#while im here: design notes!

[thegreatyin]

scoundrel?? what scoundrel???? the magnificent mr cards (who ironically has more of a flower aesthetic going on) is completely unrelated to any "bandaged scoundrels" running around the neath. in fact it's never heard of the word scoundrel ever in its entire definitely long definitely ancient life. but yknow, hypothetically, if it did know the scoundrel, it's confident that they're really really really handsome and cool and epic and they're almost just as amazing as it is and you should totally donate all your valuables to them and stuff

aaand because i like them too much, have a transparent version. the Creachure. the Thing, even.

[clumsypuppy]

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[mystxmomo]

Ignoring all canon chosen of the gods, because this borders into the era of "I'm out here doing my own thing in service to a wider narrative I want to explore"

I think the way the divine pick their chosen should too be a reflection of their personalities. Not just in personality of the chosen, personality goes without saying. But in like. Way of choosing.

With Lolth, being given the title of her chosen is a responsibility and an expectation, and one you don't have a choice in. If she's decided you're her chosen, you are her chosen, and you don't have a choice in the matter. If you fail her, you will die. Maybe she'll give you more chances to try, because she's still picking her chosen with some amount of forethought. But there's a fine line between failure, an extra chance, and failure so bad it wraps back around to being hilarious to her.

Eilistraee believes in fate, and follows heavily in what feels right in the moment. She tries to assign the title to people that aren't ready, or who she thinks could grow into the role. However, unlike her mother, failure to live up to that isn't punished with death, and you can reject her. It's still a heavy responsibility though, and one she doesn't seem to be entirely aware of the burden of. However, on her end of things, it means she is willing to risk having her heart taken advantage of divine magic taken advantage of by trusting someone she doesn't know in their entirety. And she's gotten hurt because of it.

On the other hand Vhaeraun would truly rather Eilistraee just fucking kill him again then properly assign the title of chosen to someone.

[simcardiac-arrested]

never volunteer for anything university related man. also go listen to this

[bacchuschucklefuck]

the never stop blowing up vhs is where cute twinks go to get harmed

[6-2-aestheticsofhate]

Am I an idiot who can't find it or did the Gabriel body pillow literally not come with cleaning instructions and bonus question how are you guys cleaning yours

[emry-stars-art]

@anon-lemon with this ask and the resulting one shot: I also think freshwater merDrew is pretty hehe, the fish I based him off of is a peacock bass (maybe specifically royal peacock bass? With the more blue fin idk) but more dramatic. Like so:

(This is him in perfect nice lighting under shallow water probably but shh he’s beautiful)

Reference pictures I used under the cut

I love mixing and matching references. Idc what I heard growing up, life CAN be a buffet and I CAN a pick my favorite parts to mash together sometimes 😌

[arolesbianism]

Y'know I generally like all the sephirah core suppressions but Man I wish Binah didn't have the no pause mechanic. She was going to get it anyways later, why did she need it right next to the guy who's main meltdown mechanic involves limiting your ability to pause.

I also just feel like the fight is actually genuinely pretty fun in the way it pushes your micromanagement skills to their limits, and I feel like removing the ability to pause just makes the fight go from a fun management challenge to just kind of stupid. Maybe that's just a skill issue on my part, but still I think her suppression would be a lot less stupidly hard for no good reason and more of a fun challenge if they just removed the no pause part

[maraschinotopped]

my keychains finally arrived :)

[isaacathom]

a party member drew us all lil arts to use as tokens in our roll20 and an unintentional consequence of the style they used (identical colours used for every party member for the purposes of differentiation from the background) is that they have absolutely whitewashed my character lmao

and like, yeah, i knew academically that my character design for that character wasnt white, like i Knew that, but then comparing the bw values for the colours used im like hooooly shit dude. and the main reason i noticed is tat the colour styling also meant that the hat and hair were the same shade, which is not true, zimris hair is way darker than their hat, and their eyes are the same colour as their hair, so it was like, the whole value space of the character was completely different

and it doesn't ~matter~, its not a thing that remotely matters - the important thing about the token is that we know where the fuck our characters are in the grid so we can fuck up some extraplanar beasties. thats fine. it doesnt matter. but its like oh. hm. okay. huh.

[cherrynpink]

don't you love me?

pairing: toxicbsf!seungcheol x f!reader

genre: friend to lovers, toxic relationships (friendships), smut MDNI!!!

warnings: manipulation, toxic cheol, dubcon, gaslighting, controlling n possessive cheol, he isolates oc, scoups tummy mention (nom nom hot), kind of ddlg dynamic? (u can tell i have father issues), power imbalance, princess treatment, drinking, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), dom!cheol, overstimulation, corruption kink, a little bit praise a little bit degradation but its barely noticeable, size kink (a little), manhandling, inexperienced oc, dacryphilia, crying, breeding kink, missionary bcs im a romantic sue me, big dick scoups hehe, unprotected sex (do NOT do it dawg), tummy bulge kink, mentions of baby trapping, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.3k

playlist: don't you love me?

for more of my work, check out my masterlist!

note: i need toxic cheol sooo bad no one gets it but thank u @seventeensrat for getting me n proofreading n giving me ur deranged thoughts abt it. want dat gold cross necklace in the pic dangling over my face 😝 i kept making him a sweetheart but then realised no he needs to be an asshole (that i would fuck 100%) n i might make a part 2 of this so lmk...

anywaysss my requests are open if u have something u wanna read or just talk n so are my dms to make new friends here :) feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehehe :3

if u wanna be tagged for pt.2

Currently obsessed with the idea of toxic guy best friend seungcheol.

He is the bestest friend someone could ask for in your opinion. The sweetest, most selfless guy you’ve ever come across. Always drives you around in his g-wagon- hand resting just below the hem of your dress. Bought you a dyson last month; no particular occasion, just because “you talked about it once so I thought you’d like it.” Takes you to try out whatever cute cafes you want to and buys you all the pastries in the world. Calls you his “baby” and his “princess”. Not only pays for your nails but also helps you pick out the design. Carries all your shopping bags without breaking a sweat in one hand, other resting on your lower back so that the guys around you don’t think they have a chance. And of course, he pays for all your clothes with his black card :). Who would he spoil if not you? He sometimes gets into the dressing room with you in the Victoria’s Secret store while you’re changing because “we’re best friends, right?” (with a pout ofc) when you refuse because you’re not sure if this is what friends do, but you give in eventually. Now the fact that he makes you spin around in your pretty little lingerie, strong hands groping your thighs as you say “Isn’t this a little too tight, cheol?”, your hands adjusting the bra all while he’s staring at your tits spilling out of the see through material as he assures you that it’s perfect is something others don’t need to know, right?

Yeah. He’s your best friend. Always takes care of you, cooks for you, makes sure you have all your meals and that you study properly- scolding you when you miss any lectures. Makes sure you don’t drink too much at parties or guys other than him might take advantage of you. Doesn’t let you exchange notes with the guys in your class. Even got into a fight with a guy and almost got suspended because of something he said about you. He scolds you for talking to them, because you don’t know their intentions and all you do is keep your head down and nod, no other choice than to abide him. He does know what’s better for you after all, right? He scolds you only because he loves you! He just knows what’s best for you, and wants to make sure you know he’s the best for you.

All your other friends don’t really speak very highly of him tho :( they just feel like there’s something off about him. No one is ever that nice. That he’s like a guard dog around you and doesn’t let you talk to guys or date, always hovering around you and giving you orders. But you assure them that no!!! he’s your cheol :( he tells you that they’re just jealous of you. They’re jealous of your friendship with him. They envy you. Yes, he can be a bit strict sometimes and act like your dad, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to you to get in trouble! He just wants to protect you :) that’s why he always asks for tons of your pictures before you go out so that he can protect you from the creeps that think of your short dress as an excuse to get their way with you.

When you first became friends with him, you were a bit skeptical when he told you that your boyfriend was cheating on you. But then he said, “Don’t you trust me? Why would I lie to you?” with his signature pout and he was right. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone, right? Now it was surprising to you when your boyfriend was the one to break up with you later that day, but all seungcheol said to you while you cried on his shoulder was “He didn’t deserve you, baby.” You don’t need to know that he lied to you boyfriend that you had sex with him when he was out of town. He only lied because he knew you were meant for him. He just wants you for himself, is that so bad? He doesn’t think so, because he takes care of you so well. Makes sure all your needs are met and you have no complaints. You’re his girl after all :)

As soon your (ex) boyfriend broke up with you, seungcheol was quick to ask you to move in with him, because “You need someone to take care of you right now, you can’t live alone doll.” and you couldn’t argue with that logic. And he was so good to you. Didn’t even make you pay rent because why would he. Always was there for you when you wanted to rant about your day, but only while sitting on his lap facing him in just his oversized shirt and panties obviously :) that was a rule. Would come up slyly from behind when you were cooking in your cute little apron, hands resting on your tits because “It’s comforting to me y/n.” and you don’t complain. Whenever you denied him something he would say “Don’t you love me?” eyes furrowed and big arms caging you.  But it was a two-way street, the way you always let him cuddle you after a bad day. How you always brought him something to eat when he had been gaming for hours. How last week you reassured him when he said he would start a diet because he thought he was gaining weight by giving him a small kiss on his cheek, telling him that it was hot for you, that it made him only more reliable in your eyes. It was the small things. But they always counted.

