SUCH a fan of reader insert fics that are so obviously wish fulfillment stories, even if they aren’t my wish exactly. yes queen, take me through how you wish reality is like, even if i can’t relate at the moment, I AM opening a cozy flower shop right beside a tattoo parlor and talking to the scary/hot guy that runs the place. I see you. I stand with you. And for this fic only, I dream with you.
In which boredom leads Sukuna's pretty little wife to try on his robes from his closet, and him to the edge of his control.
The estate was quiet.
Too quiet.
You’d already re-arranged the flowers in the receiving room (twice), skimmed through the ancient book of curses that made your eyes hurt, and sat in the garden watching koi fish for a good half hour.
Still bored.
Sukuna had been gone all day ,“important cursed business,” whatever that meant and left you with no entertainment aside from your own thoughts and the absurd amount of wealth lying around, untouched.
Which is how you found yourself in his private chambers.
Specifically, in his closet.
You had no business being there. It was lined with high shelves, dark wood, and rows upon rows of luxurious robes ,some ceremonial, others clearly meant for war, and a few that were almost sinfully soft. You ran your fingers along the fabrics,heavy silks, delicate embroidery, threads that shimmered like blood in sunlight.
“Just one,” you whispered to yourself, glancing back toward the door like a guilty child.
You reached for one that caught the light, black, with gold-lined patterns that looked like twisted flames, and a high collar that screamed power. It was obviously made to be worn during some grand audience, the kind where people knelt before him.
And yet now, you were the one slipping it over your shoulders.
It hung off your frame like velvet water, the sleeves far too long, the hem dragging across the floor behind you. You turned toward the mirror with a giggle, twirling once, then lifting your arms dramatically like a cursed emperor addressing her imaginary subjects.
You tried to mimic his voice, low and smug and said
“Bow, fools. Your king has arrived… and she’s prettier.”
Another giggle escaped you. You were halfway through a little twirl when you felt it.
A presence.
Familiar. Dangerous. Warm.
You froze.
There, leaning casually against the doorframe with arms crossed over his bare chest and a smirk curving the corner of his lips, stood Ryomen Sukuna.
You swallowed, hard.
“I—"
“I can explain—”
“It was just lying there and—”
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say a word. Just watched you,amused, silent, and… something else. Something hungry.
His eyes trailed down your figure, the way the oversized robe swallowed you whole, the sleeves covering your hands, your bare legs peeking out beneath the hem.
You tugged the silk tighter around you in a sudden fit of shyness, ducking your head, cheeks glowing red.
“You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”
Sukuna’s smirk widened, predatory and affectionate all at once. “Clearly.”
He pushed off the frame and stepped inside, slow and deliberate. The heavy silence of the room pulsed around you like a heartbeat.
“You rifled through my closet, played dress up,” he drawled, circling you now like you were prey he intended to devour slowly, “and stood here pretending to be me?”
You felt your skin heat up even more, and avoided his gaze. “I got bored…”
“Mm.” He stopped behind you, so close you could feel the heat of him at your back. His fingers brushed against your waist, pulling lightly at the robe. “You picked this one. Do you know what it’s for?”
You shook your head.
“It’s what I wear when I accept offerings,” he said, voice low against your ear. “Blood. Power. Submission.”
You went still.
He leaned down slightly, lips ghosting the curve of your neck, then whispered,
“Should I kneel for you, little wife?”
Your breath hitched, fingers tightening in the fabric.
You turned around to face him slowly, the oversized collar slipping off one shoulder. His eyes immediately dropped there, narrowing like he could eat you whole.
“...You’re making fun of me,” you mumbled.
Sukuna raised a brow. “Am I?”
You pouted, turning halfway away again, suddenly shy. “You just like seeing me flustered.”
He chuckled,low and warm and indulgent. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into his chest.
“I like seeing you in my things,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “My silks. My colors. My scent all over you.”
You melted a little into his touch, head tilting as he nosed into your hair.
