skelly-words

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vampirism poses the question "what if there was a fundamental, horrible, unending well of want in your soul that, if truly satisfied, would lead to great pain for all those you hold closest and, in turn, their absolute and total revilement of you?" and naturally as a person with no problems I don't relate to this in any way at all.

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needy asshole

bonus:

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and all he had to do was send a ‘you up’ text smh

If you think Sukuna is a menace now, just imagine that man as an ex-boyfriend. He was already an asshole to begin with, but now that man's feelings are hurt and he's going to make it known.

All the usual spots that you go to— the gym, your favorite grocery store, your favorite bakery? He’s now a regular there. You can't even escape him by going to Sephora because that's where he gets his cologne now.

Peace at home? No. He's signed you up for literally every single religious organization that's local to you. Scientology. Jehovahs Witness. The Catholic Church. And more. Literally each and every one within a 20 mile radius. They blow up your phone. They knock on your door at 8:00 am on a Sunday morning.

It doesn't stop there. He buys over a hundred keys, with your phone number attached to it, with a little note that says "please call if missing", and scatters them throughout the city.

After the 18th call in a day, you change your number.

Any new guys you go on dates with? He befriends them. You don't even know how he does it, he barely had friends when you two were together and now he's suddenly the most friendliest man on the planet.

You get a flat tire and you go to your nearest tire shop to get it patched up, only for them to send you to Sukuna's shop. You try a different one, they referred you to Sukuna's shop too. In the end you manage to patch it up yourself, but then the next week, you start your car and it sounds weird.

The tow truck guy tells you your catalytic converter is missing??? He also refers you to Sukuna's shop.

None of it scares you, you know he's not going to hurt you. He's just throwing a fit right now.

And when you finally come storming into his shop, cussing him out and telling him how fucking pathetic he is, all he does is grin and says, "I missed you too, princess."

And somehow an hour later he has you bent over his desk, making you remember what getting fucked by him feels like so you can finally stop being a brat and take him back.

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

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he’s so cute omg

inside street racer! sukuna's glove compartment

You’re just trying to find napkins.

After a greasy late-night taco run post-race, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s car, licking salsa off your wrist and reaching for the glove compartment without thinking. He’s too busy complaining about the suspension—again—to notice.

But it’s not the napkins that catch your eye first.

It’s the small, crumpled photobooth strip tucked beneath a set of napkins and folded insurance documents. You recognize it instantly: the faded pink background, the warped corner you’d accidentally bent while shoving it in your purse that night.

But what you didn’t mean to find… was a collection.

It’s not organized—because of course it’s not, it’s Sukuna—but there’s a little pile of you there.

A crumpled receipt from the ramen place where you’d dropped your egg in his broth and he’d insisted it was his now. The fake Mofusand keychain you joked about winning at the arcade and then threw away because “it looked dumb on your bag.” A movie stub from a B-list horror flick he’d pretended to hate but secretly watched twice just to see your reactions.

And the polaroids.

A dozen of them, maybe more—ones you’re sure you threw away. Ones you remember looking at with a wince and groaning, “God, I look awful in this one.”

You’re squinting in the sun, laughing too hard, mid-bite of a donut. There’s one where your hair’s a mess from the wind and you’re scowling at him from the passenger seat like you want to kill him. One where you’re half-asleep in his hoodie, nose scrunched, cheeks flushed. You hated how puffy your face looked in that one. He must’ve picked it out of the trash the second you weren’t looking.

You don’t look up. Instead, you hold up the photobooth strip, then slowly flip through the rest.

“Why do you have this?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps pretending to scroll, way too focused on some article about car suspensions to be real.

You turn to actually look at him.

“Ryomen Sukuna. Did you dig these out of the trash?”

That gets him.

He freezes for a beat—the use of his full name clearly throwing him off—then shifts in his seat, trying to play it cool.

“You throw out good shit,” he says with a shrug, voice lazy. “In this economy? Film’s expensive.”

You narrow your eyes but soften your voice.

“Sukuna, baby. Be honest.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he mutters, “Yeah. So what if I did?”

And maybe he’s not blushing—but his ears? They’re definitely red.

You raise an eyebrow.

“They’re blurry.”

“Yeah.”

“I look bad.”

“You don’t.”

His voice is low. Stubborn. Like it’s not up for debate.

You’re not sure what to say, but your heart’s thudding in a weird, unfamiliar way.

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🤭🤭🤭

I just think, Sukana likes to carry you around.

He doesn’t like you being on your feet, even though you say ‘I can’t sit in your lap all day, I have to earn my keep’ whatever that means.