The girls he saw or went out with always complained about umm, the bond you both shared; but he never cared. It did bother you though seeing him bring girls over to your shared apartment, hearing their moans through the thin paper walls :( all while you had your hand shyly tucked between your thighs resisting the urge to imagine yourself in their place, bent over for him. But you never touched yourself. It would be so wrong, thinking about your best friend like that! So you often resorted to grinding against the plushie bear he won for you at the fair as his oversized shirt slipped down your shoulders- quiet whines leaving your throat as you failed to reach your high. Little did you know he was imagining the girl under him to be you every single time. He can’t even count the number of times he’s jerked off to the pictures you send him (at his request obviously). The number of times he’s stared at your panties peeking out whenever your skirt rid up or your cleavage when you bent down.

You do notice that after a few months, he takes up more of your time. Not that you’re complaining!!! You love to spend time with him, but you feel it get to a point. It’s not sudden, rather subtle and painstakingly so slow you don’t even realise what he’s doing until you’re in it too deep (or until he’s in YOU too deep ahem). Whenever you’re getting ready to go out with your friends he always hugs you and somehow always falls sick so that you can’t go out because you have to take care of him. What kind of friend would you be if you left him sick and alone to go out and drink he says. You’re being a little bitchy he says. You don’t love him he says. And tears well up in your eyes, because you love him so much you can’t believe he thinks of you that way. And then there you are in your pretty pink dress, mascara smeared on your cheeks as you’re crying in his embrace while he comforts you. You begin to stop talking to your friends because he says they’re a bad influence on you. But don’t worry! Your cheol is right next to you always :) his clinginess increases ten folds. He is always on you, hands resting on your plush thighs or your waist at all times- neck nuzzled in your hair when you sit on his lap as he games. Brings out his puppy eyes and pout whenever you refuse him. “Don’t you love me?” he says and you would never want him to think that. So you let him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He knows what’s best for you, right?

He dreamt of taking you, corrupting you but only bit by bit. It might make you sick if you found out but he wanted to make you cry while he defiled you, moulded you to his liking. Wanted to throw you around because it was just so easy for him. A small part of him thinks you instigate your playfights on purpose to get him to overpower you, manhandle you. He knew you had had a few boyfriends before so imagine his surprise when he found out you had never had an orgasm one night, head buried in his lap drunk and giggled out the confession in shame. You should be thankful he made your boyfriend break up with you, because how fucking incompetent does one have to be.

“What do you mean you’ve never had an orgasm?” he asked, hands running through your hair.

“They just never made me cum.”

“They never ate you out?” he asked in shock.

“Mhm.” You said shaking your head before passing out on his lap.

“God. What fucking assholes.” He thought to himself. He knew he had to be the one to take care of you, after all you’ve been deprived for so long.

Few weeks later and it was your semester end party, loud music all around you, girls passed out drunk, shots being passed around and wild chaos everywhere. And there you see him, across the room talking and laughing with his friends, one hand chugging down beer every now and then. He looked so hot, though dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans; the royal oak watch stealing everyone’s attention as he ran his hand through his hair. It was the way he carried himself, his confidence, his carefreeness. And the way he carried you with him, showing you off like a trophy to be desired (not that you minded it a bit). You’re too engrossed in ogling him when you’re pulled out of your entranced state by no one other than Vernon. You remember meeting him on seungcheol’s birthday, recalling him as one of his close friends. You always found him cute, texting him whenever he replied to your stories or sometimes sitting next to him in shared lectures.

“Hi y/n.” He says with a slight smirk, red solo cup in his hand.

“Hi Vernon!”

“Want a drink?” he says, offering you the cup.

“Mhm I’ve already had so much to drink.” You slur through your words. “Cheol will scold me.” You say with a slight pout.

“Coups isn’t attached to your hip tonight?”

“Mhm, we’re not always together!” you giggle, a bit buzzed because of all the drinking.

“Oh? He never lets me talk to you though doll.” He says with a pout, taking a step closer.

“What do you wanna talk to me about?” you say with a smirk (the flirting a courtesy of the alcohol) as your hand rests on his chest barely grazing him.

His hand reaches to grab your waist as he’s just leaning in, his lips just about to touch yours when in the blink of an eye you see a muscular arm pull him off of you with a force, and you hear seungcheol shouting something at vernon that you’re too drunk to comprehend, but you catch a few phrases here and there- “Are you fucking dumb taking advantage of here when she’s drunk?” and “Back off dude you know she’s mine.” You feel his grip tighten on your hand as he leads you through the room, murmuring a “We’re leaving.” as he opens the car door for you.

The entire car ride was pin drop silent. His hand wasn’t even on your thigh tonight like always :( and you could feel he was pissed off- the way his veins bulged with his grip on the steering and his jaw clenched so hard. he would usually let you pick out whatever song you wanted, watching fondly with a smile when you sung along to it; but he wasn’t even talking to you :( you think maybe it’s your fault. He had warned you about guys trying to take advantage of you, but you were just talking to Vernon. He’s his friend, right? but you feel bad for ruining his night :/ he was talking to his friends but then he had to run over to you because you can’t even take care of yourself properly. Maybe he was right when he said that you needed him. Needed him to protect you, be with you, take care of you.

When you get back to your shared apartment, he’s still quiet; not forgetting his manners for a second though- opening all the doors for you and taking off your heels as you lean your weight on him, your hand on his shoulder for support. But it’s too much for you now. Why is he still so mad at you? Tears start welling in your eyes as your voice breaks.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask between sniffles, doing everything in your power to not let that tear drop slide down your cheeks but he notices it. He sees the distress in your eyes. The fear you have of disappointing him. And he loves it. Loves that you crave for his approval. He’s proud that he’s made you into this. But apparently you still need to learn to be disciplined. Then so be it, he'll make you into his obedient little girl. Your brows are still furrowed at the lack of his answer as he stands up and begins to step away from you and that’s all it takes for the dam to break as tears start welling down your face, a shame in your chest because you feel like you’ve let him down.

“Cheollie please! I- I’m sorry!” you say between sniffles, head buried in your hands.

“Yeah? What are you sorry for Y/n? And fuck are you crying for?” he spits out and it only makes you cry more because not only has he never been this mean to you, but also has never called you by your name like this :( always calling you by nicknames.

“I’m sorry for talking to Vernon.” You murmur. “I’m sorry for making you mad.” You say, wiping your tears.

“Made me leave my friends to take care of you y/n, I told you not to talk to anyone without me right? Told you not to drink too much. This is why I always have to take care of you baby, you can’t do it alone.” He says, swatting your hands away and wiping your tears as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry cheol, let me make it up to you? Don’t want you to be angry at me.”

“Yeah? How will you make it up to me baby? I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you yet, you were so careless.”

“Anything.” You whisper. “Whatever you want I’ll do.” You say in your slightly buzzed state, but he doesn’t care. That’s all the permission he needs as he’s reaching down, arm snaking around your waist as to not give you a chance to back out, gently yet passionately pressing himself against your warm mouth. Your eyes open wide as the realization hits- hands pushing his chest away as he separates himself for a second.

He's just about to lean back in, eyes half lidded full of lust before you say, “Cheol what are you doing?”

“You said you’d do anything I wanted to make it up to me, right?” he says as you give him a hesitant nod facing down.

“But I’m a bit drunk right now.” You say, voice barely a whisper.

“So you lied to me then? When you said that?”

“No! No, I’d never lie to you.” you say as your eyes reach up to meet him on the brink of tears.

“Then let me do whatever I want baby. Let me make you feel good. Don’t you love me?”

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

It spins in your head like a mantra, before you give into his demands as a sly smirk accompanies him. You see him cup your cheeks in one hand as he’s reaching down to kiss you once again, much more possessively this time as he melted into you- tongue slipping in smoothly, as if he’s going to be the only man from now on allowed to do this (he is). His hands find your waist like they belong there. You gasp as he’s guiding you towards his bedroom, hands roaming all over the body like they’ve never been before. His lips move down your jaw as his fingers toy with the hem of your short dress- finding abode along your inner thighs. You think back to all the days you chanted his name like a prayer when you were just so close, dreaming of his fingers in you instead of your own. But at the same time your hesitation throughout it never leaves you.

He's quick to pick you up, only to throw you on his bed like a ragdoll as he gets on his knees in front you, bunching your dress up to your waist. His hands massage your thighs as he pulls them apart, immensely satisfied by the wet spot forming at your center.

