nothing to ease the crushing weight in your chest. You want to run. To disappear into the trees, shadows, or anything that offers peace. But you can’t. You’re bound. Bound by name, by duty, by the vow you made long ago to a man who never once looked at you the way he looked at her. You’re his first wife, his first, yet all that means now is obligation—a title with no affection. But there’s no room for weakness. No space for tears. You were never allowed that luxury.

When you finally reach your chambers, you pause at the door. For a moment, you simply stand there, staring at the shoji, your throat tight, eyes burning. Your room is no longer a sanctuary, but a cage dressed in silk and silence. 

You slip inside. And close the door behind you. Not with a slam. But with a quiet acceptance of someone who knows that escape is not an option. 

As you always had, you rose with the dawn, no trace of last night’s quiet heartbreak upon your face. The pain, the loneliness, all tucked neatly beneath the folds of silk draped over your body, and the practiced grace of your movements. 

You moved through the halls with silent dignity, issuing instructions for the day, checking on the kitchens, reviewing supply lists, and ensuring the servants had everything they needed. The household thrived under your care, as it always had and always will. 

The maids bowed to you with small, warm smiles, eyes lighting up when you addressed them by name, because you always remembered them. You asked after their families, noticed when someone looked tired, and ensured they ate before their duties resumed. You were never cruel. Never distant. You made this cold, fear-laced estate feel warm, for everyone but yourself. 

Even Uraume, ever devoted to Sukuna and suspicious of new presences, offered you a respectful nod as you passed. You had earned their regard not through force but with quiet resilience, unshaken grace, and tireless work. No one could deny the truth: the estate was yours before she arrived. You had been the spine that held it upright. 

Sukuna had witnessed your unwavering resilience long before. He observed how you moved effortlessly through the estate, taking care of everything, and the way the staff responded to you. It was as if you carried the very heart of the estate within your every action.

He watched from the shadows, following you like a ghost. He absorbed each step, each gentle gesture, and every word you spoke. He saw your connection with the people in the estate, something he had never truly understood. 

As you moved through your day, the contrast between his ruthless presence and your benevolent nature deepened in his mind. Something he has taken for granted. 

You paused by the engawa, gazing out at the garden. The same garden where, not long ago, you had watched your husband give his heart to someone else. You inhaled slowly, the scent of fresh blossoms rising in the breeze. You would continue your duties, smile, and lead, be the lady of the estate. Because that is who you are. 

Even if no one sees the cracks beneath your smile, even if he never does, you would endure because that’s all you’ve ever been allowed to do.

You found the gardener tending the flowerbeds, carefully pruning the blossoms you had once ordered planted, those pale petals he favored. Flowers that never held any warmth to you, only meaning to him.

You approached calmly, and they looked up at once, bowing their heads in greeting. You greeted them with a polite smile and offered them an apology before instructing them to uproot the blooms. 

You no longer walked these grounds as a woman seeking to earn favor. You were done with that kind of hope and shaping your days around the shifting whims of a man who had already given his heart elsewhere. 

One by one, their stalks were uprooted, delicate, hollow things. You watched them cast aside in piles, petal by petal, wilting under the afternoon sun. You had spent so long tending to things that were never truly yours. So long offering pieces of yourself to a man who never once offered his in return. 

You walked to the garden's edge where the earth lay bare, untouched, waiting. And there, with care, you began to mark the places where roses would bloom, your roses, not chosen to please, not offered in exchange for love—red, deep, throned things.

Sukuna watched from a distance, his gaze sharp as he witnessed the gardeners swiftly follow your instructions. The sight of the uprooted blooms, their fragile stems now discarded, echoed in his mind like a silent admonishment. But it was your next movement that truly caught his attention. You marked the ground carefully with purpose and determination, indicating where new growth should take root. 

His jaw clenched. Your actions spoke volumes. No longer would you tend to flowers only to have them cast aside. No longer would you offer your heart in vain.

Dinner was served in silence, the dining hall echoing only with the quiet clink of porcelain and the muted steps of the servants. The dining room is bathed in soft light from paper lanterns, its U-shaped arrangement on tatami mats exuding a quiet elegance. At one end, Sukuna reclined in his chair like a king on his throne, with an unreadable expression resting behind those crimson eyes. Beside him, Lady Mirai, ever gentle, with a softness in her voice that didn’t quite reach her smile.

You sat at the opposite end, regal in posture, your hands resting lightly on your lap. The distance between you wasn’t just physical. It stretched deeper, a quiet chasm filled with all the words Sukuna never said, all the touches he never offered, and all the love he never gave.

