kyo

20 | writing about the things we feel but rarely say out loud.

[selnvl]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ABOUT ME. hi, im kyo (she/her) and i love words. especially the ones that stay with you. here, i write about thoughts, emotions, everyday life, dreams, and everything in between.

this blog could also contain 16+ content and plenty of thirst across many fandoms, so please tread carefully. feel free to ask questions and enjoy your time here! this is also my first time on here, so if I make any mistakes, it’s never intentional. please be patient and kind!

all content is mine. please don’t repost, reupload, or translate without my permission and proper credit.

MASTERLISTS. attack on titan. jujutsu kaisen. -> more coming soon!!

[selnvl]

heavyweight

featuring. r. sukuna x reader

the heavy, rhythmic thud of his footsteps was the first thing to betray him.

it was a sound you’d memorized- slow, unhurried, and entirely too heavy for the quiet of the hallway. usually, that familiar cadence brought comfort, a signal that the world was right again. but tonight, it made your heart stutter in a frantic, uneven rhythm.

then came the knock. three short, solid taps that seemed to vibrate through the wood and into your very bones.

you opened the door and immediately regretted the instinct.

sukuna stood there like a storm held in check. he was draped in a dark compression shirt that clung to the architecture of his frame with an almost offensive precision. the fabric was damp around the collar, dark patches of sweat marking where the furnace-heat of his body met the cool evening air. your brain didn't just stall..it short-circuited somewhere between the hallway-blocking breadth of his shoulders and the careless tilt of the gym bag slung over his arm.

his forearms were a map of quiet violence. loosely wrapped in boxing tape, his knuckles were roughened and scarred- details that should have been a warning, but instead felt like an invitation. his hair was a chaotic mess of damp strands, looking as though he’d spent the last hour trying to tear a heavy bag apart with his bare hands.

“you gonna keep staring, or let me in?”

his voice was a low, sandpapered rasp that snapped the air between you.

“oh- right. yeah. sorry.”

you stepped back, but the apartment didn't feel like yours the moment he crossed the threshold. sukuna didn't just enter a room; he claimed it. he ducked his head slightly out of habit, a silent acknowledgment of a world not quite built for his scale. with him inside, the walls seemed to pull closer, the air thickening with the scent of ozone and unrefined effort.

it was deeply, life ruiningly unfair.

he dropped his bag by the couch, the heavy thud echoing the one in your chest. he turned, his eyes narrowing as they caught yours.

“you okay?”

“yep.” you answered too fast. a jagged, brittle sound.

“you sure?”

“mhm.”

a pause. a heartbeat. an eternity.

“…you’re acting weird.”

“i am not.”

“you’ve been staring at my arms for the last thirty seconds.”

your soul nearly exited your body. “i was not.”

“you were.”

“i literally wasn’t.”

“you are right now.”

you snapped your gaze upward, and the bastard actually looked amused. the corners of his mouth were twitching, a shadow of a grin threatening to break through his usual stoicism.

“this is your fault,” you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could catch them.

“how?”

“you look-” you cut yourself off, biting your lip, but the damage was done. his brow climbed toward his hairline, slow and deliberate.

“i look what?”

he stepped closer. he didn't rush; he simply drifted into your personal space until the heat radiating off him became a physical weight. the compression shirt stretched taut over his chest as he moved, veins tracing a map down his forearms.

“…nothing,” you whispered.

his hand landed against the wall beside your head- a soft, muffled thud. he wasn't pinning you, not really, but the sheer gravity of him kept you rooted. his hand was immense, the boxing tape rough against the wallpaper.

“you’re bad at lying.”

he watched the way your breath caught. his gaze flicked, heavy and knowing, across the line of your jaw, down the column of your throat where your pulse thrummed like a trapped bird, and then back to your eyes.

the realization hit him like a physical spark. “oh.”

“oh my god, don’t say it like that.”

“like what?”

“like you figured something out.”

“i did.”

you buried your face in your hands, the humiliation hot enough to burn. “this is ridiculous. i hate this.”

a low, resonant laugh rumbled from his chest- a sound like deep water moving over stones. it wasn't a taunt. it was worse. it was fond.

“you think i look good, baby?”

you made a soft, wounded noise against your palms. “please stop talking.”

“cute.”

“i’m serious, dude.”

“you’re blushing hard as hell.”

you groaned, your voice muffled. “nooo, leave me alone.”

he didn't answer with words. instead, his hands- large, steady, and devastatingly gentle- wrapped around your wrists. he pulled them away from your face with an effortless strength that reminded you he was built to break things. but with you, he was only ever careful.

“there she is,” he murmured.

you refused to look at him, but he wasn't having it. two fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your head up until you had no choice but to drown in that lazy, dangerous amusement. he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing. as if your unraveling was the best part of his day.

“…you’re enjoying this way too much,” you breathed.

“a little.”

“a little?”

“a lot.”

you let out a breathy, defeated laugh. sukuna’s grin widened, and he leaned down just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, closing the final inch of distance.

“good,” he whispered.

and the worst part- the part that finally made your knees go weak- was that even with the sweat, the tape, and the scars, he looked at you like he was the one who had stumbled into something far too beautiful to be real.

[selnvl]

the gilded snare

true form sukuna as a pirate x siren! reader

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊ 𖤓 ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ ⋆˚₊

the ocean was a kingdom of hush and velvet.

it didn’t speak in screams or storms down where you lived; it breathed in long, slow sighs. you belonged to the silence of the shelves, a creature of moonwater and mist, dwelling within the skeletal embrace of coral cathedrals. your world was a sanctuary of fracture-gold light and gardens that bloomed in the dark- anemones like spilled silk, fish that flickered like living embers, and the heavy, rhythmic heartbeat of the deep.

above, there was only the forbidden.

the surface was a jagged line of danger. it was the place where the air grew thin and the water ended, a realm of cold moonlight and human iron. your mother’s fingers, webbed and gentle, would weave through your hair as she whispered the warnings every child of the reef carried in their marrow.

“the sea changes after dusk,” she’d murmur. “things roam that have forgotten how to be kind.”

everyone knew the shadow she was sketching in the dark.

the demon.

he wasn't just a man; he was a stain upon the horizon. a ghost story that had grown teeth. among the merfolk, his name was a shiver passed between fins.

they said his ship was a leviathan of wood and bone, a vessel so vast it could swallow the moon’s reflection whole. they spoke of black sails that drank the sun and a crew that never returned to the shore.

“if you see a lantern dancing on the waves,” the elders cautioned, their gills flaring with dread, “you dive until your lungs ache. if the surface grows still, you vanish. and if you hear him laugh-“

they never finished that sentence. they didn't have to.

you had been a creature of soft edges and wide eyes. you were a moonwater siren, rare and translucent, your scales shifting from the cream of a fallen pearl to the bruised purple of a twilight sky. you were too bright, your mother said. you glowed with a soft, bioluminescent hum that made hiding nearly impossible. and you were messy.. your silver-white hair was a tangled nest of sea-glass and stray shells, treasures you found and forgot until they clattered against the stone floors of your home.

you were also a terrible liar.

you couldn't help the way your gills fluttered when you were caught, or the way your tail twitched when you looked toward the shimmering ceiling of the world. you loved the shiny things. you loved the way the nighttime sea turned into a gallery of floating stars and pulsing jellyfish.

which is why, on the night the water felt like warm silk, you didn't stop.

you drifted past the safety of the kelp forests. you ignored the way the currents grew thin and cold. you were following a glimmer- a spark of something that didn't belong to the reef.

it sat nestled in a crevice of dark rock.

it was a masterpiece of human greed- gold chains fine as spiderweb, clutching stones that held the light of a thousand fires. it was beautiful. it was heavy. it was the most magnificent thing you had ever seen.

you reached out, your translucent fingers trembling with a mix of awe and instinct. your hair floated around you like ink in milk as you closed your hand over the cold metal.

the world snapped.

a line, thinner than a whisker and stronger than iron, tightened around your wrist.

panic hit you like a physical weight. before a scream could even leave your throat, the hidden mesh buried beneath the sand surged upward. it wasn't a net; it was a shroud. it coiled around your delicate fins, the rough hemp biting into your opalescent scales as it dragged you toward the shimmering mirror above.

you thrashed, your tail lashing in a desperate, frantic rhythm, but the more you fought, the tighter the trap became.

the water broke.

the air hit you- sharp, cold, and terrifyingly thin. you gasped, your gills burning as you were hoisted upward, dangling like a prize in the silver air.

and there it was.

the ship was a mountain of dark timber, looming over you with the silent patience of an apex predator. its black sails blotted out the stars. and standing at the rail, looking down at you with a terrifying, lazy amusement, was the nightmare itself.

he was massive. his silhouette was a jagged intrusion against the moon, his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the sea. but it was the four arms resting casually against the wood that made your heart stop.

he didn't look like a monster. he looked like a god of the abyss who had climbed onto a boat to watch the world burn.

a low, deep chuckle vibrated through the wood of the ship and into your very bones. he didn't look surprised. he looked satisfied.

the necklace hadn't been a lost treasure. it had been a hook.

