[ratatoilett]

nylu ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚ . 21 . she/her . nsfw & sfw . personal (occasional writing) blog. request's are open.

rules . masterlist. interacts with suggestive/nsfw content. minors do not interact !

©ratatoilett 2025. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[junkuna-deactivated20251025]

𝜗ৎ heianera!sukuna is insufferable when he wants attention from his wife

you’re focused, bent over your weaving, careful not to miss a single thread. it’s quiet, the steady rhythm soothing—until sukuna’s voice breaks through.

“look at me.”

you don’t glance up, fingers still working. “i’m busy.”

a beat of silence. then, a little sharper: “wife. look at me.”

“no,” you sigh, trying to ignore him.

he makes a noise in his throat—half growl, half pout—and you can feel the weight of his four eyes burning holes into the side of your head. still, you don’t look up.

“you’d rather stare at string than your husband?” he grumbles, shifting closer. when you keep ignoring him, his long fingers curl around your wrist, gently tugging.

“sukuna—” you start, but he’s already leaning down, voice dropping low and needy.

“just one look,” he says, quieter now, almost sulky. “you haven’t looked at me all morning.”

your hands still against the loom. “because i’ve been working. unlike some people.”

he huffs, unimpressed, then in a single movement he hauls you away from your task and into his lap. your protest dies in your throat when his arms band tight around you, locking you in.

finally, you’re forced to meet his gaze—four eyes staring down at you, narrowed but soft at the edges.

“there,” he says firmly, though his pout lingers. “better. now keep those eyes on me.”

you roll your eyes, lips twitching. “you’re ridiculous.”

his grin slips back in, sharp but boyish all the same. “and you’re mine. so look at me.”

when you stubbornly turn your head, refusing, he buries his face into your neck and squeezes you tighter, muttering like a child denied candy. “don’t ignore me. i’ll keep you here until you give me what i want.”

and even though you groan, trying to wriggle free, he feels the way your body softens in his hold—how you’re already giving in.

and that smug little smile curls back onto his lips.

his arms tighten suddenly, and before you can prepare, his massive hand cups your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

you yelp, smacking his chest with your palm. “sukuna!”

he only throws his head back and laughs, the sound loud and shameless, echoing off the walls. “hah! there it is—that cute little squeal of yours i like so much.”

“you’re awful,” you scold, trying to squirm out of his lap.

“mm, don’t think so,” he hums, eyes glinting. and before you can wriggle away, he shifts, scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

“put me down!” you squeal, kicking lightly as he slings you over his shoulder, one large hand anchoring you there. "ryomen!"

“down? sure,” he says, utterly smug, carrying you across the room. “on the bed.”

“sukuna, i swear—”

you don’t get to finish, because he tosses you onto the bedding, not roughly, but with enough force that you bounce a little. his grin widens at the sight of you sprawled out, hair messy, cheeks flushed.

“perfect,” he says, crawling onto the bed after you, towering over your form.

you scowl, sitting up to push at his chest, but he easily pins you down again with his sheer weight.

“stop manhandling me, you beast!”

“stop ignoring me,” he shoots back, lips curling. then he ducks down, pressing hot kisses along your neck. you gasp, fingers instinctively clutching his shoulders, but he doesn’t relent—his mouth trails lower, along your collarbone, down the line of your body.

“unhand me, i need to finish my threading!” you whine, half annoyed, half breathless.

"be quiet, woman." he chuckles against your skin, teeth grazing your shoulder before he presses another kiss there. “shut up and let me love my wife.”

-

tags : @whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights @error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @bistrocatxx @ketchupkuna @iam-souless @sindulgent666 @skzophilia

[w0rm3y]

What the hell is happening in Shibuya?

...Well, Husband!Sukuna is actually being scolded by his wife, and he's taking it like a little bitch champ ═══════════════════════════

“Please, watch your step, my lady,” Uraume warned, taking the lead a few paces in front of you to guide you through the chaotic scene your husband had made of Shibuya. It was quite impressive, you had to admit, but you weren’t about to praise him for his mess–you’ve seen better, and you’ll make sure to let him know that as soon as you’re done giving him a piece of your mind.

They paused a few steps in front of you, waiting for you to catch up to offer you their hand and help you over the smoldering rubble. You paused when, above your head, you heard Sukuna’s familiar maniacal laughter as he toyed around with a curse, tossing the poor thing all over the city without any real effort or care for the civilians among you.

“Fucking manchild,” you sneered under your breath, following Uraume’s lead through the burning mess. In the distance, you watched a plane fall from the sky, crashing into a fiery pit of rubble before exploding. “His gluttonous need for mayhem disgusts me.”

Uraume chuckled, “I believe there was a time when you found that to be a charming attribute of his, my lady. And if I remember correctly, you used to eagerly partake in the chaos as well.”

“Don’t mistake my words, Uraume. I only meant that this madness isn’t something to indulge in alone–he’s keeping this all to himself.”

They hummed over your explanation with a small smile. “I see. You’re upset that you’ve been left out.”

“Precisely,” you hissed, taking their hand again when it was offered to you. “He should have waited for me.”

“To be fair, Sukuna-sama wasn’t aware that we’d be attending. Otherwise, I’m almost certain he would have waited for you.” You didn’t believe that for a single second. “This way, my lady. I believe their fight is nearing its end.”

When you finally set your eyes on your husband again, he was watching over the burning corpse of the curse he’d been fighting. At your side, Uraume dropped to their knee on the charred sphere you were standing on. In another life, one that was set a thousand years ago, you might’ve knelt before your king, too. 

However, this was a different era, and you’d had a thousand years to stew in your anger and contempt after being neglected and abandoned by your husband. To say you were livid was an understatement; therefore, the only one who would be doing the kneeling between you and Sukuna was going to be Sukuna kneeling for you.

“Who are you?” he dared to ask, not even turning to look at you or Uraume.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sukuna-sama.” 

You rolled your eyes at the pleasantries that always dripped off Uraume’s tongue when they addressed your husband–as if he deserved it.

“I’ll have to disagree with you, Uraume,” you gritted out, finally earning the attention of the insufferable man you bound yourself to all those years ago. “I feel rather nauseous upon our meeting.” 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, red eyes, mirthless and unamused, narrowed in your direction as he tried to fit the familiar pieces together. Then, as if the realization struck him at once, they ever so slightly widened in surprise, then filled with just a touch of fear. 

Good.

“You spineless coward.” His throat bobbed as he gulped, watching as you paced forward, paying no mind to the singed ruins burning the hem of your kimono. “You disgusting, petulant, monstrous, little brat–do you have any idea how long you’ve left me alone?! To deal with the consequences of your actions that you left behind without a moment’s notice?!”

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from stabbing your finger into his chest. “You’re angry-”

“Yes! I am angry! You did not tell me you were abandoning me-!”

“I did not abandon you-”

“Do not play dumb with me!” Your hand surged up to grab onto his face, fingers digging into his cheeks to pull him down to your level. So easily, he could have pried you away from him, yet he didn’t. Instead, he only rolled his eyes and waited for you to finish. “You said you were going away for a while.”

“And that was true. It has been a while, yes?”

“I did not think you meant a thousand years!”

“Your mistake then.”

You were about to grind your teeth down into little nubs with how tightly you were clenching your jaw. A sneering hiss passed your lips, and you harshly dragged your hand away from his face. 