But tonight was different.

For the first time, the food laid before you was not tailored to his palate. It was yours. Dishes you’d grown up with, spices that reminded you of warm afternoons in the gardens long gone, of a life before this one. There was no subtlety in it. It wasn't a rebellion, but a declaration: you were done living in his shadow.

Sukuna straightened in his seat, the lazy air about him retreating like a tide. His gaze settled on you, hard, then thoughtful. He watched how you lifted your chopsticks and savored each bit of the food you had chosen. For the first time, he looked at you not as a fixture of his household, not as the dutiful first wife who moved through his halls like a silent moon, but as a woman.

Not clinging. Not waiting. Simply being. 

The veil, one that had perhaps always been there, woven from years of distance and indifference, lifted ever so slightly. He saw, in that instant, what he had overlooked: the quiet strength, the fire you had that he was blind to. And gods, it was beautiful. 

For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt. A flicker of something akin to regret for all the years he had taken you for granted, for all the times he had never truly seen you before. 

Sukuna’s gaze had not moved, still fixed, still studying, as though seeing you for the first time, and beside him, Lady Mirai felt it. She felt the change. She had grown accustomed to being the center of his attention, to the gentle curve of his lips when she laughed, to the weight of his gaze, which now lingered elsewhere. On you. Her smile remained steady, but a subtle sharpness emerged, masked by sweetness.

She leaned ever so slightly into Sukuna’s presence, reclaiming the space his attention had wandered from, asserting herself wordlessly. Her hands moved in a small gesture, directing a servant, adjusting a setting, as if testing the fit of authority. There was an unspoken declaration in her movements, in the poised elegance of her touch upon the domain that had always been yours. 

She wanted control. Not just him. But of everything. The title, the influence, and the unspoken power that came with being the one at the helm of the estate. 

His gaze flickered with a hint of agitation as Lady Mirai leaned closer to him, her subtle movements attempting to reclaim what was never hers to begin with. Sukuna, however, did not respond to her gestures, and his attention was still predominantly fixed on you.

Her attempts were met with his steely silence, her efforts to assert herself, to claim control over the domain that belonged to you, going unnoticed by him. The tension between you grew, your quiet defiance and her desperate maneuvering creating an atmosphere of unease within the dining hall. 

You did not need to assert yourself with petty displays. You didn’t need to touch what was already yours to prove it belonged to you. The aid still moved in rhythm with your routines. The meal served, the schedule maintained, the very breath of the household, it moved because you moved it. Lady Mirai might have his attention, hand, and affection. But she did not have the house. 

Days turned like pages in a book Sukuna no longer felt in control of. The estate continued as it always had, quiet, ordered, thriving beneath your hand. But something had shifted. Not in you, he had shifted. Sukuna, once unmoved by routine, now found himself watching. Observing. Remembering.

Each morning, he noticed the grace in your silence. The calm steadiness of your presence as you walked through the estate with purpose, your robes trailing behind you like a queen unbothered by the chaos beneath her. You spoke only when needed, issued commands without theatrics, yet everything fell into place around you. The staff obeyed not out of fear or duty to Sukuna, but out of respect for you.

He watched you in court, during appearances where you both were expected to sit side by side, husband and wife in title only. You spoke when spoken to, soft but distant. There was no warmth in your tone, no familiar flicker in your eyes. You addressed him as if he were a stranger, a necessary fixture, nothing more. 

And that coldness, that distance struck harder than any blade. Sukuna found himself wanting what he had never cared to earn. He remembered how you glanced his way once, silent, hopeful, patient. You stood beside him for years, never asking for affection, only recognition. And he had given you nothing. When he reached for you with his gaze, you did not reach back. You stood alone, unshaken, and he was the one left grasping at shadows. 

One night, the moon hung low and full, casting its pale light over the gardens like a watchful eye. The estate was quiet, hushed under the weight of slumber, but you moved through the stillness like a whisper. Cloaked in silk and shadow, you walked the paths you had claimed as your own, where no one else dared tread without permission.

Your roses had begun to bloom in full. Velvet-soft, stained in crimson. So alive, so utterly yours.

The garden that once took your haven away had become your sanctuary, the only place untouched by his choices, by her presence. Here, you were not the wife he ignored. Not the woman she tried to replace. Here, you were just you—rooted, alive, and blooming.  