"well now," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones beneath a tide. "look at the little light i've caught tonight."

the air was a thief.

it stole the moisture from your skin and the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, a silver-blue spark shivering in the center of a coarse, salt-crusted net.

you were suspended over the deck, the wood beneath you groaning like a living thing, dark and saturated with secrets. every time you thrashed, the fibers of the net scraped against your opalescent scales, a harsh friction you had never known in the velvet embrace of the deep.

he- the demon- didn't move.

he remained leaning against the heavy oak railing, his four arms folded in a display of terrifying nonchalance. the moonlight caught the edge of his grin, sharp and white against his weathered skin. he didn't look like the mindless beast from the nursery rhymes; he looked like someone who had seen everything the world had to offer and found most of it wanting. until now.

lowering one of his hands, he reached out toward the net. you flinched, your long, ink-spilled hair whipping around your face, silver-white strands clinging to your damp cheeks. your gills worked frantically, pulsing against your neck in a rhythm of pure, unadulterated terror.

"easy now, little light," he said, the words smooth and dark, like oil on water. "you’ll only tear those pretty fins of yours if you keep fighting. and i’d hate to see such a rare thing get damaged before i’ve even had a chance to look at it."

one of his hands- large, scarred, and surprisingly warm-brushed against the side of the mesh, just inches from your trembling shoulder. you let out a soft, melodic keen, a sound of the moonwater sirens that usually echoed through coral halls, now thin and brittle in the open air.

he tilted his head, his dark eyes tracing the luminous lavender glow of your tail and the way your skin shimmered like trapped starlight. he seemed to be memorizing the way you broke the darkness.

"you’re a long way from the reef, aren't you?" he mused, reaching up with a second hand to adjust the brim of a hat that looked like it had been stitched together from shadows. "it's a dangerous thing to be curious. especially when the sea is full of things that know exactly what you're looking for."

he gestured vaguely to the gold necklace still clutched in your white-knuckled grip. he hadn't even bothered to take it back. to him, the gold was worthless; it was merely the worm on the hook, and he was the fisherman who had been waiting for something ethereal to bite.

with a sudden, fluid motion, he reached up with his upper pair of arms and began to haul the rope inward, bringing you closer to the deck- and closer to him. the smell of tobacco, old wood, and dried salt filled your senses, overwhelming the fading scent of the tide.

your tail hit the wood with a wet, heavy thud. the net went slack, but you were too weak, too heavy in this airless world to flee. you lay there, a creature of myth spilling out onto the floor of a nightmare, looking up at the four-armed king of the gilded snare.

he crouched down beside you, his presence looming over you like a mountain. his laughter was gone now, replaced by a quiet, predatory curiosity that felt infinitely more dangerous.

"now," he whispered, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. "let's see just how much a piece of the moon is worth."

[selnvl]

toji and his beautiful family

it’s too early for the world to feel real.

the room is draped in that heavy, velvet-grey dimness of a morning that hasn't quite decided to wake up. it’s quiet. not an empty quiet, but a fragile, held breath of a silence that only exists when something very small and very new is sleeping nearby.

you lie there, trapped between sleep and wakefulness, listening to the rhythm of the house. the cooling of the walls, the distant, muffled hum of the city, and then-

a sound.

it’s tiny. a soft, breathy hitch that isn't quite a cry, but the beginning of a thought.

you’re awake instantly. the maternal instinct is a strange, sharp thing; it pulls you upright before your mind can even process the time. you turn your head, and there he is- a small, pale smudge in the center of the bassinet.

megumi.

he’s barely three weeks old, and every time you look at him, your heart does a slow, painful roll in your chest. he’s bundled in soft, white cotton, his face scrunched in the serious, brooding way that seems to be his default setting even in sleep. his tiny hands are curled into tight, pale blossoms near his chin.

another sound leaves him- a little whimper, wet and fragile.

“i’ve got you… shh, i’ve got you,” you whisper into the shadows.

you move with practiced care, your hands sliding beneath him to support that heavy, wobbling head. he’s so warm-unnaturally warm, like a little hearth- and so light that it feels like a gust of wind could carry him away. the weight of him is a terrifying kind of precious.

for a second, he fusses. a soft, wobbling cry builds in his tiny throat, his face turning a dark, frustrated pink- then he settles. the moment he feels your skin, the moment your scent hits him, he just… deflates. he leans into your touch with an absolute, terrifying trust.

your heart aches. you press your cheek to the soft, peach-fuzz down on his head, breathing in that clean, milky scent.

“shh… i’m here, gumi… i’m right here.”

his tiny fingers twitch against the fabric of your nightshirt. they grip nothing. then, with a sudden, jerky movement, they find a fold of cloth and hold on.

behind you, the mattress groans. a low, gravelly vibration of a voice cuts through the stillness- rough with sleep and something heavier.

“…he crying?”

you glance over your shoulder. toji is a dark silhouette against the grey light, one massive arm thrown over his eyes as if he’s trying to shield himself from the reality of the morning. his hair is a chaotic mess against the pillow, and the sheer size of him makes the bed seem far too small.

“not really,” you murmur, rocking megumi gently. “just checking in. making sure we’re still here.”

toji exhales, a long, rattling sound. he drags his hand down his face, blinking slowly until his gaze finds you. then, his eyes drop to the bundle in your arms.

he goes quiet.

it’s a specific kind of silence. you notice it every time the baby is in the room. it’s the silence of a man who spent his whole life breaking things, now faced with something he isn't allowed to crack. he looks at megumi like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with no edges. like he’s still waiting for someone to tell him this is a dream.

“you want to hold him?” you ask softly.

toji hesitates. it’s brief- a flicker of something that looks almost like fear in the eyes of a man who fears nothing.

“…nah,” he mutters, reaching back to rub the corded muscles of his neck. “you got him. i’ll just… get in the way.”

you don’t push. you’ve learned not to. you just nod, adjusting megumi as he lets out a long, shaky sigh, his little mouth parting as he drifts back into a deeper sleep.

toji watches the movement with an intensity that borders on predatory, yet his jaw is tight, his shoulders hunched.

“…he always like that?” toji asks suddenly.

“like what?”

“…quiet. just…sitting there.”

you smile faintly, the expression tired but warm. “most of the time. he’s a thinker, toji.”

a pause. toji shifts, sitting up fully now, his bare chest broad and scarred in the dim light.

“…and when he’s not?”

you glance at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “you’ll know. he’s got your lungs.”

toji huffs a dry, mirthless laugh.

megumi stirs again. this time, it’s not a drift. his face scrunches into a mask of pure, unadulterated tragedy. a cry finally breaks- small, thin, and piercingly loud in the quiet of the room.

you shift him instinctively, your movements a fluid, desperate dance of comfort. “hey, hey…no, baby…it’s okay”

his cries wobble, gaining momentum. you can feel the tension in his tiny back, the way he’s arching against the world.

and then- toji moves.

it isn't panicked. he doesn't do panic. it’s a sudden, decisive shift of gravity. he’s off the bed and standing over you before you can blink, his shadow swallowing you both.

“gimme.”

you blink, looking up at him. “are you sure? he’s a little worked up.”

toji doesn't answer. he just reaches out, his hands looking absurdly large, his fingers thick and scarred from years of things you don't ask about. you hesitate for half a second, then carefully- ever so carefully, transfer the fragile weight of the baby into the calloused valley of his arms.

toji holds him like he’s holding a live explosive.

his hands are awkward, his elbows tucked in tight as he tries to remember how you told him to cradle the head. he looks down at the screaming infant with a look of pure, bewildered concentration.

megumi cries again, a sharp, wailing sound that seems to vibrate through toji’s entire frame.

toji freezes. his eyes go wide.

“…hey,” he mutters. his voice is lower now, dropped into a register that’s almost a growl, yet it’s the quietest you’ve ever heard him. “quit that. it’s fine.”

megumi doesn't quit. he lets out a particularly pathetic, high-pitched sob.

toji exhales slowly, a puff of air that ruffles the baby’s dark hair. he starts to move- an uneven, slightly clumsy sway. one of his hands comes up, looking like a giant’s hand against the tiny expanse of megumi’s back.

“…tch.”

he glances at you, his expression pained. “…he’s loud. why’s he so loud?”

you bite back a smile, watching the way toji’s thumb absently brushes over the soft fabric of the baby’s onesie. “he’s a baby, toji. it’s his only job.”

“yeah, well, he’s too good at it.”

but his hand starts moving. slow. hesitant. a rhythmic, heavy pat against megumi’s back. it’s not the gentle tapping you do; it’s the steady, grounding pulse of a man who knows how to hold his ground.

and somehow it works.

the cries waver. they turn into hiccups, then into soft, liquid whimpers, and finally…silence. megumi’s tiny body sags, his face easing as he tucks his head into the crook of toji’s shoulder. the contrast is staggering- the smallest, most fragile life tucked against the most dangerous man you’ve ever known.

toji goes still. completely, utterly still. he looks like he’s afraid that even a heartbeat might shatter the peace.

“…huh,” he mutters. it’s barely a sound.

you watch him. you watch the way he looks down at the top of that tiny head, his eyes dark and unreadable. he’s memorizing the weight. he’s realizing that he can't just walk away from this weight.

megumi’s hand shifts. his tiny, uncoordinated fingers brush against the heavy muscle of toji’s chest. they find purchase, gripping the fabric of his shirt. holding on.

toji’s breath catches. just a sharp, sudden intake of air. he doesn't pull away. he doesn't move. he just lets that tiny, weak hand hold him hostage.

“you’re doing good,” you whisper.

toji scoffs, though it lacks his usual bite. “i’m just standing here. he’s just…stopped.”

“yeah.” you move closer, resting your head against toji’s arm. “still counts.”

he glances at you, looking like he wants to argue, like he wants to say something cynical and sharp to break the tenderness of the moment. but he doesn't. his gaze drifts back down to the baby. to the way megumi has already claimed him.

“…he’s small,” toji mutters after a long while, his voice sounding oddly thick.