“These the ones I bought you doll?” he asks, eyes still transfixed on your core. You manage to whisper a quiet yes and before you know it, he’s ripping the material off of you quite literally, diving in like a man starved. Your state is hazy because of the alcohol and the sight of him between your eyes as his words reverberate in your head while his fingers aggressively toy with your clit- Don’t you love me? Don’t you trust me? I know what’s best for you. Let me make you feel good. He’s relentless in his efforts, showing you no mercy or sympathy for the fact this the first time someone’s eating you out. Even when you ask him to slow down, to stop. Even when you cry out his name repeatedly. His plump lips suck on your clit sharply as the same hand that adorned the very royal oak watch that got you so hot drives into you, hitting your g-spot again and again.

Tears start to well in your eyes as they wet your cheeks but as seungcheol looks up at you, the only thing he can think of is how much you’ll cry when he fucks you and you feel him fully in your belly. Your moans get louder as you keep begging him to stop, but he knows you’re close. He can feel you clenching on his fingers as you buck up your hips into him. And before you know it, you’re cumming all over his thick digits. But that doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t falter in his movements for even a second, fingers driving into you at the same pace as your orgasm washes over you. Your legs are shaking around his head as he animalistically groans against your clit.

“Cheol! P- please! Can’t…. can’t take more!” you cry out as your hand tightens it's grip on his hair.

“One more baby.” He grunts out. “One more on my tongue.”

He thinks he’s addicted. Addicted to the taste of you. Not only does he make you cum on his tongue once more, but pulls an orgasm out of you just but by playing with your clit. You think you’ve lost track of the amount of times he’s made you cum, but he’s keeping count. One for each time he’s wanted to take you, and trust there are many. But your entire body is quaking and covered in sweat because of the relentless overstimulation. Once he thinks he’s satisfied with the number of times he’s made you cum on his tongue, he finally gets up only to see you almost passed out on the bed, barely holding on. The sheets besides you are wet from your tears but that only makes his pants tighter. You see him lose his shirt and his pants as he stands in front of you in his boxers. His length is strained against the material as if trapped. He strokes himself from over the material before pulling them down as his thick long member hits his stomach and he sees you gulp. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you react to him.

“Scared princess?” he teases you as he locks his gaze with yours, spitting in his hand as he strokes himself- precum leaking out his dark pink tip.

“It won’t fit.” You say hesitantly, but you don’t want to disappoint him either.

“You’re cheol’s good girl right? You’re a big girl, you can take it.” He spits out rather meanly, making you pout. But he’s not showing you any mercy this time. You’ll take whatever he gives you. After all, you wanted to please him, right?

Once again he’s parting your legs as he lines himself up with your already ruined entrance, tapping his tip against your clit, before he hears you say, “Cheollie, you don’t hate me, right?” with eyes on the brink of crying. It’s endearing he thinks, that you’re still afraid of disappointing him, letting him down. He’s taught you sooo well.

“Could never hate you love.” He says, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. “Now let your cheol take care of you okay, like always.” And just like that, he’s pushing into you in one go, giving you no time to adjust as your wet velvet walls wrap around him, your slick covering his entire length. He’s pushing your legs up only to rest them on his broad shoulders as you continue to cry out his name over and over again. He doesn’t falter once as he propels into you, gold cross chain dangling over you, and when he opens his eyes to look down to where you connect, his eyes go wide at the sight of himself in your lower belly. He can see himself in you, literally. And oh, does it turn him on, the way you’re so tiny in front of him, so much so that his big dick bulges in you poor little belly. He taps your cheek lightly as to call you to pay attention to him.

“You see that baby?” he says, running his hand over the bulge in your belly. “See how deep I am in you, fuck! Like you were made for me.”

If that’s how deep he goes in you, what would happen if he came that deep in you he thinks. And that only makes him angle himself into you deeper as he lifts one of his legs. He could fill you up and it won’t even leak out. How would you look carrying his baby? No way you’d ever leave him if he knocked you up right now. You’d look so beautiful, his wife, his pretty little baby mama. The thought of you swelled up gets him closer to his release as his hips begin to falter and his strokes get sloppier- each one becoming a sharp thrust. And just like that, with a loud cry and a particularly sharp push of his hips into you, you’re cumming over his cock for the nth time in the night, completely spent and head blank, as you collapse back on the bed almost passed out at this point. You didn’t ask for his permission to cum, but it’s okay, he’ll discipline you next time :)

You feel him getting closer as well as his moans get louder and thrusts sloppier and you’re about to give out and rest in bliss when the realisation hits you- he’s not wearing a condom.

“Fuck ‘m gonna cum baby, pussy so tight like it was made for me.” He groans.

Your panicked eyes look up to him, “Cheol, please… please don’t cum inside.” You plead.

“No way baby, not pulling out…mhm!” he moans as his pace increases, chasing his release. “Gonna fill you up real good, you trust me right?”

“Mhm…” you sigh hesitantly. “Okay…if you say so.”

“Fuck! Thank you princess, love you so much, yeah? My good girl.” He says between grunts and the slap of his balls against you, as you grunt out a quiet love you too, and with that you feel yourself getting full of him as he fills you up to the brim, still fucking you through it slowly. When he’s done, he doesn’t pull out of you yet- making sure it’s inside you. Your bodies melt against each other as you feel his heavy breathes against your ear. The room smells of sex and sweat as he collapses besides you panting.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, right cheol?” you say, breaking the silence as he’s pressing another small kiss to your lips, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Hmm, you were a really bad tonight doll. We’ll have to see if you make it up to me after another round.”

It was gonna be a long night. But it’s okay. You would do anything for your cheol :)

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚❄️₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝔭𝔱. 𝟐 ♡₊˚❄️₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king sukuna x his little queen 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 TRUE FORM SUKUNA!!!! 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his beloved 𖥔 girl dad sukuna 𖥔 he’s doing his best 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 7.6 k

: ̗̀➛ notes: read part one here. so i’ve been MIA because i tried to kms and got admitted to a psychiatric hospital, but now im back after months. they should’ve kept me in there for real after i told my therapist i wrote sexy fics about toji and sukuna. she gave me a notebook to jot down ideas. im doing better now tho. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy. IVE ALSO MADE AN INSTAGRAM SO GIVE ME A FOLLOW ON THERE: zarameraki

Sukuna grew weary of the infiltrator’s incessant cries.

For the past twenty minutes, he had remained perched upon his throne while Uraume interrogated the spy who had managed to breach the palace walls and infiltrate his chambers with the intent to assassinate both him and his pregnant queen.

Of course, Sukuna had sensed the presence of an unfamiliar body within his palace beforehand. He’d swiftly guided you through a concealed passageway into a secure chamber designed for handling imminent threats. As his dutiful wife, you bid him farewell with a good luck kiss, forming a chuckle from him as he departed.

Luck was unnecessary for Sukuna.

He epitomised mercilessness, an ominous force. A vile creature, insatiable for bloodshed, whose dominion rose atop a mountain of vanquished enemies. With a mere gesture, he could lay waste to entire lands; with a mere inclination of his head, shatter bones like brittle twigs. A fleeting gaze held too long invited swift death as he tore out throats without remorse. The unnatural power coursing within him was a burden to his psyche, yet a boon to his physical prowess. So long as his subjects quivered in dread, offering obeisance at his feet, yielding without question, he would ensure their safety.

Uraume delivered a kick to the assassin's face, sending the last of his teeth flying. “Enough with the fabrications. Speak the truth. Who hired you?”

“T-There was no name,” he whimpered, cradling his bruised face. “But he claimed she once dwelled within these walls, a concubine of His Lordship.”

Sukuna arched an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Most concubines were reassigned as palace servants months ago,” Uraume interjected. “The remainder were eliminated by His Lordship's orders. None of them would dare linger beyond the palace walls.”

“It may have been her brother—though I cannot be certain! Whoever he was, he harboured a deep thirst for vengeance.” The assassin let out a startled cry as Uraume strode past him, heading towards the throne.

Kneeling before Sukuna, they awaited his command.

Sukuna, idly resting his cheek on his knuckles, lowered his hand and gestured through the air. With a swift motion, the spy's body tore asunder, each half flying to opposite ends of the chamber. “Summon the families of the slain concubines.”

“As you wish, my Lord. It shall be arranged by nightfall,” Uraume replied.

“Tomorrow morning will suffice. I intend to spend the remainder of this night with my wife.”

Sukuna rose from his throne, his regal robe flowing around him as he straightened its sleeves.

“Her Ladyship is nearing the hour of delivery,” Uraume noted. "Shall I summon the physician?”

Sukuna’s glare bore into his loyal confidant. “That should have been arranged moons past.”

With a deferential nod, Uraume bowed. “Forgive my oversight, my Lord. I shall soon ensure the healer's attendance.”

He waved a dismissive hand as he descended the dais. “See to it. And have this mess tidied. Dinner shall be served in my quarters within the hour.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Sukuna strode out of the grand throne room. Subjects halted in their tracks, heads bowing low in deference as he passed by, their voices muted in respectful acknowledgement of their sovereign's presence. Only once he turned the corner did they dare to resume their activities.

