passenger princess.

sukuna hates that fucking term, but boy does he love being one. it's the best, especially on a sunday afternoon when you two are out doing whatever it is you wanted to do for the day.

today it was farmers market, then the beach. he never cares about what's being sold, but today was a special day since one of the local breweries had a stand. the fact that he wasn't driving today meant that he could crack open a cold one on the way there.

life is good. the weathers warm, his seats reclined, staring out the cracked open window, letting the breeze hit his face. you're also in a good mood today, it almost made him miss the car beeping... for the third time.

"what's that?" he grumbles, squinting over at the digital dash in front of you.

"no idea," you hum out before turning up your favorite song.

"hey-" he struggles to recline his seat back up. he glares suspiciously before turning the volume all the way down.

"what was that for?!"

"how long has that light been for?!" he points at the one that shows your tires running low on air.

"I don't know??" you respond defensively, wishing he'd go back to lala land. "like a couple weeks?"

"a couple weeks?!" he chokes on his beer. "you let that light stay on for a couple weeks?!"

"yes!!" you yell back, panicked.

"WHY?!" he continues to question you. "you're supposed to fill it with more air, woman!"

"why are you YELLING AT ME?!" you suddenly scream mid sentence, but he doesn't miss the way your lips slightly quiver. "what's the big deal you act like THE TIRES FUCKING FLAT its NOT."

its lunch break when nanami receives the mugshots of his 3 year old daughter.

as he was eating the delicious bento you made for him, he saw his phone ping with the special notification sound he set for you. instinctively bringing a smile on his face since was just thinking about you (when was he not)

he thought you sent him the daily random i love yous you always send or pics of you dressing up you guys' daughter in animal onesies (both of which never fails to fill his heart with warmth and turn him into a mushy mess)

however, the thing he didn't expect was mugshots of his little daughter

and oh it was a mugshot alright, with the monochrome filter, her holding her slate which read 'female, 3"11' and looking adorably guilty. there were total 3 photos taken from different angles too. captioned 'guilty'

the oddity of the.. situation made him laugh. whatever could his 3 year old daughter, who cant go to sleep without her papa tucking her in and who wouldnt stop crying when hurt unless her papa kissed her boo-boo, do to deserve this treatment?

he texted, why are you holding my princess in remand?

shes found guilty of eating the chocolates i planned on adding to the cake for dinner tonight. you replied

he chuckled. do you have any proof? surely, my daughter wouldn't do it.

i have proof! with that, you sent him a picture of a chocolate which had a bite mark of a certain 3 year old

see? your daughter is guilty and will be facing charges soon, unless you bail her out. you replied

he raised his eyebrow. how?

by bringing a new cake from the downtown bakery of course. i also could use some of their other sweet treats :D

he let out a snort. is that so? im starting to think this is all just a plan of yours to bag those sweets by using my princess.

he saw the bubbles going on and off for some time and smirked. he got you there

careful now, i could still imprison her for life. the choice is yours )):<

he huffed. you are impossible, he thought amused

alright, you will get what you want. so i expect my daughter to be released.

scarcely after a minute, he received a selfie of you both smiling innocently as if nothing happened done. we will be waiting! love you<3

he let out another chuckle. you both sure do manage to light up his life. he lovingly smiled at the picture you sent him, eyes full of affection. love you both too❤️

well, looks like he will be paying a visit to the bakery, after all he cant just let his daughter be jailed.

going insane <3

i’m so tired of these goofy ahh names in death note like imagine watching the news and the top story is some guy killed your buddy Backyard Barbeque. like who the fuck is Toilet Tambourine. Doohickey Doorbell. Cabinet Carachature.1

imagine going to work and everyones talking about some “did you hear what happened to Home O. Hexagon??”

Thats probably why L never reveals his name its probably some dumb shit like Ludicrous Leprechaun. Lightbulb Licker. i hate this stupid series

busy woman!

actor!satoru gojo x singer!fem!reader [welcome to track 5!] welcome to Tokyo, Japan: the hotspot for pop culture! you, a singer and songwriter, wrapped up your tour for your last album six months ago. things got... messy, and you needed a break. but now you're back and ready to finish your next album! what will be the inspiration for this one?

────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ────

busy woman!

actor!satoru gojo x singer!fem!reader [welcome to track 5!] welcome to Tokyo, Japan: the hotspot for pop culture! you, a singer and songwriter, wrapped up your tour for your last album six months ago. things got... messy, and you needed a break. but now you're back and ready to finish your next album! what will be the inspiration for this one?

────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ────

busy woman!

actor!satoru gojo x singer!fem!reader [welcome to track 3!] welcome to Tokyo, Japan: the hotspot for pop culture! you, a singer and songwriter, wrapped up your tour for your last album six months ago. things got... messy, and you needed a break. but now you're back and ready to finish your next album! what will be the inspiration for this one?

