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ryomen sukuna x reader

Fresh out of undercover, Sukuna returns to the precinct with a bad attitude and zero respect for your authority as his new partner. You stay upbeat and determined to make it work—despite him ignoring every order. The problem? You might be falling for him anyway.

cw : use of alcohol, use of cigarettes, injuries, violence, medical content (I will update as I go!!) grumpy x sunshine

word count : 1.1k

“Andrew Garfield is way hotter.”

It’s moments like these that make the day just a little more bearable. An infuriating, white-haired man is currently perched on the edge of your desk, completely ignoring the stack of paperwork he knocked slightly out of place five minutes ago, arguing with you about who the best Spider-Man is.

Normally, you wouldn’t entertain his nonsense—not when you have reports to finish and deadlines creeping ever closer—but the workload in front of you is already starting to blur together. The words on your screen lose meaning the longer you stare, numbers swimming into one indistinct mess.

A distraction, however stupid, is still a distraction.

“You’re objectively wrong,” he argues, not even sparing you a glance as he idly toys with your pens. “Maguire set the standard.”

Before you can respond, he twists around in his seat, raising his voice across the bullpen. “Hey, Suguru! Who’s the best Spider-Man?”

You don’t even need to look to know Suguru’s already smirking. “Garfield.”

You finally glance up, shooting him a scrunched, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

As he walks past your desk, he reaches out and ruffles your hair, earning a quiet protest as your hand immediately flies up to fix it. “No fair,” Gojo complains, dropping back against your desk like a sulking child. “You always take her side.”

“That’s because she’s my favourite.”

You huff softly, trying—and failing—not to smile as you smooth your hair back into place. “Yeah, well,” Gojo suddenly straightens, clearly unwilling to accept defeat, “that one scene where Maguire is dancing? Oscar-worthy.”

You pause, finally giving him your full attention. “Andrew is still hotter.”

“I’m hotter.”

“No.”

He opens his mouth, clearly about to argue further—likely just to be even more annoying, knowing him—but the sharp ding of the elevator cuts cleanly through the bullpen.

The shift is immediate.

Subtle at first—a pause in conversation, a faint hesitation in movement, like something instinctive ripples through the room. You turn toward the sound, brows knitting slightly.

A man steps out of the elevator.

He’s large—large—broad-shouldered in a way that makes the space around him feel smaller, tighter. Pink hair, unmistakable, and dark markings etched across his face like something permanent, something deliberate. His clothes are rugged and creased, as if he’s slept in them for years, and a deep scowl is carved into his expression.

Not confused. Not lost.

Just… irritated.

A criminal?

But what kind of criminal walks into a precinct like this—alone—and looking like that?

The thought barely has time to settle before instinct takes over. Chairs scrape harshly against the floor, conversations die mid-word, and in near-perfect unison, guns are drawn.

Yours included.

Unlucky for you, you’re the closest.

You barely register the movement before he’s in front of you. Fast—far too fast to track. Your wrist is caught, your grip falters, and in one smooth, practiced motion, your gun is gone. The shift is immediate—cold metal pressed back toward you, now aimed directly at your chest.

A quiet click.

“Woah, woah,” Gojo’s voice cuts in, hands lifting slightly. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Drop it,” someone else orders, sharper this time.

Your pulse spikes, hammering in your ears, but you don’t move. Don’t flinch. His gaze is fixed on you—steady, unreadable—like this is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Then the door to the captain’s office opens.

“Squad.”

Yaga steps out, calm—too calm. No gun in his hands, no urgency in his posture. For a split second, disbelief slices through your thoughts.

What the hell?

“Stand down.”

The command lands heavy. Around you, there’s hesitation—then slowly, guns begin to lower.

“Everyone,” Yaga continues evenly, “this is your new colleague. Ryomen Sukuna.” Your eyes flicker from Yaga to your… criminal-turned-colleague.

“He has only recently come out from being undercover.”

Silence settles thickly over the bullpen.

“Please give him a warm welcome.”

For a moment, no one moves.