“This boy that you’re inhabiting–your vessel-”

“Yuji-”

“I do not care for the brat’s name!” Sukuna flinched at your tone. “Does he feel pain when you are fronting in his body?”

“No.”

“Good.”

With his answer, you didn’t hesitate to back hand him across the face, putting all your rage into the one swing. He grunted with the impact to his cheek, but took the attack as he should–wordlessly and without punishing you back. 

The space around you went quiet, only filled by the crackling sound of embers and distant screams of anguish as you dragged your hand back, shaking out the tingles quickly before holding it out to him, which he begrudgingly took to heal it for you. 

“That has quelled the worst of the anger.”

He only grunted in response to that, tracing his thumb over the back of your hand until it didn’t ache anymore.

“There.” When he let go of your hand, you didn’t pull it back. You kept it held out in front of him until he groaned and grabbed it, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before lowering it to your side in a soft, delicate motion. “Good?”

“Adequate,” you corrected him, crossing your arms and sliding your hands into the sleeves of your kimono. “With that out of the way, I will admit that I’ve missed you.”

He exhaled a faint sigh of relief, the smallest smile ticking up on the corners of his mouth before disappearing. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Have you really?”

“Indeed. Want me to prove it to you?”

“No need.” Your nose curled at his insinuation, eyes glaring over his new body. “I’ll take your word for it. I’ve no interest in lying with someone so young and who lacks the proper number of appendages. You’re missing two of your arms.”

He chuckled, “Among other appendages, but yes, I’m aware.”

You grabbed the uniform he was wearing, bunching it in your fist to push it up to his chest, revealing his boringly bare torso, no belly mouth in sight. “And the best part about you is also missing. How tragic…”

“My apologies.” 

With a scoff, you released the uniform top, returning your hands to your sleeves. “When will this affair be over? And I mean completely over. I want my husband back, and I want him in my husband’s body.”

“Hard to say. I have a few more things I’d like to do.”

“Make it quick then. I want to spend the New Year together-”

“It’s not that simple-” At his interjection, you raised your brows, making him fall silent before he sighed, “I’ll make it quick.”

“That's the way.” You took a small step toward him, closing the gap between you. “Lean down.”

When he did, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, which made him grumble, “That’s it?”

“It’s all you deserve.” 

You gave his chest a pat before turning on your heel, only to be caught by your wrist and pulled back against him. His arms circled around your waist as his face pressed into the crook of your neck. Sukuna inhaled deeply and released it with a sated groan, hand dragging down your hips to palm your asscheek. 

“You’re not really leaving already, are you?” He pressed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. “You should stay. I’ll fight you next. It'll be the most fun we've both had since I left.”

“No, thanks.” You let him place only one more kiss to your skin before pushing away. “Don’t make me wait too long, Sukuna. I’d hate to have to find someone else to take care of me.”

He snorted, “Like who? No one else can handle you.”

You shrugged innocently. “I hear Satoru Gojo’s in Shibuya. Sealed up tight in the prison realm. Maybe I’ll just take it for myself and free him. Maybe then I’d renounce my title as your queen and devote myself to fighting for his cause. Offer myself up as his wife, too–I’m sure he’d appreciate a step up in the competition, don’t you?”

You could feel his anger wafting off of him in waves, hitting you in the back of the neck as you grinned.

“I’ll kill you both.”

“Hurry up while you still have a wife waiting for you.” You hid your snickering behind your hand when you heard his irritated grumbling. “Let’s go, Uraume. I need a new kimono before you take me home.”

[mattsundaes]

bakugou could be in the worst mood imaginable but he is kissing you every single morning, without fail, before he leaves for work.

[mattsundaes]

“it’s fuckin’ eight in the morning, deku and icy hot are blowing up my stupid phone with dumb shit, and i can’t believe i agreed to that stupid ass interview—“

bakugou’s growled complaints stop abruptly, and you feel the warmth of his body slot in between your thighs from where you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, scrolling through your phone while you wait for your tea to steep.

he cups your face in both of his large hands, eyes softening a fraction as he looks at you.

you blink up at him, waiting for whatever his next complaint is about to be.

instead, he presses his mouth to yours, thumb briefly tracing the curve of your jaw as he kisses you, slow and soft. tender. his nose brushes your cheek.

you think you feel him smile against your lips.

when he pulls back, his phone pings, and his eyes widen before his entire expression sours with a new layer of annoyance.

“—not wearing a goddamn fucking tie—“ he snarls under his breath while lacing up his boots.

he does, in fact, sigh as he pauses and crouches down to gently pet your cat before stalking out the door.

[noriette]

ᢉ𐭩 fem!reader, sukuna has bed head hair

sukuna’s sprawled out on your shared bed, two arms above his head, one across his stomach, and another lying idly on your thigh. his hair is messy, strands all over the place, and a few somehow create bangs over his forehead. his stomach mouth is open, softly snoring while showing off the large fangs.

and although he looks so comfortable, and the moonlight softly shines through the curtains of your quarters, you take a minute to leave. softly, you take his large hand off your thigh, placing it close to where you slept instead.

after you’ve quietly retreated to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, sukuna almost immediately wakes up from the loss of your touch.

he softly grumbles when he doesn’t feel your body warmth, then he grabs at what he wants to be you, but is instead met with sheets.

a huff escapes him, and he turns onto his side with a groan, half sitting up and using a hand to prop himself up.

“wife..” he calls out, mumbling with his natural rough voice, a frown appearing on his face.

and almost as if you can sense how he already misses you dearly, not knowing how long you’ve been gone, you slowly creak the door open, walking in with a glass of water. as you set it on the nightstand, your heart aches as sukuna blearily stares up at you with half-lidded eyes. he slowly blinks up at you like a cat, and his hair sticks up in many different directions.

some drool escapes the corner of his mouth, and you smile. he probably doesn’t even notice.

finally, you climb into bed again, softly mumbling, “i know, i’m here,” with a smile as he already begins reaching towards you to pull you closer.

your hand finds his chest, and you rub comforting circles on his tattoos as you leave a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. before you can pull away, he softly nudges your head with his, letting out a soft sigh as his hand finds your back.

but you reach up, hand finding his hair as you play with it. he pushes his head into your hand, asking for more touch.

“you have bed head hair,” you whisper as his eyes nearly close.

but he murmurs, shaking his head with a pout, “i do not,” he lets out a dramatic huff, glaring at you with all four eyes.

“whatever you say, honey,” you mumble as you look down at him, hand still running through his hair.

and within seconds, he’s asleep as quickly as he woke up. this time, he’s lulled to sleep by your touch. he’s right where he wants to be, falling asleep every night in the arms of his wife.

ib this art by sukunaglazer23 on twt he’s so adorable oml

[lumieros]

nerdjo asking you out with flashcards.

nerd!gojo would 100% ask you out with pickup lines written on flashcards, except he still manages to fumble it in the cutest, painfully awkward way.

like he walks you back from the campus library, heart doing backflips the whole time, mumbling through every possible version of a pickup line under his breath.

you reach your dorm and he suddenly stops, clutching this little stack of flashcards like they’re sacred scripture.

“uh, wait, before you go” he says, clearing his throat way too hard.

he flips the first card, “did you, uh... did you f-fall—” flip “from the— wait, did—” flipflip “oh uh, it must’ve— from the heavens... hurt?... uhm that’s why—”

and then the cards just explode out of his hands. they’re everywhere.