THE END.

author's note: this is my first post on tumblr, so if you’ve read this far, thank you. i’d truly appreciate any constructive criticism, feedback, or thoughts on how i can improve going forward.

tbh i saw this prompt on c.ai and was inspired to continue the story(not in the app). it is authored by @monkey003. thank you for the spark of imagination.

[bjlipss]

— bug, part iv.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. also there is a use of “girlfriend” in here so ig fem reader should be mentioned.

part iii <- part iv -> part v

he’s never really had to explain himself before.

people just don’t ask. they don’t question.

sukuna walks like a storm, mean and sharp-edged, and most people are smart enough to steer clear. or pretend they don’t see him. or kiss his ass, if they’re feeling brave or stupid.

his silence does most of the talking.

so when someone actually says it out loud—

flippant, loud, laughing—

“yo, what’s with the weird girl?”

—it makes something white-hot snap behind his ribs. not like lightning. not sharp. slower. heavier. like a fuse burning down toward something ugly.

it’s after class. just a regular tuesday. the sky’s a dull gray, the breeze sticky and loud with the sounds of students filtering out of the lecture hall. sukuna’s leaning against the handrail at the top of the steps, flipping through his phone, earbuds in but not playing anything. hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows. expression unreadable.

you’re maybe ten feet away, crouched on the pavement near the grass, drawing a spiral in the dirt with a twig. your backpack’s half unzipped and dragging off one shoulder. your laces are untied. there’s a loose band-aid on your finger. you’re mumbling to yourself—something about centipedes or maybe soup—and nodding like you’re agreeing with someone only you can hear.

you’re so you it’s ridiculous. in your own little orbit. totally oblivious to the world spinning behind you.

and the guy—some econ major sukuna got stuck with for a group project—laughs like it’s a joke. like you’re a joke.

“she your pet or something?” he says, grinning. “heard she talks to squirrels. and, like, walls.”

sukuna doesn’t process it right away.

it’s not the words, it’s the tone.

the smug little twist of the guy’s mouth. the slight elbow jab. the assumption that sukuna’s in on the joke. that he’s laughing too. that he’s like them.

and something inside sukuna just—

goes quiet. not the good kind of quiet. not lazy, indifferent quiet. a cold, marrow-deep stillness.

sukuna’s not sure what comes over him.

he doesn’t think. doesn’t pause. his grip on his phone tightens. the plastic creaks. he turns. slow. deliberate. the way you might turn to face a fire alarm you already know is real.

his eyes lock on the guy.

“say one more fucking word,” he says, voice low and flat.

the guy’s smile falters. doesn’t disappear completely, but it wavers.

sukuna doesn’t move. doesn’t blink. doesn’t lean in. doesn’t raise his voice — he doesn’t need to.

it’s in the weight of him. the heat behind his stare. the way the wind stills around him, like the air itself doesn’t want to interrupt.

the guy shifts his weight. snorts like he’s not rattled, but he is. sukuna sees the twitch in his jaw. the instinct to look away.

he mutters something—“chill, man, whatever”—and disappears into the crowd.

and that’s it.

sukuna’s still standing there, fist clenched around his phone, heart hammering like he’s seconds from throwing someone down the stairs, but the guy’s gone.

and now the only sound is the wind again, and you.

you shuffle over a minute later, slow and soft, like you’ve always been moving toward him. like you knew the moment was over and now it’s safe to approach.

your fingers are curled around something.

“this one’s dying,” you say.

you hold it up.

a tiny flower, squashed and a little wilted, probably stepped on. the stem’s bent. your thumb smudged with dirt.

he blinks. his body’s still tense, like the fight hasn’t drained out of it yet. like he’s waiting for a second round that never comes.

but you don’t look at him like you saw anything, like you heard anything.

your big eyes are calm. curious. you look up at him like he’s just sukuna, not some ticking time bomb of anger and threat.

you just tuck the little flower behind his ear.

carefully. like it’s fragile. like he’s fragile.

“you looked mad,” you murmur. “this might help.”

his breath catches. he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t know how to say anything to you.

he just stares—at your face, at your smile: so open and lopsided and utterly unbothered. at your hand, now hovering in the space between you like it’s waiting for something else to touch. with the stupid little flower behind his ear, which should make him feel ridiculous but somehow doesn’t.

it just makes him feel—

possessive.

unreasonably, instinctively, violently protective.

like if he ever hears someone laugh at you again, he won’t give a warning next time. he’ll just bury them.

he exhales slowly, shoulders sagging just a little.

you’re already turning away, back to your dirt spiral, humming something off-key.

and all he can think—watching you draw another nonsense shape into the grass with your twig like you’re conjuring rain—is,

i’ll kill anyone who looks at you like that again.