Then Sukuna lowers the gun, lazily turning it in his hand before offering it back to you, grip-first—like nothing just happened. Like this is normal. Your fingers curl around it cautiously, and his eyes lock onto yours.

cue theme song

Now, your squad is gathered in the briefing room—eyeing down the new guy. He stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, gaze sweeping over everyone with his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. You nurse a cup of coffee between your hands, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and wake yourself up after that scare. Then a gruff, deep voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Some of you just met Detective Sukuna,” Yaga begins. Satoru quickly nudges you, and you immediately try to swat his hand away. “And, of course, some of you knew him before he went undercover.”

“Missed you, sweetie. You didn’t call.” Toji, your sergeant, jokes. To your surprise, Sukuna lets out a low chuckle under his breath. It’s strange to witness, to say the least.

“Detective Sukuna will be returning to his old desk. So, Satoru, you’ll have to relocate to the break room for the time being.” You clasp your hands together as if in prayer—because without Satoru in your face every second, it would be heaven. “Shut up. You’re gonna miss my handsome face.”

A voice cuts through, sharp and impatient. “Do you have a question, Satoru?”—irritation clear at being talked over.

He sits up instantly. “Yeah, why were you undercover?”

“I was a member of Kenjaku’s organisation.”

Kenjaku was the feared leader of the Culling Organisation, a drug cartel that dominated the streets of New York. A prolific drug lord, he was as ruthless as he was cunning—always managing to stay two steps ahead of the NYPD.

“What did you do?” Haibara, seated in front of you, asks.

“I mainly just beat people up for him.” He says it casually, like it’s nothing—like it’s a joke. Despite working in a field where violence isn’t uncommon, the thought of a hardened “criminal” sitting just feet away from you sends a chill down your spine.

After a few more questions—and a few more unsettling, too-casual stories from Sukuna—your colleagues begin to disperse from the briefing room. You’re left behind with Sukuna and Yaga.

“[Name], you will be partnered with Sukuna for future cases. I understand, Sukuna, that this may be a difficult transition for you, but I assure you [Name] will be here to help.”

You reach your hand out to greet your new partner—only to be completely ignored.

“Why can’t I be partners with Toji again?”

“Toji has been promoted to sergeant in the time you were gone, so he has more responsibilities to fulfill.”

tch.

“Fine.”

this is my first post!! feedback is greatly appreciated because I have no idea what I’m doing. b99 is one my fav sitcoms and if people actually read this and like it I may do more sitcoms (e.g tbbt, the office, abbot elementary)

LIEEEEESSSS

HAVE YALL SEEN THIS MAN?????

HIS TRUE FORM IS ONE OF THE YUMMEST, HOTTEST THINGS I'VE SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE, FOUR ARMS, TWO MOUTHS, TWO COCKS, 7 FEET OF PURE MUSCLE, HIS LETHAL FACE CARD AND YOU COME HERE AND HAVE THE AUDACITY TO TELL ME I ONLY FIND HIM ATTRACTIVE BECAUSE HE'S IN YUJI'S BODY???

PUH-LEASE I'M A TOTAL FREAK FOR THIS MAN, PUT ME AND HIM IN A ROOM TOGETHER AND ONE OF US IS COMING OUT PREGNANT AND IT AINT GONNA BE MEE

tags. fluff. angst but not really LMFAO. college au. stupidstupid gojo.

satoru has never considered himself to be very charming. sure, he's been with a few ladies here and there, and yeah, he thinks he's pretty good in bed.

the problem? that's with women he doesn't care about. they flock to him like birds when he offers so much as a half-hearted nod of the head.

you, however, are a different case.

no matter now hard he tries, you simply never look in his direction. you don't see him as a person, but rather, a rumor. a whisper. the guy every girl should watch out for.

he's done it all. wearing a t-shirt with your favorite band on it when he knew he'd pass you in the halls. making sure your name is on every party invite list even though you aren't the type to go out on fridays. going to your favorite cafe to "study" and drink strawberry-fucking-matcha lattes because you like that shit and fuck it, so will he if it means he has a chance of running into you.

but nothing. you remain a fragment of his life, out of his reach but within plain sight. it's a modern form of torture, he's sure of it.

he's about to do the usual. it's a party. there's lots of beer and women, which is just enough to distract him from his boy-crush on the girl who sits in front of him in english 101.