“shit, fuck— no, wait,” he’s crouched down, scrambling to pick them up, voice cracking, “you’re just— so.... so pretty, I can’t, I had it written down..”

you’re trying not to laugh because he’s so earnest and hopelessly flustered, mumbling curses while his cards are literally labeled things like ‘smile here’ and ‘pause for effect’

he looks up at you, red as a cherry as he fixes his glasses up with his wrist.

and god, this nerd is so pretty like that. so hopelessly red and flustered that you can’t help it— you lean in and kiss him, soft and quick.

he freezes. totally still. then blurts out, voice a shaky whisper,

“...I didn’t have a card for that”

and you just laugh, “good, that one’s mine”

[sadisticslut666]

Nanami Loves Your Ass — Top 10 Worst-Timed Slaps

cw: explicit sexual content, public ass-slapping, spanking, biting, grabbing, inappropriate touching, risk of being caught, dubiously appropriate timing, Nanami can’t keep his hands to himself. Bend that ass over, bitch! m.list

Nanami really, truly loved your ass. Too much. He loved grabbing it, smacking it, coming on it. He loved watching it jiggle when you bent over, loved sinking his teeth into it just to leave marks he’d admire later.

And it became a habit. A bad one. Because Kento Nanami had no damn self-control when it came to you.

So here are the top ten worst-timed moments he’s slapped your ass:

10. The first time it even happened—by accident, really—was in the office when you brought him lunch. Problem was, Gojo was leaning against his desk, running his mouth as usual. Nanami’s hand landed on your ass with a sharp smack before his brain caught up, and Gojo’s jaw dropped. “NANAMIN’S A PERVERT! I KNEW IT!” It took a full hour to calm him down, and he still brings it up at every opportunity.

9. In the classroom. He’d been lecturing when you walked in to deliver files. You bent slightly to hand him the folder and his hand came down on your ass before he could stop it. The students went dead silent before snickering erupted. You barely kept a straight face. Nanami? He just cleared his throat and continued the lesson like nothing happened, though the tips of his ears were bright red.

8. During training, in front of Principal Yaga. You were standing beside Nanami, clipboard in hand, when he smacked your ass hard enough that Yaga’s eyebrows nearly flew off his face. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “You two done?” Yaga asked dryly. Nanami didn’t blink. “Apologies. Muscle memory.”

7. At a Jujutsu Tech faculty dinner. Gojo, Utahime, Shoko, everyone there. Nanami had his hand on the small of your back, gentlemanly—until it dropped lower and gave a firm squeeze-slap hybrid. The sound of Shoko choking on her sake is burned into your brain. Gojo pointed a chopstick at you both, grinning. “Was that an ass grab or a slap? Or both?” Nanami’s glare shut him up, but not before Utahime muttered,“Unbelievable horny fucks.”

6. While you were on the phone with your mother. She was rambling about family drama, and you were trying to keep your voice steady while Nanami smacked your ass every time you said “mhmm.” You nearly choked when he pressed you against the counter and squeezed hard, mouthing, say goodbye faster. Your poor mother had no idea why you hung up so quickly.

5. Outside a mission briefing, with half the higher-ups lingering in the hall. You were in heels, files pressed to your chest, trying to look professional. Then came the sharp smack that made the folders slip right out of your arms. Everyone turned. Nanami just stooped to help pick them up, expression unreadable, before murmuring, “Control yourself.”

4. Grocery store. You bent down to grab something from the bottom shelf, and his palm cracked down on your ass so hard the woman next to you in the aisle cast you a jealous look. Nanami didn’t even look guilty—he just muttered, “That skirt’s too short,” and dropped the soy sauce in the cart.

3. In a meeting with higher-ups. You thought you’d be safe in such a stiff, professional setting—Nanami sitting with his tie perfectly straight, his posture rigid, the picture of composure. Until you leaned over to refill his tea, and he smacked your ass under the table. The sound wasn’t loud, but your sharp gasp was, and every head turned toward you. Nanami didn’t flinch. “Hot water,” he explained coolly. “Too close to her hand.” You wanted to strangle him.

2. Mid-mission, during a stealth recon in an abandoned warehouse. You were crouched behind a crate, trying to stay quiet, when Nanami’s hand landed on your ass so hard you yelped. You froze, heart pounding, while Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji, and Gojo all turned in unison, eyes widening. “Nanami!” you hissed, face burning as you tried to retaliate, swiping your hand at Nanami’s ass as he stepped past you, but your aim was off—Yuuji, eyes wide, practically shouted, “Hit him again! Hit him harder!” You froze, cheeks flaming, glancing at Nanami. Nobara rolled her eyes and muttered, “Pervert,” as you leaned closer to Nanami, whispering, “I’ll get you back later.”

1. Worst—or best—moment? After sex, when Gojo barged into his apartment unexpectedly. You were still bent over, dripping cum, thighs, Nanami slowly pulling out of you. His hand came down on your ass—smack!—just as Gojo’s voice rang out, “OH MY GOD, NANAMIN!” 

You squealed, scrambling for Nanami’s discarded shirt. Gojo had the nerve to cover his eyes with one hand and grin through the other. Nanami, utterly unfazed, just tucked himself back into his slacks and said, “Get out.” Gojo laughed, wiggling his eyebrows. “Next time invite me.” You’ve never seen Nanami look closer to murdering him.

a/n: I need my Nanamin

[asiangok]

gojo satoru bending you over an ikea kitchen counter while you are literally just trying to canvass furniture like a normal adult.

“do you think this height’s okay?” you ask, palm gliding over the smooth surface as you try to picture it in your kitchen.

he hums thoughtfully, like he’s considering your question — then suddenly presses you down until your chest is flush against the display.

“what—” you hiss, trying to twist around to glare at him. “satoru, we’re in public!”

he leans down, his breath brushing your ear. “this height’s perfect,” he murmurs, voice dropping low and shameless. “i won’t get tired fucking you like this.”

you freeze, scandalized. “that is not what i asked! you’re not helping.”

he just shrugs, still holding you there with ridiculous ease. “well, shouldn’t we know if it’s gonna be useful for everything?”

“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, glancing around even though you’re the only ones in the section. “someone could’ve seen that—”

“but they didn’t,” he cuts you off, smirking as he presses closer, just enough for you to feel how hard he’s gotten against the back of your thigh. “lucky us.”

you shoot him a glare, cheeks burning. “you’re not even embarrassed?”

“what?” he teases, voice dripping with amusement. “i just think it’s the right height to bend you over and fuck you stupid. that’s a good investment.”

[deserteddreamscape]

jock! sukuna getting turned on by shy! reader being confident / fluff, smut, suggestive, MDNI ➜ a/n : I'm having too much fun with the idea of opposites attract tropes. pls bear with me. also first time trying to write smut, so necessary fluff first ₍^. .^₎⟆ ➜ 1.6k words

I'm imagining jock! sukuna, one of the most aggressive and feared players on the court. Sometimes people, both the student section and his fellow teammate alike, wonder how the hell he's still allowed to play and represent the school.

While there's no strict dress code, he'd definitely breaking some kind of rule with the dyed pink hair, which while sounding almost cute, perfectly juxtaposes his immensely toned body covered in all kind of ink.

Sukuna isn't just aggressive, he's straight up mean. During a game, he's constantly snarling and glaring down the other team. When he's walking down the main halls, everyone knows better than to make direct eye contact with him. He's not an awful person, sure. He doesn't bully or make fun of anyone, but he's so intimidating that it's hard to be in his presence. It also doesn't help that he isn't known for a good temper at all.