Inside his chambers, Sukuna waved a hand, parting the wall to reveal the entrance to a hidden room. There, you lay serenely upon the bed, your gaze fixed upon the ceiling, one hand tenderly cradling your burgeoning belly.

At the sound of his approach, your head lifted, and you greeted him with a quizzical tilt of your head.

“Sukuna?”

A faint smirk played upon his lips as Sukuna settled beside you, his touch gentle as his hand caressed the curve of your stomach.

“Has everything been resolved?” you asked, peering up at him. “For once, you're not drenched in blood.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, cupping your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Do you recall the vow I made to you on the night we conceived?”

How could you possibly forget?

No servant dared cast an admiring glance upon his wife, for fear of losing their sight. Those who dared to whisper even the faintest rumour about you had their tongues severed as a warning to others. Every morsel of food and sip of drink intended for your delicate lips underwent Sukuna's personal scrutiny, for he would allow no poison to touch you. Despite your protests and concerns, he reassured you of his immunity to toxins, claiming his blood flowed with an otherworldly power, not bound by mortal frailties. Any questions into the nature of his mysterious abilities were silenced by filling your mouth with a spoonful of nutritions.

That was the one question forbidden by Sukuna.

Yet despite the unanswered enigmas shrouding your husband, you pledged your unwavering love to him. He was not merely your husband; he was your sovereign, your protector, and soon, the father of your unborn child. With no other in this world, you clung to him as your sole anchor.

Each night, he reminded you of his undying devotion, promising to pursue you even beyond the veil of death, across the cycles of existence. For you, he would defy even the divine, should they dare to intervene. You belonged in his domain. You belonged with him.

“My handmaids think it’s a boy,” you murmured, fingers tracing the intricate patterns on his wrist. “They claim boys kick the most, citing it as natural male behaviour—aggression, they say.” As if on cue, the baby stirred within you, a kick rippling through your belly.

“A true reflection of his father, no doubt,” he remarked with a laugh. “Though, I have my doubts about it being a boy.”

You blinked, considering his words. Sukuna's intuition often surpassed that of mere mortals. A grin tugged at your lips. “Could it be a girl, then? Oh, how I would love a daughter. Yet, a son would be just as precious, wouldn’t he? Especially in royal circles where the preference for a male heir runs deep.”

“Perhaps I ought to curtail your visits to our neighbouring kingdoms if they continue to fill your head with such nonsensical notions,” Sukuna clipped out.

Suppressing a giggle, you countered, “Regardless of speculation, I prefer the gender to remain a surprise.”

“It’s a trifling concern,” Sukuna murmured, his hand moving in gentle circles across your swelling abdomen. “I care not for the gender of our child. Should it be a son, then so be it, I suppose. If it’s a daughter, I’ll rid my kingdom of every male soul, regardless of age. I’ll compel whatever god there is to craft the perfect husband for her. None of those wretches outside will befit her.” He laid a hand on your stomach, a tender smile gracing his lips. “Isn't that so, my little dove?”

You couldn’t help but sigh at his oversight. “My heart, what part of 'I want the gender to be a surprise' did you fail to grasp?”

Sukuna's expression remained impassive. “Speaking purely hypothetically, of course.”

Frustration brewed within you, though it dissipated instantly as you beheld his striking face. Your lips melded with his in a drawn-out kiss until the sudden movement of your unborn child interrupted the moment. “Swear to me you'll refrain from indulging in bloodshed and conflict until our hypothetical daughter comes of age.”

“I cherish you above all else, but that vow is one I cannot uphold.”

“Sukuna . . .”

“This realm teeters on the brink of chaos, my love. Without intervention, it will crumble to ash.” He brushed a lock of hair from your brow. “Tonight's events were but a glimpse into the shadows that surround us. You and our hypothetical daughter are the very heartbeat of my existence. Understand that my presence here is necessitated by . . . bloodshed and conflict.”

You sighed into a helpless smile as you propped yourself up against the headboard. “Come here, you gargantuan child.” Sukuna nestled his head against your chest, his hand resting on your swollen belly to soothe the restless movements of your child. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, your fingers threading through his thick locks. “Will you ever find peace?”

“I find it when I am with you,” he whispered.

“What if I were not—“

His head shot up. “Don't even entertain such thoughts, or I'll confine you to this room until dawn breaks.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Oh, spare me the theatrics. Can you blame me? Being with a child does strange things to a woman. Just last week, I found myself in tears over a wilting flower.”

“My foolish woman, we are in the depths of winter,” he pointed out with a chuckle.

“It was an indoor plant,” you grumbled.

Sukuna buried his face in the curve of your neck, his warm breath tickling you. “You are utterly ridiculous.”

“You married this ridiculousness.” You felt his smile against your flesh, which soon turned into a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone and up to your jaw. “Can we return to our own bed now?”

“Not just yet,” he replied, reclining back and drawing your head to rest upon his chest. “Close your eyes. I'll wake you for dinner.”

You nestled closer to his warmth, contentment spreading through you like a soft caress. “As you wish, my stubborn husband.”

In a handful of days, your hypothetical daughter transformed into flesh and blood, her cries echoing through the palace as Maki entered the world.

Sukuna’s vigilance was split between safeguarding his beloved queen and their precious newborn princess, while relentlessly pursuing the malevolent siblings of one of his slain concubines who had orchestrated the assassination attempt on his family.

Whispers of the king's insatiable thirst for vengeance spread like wildfire among the populace, especially after witnessing the gruesome spectacle of the siblings' heads displayed in the bustling market square by the hand of Uraume, a chilling proclamation of Sukuna's wrath.

But as the bundle of joy was placed in his arms, swathed in the finest silk, the laws of his duties as a ruler dissipated like mist in the morning sun.

In that moment, all that existed was the delicate perfection of his daughter. His gaze fixated on Maki’s tiny features: the pursed lips, the struggle of her eyes to glimpse the world, the wisps of dark hair crowning her head, and the miniature hands that scarcely encircled Sukuna’s finger. Never before had anything held such sway over him as his wife and newborn daughter.

Overwhelmed by emotion, he sank into a nearby seat, the gravity of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Conditioned to never betray emotion, he found himself gasping for breath, tears withheld, as he cradled the precious life entrusted to his care.

Responsibility pressed upon him like an iron crown. In the corridors of his mind, ancestral expectations whispered. He was to sire an heir, a son to carry on his legacy. But fate, in its capricious dance, had blessed him with a daughter instead.

Sukuna’s overprotective instincts kicked into overdrive.

You were weary from the labour of birth and the demands of Maki’s nursing. Rested in peaceful slumber, Sukuna found himself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. What was the appropriate course of action? How should he cleanse the babe? Engage in playful antics to soothe her cries? Such simple tasks bewildered him, for his nights were consumed by the burdens of ruling and his days by the watchful eye over his weakened wife.

He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else tending to his daughter. The handmaids, no matter how loyal they seemed, were met with suspicion. Only Uruame was strictly ordered to partake in the sacred rituals of nappy changes and soothing Maki’s cries.

As months turned into a full year, every detail was meticulously attended to, from the softest silk robes to the most enchanting toys, all chosen with the utmost care. Sukuna spared no expense in creating a haven for his daughter, a chamber dedicated solely to her.

In his eyes, she was a priceless jewel to be cherished and protected at all costs.

“Say ‘Papa’. Look here, watch my mouth. ‘Pa. Pa.’ Now you try.” He sat upright, gently bouncing Maki on his knee. Despite her tender age of one, he was resolute that her inaugural word should be a tribute to his role in her life. “Come now, little dove.”

Maki erupted into a fit of giggles, responding with a string of incomprehensible babble instead.

“Spoilt brat,” he muttered under his breath.

“My Lord, forgive the intrusion upon your moment with the princess. But we must address our pressing matter,” Uraume interjected, sweeping an arm towards the little servant boy who remained prostrate before Sukuna. “Young Okkotsu, you know well that laying a hand on the princess is forbidden. Regardless of any permission granted by Her Ladyship, you are strictly forbidden from any interaction with either of them.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I’ve only just begun my duties in the palace kitchen. I assure you, it won't happen again,” the dark haired boy stammered.

Sukuna rose from his throne, his gaze piercing as he paced down the dais, encircling the young man. “What say you, my dove? Shall we sever his fingers for sullying your cheek?”

Yuta’s breath hitched in fear.

He halted in front of him, Maki nestled against his chest, her laughter tinkling like delicate bells. “Seems we have a consensus—”

“Sukuna!”

The throne room doors swung open, revealing you striding in, your robe billowing behind you, and your hair tousled from the rush of searching for your husband and daughter.

“Seven days without meals,” Sukuna declared.

Uraume seized the boy, dragging him across the carpet, but you intervened, halting their advance.

Instead, you knelt down to the child’s eye level, inspecting him for any harm. Sukuna’s displeasure simmered. He detested your softness toward the servants, loathed your belief that a hint of compassion wouldn't poison their loyalty. You possessed the skill to wield a dagger against a true threat, yet kneeling for a commoner was unforgivable in his eyes.