When you’re not off in the garden picking fruits or vegetables, or tending to the castle, or by the beach playing with the children, playing in the sand— Sukana will personally come and sweep you off your feet.

Literally.

Why would you need to walk from the yard to library? Why would you need to walk from the bedroom to the dining room? And why would you dare think to put two feet to the ground and move them up and down to get to the bath?

Sukuna will carry you Princess style, in one of his arm, piggy back, over his shoulder— whatever it may be. You don’t need to walk when your with Sukana, all and powerful King of Curses.

Your delicate feet need a break, you’ve “worked” long enough (a long and treacherous five hours away from him).

And when you get up to go be on your lonesome, which isn’t apart of your “work” schedule, he has that all but irritated look on his face. Gripping at your hips to settle you back down into his lap, ignoring his underlings now irrelevant chatter.

“Pet, where do you think are you going?”

You blink, give him a confused look, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

And he’ll let out a disgruntled sigh, waving you off and looking away displeased, “Go quickly brat.”

Sukuna knows human lives are short and fragile, it’s best to take care of your human with care and kindness so they can live a long life and reincarnate to come back to him. You’ve promised your lives to the God. He must keep you in the best condition.

So at the end of the day, when he’s been stuck in meetings, or giving orders all day, he still rubs the soles of your feet like you’ve done years of work.

“Such a strong little thing, aren’t you pet?”

And when you moan at the ache leaving your feet the large man grunts smugly— “Maybe you shouldn’t leave my lap too often, hm little one?”

a/n: the first Sukuna draft to get out the dungeon. I fucking love him, I wanna write more soon.

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when sukuna is sitting on the couch, just trying to watch basketball or whtvr the fuck in peace, i like to sit on his lap until he gets hard and then leave.

real news

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akutagawa with a lingerie kink…

NSFW so NO MINORS obviously, get tf away from me

he mostly buys you panties, all different kinds, and all the time. some are cute, others sexy. he knows what makes you uncomfortable and avoids those fabrics and styles. when he takes you out to nice places, it’s funny to whisper which pair or set you’re wearing to watch him flush, or slip your underwear off in the bathroom to stuff in his jacket pocket.

akutagawa never considered himself to be a fetishist until he started dating you. the first time you were intimate, he found himself pausing at the matching red bra and panties, decorated with rose embroidery, like gauzy wrapping paper around a delicate treasure. he was frozen, staring and running his hands over the contrasting textures of the fabric and your skin, until you took some initiative by pushing him onto his back. he didn’t plan on being beneath you for this, but that concern is far from his mind as you straddle the tent in his boxers. your panties are soaked through, dampened to a deeper red along the middle of the gusset. he didnt know where he found the patience because the moment you were poised over him seemed to stretch. but he still wasn’t prepared for your hips pressing to his. even with the fabric between you, it was too much, and the whimper that left his mouth made him flush just as fast. your moans are more muffled, caught behind your lips as you grind down on him.

to this day you still haven’t ‘found’ that set. using the term loosely because you know he has it buried somewhere in his room. in a box or drawer full of you. you’ve never seen it, but there must be a horde where it all goes; all the panties and bralettes, polaroids and rolls of film, pressed flowers from every bouquet you’ve given him, almost-empty perfume bottles he swipes from your vanity, everything that’s disappeared from your apartment.

because he always wants to be at your place, like another decoration belonging in your living room. he’s effectively a throw blanket to keep you warm while you watch tv. he steals things to stay sane while he’s away, craving the ghost of your presence if he can’t have it all. the world becomes pleasant, rose-tinted, when he palms at the space over the interior pocket of his coat. he’s able to feel the swell of red lace and get through the day, finish his mess of work, and come knocking on your apartment door.

- i miss my sexy goth boytoy :( and i need more longform aku x reader on ao3

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naruto’s gay ass was thinking the same thing

Let her cook-

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fwb!sukuna hates that you dont let him stay the night, so he leaves love notes on your coffee maker to insert himself into the morning after.

“missed listening to you snore all night long. see you later, loser”

“good morning, beautiful girl. i’ll be thinking about you all day again”

“i couldn’t find a pen, but i wanted to remind you about our movie date on saturday. wish i could see you sooner” (this one is written in your eyeliner)

p.s. too ooc, this au is getting away from me

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he’s so cute

planting evidence in street racer! sukuna's car

Sukuna’s car has always been untouchable—immaculate, brutal, fast. The kind of machine that mirrors him: sharp edges, no softness, no room for anyone else.

Until you.

Now there’s lip gloss in the cupholder and a scrunchie looped around his gear shift like some kind of silk flag staked in his territory. You started leaving little things behind, quietly, like you were planting evidence. Gum wrappers, a clip from your hair, even your iced coffee straw one day—left right in the side door pocket.