But despite of these unwritten rules that people have against him, one is shared unanimously amongst all students in the university : do not, by any circumstance, made his sweet, shy girlfriend feel anything other than happy.

He's never been physical (at least proven to be). In fact, Sukuna's once told you how playing sports growing up was his release, and being on the college team allows him to get out all that aggression.

You're not widely known around campus. Sure, people see you walking around the commons. Sometimes you've got your headphone on, walking around like the world is everything but yours. You get good reviews during group projects, and teachers love your more down to earth personality.

So when it came out that Sukuna and you were a thing?

Hell must've frozen over.

And when people saw you and him at your favorite campus spot, a little pavilion surrounded by trees and benches placed about? It was the topic of everyone's conversations for days.

What no one would expect, even you, was how much Sukuna loved the way everyone was walking about it, about you two. No, it wasn't because he liked being the center of attention (unlike his white haired, blue eyed frat mate). He honestly dislikes the idea that everyone talks about his business, but he's not too bothered since he doesn't really like people anyway.

The true reason why he loves when people talk about him and his relationship? It's because that's when he sees that rare glimpse of your personality that doesn't always surface up.

Sukuna adores you, so much so that he hates how he can't express it in words. Even when you two were just friends, he always felt some kind of obligation to be protective towards you. Sometimes the guys on his team pull his leg, asking how he's able to be with someone so saccharine sweet and timid. He loves that about you, but he especially loves when you decide to put up a confident, strong attitude out.

It first happened when you two were on a date. You both were in a nearby cafe, just outside the campus. It wasn't extremely busy, just some other students studying or catching up on their classes.

One moment, Sukuna is listening to you talk about your day. The next, he notices that you've trailed off your rant, and looking blanking at something behind him. He turns around, and he realizes that a small group of students were just looking at your table.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that they were talking about Sukuna, with the way they were looking him. He's used to this. From all the rumors out there, these were his least favorite. The ones where people say that he doesn't deserve someone like you. Because, well, he kind of believes it. He hates it, and knows that he really doesn't deserve someone so untainted by the world. As Sukuna goes to glare at the table, he gets a whiff of you pass by him, walking straight towards the group.

"I don't know who you are, and you sure as hell don't know us. So why don't you guys stop judging me and my boyfriend, and focus on your currently-blank document that's probably overdue."

Sukuna watches are you walk back to your table, take a seat, and go back to talking about the ducks you saw walking across campus.

All the white his heart is beating faster, his ears almost as pink as his hair, and pants a bit tighter.

He never brought up what happened, since it had been two weeks since then. Maybe there was some extra caffeine in your drink? Or was one of those people in the group a shitty group project partner you had? Sukuna almost believe that he had imagined what happened, had not the scene happening in front of him unfold.

It was another day of practice. People weren't usually allowed to watch these, but the team (and the coach) have been perfectly fine with you hanging out. Whenever you were there, the number of Sukuna related injuries seem to decrease. You mostly kept to yourself, aside from the occasional small talk to the team. Everything was in well balance. That was, until Takuma decided to tease Sukuna.

"Damn dude, how did you pull her? Scare her into a date?" Sukuna throws the basketball straight towards his head. Takuma barely misses. This was basically everyday during practice, so Sukuna has become somewhat desensitized to it, for the most part.

You, on the other hand, had no clue about the teasing. Your boyfriends rarely talks about the guys, so you assume that he was genuine being mean to him. Hell-fucking-not.

You're still looking at your computer, typing away on your assignment. A new sense of confidence that was not previously there spreads throughout your veins.

"Scare me into a date? No, not really. But at least he's got a girlfriend."

You could hear a pin drop in the gym. A ball is rolling away in the corner, and the guys are all wide eyes from your comment. Did you, the girl who apologizes to doors when you walk into them, make a quip? All the while, you're still working on your homework, not looking up.

Had you looked up, you would've seen Sukuna taking deep, labored breaths. Holy shit. The adrenaline that fueled him during practice has subsided, and now all that's left was a very bothered, very horny Sukuna.

Before you brain processes everything, you're find yourself being dragged out of the gym, Sukuna in front of you holding your things, with his teammates either yelling at him about practice not being over or whistling his way.

"'Kuna- wait, where are we going?"

He doesn't answer, but you gaze down and see his very prominent hard on poking from his basketball shorts. Blood rushes to your face, and you've suddenly become aware of what was happening.

"s-shit, 'kuna! please, slow-slow down!" your voice breaks off, and is hard to understand what you're saying. Shit, you don't even know what was coming out of your own mouth. All you knew was that Sukuna was slamming his hips at the right angle, his cock bullying his way into your sweet pussy.

You let out another sob as Sukuna adjusts your position, your legs dangling behind his head. Despite your head being all fuzzy, you remember being thankful for the fact that his roommate are still all at basketball practice, or you would have to never face them again.

His mouth finds yours, pulling you into a sloppy, messy kiss. His tongue bullies it way through your lips, and he's successfully dominated yet another part of you. Sukuna is everywhere- his scent all over you, his bulging biceps pulling your impossibly closer than you already are. It felt good, so damn good, but what got him in this mood?

"Fuck, sweetheart, you don't know what that does to me, d'ya? My sweet, shy girl being all confident, standing up for me?" He buries himself deeper with that last word, hitting that spot just right. His large hands go to palm your breast, fingers expertly flicking your nipples.

"Love- fuckin' hell- love it when you get all worked up for me." He growls against your neck, before leaving bites and kisses along your sweet spots. Mental reminder: get Sukuna to buy you some concealer to cover up the marks he's leaving.

You can feel yourself getting closer, and Sukuna knows this too. His moves his hand down below, thumb barely grazing your clit. A high pitch whimper escapes your mouth, and it takes all your willpower not to come right there. "Kuna, please- Was just standing up for you!"

A dark laugh comes to of him, before followed by a genuine soft smile. You're too sweet for your own good, that Sukuna has to withhold himself from eating you right up.

"Go ahead and let go f'me, baby. You've earned it. Go ahead, good fuckin' girl". Your hips stutter, and the knot in your stomach snaps. Pleasure and ecstasy flow throughout your body, with Sukuna skill rubbing circles on your clit, cock still pistoling in and out of you.

He holds your body close, as you start to go limp. "Atta girl, I gotcha. Good girl, fucking love you so much".

Soon after Sukuna finishes himself, pulling off the condom before going and cleaning you up. He carries you into the bathroom, being careful to clean around the areas he's marked you on.

A few hours later, you're both in (a now clean) bed. Sukuna's got you on top of him, cradling your body against his. You're drifting between conciseness, but you swear you hear what Sukuna says.

"Love when you get all confident. Nice to see, but I think I just like everything about you". You know that he only admits this because he thinks you're asleep, so you keep your eyes close and sleep soundly with a soft smile on your face.

a/n : again, first time writing smut I tried !! I hope y'all enjoyed <3

@deserteddreamscape 2025 - do not copy or translate my work

[inkedtension]

You’ve basically turned Instagram into the sukuna show.

Your followers already know his hands (big, veiny, always around your throat or thigh or waist in the pics you sneak), the way his voice sounds when he mutters in the background of your videos or lives, and the way you squeal when he picks you up mid-talk like you weigh nothing.

The obsession’s gotten so bad that everyone’s been demanding his account.