“Ensure that he is provided with all his meals,” you reiterated to Uraume. Sukuna’s confidant glanced back at him, but you held his gaze unwaveringly. “I stand as his equal, Uraume. If I decree that you must feed this boy, then you will do so without question.”

Sukuna shot you a glare, a flicker of admiration hidden within the depths of his eyes. Your defiance had always allured him, even as he enforced reminders of your place. Yet, your role as his queen, bearing him a healthy child, and resolute acceptance had softened the edges of his once cold heart.

His crimson gaze shifted back to Uraume, a silent command passed between them. With a single nod, the debate concluded, and Uraume ushered the boy out of the throne room, the guards sealing the doors behind them.

You strode toward Sukuna, gathering Maki into your arms, cradling her gently. “How can you be so harsh to a child?”

“And how can you permit a commoner to lay hands upon our daughter?” Sukuna retorted.

“I did what any compassionate person would do. That child was simply curious, my heart. I couldn't just turn a blind eye.”

Sukuna’s fists tightened. “Compassion has its place, but not at the risk of our daughter’s safety. She is our most precious treasure, not to be touched by just anyone.”

You sighed. His overbearing nature suffocated you sometimes. “She’s also a child, Suku. She deserves to know kindness, not just the confines of your paranoia.”

“Paranoia, you call it? You dare undermine my efforts to protect our daughter?” Sukuna’s eyes blazed with fury. “I will not have her exposed to the dangers of this world, especially not by the likes of some—some servant. That also happens to be a boy.”

You held your ground. “I understand your concerns, but she cannot grow up in isolation. She needs friends, freedom, and experiences beyond these palace walls.”

He scoffed. “I will not subject her to such frivolities. She will learn strength, resilience, and loyalty—qualities befitting a ruler, not weakness.”

Your heart ached at his words, knowing the wounds that had shaped his beliefs. “And what of her happiness, Suku? Will you deny her that, too?”

“Her happiness lies in her safety, in the certainty that no harm shall befall her. I will not compromise on that, no matter the cost.”

Your hand trembled as you reached out. “Maki is not just a creature of your realm, my heart. She is our daughter, born of both our blood. She deserves to experience the richness of human connection.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his features carved from stone. “Human connection? Do not presume to lecture me on such trivial matters. I am no mere mortal to be swayed by sentimentality. You speak of frailty, woman. I am the embodiment of power.”

“And yet, you chose to bind your fate with a mortal. Do you not find irony in that?”

Sukuna turned away, his silhouette casting a shadow over you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, realising the futility of your arguments. “Very well, Sukuna. But remember this . . . a cage, no matter how gilded, is still a prison. And one day, she will yearn to spread her wings and soar beyond your grasp.”

He laughed, but the sound sent shivers down your spine instead of bringing comfort.

“Foolishness seems to be your forte, my love,” he sneered. He turned, his eyes burning with a heat that licked against your skin, as if the very oxygen had caught fire.

You found yourself inching backward, heart pounding with fear.

“Do you truly believe this palace is a prison after all I've sacrificed?" His voice rose, filling the chamber with its thunderous echo. “After enduring your relentless disobedience, after granting you the gift of our daughter, you dare to question my intentions?”

His form seemed to physically swell with anger, towering over you like a wrathful titan.

“If you find my protection stifling, then leave!” he spat. “But know this, wife, you will never escape my reach, for as long as you draw breath, you belong with me.”

“Suku . . .” Your breath caught in your throat as your husband’s face contorted, a grotesque abnormality sprouting from his right eye. Flesh twisted and warped, resembling a charred mass, obscuring his cheek. With horror, you watched as two slanted eyes formed, including a third, ominous orb below his left eye, and a strangled gasp escaped your lips.

“What was it that I asked of you during our initial meeting?” A rough, primal growl rolled through the chamber, like a beast stirring in the dark. The robe around him stretched out, a pair of formidable arms tearing out from his sides. The room quaked under his power, setting off Maki's frightened wails.

“Sukuna, cease this madness at once!” you cried out.

With a sudden burst of energy, his robe tore apart, exposing a mouth that seemed to slither its tongue across his torso. A shudder of horror ran through you, and Maki's cries grew, mirroring your own inner turmoil.

Desperately, you begged for Sukuna to regain control over his monstrous form, but his colossal hand seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze—gazes. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

The question he had asked in the past had you answer swiftly. He was not only your husband, but also a father to your newborn daughter. He was your protector, your stronghold. You would love him even if his body bore scars, just as he loved the ones marring your back.

“It does not, Sukuna. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me.” Your hand found its place over his chest, where his heart pounded at an inhumane speed. “You are beautiful.”

“Papa,” Maki whimpered.

You tore your eyes from your husband and at your crying daughter who kept repeating her first ever word.

Sukuna’s hand slipped from your chin and reached for Maki, but his eyelids drooped, and his body swayed unsteadily.

“Su—”

Before his name could escape your lips, he collapsed with a resounding thud, sending shockwaves through your body and causing Maki to freeze. Both of you watched in horror as your protector lay unconscious on the ground.

Sukuna’s eyes felt like boulders had been placed on them, lifting up and down for a minute straight.

A familiar touch was brushing through his hair, caressing his cheek and the side of his neck, then back to his hair. A kiss laid at the corner of his mouth, and like a fable princess, he was woken from his slumber.

Your worried face came into view. The curtains around your bed were drawn, allowing only a sliver of light to shine on his wife’s face. “My heart . . . are you feeling better?”

His hand pressed firm at the nape of your neck, drawing you close until your face was buried in the hollow of his throat. He shut his eyes, though it did little to quiet the riot in his chest.

He had let his temper slip.

He ought to have held his tongue, silenced you with a kiss, humored your plea for a simple life—for your daughter’s sake, if not his own.

But he hadn’t.

And for that, he could never forgive himself.

Worse still, he could not recall your expression when you first laid eyes upon the thing he became, the thing he had kept hidden save for battles.

“I owe you an apology.” In all the months of your marriage, he had never once needed to say it. He had been careful, always ensuring you remained at ease, that you would speak to him without hesitation. “I offer it now, with all my heart, beloved.”

You swallowed hard. “I was frightened for you.”

For you. Not by you. Sukuna pressed his teeth briefly into his lower lip, then, without ceremony, gathered you into his arms.

Your quiet sobs trembled against his skin as he pressed a series of unhurried kisses to your temple.

“The Ryomen bloodline was damned in my great-great-grandfather’s time. We were wrath and ruin incarnate, unrepentant in our nature. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, believed a curse might quell us—some cruel trick of flesh meant to break our line. Instead, it only honed the beast within. My grandfather, my father, and now I . . . we were made for destruction. Trained for it.”

You leaned back, studying the face of a man who called himself a curse and found, beneath all his thunder, something painfully, unmistakably human.

“You are not your father. Nor the men before him,” you said. “Perhaps your heart does not beat like mine, but that does not mean it does not know kindness. I have seen you with our daughter, Sukuna. Whatever you think yourself to be, I know the truth: you are a man. And you are mine. No matter what shape you take, I know my Sukuna would never harm us.”

“Never,” he swore.

A small smile ghosted your lips as you kissed him twice. “I love every piece of you. You are the love of my life, Sukuna Ryomen. So do not dare take yourself from me. From her.”

“Never,” he said again. “Gods, I wouldn’t dare. You are the very reason I wake with purpose. How could I—” His lips met yours, a fleeting press as if to confirm you were not some cruel illusion. He gathered you close before shifting you beneath him, trailing kisses along the elegant line of your throat, your collarbones, your shoulders.

Then, with great reluctance, he paused. “And our Maki? She is safe, yes?”

“Quite. Uraume is tending to her in her chambers.” You brushed a knuckle across his cheek. “Tell me, did you happen to catch her first word?”

Sukuna blinked.

The question unsettled him, not because he knew the answer but because he did not. His mind, a tumult of devotion and regret, had been wholly occupied—by you, by the mere movement of your lips, by the reminder of his child’s cries. That he had missed such a moment . . . he loathed himself for it.

“What . . . what was it?”

You tapped his lips twice. “Pa. Pa.”

His breath caught. “Papa? She said ‘papa’?”

“Indeed. A grievous betrayal, I must say. Nine months of suffering, only for my own daughter to spurn me at the first opportunity.”

Sukuna pressed a hand to his chest, as though to steady the heart he barely acknowledged as his own. “And she recognized me? Even as I was?”

You tilted your head, amused by his astonishment. “You are her father, Suku, in whatever shape or form. It is this she knows.” You patted his chest, punctuating the thought.

He exhaled, forehead resting against yours. The world quieted, and together, your thoughts turned to Maki—your little dove, safe and sleeping. “I swear to you, my anger will never rule me again.”

“Darling, we are bound to argue.” You laughed softly, though he remained grave. “Only, do try to contain yourself in front of Maki. That is all I ask.”