────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ────

[papagojo au 🐺] comfy buddies 🧣

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, horrible communication, angst, fluff, smut

notes: hiii we have like 4.3k words today! but prob one of the most important chapters of the series ❤️ **also once again poorly proof read, excuse any typos and don't be afraid to lmk of any mistakes I've made

part six | part seven | part eight

Being a healthy person has proven to be much harder than he imagined these past couple weeks. And no, he’s not talking physically, that’s clearly maintained and under control. 

He’s talking emotionally, mentally— anything between those lines and under the mental wellness umbrella. 

The tasks that Dr. Nanami had given him were to be patient and practice his self control, the complete opposite of how he’d deal with things, especially with you. His way would be flat out asking what the fuck happened, after cornering you in your own kitchen or something. 

Very confrontational, very straightforward, but also very stupid according to Nanami, so he’s trying something new this time.

You’d think that one of you would eventually say something about that night, yet here you were a couple weeks later, both avoiding the topic like the plague and keeping the words you shared to a minimum. 

And could he take some of the blame for how things are right now? Sure, he didn’t know how to act either at first— don’t forget he was the one that fucked you until you started to cry, like really cry, and then held you until you passed out. 

DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH ME BABY!

your sex life with your husband was basically dead—buried so deep, it felt like it might never come back.

i mean, you shouldn't be surprised right? when you got married, everyone warned you it would be this way. “just wait until the honeymoon phase is over”, “wait until work gets in the way”, “wait until you start sleeping in separate beds” they told you. although you thankfully hadn’t made it to the third phase yet, you didn't believe them—at least not at first.

the first few months of your marriage felt purely euphoric—like a drug you just couldn't get enough of. you were bathing in the seemingly never ending marital bliss, convinced that nothing could have come between you and your husband— at least not when the two of you were fucking like animals in heat, absolutely devouring each other no matter where the pair of you were. well, it seems life has a way of being deceiving, doesn't it?

homecooked⭑.ᐟ

ᓚᘏᗢ pairing: husband!nanami x reader (master chef!)

~ synopsis: cooking for your husband as a surprise after work doesn't exactly go as planned.

Your husband works too hard.

It’s a truth you’d known long before he’d put a rock on your finger, even before all his promotions. Even now in the position of VP, well on his way to becoming COO, he’s damn near a workaholic, feeding more money into an already fat bank account so you two are more than secure when you retire – hopefully earlier than the usual. It had eased up in the years that had passed but this week had been particularly busy, he couldn’t do much about it.

Attributing the random off day you’d taken to ‘needing to do self care' was an easy way to get him to not question your motives, leaving you in bed earlier in the day with a kiss to your temple to head off to work without you for the first time this week.

A lie, of course. With how hard he worked, he deserved a nice, warm meal. A warm homecooked meal from yours truly.

Meal duties were usually split between you two: You on breakfast or lunch, Nanami always on dinner, with you as his sous chef if need be. Not to toot your own horn, but you were a great cook. Nanami always seemed to die for your breakfast foods so you’d went into confident, of course.

A good ten minutes of research has you choosing a crispy sesame chicken and fried rice recipe, reviews looking promising enough. You figured being good at baking would mean that cooking would come easy, meal printed out and stuck to the nearest cabinets so you could draw reference while moving around the kitchen. How hard would it be to make your husband a simple meal?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Very hard. Stupidly hard, apparently. You’d underestimated just how hard this would be.

Underestimated may be a little bit of an understatement. You’d first washed the rice till the water ran clear, filled the cooker up using two fingers. Followed all the steps to a T, yet somehow, for whatever reason… the rice had ended up both undercooked and burnt? “Who even burns rice made in a rice cooker?” You huff to yourself, a bit flabbergasted at your clear…lack of talent in this respect.

You quirk a brow in growing frustration, leveling the kitchen with a slow look to get a read on your progress. The chicken for one was a whole other issue on its own – freestyling was so not your forte, as you’d come to find out the hard way. You’re lost on whether the extra seasoning added had fucked everything up or if taking it out to defrost only 20 minutes before cooking it had but it’s insides are somehow still pale despite leaving it on the skillet for so long, the crust barely hanging on to the outside. The veggies turned out okay, the singular saving grace – but you’re not sure that makes up for the skillet still currently smoking, frantically fanning a kitchen towel near the fire alarm in hopes of it not going off.

Your apron’s a mess and you sort of feel like crying, debating whether or not to throw this away before Nanami gets home in 20 minutes or so.

20 minutes from the time flashing red on the stove is usually when he gets home, so hearing the jingle of the keys 10 minutes early has you gut curling all weirdly, glancing between the blackened skillet and the direction of the out of sight door, praying that he’d forgotten something in the car for once. Or.. maybe the patrons in another penthouse had gotten the floors mixed up?