So now? He’s trapped on the couch with you straddling his lap, holding his phone hostage until he downloads the app.

“Don’t you dare pout at me” he grumbles, though his hands are already on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin like he can’t help it. “I’m not some teenage girl.”

“You’re my teenage girl” you shoot back sweetly, leaning down to peck his jaw. “Now stop acting ancient and press install.”

He groans dramatically, but the way he squeezes your thighs betrays him. He likes when you brat out.

It’s hell from there.

you’re both hunched over his phone, arguing. He types with one finger like a grumpy dad, glaring at the screen every time autocorrect humiliates him.

“Pick a username” you say. “I don’t need one.” “You literally can’t make an account without one, dumbass.” “…I’ll just put my name.” “BORING.”

You end up fighting for fifteen minutes. He threatens to log out and delete the app twice, until you shove your chest against his arm and whine, “Baby please, just—make it something hot.”

His eyes flick down for one second too long. You catch it. You smirk. “…@Yourfavoritedaddy?” you suggest.

He pinches your waist, hard enough to make you squeak. “You want me to put that in public?”

“Yes.”

“Brat.”

In the end, he settles on something simple, just his name and a number. You roll your eyes and immediately save it in his bio

Taken. Don’t ask who.

Teaching him how to post is even worse.

You try to explain filters, reels, tags—he just glares at the screen, then at you. “What the fuck is a reel?” “A video.” “then why not just say video?” “Because—because it’s Instagram.”

But when you shove your phone in his face later and show him a video of the two of you tangled on the couch—him headlocking you while you laugh so hard you can’t breathe—he grunts, “…Fine. Post that.”

You do. His first ever post.

And the caption? After some heavy negotiation (meaning: you grinding on his lap until he relents), he types out, She doesn’t shut up until I give in.

The comments roll in.

“OH MY GOD HE’S REAL.” “This is the man you’ve been hiding from us?!” “Unc???👀” “Dad?? Mom didn't mean that milk...”

Sukuna lasts about five minutes scrolling before he shuts the app and tosses his phone onto the table. “People are sick.” You giggle against his neck. He grips your chin, forcing your face up. “someone literally called me dad.”

He pretends to hate it, but you catch him checking his phone at night. He never admits it, but you know he reads the comments, smirking when they all thirst over him.

Sometimes, when he’s in a particular mood, he’ll whisper in your ear while he’s deep inside you,

“Should I let them see how fucked out you look, brat? Should I post you like this?”

You always shake your head furiously, whining, and he laughs like the devil, dragging it out until you’re crying.

And the next morning? He’ll post the most innocent picture of you sleeping on his chest with the caption "Mine"

The truth is, he likes when you cling, when you flood your socials with him. He acts put-upon, calls you a pain, but his arm always hooks around you in public, pulling you close, making sure the whole world knows.

And whenever you shove your phone in his face for another story, whining, “Smile, baby!” he never does—but his hand always sneaks down to squeeze your ass right before you hit record.

You swear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

By now, your followers are convinced Sukuna’s some mysterious sugar daddy. “You can’t tell me this isn’t paid sponsorship.” “He looks like he breaks bones for fun.” “He’s either gonna marry her or ruin her life.”

You read them out loud while lying across him, phone in hand, and he smirks wickedly. “Both.”

You slap his chest and pout. “I’m gonna block them if they keep calling you daddy.”

“You call me that” he points out flatly.

“That’s obviously different!”

[ratatoilett]

and its when did you get hot by sabrina….

[satorucest]

ME AND SATORU FR

[ratatoilett]

itching to make some angst for toru after watching those fuckass sienna edits

[reignpage]

❀ In which you're on a mission with Special Agent Nanami

“Stay sharp; we can’t blow our covers,” Nanami reminds you. 

Eyes rolling, you mutter a response under your breath, careful of bodies wandering too close to your spot by the chocolate fountain. “Don’t gotta remind me. I’m not exactly keen to be skinned alive whilst hanging on a meat hoo – Did you know they hang people on meat hooks in a warehouse? Like actual people? Isn’t that sick? ‘Sick’ as in, woahh that’s fucked up, and not ‘sick’ as in, yayyy, by the way.”

Wearing something skintight and red, you’re dressed to stand out, the way the perfect agent would be to fit in, at least, to fit in among the socialites of Tokyo during a casino’s grand opening. This is the definition of glitz and glamour – the huge cascading chandelier, which glitters with gold and diamond, the ten-person orchestra in the corner, the casual throw of thick wads of money onto betting tables, and the giggling women covered head to toe in designer clothes and jewellery. You’d be wowed if you didn’t know the walls and floors were drenched in blood. 

Deep and smooth, his reply shoots straight in your ear. “Yes. I read the files just as you did. Now, focus, agent. You have a job to do.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Always so bossy. 

Nanami waltzes over to the bar, playing with his cufflink as he orders. Blond hair slicked back, glasses gone, and tuxedo pristine, he somehow fits right in and stands out, courtesy of his blessed genes and sharp features. He looks maddeningly handsome, in a ‘end up in my bed and you’ll be sore, bruised, and permanently changed’ kind of way. 

Which is why it comes to no surprise to you that in seconds, a woman is sliding next to him, bare arm grazing the wool of his suit jacket. She flutters her long lashes and introduces herself, you can only assume because his response is, ‘Pleasure to meet you. I’m Takahashi Kaito, but please, call me Kaito.”

“Decided to go with my suggestion, I see. It suits you, though I much prefer ‘Kento.’ It sounds great to moan.” you note. He doesn’t respond, and though he’s too far to know for sure, you do think the corner of his lips twitch. Or maybe he’s reacting to whatever flirtatious thing she’s saying. Hard to say.

A waiter passes by. A glass of champagne finds its way into your hand. Drinking on the job is inadvisable but one, or two, won’t hurt. 

It’s a good thing your role tonight is simply backup; you can take things easy knowing the more experienced man knows what he’s doing. Though, as she throws her head back and laughs like she’s never laughed before, you wonder if he’s too experienced. She squeezes his bicep for balance. Despite how loud it is in the grand hall, with all the music, clinking of glass, rolling of dice, and chattering – no doubt exchanging illegal information and best starting positions for separating skin from flesh – you somehow hear the velvety words leave her mouth.

You’re so strong, Kaito.

He is strong. Kento and not Kaito, well, Kaito, who is Kento, is strong because he’s really Kento, but the point is, you’ve seen the man take down a battalion of cold-blooded killers and come out with not even a single wrinkle in his suit. He’s singlehandedly stopped seven world wars, whereas you’ve stopped none, he’s fluent in all the languages there’s ever been, a black belt in everything there could be a belt for, and he keeps the lochness monster hidden in his moat. 

Okay, so those are all rumours; your partner’s an enigma. Special agents aren’t supposed to ever give out personal information, so naturally there’d be gaps and holes to fill, but none have ever been quite so mysterious as Nanami Kento. 

“And you’re the most beautiful person in the room tonight,” he replies without missing a beat. 

The way he says it, so sweetly, so quickly, and with so much conviction, makes you almost forget you’re on a mission and not watching a romcom. Slinking to a roulette table, you smile at the croupier and place five chips down. “Thirty one to thirty six, please.”

Thank the heavens the organisation is paying for everything; you can afford to lose some money tonight, but if you win, you’re taking it all home. 

Just low enough for your seat neighbours not to hear, you say to Nanami, “Flirt some more and she might tackle you in front of everyone.”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Twenty one. Black. Even,” the croupier announces.