“he is.”

“…too small. how’s he supposed to do anything?”

your chest tightens at the underlying fear in his words. “he won’t always be. he’ll grow. you’ll see.”

toji doesn't answer. his hand shifts against megumi’s back, his grip becoming more confident, steadier. he isn't holding an explosive anymore; he’s holding his son.

megumi makes a soft, contented noise in his sleep, settling deeper into the warmth of toji’s skin. very carefully- so slowly you almost miss it- toji adjusts him, pulling the bundle a fraction of an inch closer to his chest.

like he wants him there.

you watch them in the growing light of the morning. it’s new. it’s unsteady. it’s a house built on a foundation that could crumble at any moment. but as toji sits back down on the edge of the bed, never once letting go of the tiny life in his arms, you realize he’s already learned the one thing he never thought he’d need to know.

he’s learned how to be careful.

he’s learned that some things are too important to break.

[selnvl]

true form!sukuna hating (loving) his clingy and whiny concubine

he does not tolerate neediness.

that is the first lesson etched into the stone of your memory, learned in the quiet, terrifying spaces between breaths. ryomen sukuna does not entertain weakness; he does not indulge in the soft, fraying edges of another person’s soul, nor does he bend his iron-clad will to accommodate something as trivial as comfort.

he takes.

he does not adjust, does not compromise, and he certainly does not wait. that is the rule of his existence- the singular, jagged truth that everyone else learns in the brief, frantic seconds before they are erased from the world.

it just… never seems to apply to you.

the air in the temple is thick tonight, heavy with the scent of damp moss and the metallic tang of his presence. he is seated upon the raised dais, one knee drawn up with a languid, predatory grace. he is a monument of stillness, his four eyes closed as if he is listening to the heartbeat of the world itself.

“my lord.”

your voice is softer than usual, drawn out with a deliberate, honeyed edge that you’ve come to realize catches his attention better than any shout. it’s a spoiled sound, the voice of someone who has never been told no.

he doesn’t look at you. he doesn’t have to. you can feel the weight of his attention shifting toward you even without the opening of an eye- a sudden, localized pressure in the air that makes your skin hum.

“…what.”

it’s flat. uninterested. a verbal shrug that would make anyone else turn and flee.

you shift closer anyway.

you move with a quiet, certain arrogance, closing the distance until the fine silk of your sleeve brushes against the heavy fabric of his yukata. you don't stop there. you settle beside him, your shoulder coming to rest against his arm, a soft collision against a mountain.

you feel the instant the air tightens. the shadows in the corner of the room seem to sharpen, bristling at your proximity. he still doesn't move, but the temperature around him rises- a slow, smoldering heat.

“nothing,” you murmur, leaning into him more fully. you let your weight slump against his side, your body finding the contours of his with a practiced, lazy ease.

there is a pause. it is long enough to feel like a threat.

“…then move.”

you don’t. instead, you settle deeper, your hip pressing against his, your head tilting back to expose the line of your throat to the dim light. you are acting like a creature that has forgotten it is sitting next to a god of slaughter.

“…you’re warm,” you add, your voice dropping to a near-whisper, laced with a tired, bratty sort of satisfaction.

that makes him look.

slowly, one of his primary eyes cracks open, the crimson iris glowing like an ember in the dark. his gaze drops to where you’ve pressed yourself against his side, lingering on the contrast between your softness and the hard, unyielding line of his body. then, his gaze lifts to your face- heavy, measuring, and dangerously focused.

“…irrelevant.”

you hum softly, a small, vibrating sound of disagreement. your fingers reach out, idly brushing against the intricate markings on his forearm, tracing the lines of his power as if they were nothing more than embroidery.

“i disagree, my lord.”

the silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. you don't pull away. you don't offer an apology. you just stay there, clinging to him with an insistence that doesn't beg for permission because it already assumes it has been granted.

that is the part that truly spoiled you. not a single act of kindness but his allowance. his silent, begrudging consent to let you exist within the radius of his destruction.

you shift again, turning slightly so your front presses more fully against his side, your arm sliding along his as you attempt to find an even more comfortable position. you are small compared to him, a fact that becomes painfully obvious as you navigate the sheer breadth of his chest and shoulders.

“…you are persistent,” he says, his voice a low, guttural rumble that you feel through your own ribs.

“you noticed.”

you tilt your head, your cheek almost brushing the edge of his shoulder. not quite touching yet, just hovering in the heat of him. his fingers flex once against his knee- a sharp, sudden movement that reveals the tension he’s keeping under a leash.

“…you are also irritating.”

you smile. it’s a small, pleased thing. “you let me be.”

his gaze sharpens, the second set of eyes beneath the first opening to pin you in place. “…do not assume that will continue.”

you lift your head just enough to look at him properly. you are far closer than anyone is ever allowed to be- close enough to see the fine detail of his markings, close enough to see the way his breath hitches for a fraction of a second.

“then stop me, my lord.”

you cross the line again. you do it with a smile.

this time, when his hand moves, you expect it. but that doesn't make it any less startling. his fingers close around your upper arm, his grip firm and grounding. he doesn't shove, but he pulls you just enough to create an inch of space- a reminder of the physical boundary he is supposed to maintain.

your breath catches. you look down at the massive hand holding you, the dark ink against your skin, the sheer size of his fingers. then you look back at him.

instead of retreating, you lean forward again, closing the gap he just made. your forehead almost brushes his shoulder, your balance shifting as you refuse to be evicted from his space.

“…you didn’t move me very far,” you murmur against his neck.

it’s a gamble. a mistake. you feel the shift instantly- the way his grip tightens, his fingers digging slightly into the meat of your arm. it isn't painful, but it is absolute.

“…you are testing something,” he says, his voice dropping into a register that makes the floorboards vibrate.

“maybe.”

he stares at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of fear that never comes. he is deciding your fate in the silence, weighing your arrogance against whatever it is that keeps you alive in his shadow.

then- he lets go.

his hand drops for a heartbeat, and you think you’ve won. you think he’s finished. and then his hand returns, sliding around the curve of your waist.

you still.

not out of fear, but out of a sudden, sharp awareness. his hand doesn't push you away; it settles there, palm hot and heavy against your ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast. it is a possessive, intentional placement.

“…stay still,” he commands.

you blink, tilting your head to look up at him. “…or what, my lord.”

his fingers press into your side, a sudden, firm squeeze that forces a small gasp from your throat. it’s a reminder of what he could do if he stopped being patient.

“…or i will move you properly.”

you should stop. you should pull back and offer a bow and disappear into the night. you feel the warning in the weight of his hand, in the way his presence has grown dark and hungry.

instead- you relax.

you melt against him, your body softening until you are a weight he has to support. you lean into the threat, acting as if his hand at your waist is a comfort, a familiar anchor. your head finally comes to rest against his shoulder, your hair spilling over his arm.

“…fine,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut.

a pause follows. the world outside is irrelevant.

“…you’re still warm.”

his thumb shifts. just once. it’s a slow, deliberate stroke against your side that sends a jolt through you, hitting a nerve you didn't know existed. your fingers curl into the silk of his sleeve, not pulling away, but anchoring yourself even tighter.

his gaze drops to your face, looking at your closed eyes, your expression of utter, spoiled peace. something unreadable flickers in the depths of his eyes- something that isn't malice, but isn't quite soft either.

“…you speak too much.”

“mm.”

you don’t move. if anything, you press closer, your breath ghosting against the side of his neck. you are testing how much of your weight he will hold without being asked, how much of your neediness he will swallow.

“…clingy,” he mutters, though his hand doesn't leave your waist.

you smile faintly against his skin. “only for you, my lord.”

the silence that follows is heavy and full. his hand remains where it is, firm and warm, anchoring you to him. he is allowing it. he is letting you be the brat, letting you cling, letting you take up his space and his time.

you shift again, a slow, subtle turn until your knee is brushing his, your body angled into the curve of his side. you want more. you always want more.

he notices. he always notices.

his grip adjusts, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a movement so small it could be an accident- but with him, nothing is an accident.

your breath hitches.

“…insufferable,” he says, his voice quieter now, the edges of it softened by the shadows.

you look up at him, your expression knowing. “you haven’t moved me.”

a pause. you let the words hang in the air between you.

“…my lord.”

his eyes hold yours for a long, unblinking moment. something heavier settles into his gaze, a dark, simmering possessiveness that makes your heart race. but still- he does nothing to stop you. he does not correct you.

and that is what ruins you.

as you settle against him again, certain of your place in his shadow, you realize you don't just rely on this anymore. you expect it. you are bold enough to whisper, soft and lazy, against his shoulder:

“…you like it when i stay.”

another long silence follows. his hand presses slightly into your waist- not a warning this time, but something closer to a claim.

“…do not assume.”

you smile anyway. he still hasn't moved you. you're still here. and his hand is still holding you exactly where he wants you.

[selnvl]

lost and found (at the same time)

featuring. y. itadori

yuji is talking.

that’s the first thing you notice- the rhythmic, slightly frantic cadence of his voice that usually signals he’s either found a new favorite 90s action flick or, as is the case right now, he’s in the middle of a very specific, very yuji flavored crisis.

he’s pacing the length of the dorm room, his sneakers squeaking with annoying persistence against the linoleum floor. one hand is gesturing wildly, cutting through the stagnant afternoon air to emphasize his point, while the other is... occupied. it’s held out in front of him at a stiff, utilitarian angle, frozen in a posture of extreme purpose.

you don’t think about it at first. you’re used to his golden retriever energy; you’re half submerged in the blue-light glow of your own phone, scrolling absentmindedly through a feed of nothingness and letting the familiar, warm rumble of his voice wash over you like background radiation.