“I might have more made,” he added. “Smaller. In your size. You looked too perfect to scold.”
You blinked. “You were going to scold me?”
“I was, yes,” he said, mock stern. “But then you twirled. And said you were prettier.”
You turned your head with a shy smile. “Was I wrong?”
nerd!gojo has his head tucked between your thighs, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he devours your pussy with the rapt focus he usually reserves for devouring textbooks.
"did you know," he mumbles against you, tongue sliding slow but sure, "that the clitoris has over eight thousand nerve endings?" he curls his tongue just so, as if proving a hypothesis.
"and the inner bulbs wrap around the vaginal canal... that's why stimulation here can—hey, are you okay?" he cuts off, frowning when your whole body jolts, a sudden, violent shudder. "oh."
mortification hits harder than the orgasm.
"oh my god, toru, i-"
the lenses are streaked with pearly fluid, slick trails sliding down in thin rivulets until they gather at the rims, blurring his gaze in a milky haze. fuck… your nerd boyfriend looks so pretty like this: swollen lips glossed with spit and slick, big blue eyes blinking up through the blurred glass as he pushes his cum-smeared frames higher with his wrist.
"that's normal," he assures you, with the same gentle tone he uses when walking you through flashcards. "it's just fluid from the paraurethral glands... it means i'm doing it right." he looks so proud of himself, having pulled a fact and an orgasm out of you in the same breath. he doesn't bother wiping his glasses. doesn't so much as blink when another drop slides down the lens. he ducks back down happily, kissing the inside of your thigh before spreading you open again.
I think when you correctly identify a trauma that is the base of a woe of yours it should just disappear. It should be like "aaahh. you got me" and vanish and leave 100 dollars behind
#if you line up several neuroses and identify the interlocking connections between them they should all vanish like clearing a line in tetris (via @karliahs)
It’s not about romanticizing the mundane but about being receptive to the beauty that’s already there. The mundane isn’t void of meaning or romanticism; it’s rich with stories waiting to be uncovered and retold, beauty waiting to be seen and acknowledged — a flicker of sunlight on a windowsill, a stranger's smile in passing, the muffled music from your neighbors through the wall, the way steam rises from a cup of tea. Yet, to see it requires more than just looking — it asks for a surrender, a willingness to let go of cynicism and to meet the world on its own terms. Perhaps this is where the art of living begins — not in searching for grand happenings but in learning to embrace the quiet magic of what’s already in front of us. The extraordinary doesn’t need to be created; it has always been there, nestled within the folds of the ordinary, waiting patiently to be seen.
people really think viscera isn't romantic. you don’t listen to your lover's heartbeat? try to hear the blood rushing through their veins? feel the beating of their pulse points against your lips when you kiss them? hearing the growl of their stomach? the rise and fall of their chest as they breathe? a room so quiet you can hear each time they blink? lame as hell. couldn't be me.
“happy father’s day,” you murmur, slipping your arms around gojo’s waist from behind.
he’s halfway through shoveling a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth and pauses mid-bite.
“huh?” he mumbles, turning slightly in your arms with a mouthful and furrowed brow. “baby, you know we don’t have kids, right? unless you’ve been hiding a baby somewhere i don’t know about?”
you roll your eyes. “i know, dumbass.”
he pouts. “so why’re you saying—”
you just point with your chin across the courtyard.
he follows your gaze.
there, lounging like a band of chaotic little gremlins, are yuuji, megumi, and nobara, bickering over popsicle flavors. maki’s sitting on the bench beside them, trying not to smile as panda pokes fun at toge for something, who just responds with a flat “salmon.”
satoru looks, then looks again.
then his eyes widen behind his sunglasses, lips parting just slightly. “oh.”
you nod. “yeah.”
he turns fully in your arms, ice cream long forgotten, the softest smile blooming across his face—bright and fond and achingly proud.
“they’re kids,” he says quietly, “they’re my little kids.”