Nope, no mistake. None at all. The locking mechanism of the door releases with a familiar click, footsteps echoing in the foyer. “Sweetheart? I’m home.”

In other instances like this one (minus you nearly burning your shared home down trying to cook), you’d be at the door and all over him when he gets in from work so the confused call for you isn’t much surprise. You’re still fanning at the alarm, hopeful that he’d check the bedroom for you first though it doesn’t give you much time to get rid of the evidence of your failure. You pick up on his slowed footfalls, then an unmistakable sniff. Oh no. You cast a glance at the stove, then the counter, your stomach sinking. This wasn’t the welcome you’d hoped to give him after all his work this week. “...Is something burning?” he asks, getting closer and closer to the kitchen.

“No?” Too unsure sounding, you try again. “No. Everything’s great! Don’t come in the kitchen!” Before you know it, he’s past the living room and bending the corner, looking at a semi panicked you in the center of the kitchen. "...."

“Hi, baby.”

Nanami doesn’t know what to fix his eyes on first. The smoky pot that you hadn’t covered, the burnt looking bits of chicken that you’d plated or the rice cooker. Or well, you: brows furrowed and waving a cloth at the smoke detector, looking like you’re two seconds away from crying out of frustration. “What’s all this?” “Well, this..” The dishcloth shifts wildly with your gesture around the kitchen, cracking a smile, “I was trying to make you dinner,” you finally get out, letting out a too awkward laugh as you avert your eyes. “You’ve been working hard lately – like you always do and I didn’t want you to...come home needing to make dinner for the two of us. I..uh, thought it would be nice. It’s a mess in here.”

He steps further into the kitchen, gaze shifting to the mess with an expression especially calm. And a little amused -- you don’t miss that. Mess is a bit of an understatement but he doesn’t voice his thoughts. “Well…let’s,” He reaches past you to turn the heat off, next hand catching your lifted hand to lower it, “turn the heat off. The oil’s burning still because the heat is still on.”

You’re practically burning a hole into the floor now with how hard you’re staring, biting down into your lip to stop a ramble of out of nowhere, unneeded apologies. “Sorry,” you murmur bashfully, wiping your hands on your apron. “I really thought it would be easy.”

He hums lowly, hands smoothing across your shoulders gently before dipping to your lower back to undo the tie of the apron, pulling it up and over your head. “What do you have to be sorry for, angel? Trying to cook for me?”

You shake your head, becoming increasingly more frustrated with yourself, guilt in your chest feeling heavy. Burning rice? Half cooking the chicken? “I should’ve been able to make you something good. It’s literally chicken and rice and the only thing I got right were boiling the veggies.” You whine, tone heavy with embarrassment. Said embarrassment only growing with the sudden laugh from him. His arms circle your midsection, hand resting gently at the back of your head and leading it to his chest, swaying you lightly. “You’re so precious, really.” He chuckles lowly, laugh rumbling against your cheek. “I didn’t marry you for your culinary skills, you know that.”

You look up at him, face probably hotter than it should be. “Is that your way of calling me a horrible cook?”

“Of course not.” His hand smooths over your head, following up his previous words with more reassurance before you can berate yourself any further, “You don’t need to cook dinner for us baby, that’s my job. All of this,” He gestures around the kitchen, letting you lean back to see like you hadn’t done enough of that, “is appreciated. But you make amazing breakfast and lunch for us already. What more could I want, hm?”  

Good dinner from his wife, you’d guess. But his words do make you feel better about your failure. “I wanted to do something nice.” “And you did.” His fingers lace in the hair at the back of your head to angle your face out his chest, peering down at you sweetly. “You’re here waiting for me after work in a pretty dress, trying to make dinner for me for example. And even without this you do lots of nice things for me.” He wonders why you’re even worrying, he’s practically ready to kiss the floor you walked on. What's a little burnt rice compared to everything you already do for him? It means a ton even if it hadn’t turned out the way you’d wanted it to.

Plus you hadn’t even burnt the kitchen down, that’s a win in of itself. “Here’s what, we can try to fix it together. I’ll just give pointers and help in the background so it’s like you’re doing it on your own.”

You accept his offer with a nod, of course, hoping dinner could be salvaged. The rice thankfully is savable, merely tossing the burnt bits and setting the cooker up properly as per his instructions to leave fluffy piles of white.

He helps you redo the chicken completely, not trusting the half charred, half raw mess to sit well in either of your stomachs even if revamped. Rather than the crispy sesame he helps you stir up a simple teriyaki sauce to coat fried chicken in – you’d actually gotten the batter right this time, so it sticks to the chicken. Dinner takes another hour or so but by the time you’re done you’re not upset anymore, steaming food plated in front of both of you.