but before he can scoop up the first willing, horny, girl, he spots a familiar shadow. he nearly drops his red cup and spills beer everywhere. the girl he was just entertaining? yeah, he leaves her mid-conversation.

it's you.

you don't look too happy about being here, but you're here, alright. leaning against a wall, sipping a definitely non-alcoholic beverage, chuckling lightly at the poor jokes your friend group passes around.

oh god, you're so cute. he's never seen you like this before. your hair is styled in a cute little updo, strands falling to frame your face. your outfit is a simple pair of jeans with a devastatingly tight crop top.

you laugh--this time for real--when someone trips and falls over in a comical manner.

he has to talk to you. now or never.

he's in his element, really. alcohol buzzes through his veins, giving him a false sense of confidence and a glow that he's sure makes him look extra attractive. or so he hopes, at least.

he strides over, slipping through people with practiced ease until he finds himself leaning on the wall next to you.

confidence satoru. godspeed. you're the fucking man.

he takes a deep breath.

"hey, haven't i seen you around somewhere before?"

you turn your head, only just now noticing him. you eye him up and down.

"uh, no?"

okay. nailed that.

he shakes his head, trying to recover.

"maybe look again?" he puts on his best smouldering expression, hoping that he's giving Handsome Man, and not Douchebag.

from the look on your face, he's giving Douchebag.

you snort. "yeah, no. never seen you. hope that doesn't hurt your ego too much." with a light chuckle, you start walking away.

no, no, no. abort mission. change tactics. he can't have screwed up already!

"hey, wait!" he calls out, grabbing your wrist and also the attention of literally everyone else in the room.

it goes still for a moment. not quiet, but still. some people stare. he can already hear their thoughts.

is THE gojo satoru struggling to hit on a girl? sheeeesh.

okay, he needs to be suave so he doesn't look stupid. at that moment, he pulls you backward and into his chest, letting you tumble into him like a damsel in distress.

"not so fast, sweetheart," he murmurs into your ear, instinctively doing what usually works for him.

you push off of him with a sneer.

"fuck off!" you yell. "don't be weird."

welp. now satoru wants to die. why can't he be a normal guy in front of you? but alas, his pride persists.

"come on," he drags, shoving his hands into his pockets with faux-nonchalance. "don't play hard to get now."

you roll your eyes, turning away with an air of finality.

"god, this is why i hate frat boys," you mumble under your breath.

as satoru watches you drift into the sea of sweaty bodies, taking a sip of his beer like his heart and ego wasn't just crushed, he thinks that he hates being one too.

(re-uploading)

ᦸ aged up althetic yuji. unprotected sex. p in v. talking you through it. yuji's big & strong. pet names. creampie. not proofread.

"Oh, I know, my poor girl," Yuji cooed, pressing a palm to your lips to muffle the whimpers as he sank another thick inch into your fluttering walls. "I know, I know—fuck, baby—just breathe, I've got you."

His hand slowly moved to cup your waist, rubbing soft circles as he pressed quick kisses to your flushed face.

Yuji was the sweetest boyfriend. He tried his best—careful as can be—the burning sting of his fat cock splitting you open, flat on your back & whining at how good it hurt.

"Yuji—" You gasped out, sinking your claws into his back as your eager cunt practically sucked another inch in.

"There's my girl," he whispered, eyes fluttering as he groaned, hips thrusting down against yours instinctively. "I knew she missed me."

Yuji rubbed his palm soothingly over the bulge on your lower stomach, slowly bottoming out with a breathy whine.

"Hey!" You squeaked out, arching up against him, chest to chest, stomach to ab, and nose to nose. "Fuck, jus' stay still for a second, idiot."

"Yes, ma'am." He whispered, beefy arms caging you against the mattress as his eyes flicked over your face. "It's ok; the poor girl isn't dying."

"Easy for you to say," you grumbled, spreading your thighs to better bracket against his hips. "You're not the one being stuffed."

"It's not stuffing; it's making love."

"It is stuffing. Just because you love me while doing it doesn't change that." Your fingertips grazed his jaw, giggling softly as you rolled up against him. "I think you're a big fat meanie for that."