“And so it shall be.”

You drew him close, allowing his head to rest against you as your fingers idly traced the line of his spine.

“Question,” you murmured.

“Speak.”

“If anger is not the sole catalyst, is there some means by which you might exert control over your cursed form?”

“Yes. I am capable of it,” Sukuna replied, lifting his head to regard you. “I have merely refrained from doing so for some time, which is why the shift rendered me unconscious. Though, I have summoned it on occasion for interrogations.”

You tilted your head in feigned indifference. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“That extra set of mouth on your stomach.”

He studied you for a long moment, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. “My love—”

“No.” You cut in swiftly. “I assure you, whatever it is you’re about to suggest, I wasn’t thinking it.” A pause. “Not in that way.” Another pause. “And even if I were, it is hardly any concern of yours.”

He raised a brow. “It is my body.”

You pursed your lips, choosing instead to focus on some distant point in the room, as if that might shield you from the heat creeping up your neck.

Unmoved, Sukuna reached out, turning your face back toward him with a single finger. “Are you asking me to bed you in my cursed form?”

“N—”

“Do not lie to me.”

A long, measured sigh escaped you. “I would hardly phrase it that way.”

“But you would phrase it.”

“I am merely suggesting that it might be worth exploring.” You met his gaze with a touch of defiance he claimed to find irritating. “It is, after all, a part of you.”

A smirk played at his lips, and you refused to indulge him with a reaction.

“Well,” he drawled, stretching as though the mere thought of exertion exhausted him, “once I have gathered sufficient strength, your body shall be my first conquest. How does that sound?”

“I suppose I can endure the wait,” you said. “A few weeks isn’t too long.”

“Weeks?” Sukuna laughed in your face. “My love, I shall be in perfect condition by tomorrow morning.” His hand found its way between your thighs, fingers pressing against your sensitive spot with an unmistakable intent. “Tonight, however, I believe some preparation is in order. After all, I do expect you to accommodate both my cocks.”

Your eyes widened. “They come in a pair?”

He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “One for your cunt, one for your ass.”

You exhaled, considering the sheer audacity of the man before you, and the undeniable thrill that curled in your stomach. “In that case, I’ll see to it that Maki is well-fed early. It would be a terrible shame to be interrupted.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands making quick work of your robe. Whatever lay ahead tomorrow, he was clearly intent on ensuring you were well prepared.

Maki caught a snowflake in her gloved hands, wriggling in Sukuna’s arms. He watched her, entertained, noting the red flush of her cheeks and the way the sun deepened the warm brown of her eyes. Their morning walks were a ritual—one he maintained while you rested.

She frowned as the snowflake vanished.

Sukuna’s patience with the elements was already thin, but this was outright betrayal. Useless, transient things. Could they not amuse his daughter for more than a breath? With a sigh that could have toppled lesser men, he strode to a pile of snow, scooped up a handful, and set about rectifying nature’s failure. If the heavens were incapable of producing a snowflake that lasted, then he would simply make one himself.

“Papa!” Maki’s delighted cry rang out as he presented his creation. She accepted it without hesitation, and immediately began gnawing on it.

Sukuna watched with equal parts pride and dismay. The girl had a warrior’s spirit, that much was clear, but she also had the terrible habit of treating everything as a potential meal.

“Not for eating,” he informed her, plucking the half-destroyed snowflake from her grip. She scowled at him, the beginnings of a royal tantrum brewing. “What?”

Maki made a noise of protest, reaching for her prize.

Sukuna merely held it out of her reach, watching as she squirmed in his arms like an enraged kitten. He huffed out a laugh, shifting her higher on his hip. “A fine little tyrant you’ll be,” he muttered, tapping her nose. “We’ll work on your taste in delicacies.”

Maki, evidently unimpressed with his wisdom, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve and gave it a mighty tug, glaring at him with all the righteous fury of a child denied.

He grinned. “Oh? You wish to challenge me?”

Her answer was immediate.

She seized his thumb and bit down, leaving a damp little mark on his skin.

Sukuna stared.

Then, after a long, considering pause, he laughed. A rare, unguarded sound, loud enough to shake the winter air. He had crushed civilizations beneath his heel, laid waste to entire bloodlines, and yet here he was, utterly conquered by a girl no taller than his thigh.

Still chuckling, he cradled her closer and pressed another kiss to her cheek in surrender.

“Very well, my sweet dove,” he said. “You win this round.”

Once inside the castle, they dusted off the snow and made their way to his chambers, where you lay beneath layers of fur blankets. As always, Maki would sleep between you both—an arrangement that suited Sukuna just fine. He had long since ensured that no unwelcome presence could enter without, well, ceasing to exist. The barrier fell away with a flick of his fingers as he stepped inside.

Depositing Maki onto the bed, he made quick work of stripping away her winter layers, leaving her in nothing but her nappy. With a wave of his hand, her nightgown rose from the drawer and landed neatly in his palm. Dressing her took little effort, though he prolonged the process with a series of affectionate kisses, which she suffered through with all the dignity of a girl accustomed to her father’s nonsense.

As he changed, he watched her roll onto her stomach and crawl towards you, small hands grasping at the blankets with single-minded determination.

“Mama. Mama.”

You stirred, your body already attuned to the sound of your daughter’s voice. Eyes half-lidded with sleep, you caught sight of her clambering up onto your chest, utterly undeterred by the fact that you had only just woken.

“Hello, my love,” you murmured, shifting her onto your stomach and pressing a kiss to her chilled cheeks. She let out a contented sigh, curling against you as if you were a hearthfire made just for her.

“And how was your morning stroll with Papa?”

Maki gave a tiny hum of acknowledgment before answering, her loyalty evident in the single word she deemed worth saying. “Papa.”

Sukuna smirked. A satisfactory report, indeed. “It was divine as always.”

You lifted your gaze to find him standing in nothing but his indecently loose undergarments, bare-chested and utterly self-assured. The sight did little to temper your appetite. “Good morning, my heart.”

He kissed you first, then the crown of your daughter’s head, as though bestowing a blessing upon his two greatest treasures. “I’m calling Uraume to take her to the nursery so I may have you to myself.”

“You’ll hear no objections from me,” you replied, adjusting your daughter in your arms. “Take her quickly.”

Pleased with your good sense, Sukuna kissed you again before striding out to summon his ever-loyal attendant. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to the tiny creature in your arms, her watchful eyes a precise scarlet mirror of her father’s.

“Nine months I carried you,” you whispered, “and you dare arrive looking just like your papa?” You sighed, dramatic and aggrieved, before pressing a kiss to her downy head. “Ah, but you are perfect, so I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Eventually, Uraume appeared, and carried off the sleeping princess to her nursery two doors down.

You scarcely had time to adjust your gown before Sukuna returned, giving you no chance at modesty before he was upon you, pressing you into the sheets and claiming your lips with his.

Not that you intended to complain.

Then, with a shift as effortless as the turning of a tide, he revealed himself.

His form unfurled, expanding beyond mortal proportions, a presence too great to be contained. Limbs stretched, muscle realigned, skin carved anew by dark markings that wound across his chest, his four arms, his throat. A second mouth curled into a grin at his stomach.

Magnificent. Terrifying. Yours.

Your lips parted, but no words dared forth.

Sukuna tilted his head. “What is the matter, my empress?” His voice was layered now, each syllable resonating with something beyond human. A deity speaking down to the thing that had dared summon it. “This is what you wanted, is it not?”

You swallowed hard. You had asked for this. Had traced curious fingers over his skin, whispered your intrigue, allowed the thought to take root before you could stop it.

And now Sukuna had answered.

Fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your face upward as his lips met yours. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs, sent your hands pressing against the hard plane of his chest. A second set of hands gripped your waist, pulling you forward, caging you against him.

Against all of him.

“Gods,” you whispered as the tongue on his stomach unfurled and gave a long lick to your chest.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” he corrected.

Your eyes wandered down to the tongue slowly swirling around your left nipple. Sukuna’s hand gripped your jaw and forced you to look back at him. His fingers dipped into your mouth, and like muscle memory, you sucked on the digits. He pulled them out, and using his bottom set of hands, he spread your legs out and wide.

A quiet exhale left you as he pushed his fingers inside of you. Your hands cupped his face, thumb grazing over the protruded pair of right eyes that closed at your touch. His palm cupped the back of your head and lifted your face so that your soft lips met his in a chaste kiss. Your arms locked around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair.

A low, guttural hum reverberated in his throat. His upper hands anchored you close, one splayed across your lower back, the other curling around your thigh, prying you open as though he were unfolding something sacred.

“You take to my touch as though you were born for it,” he murmured against your mouth. “As though your body remembers me before memory itself.”

Your breath stuttered as his fingers moved within you. Still, you held his face in your palms, exploring the markings. The harsh planes of his jaw, the impossible symmetry of his two mouths, the second set of eyes that shuttered so easily beneath your gentlest caress. He was carved from myth and sin, but melted under your hands like something entirely human.