[matumogs]

😔♥️

6:28 P.M.

“what’re you doing.”

it’s more of a statement than a question, really the way he says it. sukuna’s voice sounds flat but that doesn’t really mean anything because his face tends to carry the bulk of his words.

you glance at him through your mirror and see him stood cross-armed just a few feet away from your vanity.

you let out a hum before responding, “you’ll see. go sit on the bed and i’ll show you.”

he lets out a soft tch, grumbling under his breath about how dare you order him around, but nonetheless he listens to your command anyways.

a few minutes pass like that, with you fiddling with the eyeliner pencil trying to fix any lasting details. before you turn around, you call out to him, “close your eyes, ryo.”

you hear shuffling on the bed. “why? i’m gonna see it in a few seconds anyways.”

you let out a huff and roll your eyes before you throw your eyeliner pencil at his head. sukuna lets out a oof and then, “how dare you-”

“just close your eyes, stupid.”

sukuna mutters curses under his breath but when you peek at him from the corner of your eyes, you can see his eyes are shut tight. you smile, melting at his perpetual cranky state.

slowly, you get up before settling yourself down onto his lap. his eyes are still closed but his hands don’t need the guidance of vision to find their place on your waist. his grip is tight and you’re chest to chest with him now. reaching out with a hand, you cup his face before whispering, “you can look now.”

crimson eyes open wide and his pupils immediately dilate at the sight of you. across your face are the same tattoos he has on his face, drawn in eyeliner. the lines down your cheek to your jaw, look near identical to his.

silence passes between the two of you as he takes you in. you let out a giggle, “we’re matching now ryo.”

he doesn’t say anything, he’s never been good with words, but one of his hands leaves your waist to trace the line from your jaw to your cheekbone. he’s careful not to smear anything before he leans in, his nose brushing yours and he kisses you.

he kisses you with such intensity, you can feel the desire and affection he has for you coursing through the kiss. he feels warm as his hands trail from your face to your shoulders to tracing down your spine. sukuna lets out a ragged gasp before whispering your name.

you let out another laugh, “i take it you like it then?”

sukuna huffs again before kissing your neck. one kiss turns into a flurry of them as he goes from your pulse to your clavicle. he stays there for a second before coming back to your lips. “it suits you very much, darling.”

“even more than you?”

“don’t push it.”

© shotosjupiter. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[mia-can-yap-too]

What?:- Sukuna is immortal. You keep being reincarnated. Only one of you remembers. It doesn't stop him from finding you in all your lifetimes.

Warnings:- hurt n comfort, sfw, yearning, mentions of death, not exactly historically accurate, sukuna commits arson in every lifetime too

Heian Era (Japan, 900s)

Sukuna doesn't remember how he turned into a monster. He doesn't remember when people started calling him a cursed being. A demon, a God. Unnatural and unwanted. He can not remember if he was ever looked at with gentleness, only fear and hatred. Well, not before you at least.

You were a shrine maiden, bound to the Gods with silk and silence. Your temple sat nestled in the mountains, shrouded in cherry blossoms and untouched by war.

He remembers the day he arrived.

The land trembled beneath his steps. The birds stopped singing. Priests fell to their knees, and villagers hid.

You were told to hide, too. You're not sure why, but you watched him from the gardens, your eyes meeting his through fallen cherry blossoms.

"Are you not afraid of me?" he had asked.

"Why should I be?" you had answered.

He had laughed for what he now considers the first time in his life. It was as if it was torn out of him. Sudden and unexpected. It was a terrible, beautiful sound.

He hadn't taken long to return, something he couldn't quite name pulling him back.

The other maidens ran. Yet again, you stayed.

He sat with you beneath the moon, and for the first time, he talked about things beyond killing.

He told you about the loneliness. About the weight of time. He told you about a childhood he doesn't remember now.

And you listened. You offered tea. You told him about your own experiences. About your fear of dying. You never told him to leave.

But peace isn't meant for monsters.

The villagers had had enough of him, they were tired of cowering in fear. The priests called for an exorcism, and the maidens told them about his fondness for you.

And so, you were offered as a sacrifice. They ignored your screams as they dragged you to the alter. They broke your bones to keep you from moving.

Sukuna arrived as wrath incarnate. He tore through them with bloodied hands and shoved what it truly meant to be a monster. But it didn't matter. He was too late.