Damn. 

“Your dress is marvellous. Truly,” he continues. “It’s embarrassing to admit, and forgive me for sounding ever so poetic, but from the very first moment I saw you, you were all I could focus on. Nothing could take my eyes off you.”

With a wave of your hand, a waiter hands you a cold, sparkling glass. It disappears in a mere second.

Trying again, you place bets on red.

Suddenly, your dress is too tight, too shiny. Your heels tall and painful. The thrill of action is missing and the withdrawal is making you hyper aware that there are fifty guards around — thirty making themselves known and twenty dressed to blend in. So far, no one has made you.

Missions like these, where you have to play a part and can’t speak openly as you defuse a bomb in a sauna, are somewhat frustrating. They start off fun at first, assuming new identities, playing dress up, and making up backstories where you can, and they eventually turn monotonous once a certain blond walks away to do some world-saving stuff.

Rarely ever humouring you, your partner is hardly the most fun person in the world. Still, when he gives a reaction, it’s as if you’ve toppled a crime ring. 

So you make another attempt.

“I wish you were here to blow on my chips, Ken. I bet your Ice Man breath would freeze the bad luck away. Or, actually, better yet, I wish I could blow you,” you mumble to yourself.

Nanami laughs.

It’s so shocking, so sudden, that, stunned, you leave the other gamblers waiting for your next bet. Flashing an apologetic smile, this time, you place five chips on the second dozen. It’s low risk but a good bet, you think.

Meanwhile, you listen to him say, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Risking a quick glance back, you’re not entirely surprised to find he isn’t looking at you.

“Ouch, Kaito.” 

He still doesn’t respond. For a second, you think maybe the comms aren’t working on your side, but that’s just not possible – Haibara is the best tech guy there is. He’s always on your side. Unlike Lady Luck, you sourly note when your chips are swept away. 

As the kids would say, you’re taking losses left and right.

In a way, you’re grateful that the one person whose opinion you care about in this room isn’t close by to witness your failures. Though, when you both leave the casino later, hopefully with the USB of data you need, you’ll be sure to give him a scolding for ignoring you. After all, what’s a partnership if he won’t do his part and acknowledge your nonstop talking?

Sighing, you do what you can as you wait.

You have twenty remaining chips. The smart move would be to cut your losses on this table and try your hand at something else, maybe poker, you know, since you are a special agent and you’ve been trained to have a deadly poker face, but…smart is overrated. 

Tonight, you’ll let loose a little. 

“All in on three.”

The wheel spins.

Polished mahogany, narrow pockets – thirty-seven of them – like chambers in a used revolver. Ivory, the ball bounces around, clinking, skimming, teasing. All eyes follow. Cold and desperate, some for thrill and others for survival. No matter the background, the reasons for being there, the goals in mind, you all become one in an uncaring machine, distracted as you’re milked for all you’re worth.

There’s a stillness in the air, a silent beating. 

Slower and slower, the wheel soon comes to a halt. Plucking another flute from a passing silver tray, you down it all in one go. 

“You should slow down on the drinking.”

The ball clatters. It, too, stops. 

Blink. Blink. 

Was Nanami talking to you? 

That couldn’t be. When your head whips around, you see him through the crowd. He’s still at the bar, talking to her. Angled away, you can’t see if she’s holding a drink, if she’s been growing dizzy with alcohol.

Wait.

She’s moving.

Shifting. 

No glass in hand. She looks confused. Nanami replies to whatever she says to him, “You must have misheard me. I said, we should keep drinking, only if you’d like, of course.”

So focused on the pair, you don’t realise the result had been announced. Turning back, you come face to face with rows and rows of chips. You don’t need to count to know there’s over seven hundred chips waiting. 

What the hell?

Nods are all the guests at the table give you. It’s a lot of money but for some, it’s pocket change. There’s no way for you to take all of those chips. You couldn’t spend a quarter of it in one night even if you didn’t have a mission to complete.

How did you even win?

“Congratulations.”

You still. There’s only one man whose timbre could elicit a shudder from you. How he got to you so fast is a question you don’t need an answer to. 

Instead, you ask, “Did you get it?”

He offers an arm to you. Both of you slip away from the table, chips left behind. Walking in stride, you weave through the waves of intoxicated guests and slip over to an empty hallway. He flashes you a metal card when the coasts clears. “Ever doubted me?”

The shake of your head answers him. “You got it before she even introduced herself, didn’t you?”

Peeking up at him, you see the ghost of a smile on his stern face. If you were anyone else, maybe you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else. You’re his partner. So, when he replies, ‘I had her at hello,’ you only roll your eyes and ask another question. 

He says, “I wanted to let you have your fun. It’s not often we’re placed somewhere…stimulating.”

At the reminder of all the different places you’ve been forced to hole up in, you grimace. Although you hope to never be put back into a crate full of dead fish, you know chances are, you’ll be placed somewhere so much worse and so much closer to hell, you’ll wish you were in the crate instead. 

“Could hardly have fun when you weren’t talking to me,” you grumble. 

The hallway comes to an end. Two guards stand, ready to strike. Beyond the doors behind them is where you need to be. Neither of you are quite sure as to what really lies inside, though there’s no doubt about it, you’re going to kick ass regardless. 

What you need to do is clear.

First, get through. Second, find your way to the vault. Third, use the special contact lenses Haibara created to break through the retinal recognition system. Take what you need. And finally, get out. 

Easy.

Nanami flashes the card. The guards nod, mutter something into their wrists, and push the doors open. He glances down at you, blond hair still slicked back, tuxedo still wrinkle-less and perfect-fitting, but glasses back on now. 

Something about his gaze, suddenly defrosted and twinkling with a certain degree of mischief you’ve never seen in his eyes, steals your breath.

“Who says I wasn’t?”

And you walk through. 

Together. 

[selarina]

Sukuna Ryomen x Reader (word count: 2.1k word)s

The truth is, the signs were all there. They weren't even subtle. He had face tattoos. He worked odd hours. He had a vague job in construction, of which he spoke only in passing but never truly explained.

And then, of course, there was the way he looked — this is where things get subjective, where it veers into something almost fictive — but frankly, he looked terrifying, like he was the kind of guy you would cross the street to avoid. His smile felt like a cold press of a blade against your thin skin. So, of course, Sukuna Ryomen was a gangster. And you were a fool not to see it sooner.

But the night you met him, everything had been so disarmingly normal. You were at one of those places with linen napkins folded into swans, and there was candlelight that spilled gold over the tables, making everything seem softer and far richer than the place was.

You hadn’t been on a date in a while. Let alone a blind date. Let alone a double , blind date. The last guy you went out with — you went out with for years . It was like that with you, especially with your family. It was important that the people you let in — friends, lovers, all of them — knew how to deal with them too. It was the whole politics of family, so to speak.

So, you met him at the restaurant with a fairly forgettable name, but it was family-owned — that much you could tell. Something & Sons type of energy. 

Moving on, you were sitting beside your frantic friend who was pursing her lips to apply a heavy coat of lip gloss before she turned to you.

"How do I look?" asked Utahime, her eyes flashing to you, restless and bright, as though you were supposed to steady her somehow.

You smiled, reaching out to brush a stray bit of gloss from the corner of her mouth. Your finger is sticky now, you tell her, “Do I start showering you with praise, or should I just drop to my knees and curse God for not making you fall in love with me?”