“exactly,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “you taught them how to fight, how to survive. how to live. they’re still here because of you.”
he blinks a few times. doesn’t say anything.
just watches as yuuji leans back and laughs so hard he nearly tips over, megumi catching him by the collar without looking. nobara shoves them both and gets dragged into the pile.
maki shakes her head. panda sighs. toge just laughs.
a tiny, watery chuckle escapes satoru’s chest.
you nudge him gently. “you’re not just their sensei. you’re their… you know. their person.”
he leans into your forehead and breathes in slow. “you’re gonna make me cry,” he says, voice cracking a little.
“good,” you smile, wiping under his glasses.
he kisses you, sweet and slow, and then pulls back to yell at the kids, voice suddenly obnoxiously loud—
“hey! none of you got me a card?! what kind of disrespect—megumi, stop pretending you don’t care, you’re my grumpy little son—”
megumi groans. nobara throws a napkin at him. yuuji waves enthusiastically and screams, “HAPPY DAD’S DAY, SENSEI!”
and gojo beams so hard it looks like the sun broke loose from the sky and settled in his chest.
tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i guess i’m a little late but happy father’s day gojo!! ily pls come back home
i’d like to believe that megumi would summon his different shimigani to try to impress you— and he’ll act all nonchalant about it, too.
“hey get back here!” he shouts at the divine dogs, knowing full well they are obedient to a tee. if they’re running loose it’s because he wants them to, and it was no surprise that they ended up at your feet.
“aww such good little doggies!” you kneel to give them head pats. they try licking you, wagging their tails, making you giggle. “megumi your cursed technique is so cute!”
the comment makes him blush, and before you know if he’s placing bunny after bunny on your lap until you’re practically gushing.
truth be told, he adores hearing your little awes and the way you playfully baby talk the animals. so he couldn’t help summoning them everyone once and a while.
genre: fluff, domestic softness, comedy, future family teasing
it starts with yuuji showing up at your shared apartment door looking absolutely stressed.
he’s got a three-year-old girl in his arms—soft pigtails, sparkly shoes, and big doe eyes blinking curiously at you.
“hi! uh, this is kira—my niece. i’m babysitting,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow just as satoru pokes his head out from the kitchen.
“adorable,” you say. “what’s the catch?”
“i just got a mission,” yuuji sighs. “one that doesn’t involve toddlers. can you help me out?”
before he even finishes, you’re already crouching down with a smile, cooing at the little girl.
“hi there, princess,” you grin, watching her peek from behind yuuji’s shoulder. “you wanna stay with me for a little while?”
kira nods shyly.
satoru leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, amusement lighting up his face. “you’re really volunteering for this?”
you shoot him a look. “you fight curses. i babysit. balance.”
—
about thirty minutes later, you’re seated on the living room floor, kira climbing over couch cushions like they’re a castle. her laughter fills the room like sunshine, and you can’t stop smiling, encouraging her imaginary quests and dramatic tumbles.
“you’re really good with kids,” satoru comments, flopping down on the couch nearby. his blindfold is pushed up onto his forehead, his silver-white lashes catching the light as he watches you with a rare softness in his expression.
you glance over your shoulder. “you could try playing with us, you know.”
“i’m not great with tiny humans,” he shrugs.
“you’re literally the biggest child here.”
he opens his mouth to retort, but then kira runs right up to him, placing her hands on his knees.
“up?” she asks sweetly.
and you just grin.
“come on, satoru,” you tease. “you’re not gonna say no to her, are you?”
he groans, dramatic. “fine. but only because you asked.”
you watch him lift kira into his lap—she fits so easily against him, curling into his chest like a little kitten. she starts babbling, little nonsense phrases that mean absolutely nothing, one of her small hands gripping his shirt while the other pats his chest with purpose.
“what’s she saying?” satoru mumbles, confused.
“absolutely no clue,” you laugh. “but she seems to like you.”