“no, because listen,” he says, his voice hitting that slightly out of breath pitch that means he’s been at this for at least ten minutes. “i know i had it. like, i literally just had it two seconds ago. i was sitting right there, i was looking at that meme you sent, i laughed, life was good!”

you hum, not looking up yet, your thumb pausing over a photo. “had what, yuji?”

“my phone!”

there’s a note of genuine, soul deep distress in his voice, the kind usually reserved for a lost comrade or a spoiled movie ending. you finally glance up, the screen of your own device dimming as you shift your attention to the boy vibrating in the center of the room.

you pause.

you look at his face- brow furrowed into a valley of concern, eyes wide with the frantic intensity of a man who has lost his only tether to the modern world. then, your gaze travels down. slowly. deliberately. past his hoodie, down his arm, to his right hand.

then you look back at his face.

“…right,” you say, the word coming out flat, cautious, like you’re talking to someone standing on a very thin ledge.

he doesn’t stop. he keeps pacing, running his free hand through his pink hair, ruffling the spikes into a messy nest of utter frustration. his other hand- the one holding his phone- remains lifted like a torch, the flashlight very much on, casting a bright, bouncing circle of clinical white light across the floorboards as he moves.

he doesn’t notice the light. he doesn't notice the weight of the metal and glass. he doesn't notice the blindingly obvious glow reflecting off the very surfaces he’s searching with such agonizing focus.

“i swear i put it down somewhere,” he continues, his voice thick with a cosmic sort of betrayal. “like, i was just texting you about that ramen place, and then it got dark under the desk so i needed the flashlight to see if it slipped behind the leg, and now it’s just.. gone. vanished into the void. eaten by spirits. i’m cursed, i’m definitely cursed.”

you stare at him. you are completely still now, your phone forgotten and slipping from your lap onto the cushion.

“baby.”

“yeah?”

“what are you using right now?”

“what do you mean?” he asks, sounding genuinely distracted. he actually crouches slightly, peering into the dusty shadows under the coffee table, the beam of light from the device in his hand following his line of sight with perfect, mocking accuracy. he’s literally using the phone to scan the area for the phone.

you press your lips together, watching the way the high intensity led illuminates a lone dust bunny and a stray pen he is currently investigating with the intensity of a forensic scientist.

“…the flashlight,” you say slowly, your voice trembling at the edges.

“yeah?” he replies, looking over his shoulder at you with a 'keep up' expression, like your question is the one that doesn't make sense.

you blink. once. twice.

“…on what device, yuji? where is the light coming from? what is providing the illumination for your heroic quest?”

he freezes.

just for a second, the world seems to stop spinning. the squeak of his sneakers dies. he straightens up slowly, his spine unfolding as he frowns, looking as if the question itself is some kind of complex zen koan he wasn't prepared to solve today.

“my-” he starts.

he stops.

his gaze drops. slowly. painfully. like a character in a horror movie realizing the monster is already in the room.

his hand. his phone. the blindingly bright led light. on. pointing directly at his own sneakers.

there’s a full three seconds of absolute, crushing silence. he doesn’t move. he doesn’t blink. you can practically hear the gears in his head grinding to a smoking halt, then reversing with a violent, metal on metal clack as the realization finally, mercifully, clicks into place.

“…no.”

it’s a whisper. horrified. devastated.

you don’t say anything. the air in the room is suddenly very thin, and your lungs are starting to burn with the effort of holding back the absolute tidal wave of laughter building in your throat.

“…no, wait,” he tries again, turning the phone slightly in his grip as if a different angle might prove it’s actually a different object entirely, perhaps a very high-tech flashlight he forgot he owned. “this- this is..-”

another pause. longer this time. the light catches the edge of his thumb, highlighting the tremors of his shame.

“…are you serious.”

you lose it.

it’s not a quiet, dignified laugh. it’s the kind of laugh that hurts, a sudden, explosive sound that has your shoulders shaking and your eyes watering instantly. you lean over, clutching your stomach, your forehead hitting your knees as you completely fail to maintain even a shred of composure.

he looks at you like you’ve just personally betrayed his entire lineage.

“don’t laugh! stop it! it’s a medical condition! brain fog is real, baby!”

that only makes it worse. you cover your mouth, muffled, hysterical snorts escaping through your fingers as you point at him- or more specifically, at the glowing rectangular proof of his own brilliance that he is still, inexplicably, holding out in front of him.

“yuji-”

“no, wait, hold on,” he interrupts, his face flushing a deep, brilliant pomegranate pink to match his hair. he gets flustered instantly, the heat traveling all the way to the tips of his ears. “this is not..okay, this is not as bad as it looks! i was just really focused on the search! it's called 'flow state'! i was in the zone!”

“you were looking for it!” you manage to choke out, gasping for air between peals of laughter. “you were using the phone to find the phone! you were literally complaining to me about it being gone while it was providing the light for your search!”

“i was checking all possibilities!” he insists, gesturing wildly again, the flashlight beam now strobing across the ceiling like a frantic distress signal from a sinking ship. “like, what if i dropped it earlier and didn’t notice, or it fell into a crack in the floor-”

he opens his mouth. he looks at the device. he closes his mouth. nothing comes out but a small, defeated puff of air.

you’re fully gone now, leaning back against the sofa, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes with the heels of your hands. “yuji, please. my lungs.”

he runs a hand over his face, a long, dramatic groan vibrating through his palms.

“oh my god.”

“…you didn’t check your hand,” you wheeze, your voice an octave higher than usual.

“i didn’t think it would be in my hand!” he shoots back, then he freezes yet again as the words hang in the air, echoing back to him. another beat passes. “…okay, that sounded bad. i recognize that sounds bad.”

“it sounds insane.”

“it’s not insane,” he mutters, though the fight has completely left his posture. he looks down at the phone, his thumb finally clicking the side button to kill the flashlight. the room feels suddenly, mercifully dim, though the ghost of the light still lingers in your vision. “i was just.. multitasking. my brain was on a different tab. i had too many windows open.”

you raise an eyebrow, finally catching your breath enough to sit upright. “you were literally clutching it, baby. the weight alone. the tactile sensation of the case.”

“okay, yeah, but like- i wasn’t thinking about it, you know?” he gestures vaguely, still holding the phone like it might pull another disappearing act if he lets go of it now. “i just needed the light, and my body just... did it. muscles have memory, brains have... whatever the opposite of memory is.”

you step closer, still wearing a wide, shaky smile that you know is going to be there for the next hour. “yuji.”

“…yeah.”

“your hand was literally glowing. you were a human beacon.”

he looks down at it one more time. he sighs. it’s a long, defeated sound that seems to deflate his entire chest.

“…i hate this. i hate everything. i’m retiring from sorcery. it's over for me.”

you laugh again, softer this time, the edge of the hysteria fading into something warm and genuinely fond. he glances at you, trying to maintain an annoyed, brooding pout, but the corners of his mouth are already twitching. yuji can’t stay mad at himself, and he certainly can’t stay mad at you when you’re looking at him like that.

“…you’re never letting this go, are you.”

“nah. it’s going in the hall of fame. right next to the time you tried to 'save' a stray cat that turned out to be a raccoon.”

he groans, dragging his hand down his face again. “great. awesome. love that for me. i’m never going to live this down. my gravestone is just gonna be a picture of a phone.”

you reach out, gently taking his hand- the one still death gripping the phone like a life raft. you turn it over, the screen lighting up with a notification, illuminating the space between your faces with a soft, gentle glow.

“next time,” you say lightly, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “check here first. just a suggestion from a concerned friend.”

he looks at your hand over his. he looks at you, his eyes softening even as his face stays that stubborn shade of red.

“…yeah,” he mutters, his voice dropping into that quiet, shy tone he gets when he’s truly embarrassed but also feeling the moment. “noted. hand first. phone later.”

another beat. he looks around the room with exaggerated suspicion to make sure nobody else- like a certain blindfolded teacher- was lurking in the shadows with a camera.

“…don’t tell gojo. or megumi. definitely don't tell nobara. she’ll make a powerpoint about it.”

you smile, your thumb grazing the back of his hand for just a second longer than necessary. “no promises, baby.”

“no- hey! come on, have some mercy!”

but you’re already walking away, laughing again as the absurdity hits you fresh, and he follows you with a grin he can’t quite hide, even if he is still a little baffled by the fact that he just lost a ten minute fight against his own hand.

[selnvl]

eating whatever im allergic to so my throat is tighter for it

[selnvl]

the weight of the win

featuring. y. itadori

note. thank you anon for the request. enjoy!

the training grounds always had that late afternoon quiet to them. it was a heavy, golden silence, where the air still carried the radiating warmth of the sun-baked concrete, but the shadows were starting to stretch like long, dark fingers across the packed dirt. the scent of dry pine and the distant dust of the city hung thick in the air.

sparring days were usually loud. full of the rhythmic thwack of wooden poles and the sharp shouts of correction.

today wasn’t. at least, not yet.

you rolled your shoulders once, feeling the familiar pull of your uniform across your back, loosening the stiffness in your joints while the gravel crunched rhythmically under your shoes. across from you, yuji itadori was a kinetic blur. he bounced on the balls of his feet, his energy humming just beneath his skin like a live wire. his pink hair was a mess of sweat-damp spikes, and his sleeves were shoved up past his elbows, revealing forearms that looked far too solid and serious for someone who smiled that much.

he looked excited. he always looked excited when it was you- like sparring wasn't a chore, but the absolute highlight of his day.