She all but rolls her eyes as she smiles, wide and real. You've known her for years now, and you believe you've become accustomed to sensing what's real when it comes to her.

“I think this is a bad idea,” she admitted, minutes later, her voice dropping to something of a mutter. “I mean, they’re late, and they’re—”

"Sorry, we're late, ladies," a smooth voice cut through the air.

Smooth and too easy, the kind of voice that pretended charm was the same thing as sincerity. You were a bit judgmental, which is another factor to note, perhaps. 

You instinctively rose alongside Utahime as the latecomers approached.

One is a white-haired, three-suit-wearing, obnoxious, smiling man. From the way his gaze lingers on Utahime, you surmised that he must be her date.

Which leaves the man beside him.

He's standing slightly behind him. His gaze is tilted away, and there's a deliberate distance maintained in his posture. The first thing you notice is the tattoos — they’re intricate lines etched onto his face and his arms. Now, don’t get it wrong, you’re used to seeing tattoos, but you knew face tattoos were where you’d draw the line. There's no way Utahime is making you go out with a guy who has face tattoos. 

You’re not generally into men with face tattoos, but something about their placements and the structure of his face does suit him, you think. One in a million situation, maybe.

He was dressed plain in comparison to Utahime's date, which struck you as offensive, though — the lack of effort.

And maybe that should’ve been your first warning.

They ambled their way in and took their seats, the white-haired man practically folding himself into Utahime’s space, his arm stretched across the back of her chair. And to your surprise, she leaned into it, shoulders softening.

Sukuna, you found out his name upon Gojo's introduction of the two, sat beside you, his posture lousy but exact. There was half a foot of empty air between you. Respectful distance, you thought.

Minutes pass, and you already know how the night's ending. Utahime's being wooed and pawed by a blissful Gojo, enjoying every bit of his undivided attention, while you were sitting next to a very divided Sukuna, who seemed to examine everything in the restaurant than you. He hadn't said a word, and frankly, you've decided you couldn't stand him.

Your eyes keep discerning the man beside you, looking directly at Sukuna as your baked Alaska had long since melted, untouched and ignored, while Sukuna stirred his coffee with an odd sort of focus. Coffee at seven in the evening. Who the hell drinks coffee at seven at night?

It wasn't long before you finally heard him speak. "I've got to go," he says to no one in particular. He should be talking to you. He should be apologising to you. Instead, that's all he offers before he begins to get up.

And finally, he looks to you, eyebrows raised like he's asking if you're joining him. It's a ridiculous notion, you don't even think he knows your name. You’re about to lay into him, give him a proper dressing down, when you catch Utahime’s eyes. Bright, cheerful, pleading.

You sighed, snatching your purse and coat with more force than necessary. “Keep me updated, and call when you get home. I don’t want your mom worrying,” you said, your voice clipped but steady.

You walk past Sukuna. You seem to notice from your periphery that he's following you.

Wordlessly, you get into his car. You start to wonder what kind of job a 21-year-old is doing to have a car like this. I mean, goddamn. His car was long and sleek, the sort of luxury that spoke more of precision than excess. You didn’t know much about cars, but you recognised quality when you saw it.

You settled into the passenger seat, already shaping the words to tell him you weren’t interested, that you just wanted to be dropped off and nothing more. Before you could speak, he beat you to it.

“Where do I leave you?” he asks. Cold. Flat. Mechanical. 

This infuriates you, but you give him the address. A few blocks away from your place. You'll make the walk and kick some stones along the way before you're ready to be home.

The ride back was excruciatingly awful. He was silent. His silence was only broken by the quiet rhythm of the engine. You, on the other hand, usually capable of courteous performance, were alarmingly unsociable. 

There were times your eyes observed his movements, the way he seemed in tandem with the car. He moved with precision and ease — the muscles of his forearm tensing and softening. It was almost serene, had it not been underscored by the reality of your humiliation.

It was ridiculous how precisely he obeyed your instruction and halted the car at the chosen spot. And it was even more ridiculous how he didn’t say anything after. No apology, no insinuation of a future meeting. No farewell, as though the space between us was void. You opened the door without a word and stepped out.

And yet —  Gojo and Utahime had made you promise to join them again the following Friday. You had agreed, with Utahime saying Satoru mentioned Sukuna not being able to stop talking about you. You figured it’s a white lie to some degree, but you were curious, intrigued, and entirely perplexed that he wanted to see you again.

Of course, though — when Friday night really came around, Sukuna had stood you up.

You were sitting at a similar restaurant to your first — it pains you to say — date. And at a long table meant for four, only there were three occupants.  A setting that was meant to be intimate — romantic even- had transformed into a scene of loneliness. It was meant to be a double date, but instead, you looked like an embarrassing third wheeler. 

This ticked you off entirely. It was one thing to ignore you on your supposed date. It was an entirely new level of humiliation to stand you up. I mean, who does this guy think he is, anyway? 

You were feeling all sorts of rage, your face radiating heat as your hands gradually curled into fists beneath the white linen of the tablecloth. You hated doing this in front of Utahime — to unleash this unkempt, inelegant side of you, but you stood up abruptly. The movement startled the duo, their eyes wide, as you demanded that Gojo drive you to Sukuna immediately.  

At first, Gojo had firmly said no, but after you held his gaze with a reassurance that it’s his head or Sukuna’s, he caved. 

He seemed vaguely amused by the whole ordeal — by you — in a way that seemed infantilising, but you were too focused on your anger to pay any mind to the man driving next to you. 

Your eyes were focused on the road, a sense of calm filled you at the view — the sky was clear today, a hint of orange in the blue. It could’ve been a nice night.  

"How long?" you asked, your eyes never leaving the horizon, focused on the oranges and the blues.

“My, you’re impatient,” Gojo replied, his grin audible almost. “Not long now. Sure, this is worth it, sweetheart?”

You turn to him now, eyes furrowed. 

"Hey, hey," he added, lifting one hand from the wheel, as the other remained, in a mockery of surrender. “I’m only trying to save you the humiliation.”

You decided at that moment that Sukuna would be the only one humiliated tonight. 

"Is that so?" you said quietly, with bitter precision. "All that talk. That he couldn’t stop speaking of me. That was a lie to get Utahime on a second date, wasn’t it?" This was directed towards both of them — Gojo in the driver’s seat, and Utahime, who was in the back, though beneath the rancor, you knew that Utahime’s innocent in all this. 

“I mean, the man barely talked to you.” He said, “You’re a smart girl, or so Hime says.”

This resulted in Utahime chiding him — for the lie, for insulting her friend, and all sorts of humiliations the two of you had collectively endured. You would add to the conversation had you not noticed him standing with a bunch of men smoking a cigarette. 

It seemed like a car park of some sort. 

You didn’t hesitate. The door opened. Your heels clicked sharply against the wet concrete.

Sukuna’s eyes try to take in the scene — his friend’s car screeching into his view, a woman in blue stumbling out in heels. He discerns first if his friend is okay, who steps out offering apologies. 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you called out, venom burning against your strained throat. “Standing me up like that. Nobody does that to me. Who do you think you are?”

“She had me at gunpoint, Sukuna,” Gojo called out from behind you. “Didn’t have a choice.”

And for a second, Sukuna stiffened — and then, realising the exaggeration, steadied. Gojo. A pain in the ass since day one.