He held your broken body close and used his sleeves to wipe the blood from your mouth, even though it only smeared it further.

You had smiled at him then. Sukuna would never find anything that came close to it.

He tried asking you to hold on for a little longer.

"As long as I'm in your arms, what do I have to fear?"

Your voice trembled like the fallen cherry blossoms in the wind.

Then, you died.

Ancient Greece (Athens, 400 BCE)

You were the daughter of an Athenian philosopher. Sharp, eloquent, always questioning. You didn't fear the gods. You debated them. You would call Olympus flawed, and the Fates overrated.

Then he came.

They said he was a child of Ares, a savage hero. They said he couldn't bleed. That, once, he fought 100 men and walked away laughing.

It was your curiosity that made you ask him, "Do you like being mythologized?"

He had smirked then. "Would you rather know the truth?"

You fell in love with him slowly. You were drawn to his silence, drawn to the way he would never touch the food at feasts and the way he never looked at anyone the way he looked at you.

He didn't pray. He didn't kneel. But if you begged hard enough, he would tell you about other empires, about old temples and cherry blossom trees. Whenever you asked how he knew, he would stay silent.

In the moments between waking and sleep, he would hold you as if you would vanish if his grip was too loose, as if you would slip between his fingers like fine sand.

You were poisoned by a jealous student of your father, one who feared your brilliance, your ambition and your love for that bastard.

Once again, you collapsed in his arms. Only in your dying moments did you remember what was before.

He kissed you softly before he laid you down in your final resting place.

Athens burned that night. He made sure no flame touched you.

Later, stories spread that your demise was inevitable, caused by your defiance to faith.

The Renaissance (Florence, 1500s)

In Florence, beauty ruled, and only the bold were remembered.

You were born into a family of artisans. Clever with a brush, invisible to the elite.

He found you in the shadows of a chapel, watched the miniscule tremble of your hands as you painted saints.

He bought all your paintings. He never spoke your name.

He offered you a commission. Endless portraits. Of yourself.

You finally asked his name.

"Sukuna," he whispered, as if it were a secret.

"Have we met before?"

He gave a rare smile. "Yes."

He asked you to teach him art.

You never exactly believed in fate, but as your hands guided his, a sense of deja vu arose. It felt as if this was how it was always meant to be, your hands slotted in his.

You painted him just once, the only time he allowed it. You called the piece 'Remembrance'.

You burned in a fire this time. An accident had set your studio ablaze.

Sukuna was too late. He always was.

He ripped through the flames and pulled you from the wreckage, but your lungs had already blackened.

Florence never saw him again. But left in a burnt chapel was a sculpture of a woman. She had ash in her hair, and her eyes were closed peacefully with a soft smile. The plaque beneath read 'My Soul, Repeating.'

The artist is still unknown.

Modern day (Tokyo, Present)

You're a university student. Studio arts major, to be specific. You're quiet, skilled, observant, and known for painting things you've never seen. Temples that no longer exist, battles no history book mentions, and a man with red eyes.

Your professors say you have an 'ancient eye'. You laugh it off. Though sometimes, you cry in your sleep.

You meet him outside a museum. He stands still in front of your painting. 'Repetition' it is called.

In it, a woman bleed in the arms of a weeping man.

You stop and admire him for a moment before you actually approach.

"Do you like it?"

He turns, his all too familiar eyes meet yours. Your heart stops.

You don't know him. But your soul does.

His voice is quiet. "I've seen this before."

You sit with him on a bench outside. You ask him for his name.

He says it's Sukuna. You say yours.

You don't ask how he knows your favorite tea. Or why his hand slightly shakes when you brush his sleeves.

This time, you don't die. This time, he marries you.

He waited centuries to hold you close. He swears he will never let go.

—

a/n:- 400! wow cant believe it, honestly. i dont usually write this typa stuff, but with the power of the AOT soundtrack and determination, i pulled through. if this flops guess whos dying next

m.list

[kunasthiast]

wagyu nights

you had exactly three things on your to-do-list that monday morning. yes, a monday. satan’s favorite day. the kind of monday where you wake up already annoyed, already hot, already feral. 

number 1. drink your overpriced espresso from starbucks that makes your heart do backflips and your soul exit your body. you only ordered it because that goddamn espresso song’s been living in your head rent-free for weeks. 

number 2. avoid signing another one of gojo’s illegal, morally questionable, legally actionable birthday cards. last time you did, his lawyer called you personally.