"Mm. I definitely do love you," Yuji mused, gripping your hips. "And I love feeling you almost as much, pretty girl."

"Yuji," you mumbled, cheeks flushing as his hips slowly ground against yours, sending shocks of pure pleasure up your spine. "Oh my god—please, baby, please?"

"Please what?" he hummed, giving a short thrust. "Use your words, c'mon, be a good girl."

"Yuji, I swear—" you whined pitifully, rolling your hips up against his, chasing after the delicious friction he was trying to deny. "Baby, please fuck me." Your nails sank into his back, trying to drag him closer. "Please, please, please."

"Fuck, baby, do you expect me to say no when you're beggin' for me like that?" Yuji pulled back, leaving only his aching tip prodding at your entrance, teasing like he was going to pull out, leaving you helpless, yet... Yuji wouldn't dare.

His hands were firm on your hips as he slammed back in to the hilt, gasping at the way your throbbing cunt squeezed each thick inch of him in.

The filthiest squelch as it swallowed him down to the base—fuck, did he love the feeling of you around him.

Even more, he loved the sight even better, leaning down to press a searing kiss to your lips as he set a ruthless pace, knocking the headboard into your wall with each maddening thrust.

Your lips mashed against his, whimpering as his blushing tip repeatedly left sloppy kisses on your cervix, claiming it.

"Mngh, baby?" You breathed out, dragging your nails up his back until your palms were flush against the back of his neck. "Just like that."

"Yes, ma'am." Yuji nodded, leaning down to bury his face against your neck, whining out at each deep-hitting thrust. "You feel so good, baby; I think m' gonna die here."

Your nose buried in his hair, nails scratching through the strands effortlessly, holding Yuji plush against you, the marks you'd left over his back a pretty red as he squeezed his arms around you.

Fuck, his biceps are so big.

"Baby!?" You squeaked out, a whimper tinging your tone as his pace slowed into a filthy grind, each roll of his hips rubbing sinfully against your clit. "m'gonna—"

Yuji only nodded against your skin with a breathy groan; he was close too. So close it was almost painful.

It's always so hot, seeing the big, strong, beaming basketball captain be reduced to a whiny mess every time he fucks you.

"You're so pretty." Yuji forced out, pulling back to gaze down at you, acting like you couldn't feel his tip twitching so deep inside you. "I love you."

"You—fuck—are such a dork sometimes." You pressed your palm to his cheek, guiding him back down to your lips, pressing a soft kiss there. "I love you too."

"Honey... you're sooo mean to me." He whined, breath hitching with yours as your climax fast approached, walls spasming around him with a whimper.

"Yuji—" you mewled, going limp in his arms as he felt the gush of your release hit his thighs.

soft things he doesn’t warn you about

featuring. r. sukuna

it’s the first time you’re at his place.

you try not to show how aware you are of that fact. how your hands feel slightly too warm, how you smooth your clothes twice before he opens the door and how your heart is beating just a little faster than usual.

you’re still new to this. to him. to being his.

the door opens before you knock a second time.

he looks the same as always- broad shoulders, steady gaze, presence that fills the doorway like he owns the world behind it. but his eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary.

“you’re late,” he says calmly.

you blink. “i’m two minutes early.”

“still late.”

but he steps aside to let you in.

his place is surprisingly quiet. not cold. not empty. just minimal. clean lines with low lighting and the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. it feels like him. controlled and deliberate.

you step inside carefully, as if the floor might react to you.

he notices.

one of his hands settles at the small of your back, guiding you forward without asking. his touch is warm. firm. not hesitant in the slightest.

“relax,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low. “you look like you’re entering enemy territory.”

“maybe i am,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

his mouth curves slightly.

“you are not.”

and then-

a tiny sound interrupts the moment.

a small, high-pitched chirp.

you freeze.

“…what was that?”

he exhales through his nose, almost annoyed.

from behind the couch, something small and white stumbles into view.

it’s a kitten.

not just any kitten- a ridiculously tiny, snow-white creature with oversized ears and paws slightly too big for its body. its fur is soft and slightly fluffy, not yet fully grown in. its tail sticks up like a little flag as it waddles toward you with determined clumsiness.

you stare.

he does not react.