He watches you now — takes you in fully, you’re screaming loudly. You’re standing there with your hands clenched. And you had these eyes — violent, and red. All he could do was stare at them in all honesty. He should be listening, though he’s barely.

Sukuna doesn’t say a thing as you continue on. And after what seems like ages of yelling, you realise you’re running out of things to be mad about. You spoke about the date — or what passed for one. About the silence when you got out of the car, the ride back home, and the lack of a goodbye. About the epidemic of the modern man, apparently. 

He let you finish. Patient. Silent though it all. 

And then, finally, he spoke. 

"Sorry," he said. His hands left his pockets. His shoulders didn’t shrug. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You froze.

“What?”

You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect much, to be honest, but certainly, more specifically, not this. 

You had expected to say your piece and leave the scene. Clean. You wanted the last word, petty as it may be, and then, you wanted out. 

His silence would’ve sufficed. But this?

“You’re an asshole,” you snapped, blinking. Confused still. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m ever going out with you again.”

“I didn’t know we had a date,” he said, eyes narrowing, and turned to Gojo with something murderous in his glance.

“Of course, you did,” Gojo replied, entirely unhelpful. “You just forgot. Sleaze.”

Sukuna ignored him and looked back at you.

“This Monday. Seven. I’ll pick you up where I dropped you.”

You let out something halfway between a laugh and a snarl. “No.” It came out sharp and flat as you turned to walk back to the car.

[satorucest]

it’s late in satoru’s penthouse apartment. the sun is setting, the warm glow casts shadows on his furniture through the long glass windows and catches on his white hair.

the tall man lays sprawled on his side on the couch, wearing grey sweats and a loose white t-shirt, watching you fold his laundry without even having to ask.

you’re on the sixth article of clothing when he blurts it out, eyes half lidded with exhaustion and his voice soft.

“move in with me.”

you don’t look his way just yet, dropping one of his shirts on top of the neat growing pile, huffing at the question he’s been repeating for the past two weeks whilst you busy your hands.

“why do you want me to live with you so bad?”

satoru has his cheek squished against his fist, elbow digging into the cushioning of the couch.

“because if we ever fight — and we will fight — you won’t get to storm off and run home. because home will be here… with me.”

you stop what you’re doing, turning to look at him, half amused and half fighting the heat on your cheeks.

“so you’re planning for future arguments already?”

he raises a brow like it’s obvious.

“have you met you? you can’t resist correcting me when i’m wrong.”

“i only do it because you’re usually wrong.”

satoru tilts his head further like a cat, strands of his thin white hair falling further over his sparkling, mischievous blue eyes.

“i’m gojo satoru. i’m never wrong. but if you say i am… then i guess i am.”

you purse your lips, knowing that smug, deliberately poking tone. somehow, impossibly — he is the only person who can get under your skin like this and still make you want to kiss him for it. and he knows it — he lives for it.

satoru gestures toward the laundry in your lap.

“besides, you’re already folding my laundry like you’re my wife. might as well make it official.”

you snort. “okay, you’re thinking way too far ahead. let’s maybe start with the whole ‘moving in’ part and see where it goes from there?”

he shrugs. “take all the time you want, i already know where it’s going.”

your chuckle bubbles out, disbelieving yet so used to his antics. “well,” you say slowly, unable to hide your smile as you toss a folded towel at his chest, “for once, you’re right about one thing.”

satoru catches it easily, holding it against his chest like a lifeline, his smirk softening into a grin as the quiet between you both stretches into something warm. his voice cuts through it after a moment, low and hopeful.

“so that’s a yes?”

your sigh is dramatic, but your eyes betray you as they shine with affection.

“that is a maybe.”

satoru hums, heart skipping a beat undoubtedly.

“i’ll take it.”

[ratatoilett]

episode title: the one with the blind date & jealousy

nylu's note : finally back with these love birds

tags : @toniiiiiireads @cuntyji @nakiich @rriwyu @your-mum3000 @lulunx @heiejdhdh @oracle014 @sukubusss @noooo-onee @sanestsanstan @minasuniverse @muli-wam @bearchermer @younjunie @kunasthiast @nina-from-317 @ehcilhc

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there was something—off. the kind of off that made the quiet too loud.

sukuna had just finished eating takeout meant for two—because apparently, you weren’t coming over tonight. no shoe-kicking, no fridge-raiding, no dramatic flop onto his couch with some awful documentary queued up. not even a “guess who broke a coffee mug again!” or “sukuna, why is your plant crispy? did you kill greg?”

nothing.

he blinked at the door across the hall like it personally offended him. you never missed a night.

at 9:36 PM, he caved.

“unbelievable,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and stalking over like a man wronged. he didn’t even knock—just barged in with the spare key you gave him in exchange for emergency pop-tarts.

“you dead?” he called out. “if your corpse is in the kitchen, i’m not cleaning it.”

from somewhere down the hall: “in my room!”

weird.

sukuna frowned, toeing off his slides and walking in like the place owed him rent. he leaned against your doorframe, about to make some sarcastic comment—

and then he froze.

you were standing in front of your mirror, fixing your earrings. hair done. makeup flawless. wearing a dress he didn’t recognize—a short one, a nice one, a you-don’t-dress-like-this-for-him one. You looked—

no. no, he wasn't doing that.

you turned, beaming like it was any other tuesday. “how do i look?”

sukuna opened his mouth, then closed it again. you looked unfair. and worse, unaware of it.

he crossed his arms. “where are you going dressed like that?”

“oh,” you said casually, spritzing perfume. “i’ve got a date.”

silence.

sukuna stared like you'd just declared war. “a what now?”

“a date.” you glanced at him through the mirror. “you know, a social engagement involving two people. dinner. vibes. hopefully not a serial killer.”

“you didn’t say anything.”

“you didn’t ask.”

he scoffed. “you didn’t even say goodnight.”

“sorry,” you shrugged. “didn’t know i needed permission.”

sukuna’s jaw tensed. “and you’re letting some guy you barely know pick you up at 10 PM?”

“he’s not picking me up,” you said pointedly. “we’re meeting there.”

“oh good, so when he turns out to be a psychopath, no one even knows what car to ID.”

you turned fully now, hands on your hips. “why do you care?”

“i don’t.”

“really? because you’re acting like i just told you i’m getting married tonight.”

sukuna exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away like you were a sun he was too proud to squint at. “just weird not seeing you tonight, that’s all.”

there it was. the crux of it.

your gaze softened, just a little. “you’ll survive one night without me.”

“i doubt that,” he muttered.

“what?”

“nothing.”

the silence stretched, crackling and tense. then—

“besides,” you added, eyes narrowing, “it’s not like i say anything when you bring your ‘girl friends’ over.”

sukuna straightened. “they’re not—what is that supposed to mean?”

“i mean,” you said, tilting your head, “if we’re suddenly doing check-ins and giving each other grief over who we see, should i start knocking when i come over? or maybe leave when i sense the scent of someone else’s shampoo in your bathroom?”

his jaw flexed.

you took a step closer. “exactly. so don’t start now.”

sukuna said nothing. didn’t move. just looked at you—this version of you he didn’t know what to do with. pretty and defiant and completely out of reach tonight.

he didn’t stop you as you grabbed your clutch and made for the door.

you paused beside him, adjusting your coat. “don’t wait up.”

“i won’t.”

you didn’t believe him.

he didn’t believe himself either.

the door closed behind you. sukuna stood in the silence you left behind—louder than ever—and stared at your bedroom mirror like it owed him a do-over.