number 3. get a tattoo right above your ass crack and surprise your husband like the loving, stable wife you pretend to be in public.

because why the fuck not? 

you were thirty. rich. hot. emotionally stable (depending on the hour). married to that pink-haired demon of a man for five goddamn years – willingly and obsessively. no kids, yet. no regrets. just an unhinged, borderline feral, mutually destructive love story and an ever-growing collection of in-laws and nosy strangers asking, “so when are the babies coming?”

to which you always replied, smiling sweetly, creepily, and with too much eye contact: “we’re practicing really hard.”

and if there’s one thing sukuna adored even more than your face, your attitude, or your uncanny ability to outdrink him at every celebratory orgies of capitalism, it was –

“your fuckin’ back dimples,” he growled that morning, voice still hoarse, from where he lay starfished across your bed. shirtless. legs splayed. tattoos on full display like a fucking warning sign.

you stood in front of the full-length mirror, shirt lifted just enough to peek at your lower back, contemplating the most deranged monday decision possible: a sternum piece? an underboob tat? nah. a fucking tramp stamp.   

“what about them?” you asked absently, twisting for a better view, ass poked out, looking like a possessed girl in an exorcism movie.

his eyes raked over you like you were his personal religion (yes, you are), “they’re my favorite handles.”

“for what?”

“sin. more specifically, you bent over the bathroom counter-sin. five-star tasting menu kinda shit, babe.”

“romantic,” you deadpanned, still deciding between a cybersigilism tat, a cute hello kitty tramp stamp, or that fucking succubus design you’ve been manifesting since last month’s hormonal spiral.

but by the time your fourth sip of espresso kicked in and your third brain cell screamed YOLO – you were already texting yuki for a walk-in.  

because nothing says married life like getting a surprise ass tattoo and flashing it at dinner like a goddamn crackerjack prize. 

by noon, you were half in your sweatpants, wearing his hoodie over a crop top, sunglasses indoors, phone in one hand, car keys in the other. you looked like a rich housewife fleeing a crime scene. 

then, of course, sukuna came out of his office room, voice still scratchy from some hellish meeting (and yes, you definitely heard the phrase “who the fuck approved this?” echoed through the door). tattoos peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves. he looked good. he always does. dangerously so. and he definitely came out because he sensed the chaos radiating off you like a sixth sense.

“where the fuck you going today, baby?”

you froze mid-sprint at the door.

“uhh… nowhere,” you lied, immediately. “just… errands, love.”

he stared at you.

you smiled.

he squinted harder, “… you only say ‘errands’ when you’re gonna make a dramatic and irreversible decision.”

“what?! noooo! do i look like i make bad decisions?” 

“baby. last time you said ‘errands’ you came home with a cat and a navel piercing. so yes. yes, you do.”

“well, you love both,” you shrugged, opening the door.

he cocked a brow. “i do. but if you come back with a fucking dog, a nipple ring, or another limited-edition cursed item from that thrift store you claim ain’t haunted, we’re gonna have a serious talk, baby.”

“fine,” you grinned, blowing him a kiss.

he narrowed his eyes like a man who knew his wife was about to commit arson, metaphorical or otherwise. “wait. hold up –”

ding.

his phone lit up. followed by another. and another.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, reading whatever fresh corporate nightmare just got dumped on him (his own company = his own chaos = karma’s kiss on the forehead). and just like that – fate (and capitalism) intervened.

“baby, i gotta take this. don’t do anything –”

click.

door’s already closed. too late. 

you were gone. off into the wild, espresso-fueled unknown with a dream, a credit card, and the dangerous confidence of a woman who pays her own bills and gets off on impulsive decisions. 

—

thirty-two minutes later.

yuki took one look at you from her desk and said, “okay, what are we permanently etching into your flesh today?”

“i need something that says crazily in love but also i know where the bodies are buried,” you said, peeling off your hoodie. “thinking tramp stamp. succubus, cybersigilism style. red ink.‘kuna’s initials. maybe a heart in the middle. definitely unholy.”

“hmm, classic monday,” she nodded, already grabbing her ipad to draw it on the spot. “want some glitter drips?”

“yes,” you grinned, too excited for this.

“he’s gonna lose his mind,” you grinned, high off espresso, reckless affection, and the promise of delightful spousal torment.

“in a good way or a divorce way?”

“yes.”

forty-five minutes later.

you were face down, ass-up on yuki’s table, hair in a messy bun, chewing gum like it owed you money.

