LES YEUX SANS VISAGE

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-— Ⅰ. Writing & Content —

I write jujutsu kaisen fanfictions, particularly more of Ryomen Sukuna, feauturing both female and gender-neutral persona.

!Some writings may contain manga spoilers!

Most of my content often explores (Heavy angst), romance, fluff, domestic themes, darker tones, and suggestive content would be expected in my works.

So please be guided, as I may occasionally forget to include specific trigger warnings in my works.

Most of my works are written movie-like and are created for my own enjoyment, but I love sharing them here with others.

Please refrain from plagiarism, translating, AI feeding, and reposts of my works other platforms!

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-— Ⅱ. Interaction —

Unreasonable spam likes, messages, hateful asks, replies, or messages will be ignored and/or blocked.

I do enjoy chatting about the stories, hobbies, or any interest and thoughts I'd post in my blog and receiving messages! but please understand i may not always respond, especially to comments/reblogs, but i read and appreciate them!

Questions about updates is permittable, but please be respectful. (I'm currently balancing my studies and life outside Tumblr).

I keep deep personal matters private — both yours and mine. I’m here to share and discuss writing only. Please refrain from asking any deep personal questions; I will not answer them. I will not provide mental health. If you need support, please reach out to a trusted friend, family member, or professional.

The neighbors had long since stopped pretending they weren’t intimidated. Curtains twitched. Kids froze on their bikes. The couple across the street wouldn’t even walk their dog past your house anymore.

The local dads gave awkward nods whenever Sukuna revved an engine, trying not to stare too long at the tattooed man in a sleeveless shirt, grease on his arms, cigarette behind his ear, and a half-grin that looked too sharp to be friendly.

One particularly nosy old man across the street had actually called the homeowner’s association last week, filing a noise complaint that had been ignored after you “accidentally” charmed the inspector.

Now, every afternoon around four, the sound of revving engines and the scent of oil and gasoline filled the air, spilling from the wide-open garage attached to your house.

Your house. Well, technically, your house had slowly turned into his car sanctuary.

It was one of those late afternoons where the sun hit the pavement just right, casting long golden streaks over the garage floor. Sukuna was crouched over the open hood of his RX-7, one knee bent, a wrench in hand, cursing softly under his breath. He was shirtless again, of course, wearing only his dark mechanic pants, a black cloth hanging out of one pocket. His pink hair—currently streaked with black roots—was messy and sweat-dampened, and his body gleamed under the hot afternoon light, arms tattooed and flexing as he adjusted something deep inside the engine bay.

You sat nearby on a folding chair, sipping a cold drink and pretending to read something on your phone, though your eyes kept drifting back to him. The air smelled of gasoline and cologne — something spicy and deep that clung to him no matter how much oil covered his skin.

“How many cars are we up to now?” you called out over the sound of music blasting from the speaker. Something low and grimy, with a deep bassline that vibrated the floor.

Sukuna glanced over his shoulder, grinning. His grin—the kind that made you both roll your eyes and melt inside. “Five.”

“Five?” you scoffed, stepping inside. “No, it’s six. You forgot the one you brought last week. The… black one with the red trim?”

“That’s not mine,” he said, turning back to the engine. “That’s a project car.”

“Uh-huh.” You took a sip from your drink, wandering past the neon-lit tool racks and piles of spare tires. “And let me guess—you’re ‘just holding onto it’ until someone buys it?”

“Exactly.”

“You said that about the last two.”

Sukuna chuckled, tightening a bolt with a short grunt before standing to his full height. He wiped the back of his hand across his jaw, smearing a bit of grease across his cheek. “You sound like a cop.”

“I sound like your girlfriend who can’t park her car because you’ve got six of your toys taking up every space we have.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You folded your arms. “It is a bad thing when my car’s sitting on the curb like a sad stray dog.”

That earned a laugh from him—low and genuine. He reached for the towel on your shoulder, swiping it across his neck and chest. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re mad,” he teased, leaning close, the scent of oil and smoke thick on him. “Wanna know how I can tell?” You arched an eyebrow. “How?”