“ready?” he asked, his grin widening until his eyes crinkled. he raised his hands loosely, his stance wide and athletic.

you tilted your head. “you look way too confident, itadori.”

“what? no, i don’t!” he did a little hop-step, his grin turning sheepish but staying bright.

“you do. it’s written all over your face.”

he laughed under his breath, a short, huffed sound, and rubbed the back of his neck for a second before his expression sharpened, settling back into a serious stance. “i just think i might actually win this one.”

“you said that last tuesday.”

“yeah, but this time? this time i mean it. i’ve been practicing.”

a few feet away, the audience was already settled. megumi was perched on the wooden railing, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes tracking your movements with clinical interest. next to him, nobara swung one leg lazily. she looked bored, but her eyes were gleaming with pure, unadulterated mischief.

“ten bucks on a total system failure for yuji,” nobara said, her voice cutting sharp through the quiet air.

megumi didn’t blink. “you bet against him every time.”

“of course!” nobara grinned wickedly, leaning forward. “it’s way more fun to watch him get flattened by his best friend. besides, he needs a reality check for that ego of his. look at him- he actually thinks he’s got a chance.”

yuji snapped his head toward them, pointing a finger. “hey! i heard that! nobara, you’re so mean! have some faith in your teammate for once!”

“focus,” you said, your voice a calm anchor.

he snapped back around so fast his neck nearly cracked. “right. focusing. sorry.”

the wind moved softly through the ancient trees surrounding the courtyard, bringing the scent of pine and dust. a leaf skittered across the gravel.

then- yuji moved.

he was a blur of brute force and refined instinct. he closed the distance in two strides, his footwork light despite the power in his legs. the first strike came from the side- a sweeping hook intended to test your guard.

you blocked, the impact vibrating through your bones. it was like hitting a brick wall wrapped in velvet; yuji was strong, but he never hit recklessly during sparring. he was careful with you.

another strike. then a flurry.

you slipped past a jab, pivoting on your heel, feeling the rush of air as his sleeve brushed your arm. he turned with you immediately, his reflexes terrifyingly sharp. he was definitely stronger today- there was a new kind of determination in the way he stayed on your heels, refusing to give you an inch of space.

“you’re trying really hard,” you muttered, ducking under a swing.

“i told you!” he exhaled, his lungs working hard.

he dropped low suddenly, a lightning fast leg sweep. you hopped back, the wind of his movement ruffling your pants, but he followed instantly, pressing the advantage. he forced you into a close-quarters scramble where your bodies kept brushing against each other.

megumi’s voice drifted over. “he’s actually doing pretty well. his center of gravity is lower than usual.”

“just wait,” nobara said smugly. “he’s about to do something stupid.”

yuji heard it. he shouldn't have, but he did. you saw the exact moment his ego flared- the way his chest puffed out just a fraction, a cocky little spark lighting up his eyes as he prepared to show off a flashy move just to prove nobara wrong.

it was a fatal mistake.

his punch came forward, overextended by an inch. you blocked, redirected the force, and stepped deep into his personal space before he could recover.

it happened in a heartbeat.

your hand caught his wrist. your weight shifted, hips swiveling. yuji’s balance, so perfect a second ago, vanished beneath him. his brain hadn't even processed that he was airborne before the world flipped 180 degrees.

thud.

he hit the dirt with a dull, heavy sound, the breath leaving his lungs in a sharp whoof. gravel crunched beneath his shoulder blades. for half a second, he just lay there, blinking up at the orange-tinted sky, wondering how the dirt got up there.

then, he felt it.

something warm, solid, and incredibly firm locked around his head.

yuji’s brain didn’t simply stall; it collided with a concrete wall at eighty miles per hour. your thighs were securely wrapped around his head, pinning his ears and locking his jaw in a vice-like grip that smelled of your laundry detergent and felt like pure, unadulterated heat. you held him in a perfect triangle choke variation from the ground, the friction of your training gear against his skin making his pulse spike so loud he could hear it in his teeth. your grip on his shoulders was clinical and absolute, stripping him of any leverage and leaving him trapped in a world that consisted entirely of the firm, crushing pressure of your legs.

he was immobilized. perfectly. cleanly. ruthlessly.

megumi sat up straight, his eyes widening. nobara let out a sharp, bark-like laugh and slapped the railing. “oh my god! look at that! she absolutely destroyed him!”

down on the ground, yuji had stopped breathing. he wasn't resisting. he wasn't struggling. he wasn't even twitching. he was just...there.

you adjusted your hold slightly, tightening the squeeze of your legs to ensure he couldn't wiggle out. the friction of your training gear against his skin was loud in the sudden silence.

“...tap out, yuji,” you said, slightly breathless.

no response.

“...yuji?”

nothing. his hands were resting limply on your shins, but he wasn't tapping. he wasn't doing anything.

“is he dead?” nobara called out, leaning over the rail to enjoy the show. “this is the best thing i’ve ever seen!”

megumi tilted his head, squinting. “...no. his heart is beating fast enough that i can see his pulse in his neck from here.”

on the ground, yuji was experiencing a total system failure.

because there were thighs. firm, athletic, warm thighs. and they were everywhere. they were the only thing he could feel, the only thing he could smell- the scent of your laundry detergent and the faint tang of sweat. his face was a shade of red that shouldn't be biologically possible. his ears were ringing with the sound of his own blood screaming through his veins.

“...yuji. seriously. tap.”

still nothing. you waited another five seconds, feeling the heat radiating off his face against your inner knees.

finally, you sighed and released the hold.

the pressure vanished. the air rushed back in. but yuji stayed exactly where he was, flat on his back, staring at the clouds with wide, unblinking eyes.

“...did you die?” nobara shouted.

he sat up so abruptly it was a miracle he didn't give himself whiplash. “what? no. i’m- i’m good.”

his face was a neon sign of embarrassment. he looked like he’d been dipped in boiling water.

you raised an eyebrow, dusting off your knees. “you were supposed to tap out. i could have passed you out.”

“i- uh- ja- good fight!! great!! amazing move!! very technical!!” he scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his own shadow. he pointed vaguely toward the dorms. “i just remembered...i left the...the stove on. for my... laundry. i have to go!”

“what?”

he was already gone, sprinting across the gravel with the speed of a man fleeing a natural disaster.

megumi watched the dust cloud he left behind. “the stove? for his laundry?”

nobara burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “oh, he is never recovering from that. you officially executed his innocence. thanks for that, it was worth the money!”

the problem started after that. because for the next week, yuji itadori treated you like you were made of radioactive waste.

if you walked into the common room, he suddenly discovered a fascinating crack in the ceiling and bolted. if you sat down at lunch, he inhaled his ramen so fast he nearly choked and fled to another table.

passing him in the hallway was the worst:

“hi- bye..nice weather- look, a bird-” and he was a streak of pink hair disappearing around the corner.

by the fourth day, nobara cornered you. “okay, enough. you have to fix him. he’s been moping around like a kicked puppy who’s also accidentally seen a ghost.”

“fix what? i just won a match.”

“thighs,” she whispered loudly, pointing at you. “you used the most forbidden technique on him. he’s been glitching for seventy-two hours.”

megumi appeared behind her like a shadow. “he’s been weird. he tried to do pushups this morning and fell over because he got distracted by his own knees.”

you sighed, rubbing your temples. “where is he?”

megumi pointed toward the back path. “running laps. he’s on lap fifty. i think he’s trying to run away from his own memories.”

you found him near the back path, collapsed on the grass and breathing like a bellows. he didn't notice you, so you caught the tail end of his panicked monologue.

“...totally normal move... it’s just combat...don’t be weird, dude...focus on the mission...oh god, what if the mission involves thighs...”

you cleared your throat.

yuji jumped a foot in the air, spinning around while clutching his chest. “oh! hey! you! hi! fancy seeing you...on this path... that leads to the school...where we live.”

you crossed your arms. “why are you avoiding me?”

“i’m not! i’ve just been...very busy! with laps! and... geometry!”

“yuji.”

he slumped, his ears turning that familiar, painful red. “...okay, maybe a little.”

“why?”

he looked at the grass, picking at a weed. “no reason.”

“yuji. talk to me.”

he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “it was embarrassing, okay? i lost my cool! i lost my focus! it was the most embarrassing defeat in the history of this school!”

“it was just a pin.”

“it wasn't just a pin!” he shouted into his palms. “my brain stopped working! i forgot how to use my arms! i forgot my own name!”

you stepped closer, sitting down in the grass beside him. “yuji, it’s a standard grappling move.”

he peeked through his fingers, his eyes wide and frantic. “yeah, but it’s different when it’s you! you’re- you’re strong! and you were right there! and i- i liked it! no! wait! i didn't mean that! i meant it was very effective! scientifically!”

he fell backward into the grass, covering his face again. “i can't believe i just said that. just punch me now. put me out of my misery.”

you laughed- really laughed this time.

“don't laugh!” he wailed.

“i'm trying not to, but you're making it impossible.” you leaned back on your elbows, looking at him. “so you avoided me for a week because you got weak in the knees over a sparring move?”

“...when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“because it is stupid.”

he turned his head to the side, looking at you through his fingers. “...it was a really cool move, though. you caught me perfectly. i didn't even see the moment you shifted your weight.” he sighed, a soft, genuine sound. “you’re really strong. i guess i just wasn't ready for...for all of that.”

you smiled, the tension finally breaking. “next time, just tap out. save yourself the week of cardio.”

yuji laughed softly, finally uncovering his face. “yeah. definitely tapping out immediately next time.” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “...but, uh, hey?”