“‘kay, hold real still,” yuki said, gloves snapping on. “‘bout to tattoo the most feral love note of all time on your ass.”

“god bless,” you whispered, as the buzz of the machine started.

two hours later, your phone buzzed like a possessed bee on the tray next to you. texts. missed calls. a voicemail that probably just said “baby” in ten different emotional tones.

but you ignored it, because sukuna would find out soon enough. and please, your marriage survived worse. like the time you accidentally sexted the family group chat (your side). 

or that time you thought it’d be romantic to surprise him with a homemade dinner, only to somehow set fire to the kitchen and set off the smoke detectors. sukuna waltzed in, unfazed, and ended up effortlessly whipping up a five-course meal in under an hour – leaving you sulking on the couch, watching him plate perfectly cooked dishes while you nursed a glass of wine (your only consolation being the fact that at least you hadn’t set the house on fire. this time). but then, just when you thought he was gonna give you the “i told you so” lecture, he kissed you on the cheek, gave you a hug, and murmured, “still love you, babe.”

anyway, at least the tattoo’s done. and it looks glorious as fuck.

you admired it in the mirror like it was renaissance art. well… satanic, slightly unhinged renaissance art.

a little heart with “R.S” in the middle. glowing red. framed by digital sigils and glittery hellfire drips. you looked like the cover of a cursed y2k CD and it was absolutely iconic. just what you loved.

“i’m never wearing any tops again,” you declared, pulling your sweatpants up.

“he’s either gonna fuck you into next tuesday or call a priest,” yuki said, proud of her work.

“either way, it’s a win.”

—

you didn’t go straight home after the tattoo, obviously. you were an emotionally stable adult woman with needs and responsibilities.

so after the pain and the buzz wore off a little (just for today, obvs), you stopped by paradise. ready for some retail therapy. with a necessary detour to just distract yourself from the inevitable chaos waiting for you at home.

a few hours and a few (more like 5) shopping bags later, you stopped by that place. the one with the overpriced wagyu and the mochi ice cream your husband pretends not to like but always, mysteriously, finishes. it was part guilt on not replying to his texts and calls (fine, maybe 30% avoidance), part instinct, part monday-night tradition. 

he cooks 90% of the time, but random weekdays? random weekdays like monday tonight is for takeout treaty nights.

so you picked up dinner and rolled into the driveway at exactly 9:47PM. full of caffeine, permanent ink, and deeply smug satisfaction. 

your phone buzzed with the energy of a hundred (okay, 50?) unread texts, but you had food in your hand and a hot husband waiting to yell at you (let him fucking try), so life was good.

the moment you stepped in, you immediately announced with maximum dramatic flair, “babyyy, i’m hooooome!” fully expecting to find him in his usual end-of-day poses: brooding in the kitchen, bossing someone around on the phone, or lounging on the couch with black mirror playing on the tv and whisky on hand. 

and, of course – there he was. shirtless, barefoot, and tattoos out, as usual. leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of whisky on his hand and a phone in the other (probs, terrorizing his assistant). his crimson eyes, sharp as ever, were already scanning you with that knowing look. 

“you’re late,” sukuna said as he ended the phone call, voice deceptively calm.

you just grinned, kicking the door closed behind you and waltzing in too happily. “told ya i had errands, baby.”

his eyes flicked to the five shopping bags hanging off your arms like battle trophies. “did you rob a boutique or black out in dior again?”

“bit of both,” you winked, dropped the bags on the floor, placed the takeout on the counter like peace offering, and kissed him on the lips. “got us dinner, daddy.”

he stared at the takeout bag like it was a peace offering from a war criminal he loved deeply, “sweetheart, what’d you do.”

“excuse me?!” you gasped, scandalized.

“you only bring home wagyu and mochi balls together when you’ve done something insane. or need to butter me up for something worse than a felony, sweetheart,” he said, already digging into the bag like wasn’t fully planning on giving you hell for ghosting him all day. “go ahead. confess.”

you just blinked at him. smiled. took the mochi ice cream container and hugged it like it was a baby kitten. “maybe i just missed my emotionally unavailable, incredibly stressed-for-today yet very hot husband and wanted to feed him like the loving wife i am.”

“uh-huh,” he muttered as he raised a brow, unimpressed. “i texted you fifty-two times. called you over twenty.”

“and i saw every single one of ‘em,” you said sweetly, pulling out plates and chopsticks. “and ignored all. with love.”

“obviously, given your non-existent replies.”