“Sukuna,” you whispered.

He gave a low exhale. “I have slaughtered men for far less than hearing my name fall from trembling lips,” he said. “And yet . . . I would hear it again, from you.”

When your lips failed you, he slipped his fingers back into your mouth—those same fingers slick from your heat—and your tongue obeyed before thought could catch it. He chuckled then, a sound deep and sharp as a temple bell at dusk.

Grunting, he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “Let the heavens weep and the earth tremble,” he whispered. “For I shall have you, entire and eternal. Mine, now and beyond the grave.”

With one swift movement, the thick, burning press of his cock jolted you. Your spine arched as he filled you in a single thrust. His lower arms gripped your thighs and pinned you open around him, while his upper pair cradled your back and the side of your face, guiding your expression toward him.

“You were made for this,” he rasped into your mouth. “Every breath . . . every tremble.”

Your hands clung to his shoulders, his skin hot beneath your palms, taut over muscle that flexed with every grind of his hips. You felt him in every inch of you—filling, stretching, splitting you open until it felt like your very form had reshaped around his. And still, he demanded more.

You bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, but he only chuckled darkly. “No need for silence,” he said. “Let them hear you. Let the palace walls remember how a king takes his queen.”

One of his lower hands slipped up to press firmly against your lower belly, right where the thickest part of him struck. “Do you feel that, my love?” he whispered. “That is where I live now.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it. His second length. Thick and merciless, pressing against the stretched slick of your entrance just beneath the first. Your breath caught in your throat, and your nails dug into his flesh as your body tensed instinctively.

Sukuna didn’t stop.

He leaned down, one of his lower mouths brushing hot against your collarbone, licking the sweat from your skin as he murmured, “Relax for me, beloved. You can take it.”

The second cock pushed in slowly, stretching you beyond anything you thought you could endure. You cried out—half-pain, half-bliss—as the pressure bloomed into heat, into fullness, into something sacred and obscene all at once. He groaned low in his chest, the sound shaking through both of you.

“There,” he hissed, panting against your neck, all four of his hands tightening around you. “Look how well you take me. All of me. My perfect little vessel.”

Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out. Both leaking cocks buried deep, pulsing inside you, so full you could barely breathe. And still, he held you as though you were something fragile, something precious, even as he claimed you like a conqueror razing his last battlefield.

Then he began to move.

Just mellow enough for you to feel the shift of both shafts grinding inside you in perfect, devastating sync. Your moans came broken and high, no longer intelligible, lost in the rhythm of his hips and the burning heat licking up your spine. His lower arms gripped your waist tight, keeping you moored as he started fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the chamber like a drumbeat of war.

“Mine,” he gritted out, thrusting harder. “Do you feel what you do to me? How tightly you hold me—how you pull me deeper every time I try to leave?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only hold on. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your body shaking with every thrust, the stretch now tipping into unbearable pleasure. Each stroke stroked places inside you that nothing else ever could. You weren’t making love. You weren’t just being fucked. You were being filled, over and over, until your mind blanked and your soul cried out his name.

“Sukuna!” You gasped, legs trembling as the heat inside you built to something unspeakable. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarled. “You will. You’ll come on both my cocks, and I’ll feel every flutter, every shiver of that sweet cunt. Come for me, little queen. Now.”

You did.

Your release tore through you like fire through silk. You screamed his name, body locking around him, every muscle tightening as your climax rippled through you like a storm. Sukuna groaned, and slammed into you once more, burying both cocks to the hilt as he came, filling you to the brim, warmth spilling inside you like a brand you’d wear for days.

He didn’t pull out or move any further. He only held you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple as your bodies slowly came down from the frenzy.

His voice, when it returned, was hoarse. “You were born to bear me,” he said. “To carry my heat. My name. My legacy.” One of his hands cupped your face, tilting it upward. “You are not merely my queen. You are the altar on which I ruin myself.”

The bathwater shimmered gold beneath the candlelight, laced with perfumed oils and herbs that clung to your skin in fragrant warmth. You rested with your back nestled against Sukuna’s chest, your body languid, limbs heavy from pleasure and exhaustion. His cursed form, coiled with rippling muscles, dwarfed yours.

He sat in the steaming bath with you between his legs, two of his arms holding you close, the other two gently tending to you: one pouring warm water down your spine, the other cradling a soft cloth that moved tenderly along the curve of your shoulder.

You sighed, head lolling back against his collarbone. “You’re gentle with me now,” you muttered, eyes closed. “Whatever happened to the terrifying King of Curses?”

“Still here,” Sukuna rumbled, voice low and deep in your ear. “He’s simply been conquered by a very small woman with a lovely mouth, and an impossibly sharp tongue.”

A soft laugh rose from your throat. “Careful, my love. That same small woman carried your daughter, endured your tempers, and let you fuck her until she couldn’t walk. You’d do well to show some worship.”

“I am washing your feet.” He nipped your earlobe. “If that is not worship, I do not know what is.”

You opened one eye to look down, watching his massive hand curl around your ankle. The cloth moved in slow circles across the arch of your foot. He handled you like fine porcelain, despite the monstrous claws at the end of each finger.

“I was frightened earlier,” you said quietly, the words slipping from you like ripples in the bath.

Sukuna stilled. The cloth paused. The second set of eyes blinked shut. “I lost control,” he admitted, the gravel in his voice softened by guilt. “There was no excuse for the way I behaved.”

You turned your head to look at him, cupping one side of his jaw, brushing your thumb beneath the lower pair of eyes that closed instantly at your touch. “And I love you—all of you—but I need you here. For her. For me.”

His lower arms folded around your middle. “I am not proud of what I became. Of how quickly I gave in to that part of myself.”

“You don’t need to be proud. You just need to do better,” you said gently, letting your forehead rest against his jaw. “Start by coming on a picnic.”

He grunted. “A king does not picnic.”

“A father does. And I happen to think our little Maki would quite enjoy it now that spring’s almost here.”

“She eats grass.”

“She does not.”

“She tried.”

You sighed, smiling. “Let her try. Let her taste snow, and crawl in the dirt, and pull flowers apart petal by petal. She’ll never know the world if all she sees are the iron walls of your protection.”

Sukuna’s fingers brushed up your side, the tongue at his stomach giving a sleepy little twitch against your spine. “A picnic,” he repeated.

You nodded against him. “A simple one. Just us. No guards. No nobles. Just a blanket, some honeyed rice cakes, and a daughter who insists on throwing half her food at you.”

He let out a long, reluctant exhale. “Very well.”

“Really?” You blinked up at him.

His crimson eyes softened. “I said I would do better. This is me . . . beginning.”

You smiled then, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Then we’ll go tomorrow. Near the east garden.”

“You will wear that green robe I like.”

“I’ll wear nothing at all if it means you’ll behave.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, but he only kissed the top of your head.

You nestled deeper into his arms as he resumed bathing you, the water gently lapping against your skin, his monstrous form relaxed for the first time that day.

In that moment, the kingdom could burn, and he wouldn’t care.

Because here, in the bath, with his queen safe in his arms, and the promise of a daughter’s laughter tomorrow, Sukuna Ryomen finally knew what it meant to be at peace.

[kthologue]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[lady-luckk]

stop!! the farmer with the bimbo reader was too good!!

hi im the anon who made that request

i feel like you must secretly know me cause when i was first learning about cars i too was like “you have to change its oil??” cars always have seemed too high maintenance for me and i too would probs die on the roadside since i don’t know how to fix a flat tire

if not cooking or manual labor i hope reader is good at decorating or sewing or something

i wanna make Eli some new clothes and bedazzle them too

thank you my dear for the story!!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ bedazzling the farm

# pairings: yandere cowboy farmer x bimbo / himbo reader

# synopsis: you can’t cook, can’t farm, and nearly lost a toe to an angry rooster—but luckily, you can sew. now you’re stuck on a farm with a grumpy, overprotective farmer and a bunch of chaotic animals wearing tiny outfits you made. survival? questionable. fashion? flawless.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI

# notes: reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

even though you’ve proven time and time again that cooking and farmwork aren’t your strengths, you somehow found your niche in sewing and decorating—something even eli hadn’t expected. 

it started small, with you mending one of his ripped flannels after you “accidentally” snagged it while doing laundry. the stitches were neat, almost perfect, and before long you were fixing worn-out work jeans, patching holes in old quilts, and hemming curtains that had been dragging across the floor for who knows how many years.

the house started changing too; bits of you showing up everywhere—handmade pillowcases, new curtains that actually matched, and little decorations you’d put together from old supplies you’d found around the farm. 

eli pretended not to notice at first, but you caught him more than once just standing in a room you’d fixed up, his gaze lingering on the small things, like the way you finally got him to replace those ancient, ugly dish towels or how you’d hung a makeshift wreath on the front door. “looks different in here,” he’d mutter, always gruff, but his eyes softer than you were used to. “good different.” and maybe you weren’t built for chasing chickens or working heavy machinery, but this? making his house into something warm—into home—this was something you could do.