“yeah?”

“maybe... maybe let's stick to boxing for a while? for the sake of my heart?”

you stood up, offering him a hand. “no promises, itadori.”

he took your hand, letting you pull him up, his grip warm and lingering just a second too long. “yeah,” he whispered, his grin finally returning. “i figured you’d say that.”

[selnvl]

I have an Idea (if u are still taking requests) but what if yuji and reader were doing a training combat session at jujutsu tech training grounds and then when yuji is about to win the fight reader then does a super cool move that leads to her thighs wrapped around his head and she immobalizes and strangles him on the ground and waits for him to tap out but he doesnt cuz yuji.exe has stopped working and THIGHHHSSS. reader ends up winning the fight but yuji is not normal about this (wether there is a audience watch yujis embarassing loss is up to u) and he is having an exsitential crisis and is simping about it for like a week and acting all weird (and avoiding her maybe) until reader confronts him about it 👀👀👀

(I was really inspired by the yuji gym fic cuz holy shit he is sooo cute when he is embarassed and caught of guard 😖)

OKAAAAAY I LOVE THIS REQUEST 👀

[selnvl]

GUURRLLLLL i love love lloovveeddd your rich sukuna soooo much i genuinely felt it in my soul UGGGHHH your so freaking talented i can’t get over your writing and how much emotion you put into it thank you so sooo so much for writing it i was genuinely in awe of the whole thing!🥹

HELLO?!!! THIS JUST MADE ME GRIN LIKE AN IDIOT

im so glad you liked it! requests are honestly so fun because i get to just run wild with the dynamic. messages like this make writing these pieces ten times more fun. i appreciate it a lot 🤍

[selnvl]

the silence of the skyline

rich!sukuna x reader

note. thank you anon for the request. i hope you like it, even if it’s a bit boring.. <33

the first time you step into his penthouse, you don’t say anything. you can’t. the air itself feels different up here. thinner, colder, filtered through a ventilation system so advanced it doesn't even whisper.

you just look.

it’s a sanctuary of glass and ego. floor to ceiling windows stretch across the entire perimeter, offering a panoramic view of the city spread out beneath like a sprawling, glowing map that belongs entirely to him. the marble floors are a deep, veined charcoal, polished to such a high mirror-sheen that they don’t echo when you walk; they’re too dense, too expensive to sound hollow. the art on the walls is minimalist- sharp lines and brutalist textures- that look simple until you notice the small, discreet plaques. each piece probably costs more than your yearly rent, your car, and your education combined.

it doesn’t feel flashy, though. that’s the trap. it feels deliberate. it feels like a fortress built to keep the world out, or perhaps, to keep the king in.

sukuna stands a few steps behind you. the heavy thud of his designer loafers is the only thing that breaks the stillness. he shrugs off his charcoal overcoat, his movements carrying the same terrifyingly calm precision he applies to a hostile takeover or a glass of scotch.

“well?” he asks. his voice is a low, jagged rasp that seems to vibrate in the empty space between you.

you turn slowly, your heels clicking softly against the stone. “you live like a villain.”

his mouth twitches. a ghost of a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but settles deep in the lines of his face. “good.”

he doesn’t try to impress you. that’s the most unsettling part of being in his orbit. he doesn’t gesture toward the skyline with a flourish or explain the vintage of the wine cabinet built seamlessly into the kitchen’s obsidian island. he simply walks past you, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and ink, heading toward the kitchen like this is just another day.

because for him, it is. for you, it feels like standing on the edge of an abyss.

you trail after him, your fingertips grazing the back of a leather lounge chair. the hide is buttery, impossibly soft- the kind of leather that’s never known a scratch or a rough touch. “does it ever feel…empty?” you ask. your voice sounds small against the backdrop of the sleeping city.

he pauses at the counter, a crystal glass already in his hand. he doesn't turn around immediately. “what.”

“all of it. this big, quiet space. doesn't the silence get loud?”

there’s a long beat. he pours water from a heavy carafe, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass the only noise in the room. he watches the bubbles rise, his gaze fixated on the way the city lights refract through the crystal.

“it did,” he says finally.

you look at him, searching for a crack in the armor. “did?”

he sets the glass down on the counter and slides it toward you. the condensation is already forming on the side. “before you started coming over.”

it’s said plainly. no romantic swelling of music, no dramatic pause. just a cold, hard fact. your throat tightens. you take the glass, your fingers trembling slightly as they brush against the cold surface, more for something to do than because you’re actually thirsty.

you and sukuna didn’t start in this world of private elevators and silent marble. you met him before the tailored three piece suits and the fleet of blacked out SUVs. you met him in a smaller setting. a quiet corner of a world he was already dominating, but hadn't yet invited you to witness.

the world sees him as a force of nature. the ruthless investor. the untouchable architect of industries. the kind of man people stop breathing around. but you see the version that exists in the shadows of this penthouse. you see the man who leaves a dim lamp on in the hallway because he knows you’ll be back late and hate the dark. the one who knows you take exactly two sugars in your coffee, even though he finds the sweetness offensive.

you lean against the obsidian counter, the stone cold through your clothes. “you didn’t answer me before,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he raises an eyebrow, his gaze dropping to the curve of your throat. “about what.”

“why you like me. why this.” you gesture vaguely at yourself and then at him. “a man like you could have anyone. that’s not an insecurity, sukuna. it’s a statistical reality.”

he studies you for a long moment. the silence stretches, becoming heavy and thick, like honey. there’s something almost dangerous in the way he looks at you. not like a lover, but like a predator who has finally found something worth keeping.

“because you don’t look at me like i’m a prize,” he says, his voice dropping an octave.

you blink, confused. “what do you mean.”

“everyone else does.” he steps closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, smelling of expensive sandalwood and something sharp, like ozone before a storm. “they look at what i have. they look at the skyline and see my shadow. they look at the power and think of how they can use it. what i can give them.”

he’s inches away now. he doesn't touch you, but the heat radiating from his body is enough to make your head spin. “you look at me like i’m a man.”

your breath hitches. “you are a man.”

“exactly.”

his hand lifts, his fingers ghosting over your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. his touch is surprisingly gentle- devastatingly so. he doesn’t do grand gestures. his affection is found in the micro-movements, the intentionality of his focus.

“you don’t ask me for things,” he continues, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “you don’t hint at upgrades. you don’t angle for a seat at the table. you just…stay.”

you tilt your head into his palm, a reckless move. “should i?”

his eyes darken, the pupils blowing wide until the iris is almost gone. “no.” a beat of pure, unadulterated tension. “if you wanted something, you would tell me. wouldn't you?”

“i would.”

“and i would give it to you. not because you manipulated me into it. but because i chose to.”

you look at him, and for a split second, the polished mask cracks. you aren't looking for a savior or a fighter; you’re looking for the person who exists when the elevators stop and the world goes quiet.

“you think this is what keeps me here?” you ask, your voice steady despite the overwhelming opulence of the room. you gesture vaguely at the obsidian counters and the priceless view that looks more like a cold photograph than a home. “you could lose every floor of this building. you could end up in some cramped, one bedroom walk-up with peeling paint and a view of a brick wall, and i’d still be standing right there in the kitchen asking how your day was.”

he doesn't move, but you see the way his eyes sharpen, tracking the conviction in your words.

“i’m not here for the view of the city or the money, sukuna,” you continue, stepping closer until the heat from his chest bleeds through your clothes. “i’m here for the view of you. the one nobody else gets to see. if all of this burned down tomorrow, the only thing i’d try to save is you.”

“i know.” he exhales, a ragged sound. “then why do you look like you’re bracing yourself every time you walk through that door?”

the question catches you off guard. it lands with the weight of a physical blow. he’s noticed. of course he’s noticed.

“i’ve seen what this world does to people,” he mutters, his hand dropping to his side as if he’s trying to distance himself from the sentiment. “i’ve seen how greed turns a person into a parasite. i don’t want this place to change the way you look at me.”

it isn't fear you see in him. it's caution. he built his empire with surgical precision. he controlled every variable, calculated every risk. but you? you’re the only thing he can’t forecast.

you step forward, closing the final inch of space. you reach up and take his face in both of your hands. the stubble on his jaw is sharp against your palms. he goes perfectly still- a lethal weapon suddenly rendered inert by your touch.

“i look at you,” you say, forcing him to meet your eyes, “like you’re the most stubborn, difficult, and terrifying person i’ve ever met.”

his mouth curves into a genuine, albeit sharp, smile. “accurate.”

“and i look at you like you’re protective in a way you pretend isn’t soft. like you’re the only person who actually hears me when the world gets too loud.”

his eyes narrow, a warning flash in the depths. “careful.”

“and like you care more than you’d ever admit to anyone but me.”

silence falls again. the city glows like embers behind him. in this light, he doesn't look like himself anymore. he looks like someone who built his walls too high and is quietly, desperately hoping you’re the one who finally knows how to climb them.

you soften your grip, your thumbs stroking the high points of his cheekbones. “i don’t care about the art on the walls. i care about the way you pull me closer in your sleep, even when you’re grumpy the next morning.”

his throat moves as he swallows hard. “that’s…a subconscious reflex,” he mutters, though his composure is visibly fraying at the edges.

“sure it is.” you smile. “i care about you, sukuna. just you.”

for a long, breathless moment, he says nothing. then his hands come up- large, warm, and steady- and settle firmly at your waist. he pulls you flush against him, his fingers digging slightly into the fabric of your clothes.

