#Mother's Day Nail Art

[stuckinapril]

I admire girls who can pull off long nails bc it literally can never be me. I just don’t get how it works functionally

[anguscolorcraft]

Mom and kid clipart

@Etsy

[sparkleshopstore]

[sstargirln]

❞ ᝰ .ᐟ stepdad(dy)!art

TW: smut MDNI - p in v, not proofread, so so much swearing, so much dirty talk oops, fauxcest/stepcest

word count: 2301

¡! ❞! a/n aka post-nut clarity : yikes! i am down BAD

“where the fuck have you been?” art's voice cut through the empty front foyer, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed as you stumble through the front door.

just a few years ago, art was nothing but a familiar face in tennis circles, your mom’s high-profile client from her days as a sports agent. you remembered watching his matches on tv when you were younger. hearing his name murmured around the house—art donaldson, the untouchable tennis star and his wife, tashi. but that marriage had fallen apart, fast. 

and then one day, you came home to find him at the dinner table, leaning back in his chair like he’d always belonged there. they were dating, your mom had said, not hiding the glint of satisfaction in her eyes as if she’d snagged the catch of the century. you never asked how it started, only watched as art slowly slipped from the screen into your everyday life.

art liked it—a family that wasn’t a media-fueled whirlwind, even if the kid was closer to his age than to being an actual child. 

the past few years had gone smoothly enough. art had settled into this new life, used to the late nights your mom spent at the office . . . and then you turned 18. and you were a rebellious mess of late nights and tight dresses and barely concealed fluttery eyelashes.  

whatever you were doing — if you meant to or not, was working. you were turning heads, catching eyes. and art’s mind had begun to shift as well. darken. 

he had begun to become infected by this feeling, creeping under his skin like poison. it bloomed inside him, a constant, gnawing need that he hated himself for. his thoughts spiraled, to you, to your body, to the way your mouth moved when you smiled, when you spoke. worst of all, the way the word daddy slipped from your lips effortlessly, so innocently.

“you reek. are you drunk?”  

you shake your head ever so slightly as you stumble towards the couch. "no, daddy, don't be ridiculous," you giggled, your words slurring. you adjust up the hem of your sleeveless dress as you spread on the couch, hair falling into your face. "i'm . . . tipsy at best."

art clenches his jaw at the sound of that forbidden word on your lips. his heart pounds in his chest, and he feels it low in his stomach, a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

he knows this is wrong, knows he shouldn't be picturing all the filthy things he wants to do to you, sprawled on the couch under him. "tipsy, my ass. who were you with?" he managed to choke out. 

you roll your eyes as you look up at him. "my friend sierra. went to a party." you lick your lips slowly, foot reaching out to graze against his leg. "my neck hurts from looking up at you, daddy. si'down." 

fuck, what are you doing? trying to drive him crazy? it's working. his cock twitches traitorously in his pants, already starting to stiffen at your casual touch. his body moves before his brain can catch up, sinking down onto the cushion beside you. "there. happy now?" he tries to keep his tone gruff, unaffected. 

you nod slightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips before you lean back with a pout, your eyes heavy. "so . . . what're you gonna do? hm? ground me?" you rest your legs across his lap.

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and touch you. all he can think how soft your skin must feel, how you would taste if he leaned in and ran his tongue along your inner thigh. his hands clench into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "maybe I should call your mother. let her deal with you. this is ridiculous. "

but even as the words leave his mouth, he knows he won't do it. knows he'll take the fall for you, like always. because despite his better judgment, despite the sickness churning in his gut at his own twisted desires — he can't bear the thought of disappointing you. 

you just giggled at his scolding, apparently too far gone to care. you shift on the cushions, arch your back slightly. making the flimsy sundress ride up even higher on your thighs, giving art a peek of red lace that he should not be seeing. art swallowed hard, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

 the room is silent for a few moments, art’s confrontation long dissipated. 

“mom’s gone a lot, hm?” your slurred, shaky voice snaps him out of his daze. you shift closer to him, foot brushing right against his crotch. 

art inhales sharply, his cock twitching as your foot grazes his straining erection. a flicker of panic passes over his face before he could hide it. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively, crossing his arms, trying to steady himself.

you just smirk up at him, eyes glinting mischievously even through the drunken haze. "oh c'mon, daddy, you know exactly what i mean." you draw out the forbidden word, letting it hang in the charged air between them. lick your lips. bat your lashes oh so innocently. "y'know, 's just that she’s never around anymore. mus' get real lonely for you.”

“don’t . . .” he choked. art dragged a hand over his face, trying to collect himself. "just go to bed," he stammered wearily, unable to meet your eyes. "we'll talk more about this in the morning when you're sober."

but you don’t listen, continue on as if he never said anything — lips curling into a knowing smirk. "mm, poor daddy," you murmur, a soft, taunting lilt to your voice. "don’t get much action, i’m sure."  

art exhales sharply, his eyes flicking to yours, then quickly away. “you need to go to bed.”

you scoot closer, your legs brushing against his. "i don’t want to sleep," you murmur, leaning in just enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. "maybe i want some attention. i know you do." 

“fuck,” he croaked. “stop.”

but you just smile up at him. lean in just a little. "must be hard, having so much to . . . hold in,” you whisper, your fingers trailing lazily along the edge of his sleeve. 

