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

“look at me.”

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

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

“no,” you sigh, trying to ignore him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that smug little smile curls back onto his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sukuna, i swear—”

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

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

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

“stop manhandling me, you beast!”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you think you feel him smile against your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I didn’t have a card for that”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell must've frozen over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s hell from there.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Brat.”

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

Taken. Don’t ask who.

Teaching him how to post is even worse.

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

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

You do. His first ever post.

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

The comments roll in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

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

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

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

“You call me that” he points out flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“move in with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he raises a brow like it’s obvious.

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

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

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

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

episode title: the one with the blind date & jealousy

nylu's note : finally back with these love birds

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

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

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

nothing.

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

at 9:36 PM, he caved.

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

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

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

weird.

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

and then he froze.

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

no. no, he wasn't doing that.

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

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

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

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

silence.

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

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

“you didn’t say anything.”

“you didn’t ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t.”

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

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

there it was. the crux of it.

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

“i doubt that,” he muttered.

“what?”

“nothing.”

the silence stretched, crackling and tense. then—

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

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

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

his jaw flexed.

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

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

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

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

“i won’t.”

you didn’t believe him.

he didn’t believe himself either.