“you,” you say slowly, “have a kitten.”

“she lives here,” he corrects.

the kitten reaches your shoe and immediately attacks the lace like it has discovered its greatest enemy. it bites. paws. kicks with both back legs in dramatic, exaggerated movements.

your heart is gone. completely gone.

you crouch without thinking. the kitten abandons the shoelace and looks up at you with wide, bright eyes. one tiny pink nose. little whiskers twitching.

“hi, baby..” you breathe.

it steps onto your hand the second you offer it, small paws warm and impossibly light. it wobbles as it climbs higher, hooking tiny claws gently into your sleeve for balance.

behind you, he watches silently.

“she’s so small,” you whisper.

“she was smaller,” he replies.

you glance at him. “how long have you had her?”

“a few weeks.”

you stare at him again.

this man. this terrifying, unmovable presence.

and he’s been quietly taking care of a kitten.

as if sensing your disbelief, he steps closer. you feel him before you see him. his body heat. the weight of his presence behind you.

“she followed me,” he says. “persistent thing.”

the kitten suddenly launches itself upward, climbing your arm with surprising speed until it reaches your shoulder. you gasp softly, steadying it with your hands.

it nuzzles under your chin.

you melt.

he does not.

“careful,” he says, but he doesn’t sound worried. just observant.

you stand slowly, kitten now cradled carefully against your chest. it immediately begins pawing at your necklace, tiny claws tapping the chain.

you laugh quietly, shyly.

he steps closer again.

too close.

one of his hands reaches forward- not for you at first, but for the kitten. his fingers are large compared to its tiny body. the kitten turns and grabs one of them instantly, biting down in playful aggression.

you tense.

he doesn’t flinch.

it gnaws on him. kicks at his finger. refuses to let go.

“she’s attacking you,” you murmur.

“she does that.”

you watch as he slowly lifts his hand, kitten still clinging stubbornly. it dangles for a second before scrambling higher, climbing up his wrist like it’s scaling a mountain.

his other hand automatically steadies it.

gentle.

careful.

the kitten makes a triumphant little sound as it reaches his forearm and settles there, tail flicking.

you can’t stop staring.

“you’re good with her,” you say softly.

he looks at you then. really looks.

“im good at controlling fragile things.”

the words should sound dangerous.

instead, they make your stomach flutter.

because he’s not squeezing. not restraining.

just holding.

the kitten suddenly abandons him again and hops poorly toward you. you catch it just in time, holding it close as it presses into you, purring loudly now.

you smile, cheeks warming.

“i think she likes me.”

there’s a subtle shift in the air.

he steps forward until you’re forced to look up at him.

“she does not prefer you,” he says evenly.

you try not to smile. “she literally just left you.”

his hand comes up again- this time not for the kitten.

for you.

his fingers tilt your chin upward gently but firmly, making you meet his gaze.

“do not mistake her attachment for competition,” he murmurs.

your breath catches.

you’re still shy with him. still getting used to how direct he is. how he doesn’t pull back. how he never hesitates.

the kitten, completely unaware of the small tension, squirms her way between you and stretches up on her hind legs, placing its tiny paws right against his chest.

he glances down at it.

then back at you.

“…she is tolerable,” he admits.

you laugh softly.

and without thinking, you step closer.

he doesn’t move away.

one of his arms slides around your waist naturally, pulling you against him while the kitten remains nestled between you both. the warmth of his body contrasts with the tiny, vibrating purr against your chest.

you’re aware of everything. his hand at your waist, the kitten’s soft fur under your fingers, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

you look up at him again, still a little shy.

“i didn’t expect this,” you admit.

“what.”

“this version of you.”

his thumb traces a slow line against your hip, thoughtful.

“there are many versions,” he says quietly.

the kitten suddenly reaches up and bats at his chin.

you both look down at it.

he exhales, almost amused.

“bold creature.”

you rest your head lightly against his chest, careful not to squish the kitten between you.

he allows it.

and when the kitten starts purring louder, he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t like the sound.

he simply tightens his arm around you both. protective of the small life in your hands.

and maybe, just slightly,

protective of you too.