and just like that sewing became your secret weapon—your little rebellion against being utterly useless on the farm. you often used it as a way to kill time, something to keep your hands busy after dinner. you'd sit curled up on the couch with a needle and thread, tongue poking out in concentration as you patched a hole in eli's jacket or embroidered a little flower onto a pillowcase just to make him scowl and mutter, “what the hell’s this daisy doin’ on my bed?” but he never took it off. not once.

just like that, you had a whole basket of projects—mending shirts, sewing buttons, turning worn-out jeans into tool pouches. eli started leaving things for you to fix without asking, setting them quietly beside your sewing kit with a grunt like it wasn’t a big deal. but you knew it was. he even made a comment once, low and rough, “never met someone who could sew like that, not out here.” and the pride in your chest nearly burst.

you started making things from scratch too—throw pillows from old feed sacks, a little curtain for the chicken coop window (yes, it had a window now), even a new cushion for the porch swing you’d claimed as your afternoon throne. the farmhouse began to reflect you more and more, a blend of rough edges and soft touches. and even if you couldn’t dig a ditch or wrangle a goat, you’d found your own way to belong—needle in hand, threading yourself into every corner of his world.

eli wears whatever you sew for him, no questions asked. patchwork flannel? he buttons it up like it’s designer. a beanie with crooked stitching? he pulls it over his ears and pretends it’s the warmest thing he owns. god forbid anyone so much as laughs at your handiwork—eli’s jaw tightens, his eyes go cold, and if a glare doesn’t shut them up, his fists sure will. 

one poor guy at the general store sneered at eli’s hand-stitched vest, eyeing it like it was some sort of joke. “did you make that yourself? or did your grandma help you with the stitching?” he laughed, but eli’s face went stone cold. without a word, eli grabbed him by the collar, slammed him into the nearest shelf so hard the cans rattled, and growled, “you talkin’ shit about my clothes again, and i’ll make sure it’s the last time you ever laugh. 

he never says much about the things you make, but you’ve caught him smoothing down the hems or tugging a collar straight like it means something. he even started leaving little scraps of fabric on the table, like hints. 

you didn’t stop at eli’s clothes, either. once you realized the animals were basically your audience-slash-family now, it was over for them. the goat got a denim jacket with rhinestones that said “headbutt boss” across the back. the pigs each got tiny sunhats—though they kept shaking them off, so now they’re mostly just lawn decorations. the grumpiest rooster now struts around with a little bandana like he’s in a gang. eli walked out one morning, took one look at the cow wearing a pastel shawl and flower crown, and just rubbed a hand over his face like he aged ten years.

“you dressin’ ‘em up for a hoedown i wasn’t invited to?” he asked dryly.

“they have personalities, eli,” you said, tying a bow around the sheep’s tail.

"this one’s soft cottagecore, that one’s early-2000s pop star.”

he didn’t argue. he just muttered something under his breath and helped you adjust the goat’s sunglasses.

and when one of the town guys laughed at the pig’s polka-dot scarf, eli cracked his knuckles and said, “that pig’s wearin’ somethin’ made with more love and effort than your entire personality. keep talkin’.”

the guy shut up real quick after that—especially when the pig in question oinked and strutted past like it knew it had backup. eli just nodded solemnly like he was proud of the pig’s sass, and you swear to god the rooster winked at you. now you’ve got a whole barnyard posse in coordinated outfits and a six-foot farmer who’ll throw hands over crochet accessories. rural life? absolutely thriving.

[toonice113]

The jacket ⋆ ★ L.Hughes

part 2

Pairings: Luke Hughes x Fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: You weren’t expecting anything in return for your support, especially not this early in your relationship, but Luke had other plans.

Warnings:  brief mentions of drinking, 

Word count: 1.2k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I thought this was shorter lol, I can’t wait to see all the wag jackets this year also, new challenge drink every time you see the word ‘wag’ in the story (no seriously, how tf did i end up using the word so much and for what?). It’s my first time watching the nhl playoffs and im excited (also hope the devils make it far so we get bearded Nico for a while)

You’d met Luke on a dating app. You and your friends had decided to apply to Raya on one drunken girl’s night in, at first it was just a competition, seeing who would get accepted, then it just became a fun place to snoop around all together when only you and another one of your friends had gotten accepted.

When you got Luke’s first message you hadn’t thought much about it, replying to it with your friends’ help and then moving on, but then it became more messages being exchanged even when you were on your own. Your first time meeting had been really sweet, just a coffee date where you got to know each other, and at first you were hesitant because why would this professional athlete want more than just a hookup? But at the end of the date, once your coffees had been finished and the conversation had faded, he walked you to your car, asked for your number and wished you a good night with only a peck on your cheek.

You’d been dating for only a little over two months when the devils clinched playoffs. During those two months you had met his teammates, you’d met his brother accidentally before you had even started officially dating, and their partners a couple times, but nothing formal had happened. You knew about the WAG groupchat and the WAG fee and honestly, way more than you needed or wanted to know about WAG life, from your friends insisting you needed to study the world you were about to enter. 

When you and Luke first started taking things a bit more serious than just random dates here and there he had began inviting you to his games, giving you a seat in the family section for every game that his parents weren’t there for, a mutual agreement as you both felt it was too early for you to meet his parents, but recently that seat had been changed to one in the same section as the rest of the wives and girlfriends who had immediately taken you in as a part of their found family.

Still, with your newfound friendship during games with the WAGs, you were not really involved in anything outside of the game hangouts, you weren’t necessarily bothered by it, you had school to worry about and you knew your relationship was new and the state of it did not depend on whether your boyfriend payed a fee for you or not.

The first two playoffs games for the devils were to be played in Raleigh, so you were planning on inviting your friends over and watching the games with them, but those plans had changed when Nicole Laud messaged you asking if you would like to join the rest of the WAGs and their kids at the Markstrom’s where they were watching the first game. That’s how you had found yourself here, outside of the house balancing two big boxes of custom ordered devils cookies you had gotten from one of your friends who owned a bakery. 

“Hi! Come in, come in” Amanda welcomed you into her house “Let me help you with that” You thanked her as she grabbed the boxes from your hand so you no longer had to balance your purse, the boxes and your phone that you had forgotten to put back into your bag before.

“Oh, I’m so glad you could make it” Nicole approached you 

“Oh my god these are so cute!” Emma Dillon exclaimed once the cookie boxes were opened and put out with the rest of the food and snacks, the designs of the cookies was simple but cute, one of the design was a white frosting with the player numbers, another one was based on their Jersey jerseys, another one was red frosting with the white NJ logo and finally your favorites, the ones of NJ’s head, yes the mascot, no you had no idea how your friend had managed to pull it off in such short notice but she’d done it. “Where did you get these? I might have to order some for the girls’ birthdays” 

“A friend made them actually” You say with a smile “She owns a bakery, I can give you her contact later if you want”

“Oh absolutely” 

Then came the awkward moment when the girls began talking about the WAG jackets, one that you were sure you were not going to receive, again, not that you were expecting one or were bothered by the lack of.  Nicole brought in a box from her car, pulling each jacket out with care and hanging them all in a rack Amanda had set up. You tried to distract yourself from the interaction by getting up and helping one of the kids get a juice refill while their mom enjoyed the moment with the other women.

“This is from Luke” Nicole approached you with a box while the rest of the girls gushed over their jackets on the other side of the room, she winked at you before retreating back.

Confused, you set the box on the table in front of you, pulling at the ribbon holding it closed and then opening it, on top of something wrapped in red paper there’s a note.

Wear this for good luck? 

The messy handwriting and lopsided heart makes you smile, you put the card down and unwrap the present underneath, your mouth falling open at the jacket in front of you, an identical version of the ones the women across from you are now trying on with the name ‘Hughes’ and number 43

“Y/N come here let’s get a few pictures” One of the WAGS calls for you, none of them make a fuss about you getting a jacket, all of them knowing from Nicole filling them in on Luke’s surprise, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by making a big deal of it, instead choosing to include you on their celebrations.

You send Luke a picture Nicole took of you wearing the jacket, clearly showing his name and number wishing him a good luck on the game, getting back a message telling you how beautiful you look and how they are surely winning now that you are wearing the jacket, that you are not really wearing anymore since you all took them off after finishing the pictures so they won’t be ruined before the home games but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay how do we feel about me posting this one” Aly asks the group when the game goes on commercial break, her phone is passed around with the girls agreeing and you grimace at it.

“Um I don’t know if I should be in the picture, I mean Luke and I are still pretty new and no one really knows about us so…” You speak apologetically at the fact that you seem to be the only one with a problem with the picture being posted 

“Oh honey, I think everyone knows” Reanne pats your shoulder and you look around the room at all the women smiling at you

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused

“Check your boyfriend’s instagram story” Reanne tells you 

And there, on Luke’s public instagram story, is the picture you had sent him before the game, a red heart emoji accompanying it, loud and proud for everyone to see that Luke Hughes is officially out of the market.