“You keep coming out here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile. He always did that—turned your irritation into something softer, easier. He went back to the car, leaning over the open hood. You watched as he adjusted a valve or something, his movements confident, sure.

“Okay, serious question,” you finally said. “What are you doing? Because it looks like you’re just… tightening random things for fun.”

He smirked. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I know you know,” you said quickly, stepping beside him. “I just have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Then come here, princess. I’ll educate you.”

Before you could reply, he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you in front of him, the hard plane of his chest pressed against your back. Your hand instinctively rests on the car’s fender. He pointed into the maze of machinery inside the hood. “See that?”

“Uh… the shiny metal thing?” He huffed a laugh, his breath warm against your ear. “That’s the intake manifold.”

You blinked. “The… intake…?”

“Manifold,” he repeated, his tone teasing. “It helps the engine breathe. The more air it gets, the better it performs. This one’s modified—titanium, custom-made. I tuned it to work with the new turbo I installed.” You nodded like you understood, even though your brain was still catching up. “Right. The… breathing metal thing.”

He chuckled. “Close enough.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “Do you ever worry about… y’know, one of these things blowing up while you’re driving them like a maniac at 200 kilometers an hour?”

He smirked, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face. “You don’t win by worrying, baby.” You scoffed softly, but your chest warmed at the endearment. “You sound like a quote on a bad t-shirt.”

“And yet,” he murmured, “you’re still here.”

The sound of distant chatter from the street filtered in—neighbors whispering, pretending they weren’t watching. One of them had actually once said you were brave for living with him. Brave, as if he were some kind of monster.

But to you, Sukuna wasn’t the intimidating street racer with a fearsome reputation and a trail of legends behind his name. He was the man who left his shoes by the door because you liked the floor clean. The man who texted you at midnight to ask if you’d eaten. The man who grumbled about your Netflix taste but stayed up watching shows with you anyway.

And now, he was the man teaching you about the “breathing metal thing.”

“You love this, huh?” you said quietly, glancing up at him.

He paused, looking down at the engine, then at you. His expression softened, something rare flickering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s the only time my head shuts up. Just me, the car, and the road.”

You nodded, then smiled. “Guess I should be grateful you like cars and not… I don’t know, illegal underground knife fights or something.”

He grinned. “Who says I don’t?”

You elbowed him lightly, earning a deep laugh. Then he leaned in again, close enough for you to feel his heartbeat against your back. “You know,” he murmured, voice low, “you could help me with something.”

“Oh no,” you said immediately. “Last time you said that, I ended up holding a car battery.”

“This is easier,” he promised, placing your hand on a lever near the front. “Hold this steady while I tighten this line.”

You obeyed, though you had no clue what you were doing. He worked quickly, his movements fluid and focused, the small sounds of tools clicking and metal shifting filling the space between you.

When he finished, he leaned in and kissed your cheek—soft, fleeting, and utterly grounding. “Perfect,” he said. “Didn’t even drop it.”

You smiled, setting the tool down carefully. “Maybe I’m a natural.”

“Maybe you are.”

The garage lights flickered as the sun dipped below the skyline, painting everything in gold and orange. Sukuna stood back, wiping his hands, admiring his work. Then, without warning, he started the car. The engine roared to life—deep and powerful, vibrating through the concrete. You jumped, covering your ears, laughing.

“It’s so loud!”

He laughed too, leaning against the car with pure pride in his eyes. “That’s the sound of perfection, baby.”

“That’s the sound of a noise complaint waiting to happen!” you shouted over the engine.

“Let them complain,” he said, smirking as he killed the ignition. “You’re the only neighbor I care about.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that. He caught it, of course—he always did.

Later, as the two of you stood at the edge of the driveway, the city lights blinking on in the distance and the faint hum of traffic echoing through the night, you leaned your head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist automatically, pulling you close.

The air smelled faintly of fuel and summer rain.

“Hey,” you murmured. “When you win your next race, maybe use the prize money to build a second garage.” He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Or,” he said, “I could just buy you a car.”

You looked up at him. “A car I can actually drive, or one that goes from zero to illegal in five seconds?” He grinned. “Both.”