You expected him to toss it all back at you. Maybe with a grunt. Maybe with an eye roll and a muttered “keep your shit out of my car.”

But he didn’t.

He kept them there. Because you and Sukuna… you weren’t dating. No one had asked. There was no talk, no label. Just a long night that turned into a few more, then a pattern.

You, on the other hand, are more strategic. Conniving, even.

You don’t ask to be his girl. You don’t cling. You just leave marks. Subtle things. Things a hookup wouldn’t ever have time to leave behind. So that maybe—just maybe—if someone else ever got in the passenger seat, they’d know instantly: they’re not the first, and they’re definitely not the only one who rides here.

But no one else has. Sukuna hasn’t touched another girl since the first night he had you spread out across his sheets—back arched, lips parted, absolutely wrecked from round four. You were limp and glowing in the aftermath, falling asleep on his chest like you belonged there. And maybe you did.

He hadn’t cared to look at anyone else since.

That car used to be built for speed, for control, for the kind of thrill that made his blood rush. It was never about comfort.

But now? It’s starting to literally feel like a second bedroom. Like an extension of you—your perfume clinging to the seatbelt, a receipt from your favorite café crumpled in the passenger door, your earrings slipped into the little tray under the dash.

The backseat holds the imprint of your body, the curve of your hips pressed into the leather, a reminder of all the times he’s fucked you in his car—your legs spread wide as he drove you to the edge with each brutal, deep thrust.

Even the front, where your hand wraps around his arm as his fingers make you come undone, hitting a spot that drives you wild in ways only he knows, still carries the unmistakable mark that this seat—this car—belongs to someone else.

So when Sukuna rolls into the garage late one night—hair still damp from a shower, muscles loose from hours tangled up inside you, still half hard just remembering how you moaned his name—his fellow mechanics clock it instantly.

“Yo,” Mahito says, glancing up from under the hood of a stripped RX-7. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’? Your car smells like vanilla.”

Sukuna just grunts, shoving his keys in his pocket.

He leans against the hood, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s not thinking about you sleeping in his bed right now, curled up under his sheets in that oversized tee you always steal from him.

They take his silence as confirmation.

“You hear that, Suguru?” Mahito continues to instigate, smirking. “Sukuna’s got gloss on the gearshift.”

Suguru raises a brow from where he’s cataloging parts. “Damn. Didn’t think anyone could turn Sukuna into a personal Uber.”

That earns a laugh from the group. Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just lazily flicks his middle finger their way. But he doesn't deny it either.

“No wonder you leave work early so often,” another mechanic mutters, elbowing Uraume. “He used to hang around, talk engines, grab beers.”

They shrug. “Guess he’s got better company these days.”

Sukuna barely hears his coworkers gossip over the echo of your moans still ringing in his head. Because they’re not wrong—he has been slipping out early, ditching post-race drinks just to pick you up from work. Just to get you back in his car, where your legs fold up sweet and tight in the passenger seat and your hand always finds his without a word.

It’s routine now—his hand on your thigh the second the engine starts. He doesn’t even think about it. Just needs it. Needs the feel of you under his fingers, to squeeze the thighs he’s bruised a dozen times with his mouth.

And when you finally fall asleep, innocent and warm, lips parted just slightly?

He drives slower than he ever has in his life. Because the longer he keeps you next to him like this, the longer he gets to pretend you’re already his girl.

And he knows—he knows—you’re testing him with the things you leave behind. Waiting to see if he’ll clean them out. Waiting to see if he’ll hand you your lip gloss and tell you to stop marking your territory.

But he won’t.

Not when the vanilla scent lingers in the air. Not when the other mechanics glance at the cupholder and trade knowing looks because even they can see it—

The car’s not just his anymore.

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listening to my sukuna playlist while reading sukuna fics >>> studying for finals

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so lucky i get to wake up to this every morning

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i love tumblr glitches. sponsored message everyone

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Each of the genin teams’ WORST D-rank missions:

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okay, cuz what’s stopping me from baby trapping sukuna? he’s too dumb to tell the difference between birth control and tylenol, but he sees me take a pill every morning so… then i act shocked and really uncertain about becoming a mom, when in reality i’ve been plotting on this for months.

give me one good reason not to

p.s. plz don’t do this irl guys <3

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and backshots when i start winning

I personally 100% think its Gojo and Suguru but i love the Idea of Nanami doing this.

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omg yesss, that fic is so good!!

Lil sketch for Beneath the Silk, best fic I've read on Ao3 hands down.