You eye him as he takes his first bite, your own spoon hovering near your mouth. “Is it good?”

With how slowly he’s chewing you wonder if he wants to spit it out (though from knowing him, you don’t think he’d ever), expression brightening when he nods. “Mhm. Better than any takeout.” “Ha ha, very funny.” You’re grinning despite his exaggeration, finally closing your lips around the hovering spoon to taste it yourself. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Not joking. It’s good. Barely helped, you did this all on your own.” You’d done a great job for someone who’d burnt rice and almost started an oil fire just an hour ago. The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan but you couldn’t be too upset when he was being as sweet as he is right now.

Operation make dinner for your hardworking husband: Successful (?).

You’d probably stick to letting him handle dinner, though.

For @yenayaps ,

Because you have made me fall in love with Sukuna in general….and I never thought I would like him at all.

Should I color this for real or nawwww??

you weren't even sure what compelled you to do it — maybe the stupid, reckless guilt of watching him suffer without making a sound, the way his muscles twitched under ruined flesh from the sheer force of restraint, or how his eyes had started to flicker with something darker than hunger — something desperate. either way, you’d grabbed your blade and slipped out, ignoring the growl he let out the second he saw you reaching for the door.

it hadn’t been easy. your hands were still trembling, covered in the slick, coagulated mess of it. it had taken three slashes to bring the infected down, and by the time you were dragging its heavy body back across the broken road and into your rickety safehouse, your knees felt like jelly and your stomach was doing flips.

sukuna had been pissed.

not at the corpse, not at the blood or the door creaking open again. at you.

he was already rising to his full, looming height, a thick snarl twisting out of his chest as he stomped toward you, but you’d snapped before he could get closer—

“you’re not the only one allowed to be stupid,” you had barked, hand still pressed to your knee, panting from the exertion, “now eat it.”

his nostrils flared. he was shaking with fury, probably wanted to scream something about how he didn’t need your pity, didn’t want your scraps, didn’t want you bleeding out for him while he sat on his decaying ass doing nothing. but you stood your ground, eyes locked with his until he finally snarled again and grabbed the thing by the neck.

you didn’t look. you couldn’t. the sounds alone were enough—the squelch, the tear, the snap of bone that echoed a little too clearly in the tiny room.

but then… silence.

and when you peeked? sukuna had turned around, his massive, corpse-twisted back shielding the carnage entirely from your line of sight. he was crouched like a damn toddler in time-out, hunched over, facing the corner like he was sulking—but you knew him. you knew he wasn’t ashamed of the feeding.

he was shielding you.

the slurping started up again, quieter this time, like he was… trying to be subtle? you sat down with your back to the opposite wall, still clutching your blade, and closed your eyes. you could feel the nausea crawling up your throat, but the corners of your lips tugged upwards just the tiniest bit.

it was ridiculous. it was horrifying. it was him. and somehow, through all the rotting flesh and unsaid words, you knew: sukuna was still here.

just… facing the wall. like the world’s biggest, angriest zombie toddler.  

kento’s favourite noise is hearing your wedding rings clink together.

it’s a soft sound, not a harsh wobble of metal or the screech of a steel sheet cut in two, but like the ripples of water interrupted. it is delicate and brief; a perfect clink. when kento hears it, he sees pink.

clink it goes when kento reaches for your hand when you wake up in the morning, half asleep and head buried deep inside your pillow. he can’t see your face, so he reaches for you instead. his gold band clinks with your more delicate gold ring. it feels softer than cashmere and the yarn of your crochet projects.

clink it goes when you pass him back the spoon he handed you to taste test dinner. the food is hot from the pot and blown carefully by him. it’s a recipe an older woman from the grocery store gave to kento. apparently, her husband would make it for her, so now kento will cook it for you. struck by humour, he didn’t tell you about his encounter until your first few bites into dinner. you choked, tears streaming down your face. kento would make more for you, to which he would receive a reluctant “thank you” and a glare as piercing as cotton balls. you’d never known a love so quietly overwhelming until you met him.

clink it goes when you lightly slap his hand when he’s being silly. kento’s straight line mouth (which you lovingly stroke until he smiles), bursts into the shape of a lemon slice. he can’t help but make you squirm. he likes the little dance you do, your high-pitched “stop it’s” and “you’re so weird, kento’s”. it’s almost as sweet as the clinking of your rings, but somehow, it’s unmatched.

look at you. you’ve conditioned him to associate your love with the clinking of your rings. how dare you.

kento’s favourite noise is hearing your wedding rings clink together.

just finished the hardest design studio i’ve done so far for school :’) i’m still in school but hopefully i can start posting again. sorry for the silence