“good,” he says, his voice a low vibration against your forehead.

“good?”

“because i am not interested in starting over.”

your heart hammers against your ribs. “starting over?”

“if you left,” he clarifies, his voice turning cold and possessive, “i would not replace you. i would simply burn the rest of it down.”

it’s not a romantic poem. it’s a terrifying, heavy and final declaration. he doesn't do "backups." he doesn't have a plan b for his heart.

you study the intensity in his gaze. “that sounds like a threat.”

“it’s a fact. i don’t collect people. i don’t curate a life of 'useful' bodies. i choose.” his thumbs press firmly into your hips. “and i chose you.”

the city hums below, millions of lives moving in a blur of insignificance. but here, sixty stories up, the penthouse finally feels like a home.

you slide your hands down to rest against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart. “then keep choosing me.”

his eyes don’t waver. they never do. “i already am.”

[selnvl]

Your yuji fic rocked my shit. Made me cackle and giddy and made me kick my legs violently in the air. Your yuji writing is the best dessert ever 😛

THANK YOU SO MUCH??!?

[selnvl]

hiii :)) same nonnie here

i’ve been craving some rich!sukuna x reader

i don’t really have a specific ideas honestly (sorry) 😅 but i trust you with whatever you want to do, i honestly believe that i’ll like whatever you come up with and i can’t wait to read it!

thank you so much!

hope this finds you well 🩷

helllooo!

i love this concept so much actually. rich!sukuna has such an insane amount of potential..

thank you for requesting and for being so sweet about it!

[selnvl]

LOVE THE YUJI FIC OMFG HE IS SO CUUUUTTEEEE AHHHHHHHHH😫😫😫

*insert kylo ren meme: MORE!!!!*

THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCHHHHHHH 🫶🏼😔

[selnvl]

hi gorgeous!!

i’m literally obsessed with your sukuna ff and overall writing, you’re sooo freaking talented istg!! and it would be an honour to request something if you don’t mind 🥹

hi love!!

thank you so much, genuinely. that means more than you think!!

and YES OF COURSE YOU CAN REQUEST SOMETHING! give me all the details and i’ll make it hurt in the best way 🙂‍↕️

[selnvl]

strong enough for you

featuring. y. itadori

note. thank you anon for the request. enjoy <33

yuji was doing perfectly fine.

that’s the worst part.

he had a good rhythm going- controlled breathing, steady reps, not overthinking anything. the gym was mostly quiet, just the soft clink of weights and the hum of the overhead lights. he wipes his forehead with his shirt and resets his grip on the barbell. manageable weight. nothing crazy. he’s not trying to break records today.

then the door opens.

he doesn’t even look at first. he just hears your voice- soft, apologizing to someone for interrupting- and his entire body reacts before his brain does. he looks up, and there you are. standing near the entrance, scanning the room until your eyes land on him.

you smile. it’s over for him.

his heart starts pounding like he’s already mid-sprint. okay, he thinks. cool. be normal. he straightens automatically, rolling his shoulders back like he wasn’t just mid-set. he gives you a small wave, trying to look casual despite the sudden spike in his pulse.

you walk closer. “hi,” you say, glancing at the weights. “i didn’t know you were still training.”

“yeah! yeah, just finishing up,” he replies way too quickly, his voice pitching up just a fraction.

you nod, stepping a little to the side so you’re not in anyone’s way. and then you lean against the wall.

to watch.

that’s when it happens. he decides- in a moment of pure yuji overconfidence- that the weight he was lifting is suddenly not impressive enough. because you’re here. so he 'casually' slides another plate onto the bar.

just one more. it’ll be fine. he’s strong. he’s always been strong.

he grips the bar again, bouncing lightly on his heels. “don’t overdo it,” you say absentmindedly, not even looking worried yet. “you were breathing kinda heavy earlier.”

his pride flares. “i’m good!” he grins, all teeth and boyish charm. “watch this.”

the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. you blink at him. “…okay?”

he takes a breath. braces. lifts.

for a second it’s fine. the bar rises. his arms flex, the muscles straining beautifully under the thin fabric of his shirt. and he thinks that he nailed it.

then halfway through the rep, he realizes he absolutely did not nail it. the weight is heavier than he calculated, the physics of his own vanity working against him. his arms begin to tremble. his balance shifts. his face goes red from effort- not the cute, post workout glow kind. more the concerning, "about to pop a vein" kind.

you straighten up immediately. “yuji-”

“i’m good,” he grits out, which is the universal sign that he is anything but. his elbows wobble. the bar tilts dangerously to one side.

“yuji, put it down!”

he tries to push through it. he really does. but his strength gives out faster than his pride. the bar dips suddenly, and he barely manages to guide it down onto the rack with a loud, jarring clatter that echoes through the room.

silence. the entire gym turns to look.

yuji stays frozen for half a second, staring at the bar like it betrayed him. then he slowly sits back on the bench. his face is so red it’s almost impressive.

you’re in front of him immediately. “are you insane?” you hiss quietly, hands hovering near his shoulders like you don’t know whether to shake him or check for injuries. “you could’ve dropped that.”

“i didn’t drop it,” he mutters, looking at his shoes.

“barely.” you crouch down slightly, peering up at his face. his chest is rising and falling fast. not dangerously, but definitely overexerted. you reach up and press your palm lightly to his shoulder. “does anything hurt?”

he refuses to look at you. “…no.”

“don’t lie.”

he finally glances down at you and the second he sees the genuine worry in your eyes, his embarrassment shifts into something softer, more vulnerable. “i’m fine,” he says again, quieter this time.

you narrow your eyes. “why did you add more weight?”

he hesitates. you stare. he caves instantly. “…because you were watching.”

your expression falters. “what.”

he rubs the back of his neck, looking completely mortified. “i just- i don’t know. i wanted to look cool.”

your heart does something extremely inconvenient. “yuji.”

he laughs weakly. “that sounded stupid out loud.”

you stand up fully now, crossing your arms. “so your plan was to impress me by potentially dislocating your shoulder?”

he groans, covering his face with his hands. “don’t say it like that.”

“how else am i supposed to say it?”

he peeks at you through his fingers, eyes hopeful. “…did it work?”

“did what work.”

“did i look cool.”

you stare at him. then, despite yourself, you huff out a laugh. “you looked like you were about to cry.”

“hey!”

you step closer and gently grab his wrist, pulling his hands away from his face so he has to look at you. his skin is still radiating heat from the exertion. “you don’t have to do that,” you say softly. “i already think you’re cool.”

he freezes. completely. “…you do?”

you nod. “you’re strong. and kind. and you help everyone without thinking about it. you don’t need to almost crush yourself under a barbell.”

his ears turn red. worse than before. “don’t say stuff like that so calmly,” he mutters. “my heart can’t handle it.”

you smile. then your expression shifts slightly- back to that concerned edge. “seriously though. if you hurt yourself trying to show off, i will be so mad.”

“mad?”

“yes. because i like having you in one piece.”

that one lands harder than anything else. he swallows hard, his gaze searching yours. “…you do?”

you hesitate for half a second. then, quietly: “obviously.”

there’s a small stretch of silence where the gym noise fades into the background. yuji looks at you like you just handed him the world. then he straightens up suddenly. “okay,” he says, determined again but softer this time. “i’ll just lift normal weights.”

you squint at him. “normal normal?”

“normal normal.”

you point at the bar. “prove it.”

he rolls his eyes, but he resets the weight back to what it was before you walked in. no extra plates. no ego. this time when he lifts, he moves smoothly. controlled. confident. no wobbling. no near disasters.

you watch quietly, and when he finishes the set without dying, you clap softly. he grins at you, breathless but proud. “better?”

“much.”

he stands up, wiping his hands on his shorts. “…you really think i’m cool?”

you step closer again. “yeah.”

he looks down at you, cheeks still pink, eyes bright. “even when i embarrass myself?”

you shrug lightly. “especially then.”

his entire face lights up. and for a second, you swear he looks more proud of that than he did of any lift he’s ever done. “okay,” he says, trying and failing to sound composed. “next time i’ll just… ask you to watch.”

you tilt your head. “ask me?”

“yeah.” he scratches his cheek, shy now. “like. on purpose.”

you smile slowly. “i’d like that.”

and this time when he blushes, it’s not from the weights. it’s from you.

yuji is still riding that high as you both walk out of the gym. the cool evening air hits your skin, a sharp contrast to the humid, iron scented heat of the weight room.

he’s carrying his gym bag over one shoulder, his hair still a bit messy from the workout, and he’s talking..a lot. he always talks more when he’s nervous, rambling about a movie he saw or what he wants for dinner, but his eyes keep darting toward you.

specifically, toward your hand.

it’s swinging right next to his. every few steps, your knuckles brush against his backhand, and every single time it happens, he flinches like he’s been electrocuted.

he clears his throat, losing the thread of his story about a weirdly shaped bread he saw at a bakery. “so, uh, the bread was... really round. like, super round.”

“yuji?”

“yeah?” he squeaks.

“you’re talking about bread shapes.”

“right. shapes. geometry is important,” he mutters, looking like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

he takes a deep breath. be brave, he tells himself. you can do this.

he lets his hand drift closer. his fingers twitch. he’s trying to be "smooth"- slowly, he extends his pinky. just his pinky. he hooks it around yours, testing the waters.

you don’t pull away.

his heart practically performs a gymnastics routine in his chest. encouraged, he slides his hand further, his palm grazing yours. it’s warm and calloused from the barbell but incredibly gentle.

then, with a final, shaky exhale, he slots his fingers between yours.

he doesn’t just hold your hand, he grips it like he’s anchoring himself to the planet. his thumb starts to rub small, nervous circles over the back of your hand.