“she’s got taste.”
then—kira giggles, grabbing both sides of his face in her tiny hands and squishing his cheeks.
satoru freezes.
you melt.
the sight of him—six-foot-something, strongest sorcerer, smug menace—reduced to a wide-eyed babysitter with a toddler squishing his face is too much to handle.
so you do what any sane person would do.
you snap a photo.
click.
he blinks. “did you just—?”
“i’m gonna set it as my lockscreen,” you smirk.
—
eventually, yuuji returns. a little worn out, but clearly relieved to find kira unharmed and happily playing tea party with you and satoru.
“thanks so much,” he says, scooping kira into his arms. she yawns, curling into him instantly.
you kiss the top of her head gently. “bye, kira. come visit again.”
and just like that, they’re off—walking down the hallway, yuuji carrying her with a soft hum under his breath.
the apartment grows quiet.
megumi and nobara are on the floor finishing the snacks (where did they even come from?), and you’re tidying up the cushion chaos when satoru suddenly speaks.
“i want that.”
you pause. “…want what?”
he’s standing by the window, watching the hall. his voice is casual, but you catch the way his fingers twitch at his sides.
“that.” he points, and you follow his gaze—yuuji walking away, kira in his arms, her small head tucked against his shoulder.
you raise an eyebrow. “we’re not gonna steal a baby, satoru.”
he turns to you, grinning.
“we’re not gonna steal one.” he takes a step closer, that signature glint in his eyes. “we’re gonna make one.”
you open your mouth.
megumi and nobara choke.
“why are you guys having a family plan in front of us?!” megumi cries, looking genuinely distressed.
nobara covers her face. “i’m too young to be an aunt.”
you ignore them, face warm, staring at satoru’s smug little smile.
“you’re serious?”
he leans in, his hand brushing yours.
“as serious as i’ve ever been,” he whispers. “you, me, little versions of us wreaking havoc.”
“we already have yuuji for that,” you mutter, heart skipping a beat anyway.
“yeah, but this one would have your eyes,” he says, thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. “and hopefully not my sugar addiction.”
you look at him—really look—and for once, he isn’t joking. not entirely. he’s soft. earnest. hopeful.
you smile.
“let’s talk about it over dinner,” you say.
he grins, slipping his arm around your waist.
“as long as i’m dessert.”
megumi groans audibly. “i’m leaving.”
nobara is already halfway out the door.
and satoru?
he just presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers, “ours is gonna be cuter than kira.”
Levi works at a tiny indie coffee shop downtown, and honestly? He’s the worst at customer service — but everyone keeps coming back anyway, because his drinks are the best.
✿ What idiot came up with the idea of writing names on cups? Levi thought so, so instead he just shouts the customer's name, frowning as they take their drink.
✿ Ask for anything complicated like a frappuccino or a pumpkin spice latte, and you’ll get a flat “We don’t do that here. If you want this nonsense, then go to the cafe across the street, it's not my specialty.”
As you can see, he is not a fan of these confusing drinks, he thinks that only espresso is coffee, and the rest is complete nonsense.
✿ Grammar errors in your order? Prepare to be publicly shamed.
“‘Expresso’ isn’t a thing. That’s not a drink. That’s your IQ dropping.” They never returned.
✿ The café is spotless—immaculately so. No matter how many surprise inspections came his way, everything was always in pristine condition. You’d never catch a single smudge on the cups or plates; he meticulously polishes each one by hand. It’s more than just a habit—it’s a ritual.
✿ But here’s a secret: on the cups of people he actually likes, he doodles tiny cats or flowers when no one’s watching. Denies it every time. One morning, you get your usual and there’s a little cat yawning with three Z’s floating above it.
“You looked tired,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes.
“Thought it matched.”
After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.
READ THE STORY ON AO3
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)
Rating: Explicit ( 18+ )
Word Count: 17k
Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, smut, sex work, phone sex, pet names, guided masturbation, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, alcohol, sex toys, mention of body image
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