•A/N: need this man soo fucking bad-

and the color's is your choice to pick aswell! (You can find Color palletes HEX in Pinterest also!) As to apply it to your post you have to do it in either a website of Tumblr (Both phone and Laptop) and find the text editor in your post settings and change it to HTML,, (Like this)

After doing that you'll see this where you'll put the HTML Code in from the website, also like this,,

Annndd voila! You finally have a gradient word to your post!

“Hey, honey—don't stop now,“ Satoru urged, his blue eyes—sharp behind those think lenses of his locking onto yours with a mix of desperation and adoration. He was just as wrecked, hips bucking faintly beneath you, chasing friction even as his own overstimulation made his toes curl.

“Come on, keep going. I need you—need to feel you squeeze me like that again.” His words were breathy, punctuated by heavy exhales that matched your own, the air thick with the scent of sex and the faint vanilla of his cologne.

But your legs burned, muscles quivering, and you faltered, sinking fully onto him with a gasp. “Satoru..ngh..I—I can't...” Your voice was a whisper, quiet as always, but laced with that raw vulnerability he adored.

He didn't let you pull away. With a low groan, Satoru sat up swiftly, his core flexing those slick abs as he wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The sudden shift buried him deeper, eliciting twin moans—yours muffled against his shoulder, his rumbling in your ear.

“You can, come on” he insisted, voice dropping to a beg as his free hand cradled the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to tug you nearer. His lips brushed your temple, hot and insistent. “Please, just a little more. Guide you myself if I have to—fuck, you're so perfect like this.“

His other hand snaked between your bodies, calloused fingertips—rough from absentmindedly flipping textbook pages—finding your swollen clit with unerring precision. He circled it slowly at first, then pressed firmer, matching the rhythm as he lifted you by the hips and guided you down onto his cock. Up and down, the motion deliberate, his strength making it effortless even as his breaths came in sharp, heavy pants against your skin. Yours matched, ragged and syncing with his, the sensual haze enveloping you both like a shared fever dream.

“Please, please, sweetie,” Satoru begged then, his voice cracking with raw need, those brilliant blue eyes widening into the softest puppy gaze you'd ever seen—long lashes fluttering as he peered up at you through his fogged glasses. The sight hit you like a punch, his pure, pleading vulnerability, making your heart stutter even as your pussy clenched tighter around him.

“Don't stop now, I swear I'll do anything—just keep riding me. I need it so bad, need you to milk me dry one more time.”

The emotional weight in his words wrapped around you, intensifying the heat coiling in your core. He held you tighter, his arm like iron around your waist, refusing to let even an inch of space form between your sweat-dampened bodies. His fingers on your nape massaged gently, a contrast to the insistent rub on your clit, circling faster now as he bounced you on his throbbing length. Each descent slapped your ass against his thighs, the wet squelch of your combined fluids echoing obscenely, his abs grinding slickly against your lower belly.

“Look at me,” he whispered, puppy eyes shimmering with unshed tears of overstimulation, his breaths heaving in time with yours—deep, labored pulls that fogged the air between your faces.

“See how much I want this? How much I want you? Please, sweetie, please—fuck, you're everything. Ride me harder, let me feel you shatter around my cock again.” His pleas tumbled out, laced with that nerdy sincerity, like he was confessing some profound theorem of desire, his voice trembling as his hips jerked up to meet your guided drops.

Overwhelmed by his begging, by those wide, imploring blue eyes that begged more than his words ever could, you found the strength to move with him. Your quiet whimpers grew a fraction louder, syncing with his desperate chants of 'please' as he worked your clit relentlessly, his cock pulsing hot and insistent inside your fluttering walls. The mutual torment of overstimulation blurred into ecstasy, his toned frame shuddering beneath you, abs contracting with every thrust as he held you close, breaths mingling in heavy, shared gasps.

“Yes, just like that—oh god, sweetie, you're killing me,” he groaned, puppy eyes locked on yours, brimming with adoration and raw hunger. He tugged your nape again, pulling you into a messy kiss, tongues tangling as he begged into your mouth between thrusts. The room spun with the intensity, your bodies locked in a slick, heaving rhythm, chasing that final, shattering release together.

A/N: Submissive needy nerdjo is invading my head, I CANT ESCAPE IT