“i was processing,” you said solemnly, handing him a plate. “like a baby giraffe. learning how to walk.”

he gave you that look – one that said i both adore and fear you – and took the plate. “tell me you didn’t crash the car.”

“pfft, the car’s fine, babe.” you said.

“tell me you didn’t sign another one of gojo’s birthday cards.”

“why would i –”

he stared. you stared back. and then, just like clockwork, he reached forward and tugged at the hem of his (your) hoodie you were wearing, “baby. what is it.”

“nothing.”

“show me.”

“nope. absolutely not.”

“sweetheart.”

you bit into your mochi dramatically. chewing on it. and then very calmly turned around, lifted up your hoodie, and pulled down your sweatpants just enough to show off the new ink on the small of your back. that fucking succubus red-inked tattoo with his initials. all stylized. deadly cute. 

you didn’t need to look at him to know that he was staring.

sukuna blinked. put down his chopsticks. stared like you just pulled a gun on him. well, obvs  yeah, not literally. 

“oh, fuck,” he muttered after two seconds. 

you pulled your hoodie back down and faced him, still chewing. “like it? so freaking cute, right?”

his voice dropped. low.“you got my fuckin’ initials tattooed on your ass.”

“technically, above it.”

he exhaled like he’d seen god, “baby. what the fuck. ‘course i fuckin’ love it.”

“you’re welcome,” you said sweetly, stealing a piece of his wagyu like a menace.

he stared at you for a beat… then he started laughing. not chuckles. not that fake corporate laugh he does when he’s about to buy out someone’s soul. real, head-thrown-back, unhinged maniacal laughter your husband is capable of.

and then he said, still breathless: “fuck, baby, i love you. but the only position we’re doing for the next month is backshots.”

you picked up another mochi ball, chewed slowly, and said, like a woman casually signing a soul contract, “i mean, that’s all we can do right now anyway. tattoo aftercare, duh. can’t have friction. or—y’know—fluids.”

there was a pause.

“such a sacrifice. i’m selfless like that.”

—

which is how you found yourself bent over the fucking kitchen counter.

ass up. hoodie, crop top, and bra somewhere on the floor. tramp stamp fully on display. and your hot, undeniably feral husband was shoving his thick fucking cock in your pussy like this was his last day on earth. giving you that much deserved backshot. 

“fuck, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight,” sukuna grunted, his teeth grazing your neck. his hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you from behind, his cock stretching your tight pussy with each thrust. hitting deep and hard, so perfect. 

“mm, fuck yes, more baby more,” you moaned into the marble, eyes fluttering.

and sukuna – god, he was loud. and when he moans? he fucking moans it out. loud, unfiltered, guttural sounds right in your ear. “want more, baby?”

his words sent shivers down your spine, and you arched your back, pushing your ass against him, “mmm, harder, ‘kuna,” you nodded and begged, voice already wrecked.

he didn’t need telling twice. he slammed into you harder, relentless with forceful thrusts that had your tits bouncing with every stroke and making your toes curl. 

“shit, you’re taking me so fucking well, baby.” he growled, one hand found your clit, the other tightening around your hips. “gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard tonight.”

your moans grew louder as he continued to hammer your pussy, the pleasure building with each powerful stroke, and very determined to make you cum hard on his cock. your moans filled the kitchen, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“oh god yes, yes, baby, just like that!” you cried out, feeling your climax approaching rapidly. “i’m cumming, i’m –”

sukuna shoved himself deeper, thick cock buried inside as your pussy clenched around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth. you screamed his name, back aching, and body shaking. 

“fuck baby, i love you!” he groaned, hips stuttering as he came with a loud, filthy growl. his hot seed spilling deep inside you.

you both stayed like that for a moment – breathless, trembling, and fucking grinning in the aftermath of your intense and sukuna’s selfless lovemaking. 

then he smacked your ass and said, with deep reverence, “i fucking love this pussy and that fucking tattoo.” 

“now that’s what i call romance, daddy” you said as you turn your face to look at him. his cock still very much inside you. 

yeah.

that was probably the night it happened.

the one that’d changed your life in about nine months.

but that was future you’s next challenge.

tonight, there was wagyu. mochi. your menacingly feral husband. your very smug tramp stamp. and a kitchen full of bad decisions marinated in love.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n: this is me convincing myself that tramp stamps are fucking sexy and i’m getting them as my next piece of tat this year lol also fuck I need this sukuna in my fucking life – universe, gods, angels… PLEASE hear me out