“this okay?” he asks, his voice dropping into that quiet, honest tone that always makes your stomach flip.

you squeeze his hand back, leaning your shoulder against his arm as you walk. “it’s more than okay.”

yuji beams. it’s not the cool, mysterious smirk he was trying to pull off at the gym. it’s that wide, eye-crinkling grin that makes him look like the sun. he swings your joined hands back and forth once, twice, looking like he could fly.

“good,” he says, pulling you a little closer so your arms are tucked together. “because i’ve been wanting to do that since the squat rack.”

“since you almost died?”

he groans, hiding his burning face in his free hand. “don’t remind me! i’m trying to be romantic!”

you laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet street. “you’re doing great, yuji.”

and for the rest of the walk, he doesn’t let go once.

[selnvl]

soft things he doesn’t warn you about | 3.

featuring. r. sukuna

part. 2 & 1

getting mimi ready is a two-person operation.

technically.

realistically, it’s you.

sukuna is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching with thinly veiled disbelief as you kneel on the floor with the tiny soft pink harness laid out in front of you like ceremonial attire. mimi is currently sprinting in chaotic circles, a blur of fur and sudden, sharp energy.

“she knows,” sukuna says flatly.

“she does not.”

mimi absolutely knows. the moment the harness comes into view, she darts under the dresser. you sigh softly and lie flat on your stomach to peer into the shadows. “mimi,” you call gently. “baby.”

nothing but two wide, unblinking eyes staring back at you.

sukuna stands, crouches, and reaches under with one long, tattooed arm. mimi hisses dramatically- a tiny, sharp sound that echoes in the quiet room- and he withdraws his hand with a scoff. “…ungrateful creature.”

“don’t bully her.”

you scoot closer to him and lower your voice, pitching it soft and sweet. “mimi, come here, sweetheart. mama’s not going to let him touch you.”

the shift is immediate. mimi blinks once, then carefully creeps out from under the furniture while ignoring sukuna entirely- and walks straight into your lap.

he gives you a look that clearly says he finds the "respect" of a three-pound kitten entirely beneath him, yet he doesn’t pull his hand away.

you gently slip the pink harness around her torso, and to his visible irritation, she remains perfectly still for you, tiny paws tucked neatly against your thigh in an act of total submission. the contrast is almost insulting. sukuna stays silent, his eyes narrowed as he watches you adjust the soft straps, checking the fit twice and running your hand along her back to soothe her.

“too tight?” you murmur. mimi purrs.

he crosses his arms. “she tolerates this nonsense for you only.”

“because i’m her mama.”

you say it absentmindedly, but something in his expression shifts. mimi’s leash clicks into place- the soft pink strap looking absurdly delicate compared to the massive hands that will inevitably end up near it. you stand up with her in your arms, and she immediately nuzzles into your neck.

sukuna’s gaze softens for half a second before he schools it back into neutrality. “ready?” you ask.

he grabs his jacket. “if we must parade her.”

outside, mimi is on her best behavior because you’re holding the leash. she walks with tiny, dignified steps, tail curved elegantly upward.

“look at her,” you whisper. “she’s so polite.”

sukuna hums. “she is performing.”

“for me.”

“yes.”

you smile, completely unashamed. after a while, you pass the leash to him so you can fix your sleeve, but mimi is a different creature the second the handle changes hands. she stops dead in her tracks, anchoring herself to the pavement with a sudden, immovable weight that shouldn't be possible for a cat her size. sukuna looks down at the tiny, defiant puff of fur, his expression hardening as he says a single, flat word: “move.”

mimi stares back, her unblinking gaze a direct challenge. he gives the pink leash a light, experimental tug, but instead of walking, she simply loses all bone structure- flopping dramatically onto her side like a discarded toy. you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the sheer absurdity of the sight. “she somehow doesn’t like when you hold it,” you explain softly, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“she was walking.”

“because i was holding it.”

he narrows his eyes at the cat, yet mimi remains entirely unimpressed. “you are three pounds of defiance,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble of irritation. mimi doesn't even look at him. she just flicks the very tip of her tail in a slow, rhythmic stroke against the pavement

the moment you take the leash back, she stands and resumes walking like nothing happened. sukuna exhales sharply through his nose. “traitor.”

you beam. “she’s a mama’s girl.”

as you walk, he steps closer and his hand naturally settles at your lower back. it’s become automatic, not something he consciously thinks about but simply where his hand belongs when you’re beside him.

“and what are you,” he asks after a moment.

“what do you mean.”

“if she is a mama’s girl.”

you blink. “are you jealous of a cat?”

“answer the question.”

you laugh softly. “i’m your girl.”

it comes out easier than you expected. his hand presses slightly firmer against your back. “that’s what i thought.”

when you reach the park, the grass is long and emerald green, waving slightly in the breeze. mimi’s ears perk up at the sound of a distant bird, and she begins a high-speed, low crawl toward a patch of wildflowers. she moves with a sudden, predatory focus that is entirely undermined by the soft jingle of the bell on her pink harness.

you sit on the grass, letting the leash go slack so she can explore the miniature jungle of clover and stems. sukuna remains standing for a moment, his silhouette cutting a sharp, imposing figure against the soft afternoon sky. he looks down at the two of you as if he’s still trying to calculate the exact series of life choices that led him to a public park with a kitten. eventually, he settles onto the grass beside you- though even sitting, he possesses a gravity that makes the space around him feel like a throne room.

mimi finds a particularly tall dandelion and begins to battle it with frantic, uncoordinated paws. you lean back on your elbows, soaking in the sun and watching her bright fur catch the light.

“she’s going to eat that,” sukuna warns, his voice a low vibration against the quiet hum of the park.

“she’s just playing, baby.”

two seconds later, mimi chomps down on the yellow flower. she immediately freezes, her tiny face scrunching in a look of betrayal as the bitter taste hits her tongue. she shakes her head vigorously, ears flapping, before turning and trotting straight back to sukuna. without a second thought, she begins rubbing her face against his knee to scrub the pollen and bitter sap onto his dark trousers.

sukuna looks down at the bright yellow smudge on the expensive fabric. he doesn't push her away. instead, he reaches down with two fingers and gently wipes a bit of yellow fluff off her nose.

“it was not to your liking?” he asks her, his voice dropping into a low, dry rumble of amusement.

mimi meows at him. an obvious, high-pitched complaint, and then climbs onto his lap, curling into a small ball on his leg. he doesn’t move to stop her. he just lets his hand rest near her as a silent, warm wall of protection.

“she’s forgiven you for the dresser incident,” you tease, resting your head on his shoulder.

“she has realized who provides the better vantage point,” he counters, though his thumb absentmindedly strokes the space between the kitten's ears.

as the sun begins to set, casting long, orange shadows across the grass, a group of children runs past, their laughter loud and sudden. mimi’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she prepares to bolt for the nearest bit of cover. before she can scramble away, sukuna’s hand splays across her back, pinning her gently but firmly to his leg.

“stay,” he murmurs.

it isn't a shout, but the command carries enough weight to anchor her instantly. she settles back down under the heavy warmth of his palm, her tiny heart racing against his skin. she doesn't trust the noise, but she trusts the hand holding her down.

the peace of the walk shatters near the park exit. mimi is padding along with her tail held high until a sudden, booming bark splits the air. several yards away, a large dog is straining against its lead- nothing more than an over excited greeting to the people around- but to a baby as small as mimi, the sound is a thunderclap from a monster.

she panics, bolting toward you and tangling herself around your ankles. the leash jerks; you lose your balance.

this time, sukuna is already moving before you even begin to tip. he’s fast- brutally so- catching your waist with one arm to haul you back upright while his other hand sweeps down to scoop mimi up mid-scramble. it’s a singular and seamless motion that leaves you breathless. you end up pressed firmly against his side, mimi tucked securely against his chest, held fast by the same hand that’s shielding her from the noise.

mimi trembles. you reach up, cupping her tiny face. “it’s okay, baby. mama’s here.”

sukuna watches you and the way your thumb strokes between her ears, the way you murmur until the trembling stops. he adjusts his hold, shifting his weight so that mimi is shielded between both of you. his arm remains anchored around your waist, pulling you flush against his side as if to remind the world that everything within his reach is off-limits.

“she is too small,” he says quietly.

“i know.”

“too small for all this.”

“she deserves to explore.”

he looks down at you. “so do you.”

the words land heavier than expected. you tilt your head. “and you carry us both when it’s too much?”

he doesn’t hesitate. “yes.”

mimi meows softly, pressing her face against your collarbone now that she’s calmed. you smile and kiss the top of her head- then, without thinking, you lean up and press a soft kiss against sukuna’s jaw too.

he goes still for half a second, his breath hitching against your skin before he leans down to press a light, lingering kiss to the side of your neck. “next time,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice buzzing against your pulse, “we choose a quieter route.”

“okay.”

“and she stays in my arms if there are dogs.”

you glance at mimi. she’s already tucked comfortably against him, surprisingly calm in his hold. “see?” you whisper to her. “papa’s scary, but he’s safe.”

sukuna exhales softly. “do not call me that.”

you grin. mimi purrs louder. and as you continue walking- close at his side, mimi secure between you- it feels like a small, solid unit. a girl who only behaves for her mama, a grumpy looking guy holding a pink leash without complaint, and the steady understanding that if anything startles you again, he’ll be there before you fall.