“please," he rasped. "we can't. i'm your father, for fuck's sake.” the words sounded weak even to his own ears. his resistance was crumbling by the second, defenses worn down by months of pent-up lust and longing. 

“not really.”

"go to bed," he repeats. this time his voice is barely more than a whimper.

"yeah, i'll go to bed . . .  but i’ll be thinking about you."

art's eyes slid shut as your fingers worked their way beneath the hem of his shirt, nails raking lightly over his abs. a low groan escaped him, the sound foreign to his own ears. he was in so deep, drowning in a sea of forbidden lust. 

“mhm, i’ll be thinking about you, daddy. are you gon’ make me take care of this myself?”  

art's breath hitched as your fingers trailed lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans. his hips jerked involuntarily, aching for more contact despite the voice in the back of his head screaming at him to stop this madness. 

you pressed a kiss to his cheek, slow, wet. he wants to turn his head, to capture your lips with his own. to claim you, to ruin you for any other man. but he can't. he shouldn't. 

"please," he begs, but he's not even sure what he's asking for anymore. for you to stop? or for you to keep going, to grind against him until he explodes?

"i think you want this jus’ as badly as i do, huh?" your hand slid lower, brushing over the bulge straining against his zipper. "so why don't you stop fighting and just give in?"

and that's when art's careful control shattered. the last thread snapped, and a ragged curse tore from his throat as his hands shot out, grabbing your hips and hauling you onto his lap. capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, he scrabbles at your dress, rips it down.

he kisses you like a drowning man gasping for air, devouring you, pouring all his pent-up desire into the heated embrace. his fingers tangled in you hair, tugging roughly as he angled your head to deepen the kiss. you moan into his mouth, your own hands frantically roaming his chest and shoulders. art feels you grinding against him, the heat searing him even through his clothes.

he broke away from her lips to trail open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. down the column of her throat. "fuck, you drive me crazy," he growled against your skin, nipping at your pulse point.

your head lolls back, a wanton moan spilling from your lips. "please," you whimper, fingers scrabbling at his shirt. "i need you so bad."

art's mouth latched onto a pebbled nipple, sucking and biting as he ground his aching cock against you. his hands found your mouth, and he shoved a finger in. your tongue instinctively curling around the digits, lapping at them greedily. you mewled around his fingers, the sound muffled and desperate as arched into him, your own hands frantically working to undo his belt and zipper. art hissed in pleasure as your freed his throbbing member, stroking him slowly while he continued to ravish your chest. " 'm gonna fuck you so good." his hips rock into your hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. "i'm going to make you mine," he growls, fingers delving into your panties to stroke your slick folds. "gon' — fuck. gonna stretch this pretty pussy out. yeah? . . . yeah, 's that what you want?"

it's filthy, degrading, everything he knows he shouldn't want. but god help him, he can't stop. you nod desperately as you groan into his touch, grip on his dick loosening for a second when he teases your entrance with a finger. another light brush and he lifts his hand to your mouth, slipping it back inside between your lips before scooching back. pressing his cock to your entrance through your lacy panties. "pl — please," you cry, eyes wide and watery. "fuck me, please."

art groans, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. the heat of you seeps through the lacy fabric, making him throb with need. he rubs his tip against the practically see-through fabric, soaked through with arousal. relishes your needy, breathy moans. he hooks his fingers around your panties and rips them away, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. "look at you," he rasps, drinking in the sight of you spread out beneath him, glistening. ready. "so fucking perfect. fuck — 'm gonna . . . i'm gon' wreck this pussy, baby. make it all mine, yeah?" he slaps his length against your clit, smirking crookedly at the way you whimper. "make you forget about all those other — other little boys, yeah?"

and with that, he notches the head of his dick against your entrance and surges forward, burying himself balls-deep in your tight, slick pussy. you cry out, back arching off the couch as he fills you. stretches you, claims you.

he sets a punishing pace, fucking into you like a man possessed. the wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by your pornographic moans and his grunts of pleasure "fuckkk," you whine into him languidly, hands scrabbling against his thick arms. "fuck, daddy. you're — you're so fucking big."

he leans down to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue. swallows your cries of ecstasy as he pounds into you. he grunts, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "you like this, huh? like daddy's big . . . fuck — big cock splitting you open, hm?"

you nod with a sob, thighs shaking at the relentless snapping of his hips into yours. his fingers find your clit, rubbing mercilessly. pushing you closer to the edge with every touch.

"gonna cum," he warns breathlessly, hips stuttering. "gon' fill your cunt up, baby. breed this pussy."

he leans down to bite at your neck, sucking dark bruises into your skin. marking you as his territory.

"cum for me, baby," he demands, voice strained with impending release. "milk — milk me fuckin' dry."

the filthy words send you over the edge, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. you cum with a scream, convulsing around his shaft as he empties himself inside you with a loud moan.

he collapses on top of you, both of you panting and sated. for a long moment, he just holds you, nuzzling into your neck. you smile at him like you'd just won the lottery, legs wrapping around his hips.

"am i better than mom?" you whispered into his ear.

he lets out a real, honest-to-god bark of a laugh. "jesus christ," he pants. "you're fucking . . . you're amazing. fucking intense."

understatement of the century. he just fucked his stepdaughter senseless, filled her with his babies, and he's already craving more. fuck, he's in deep. so fucking deep. literally and figuratively.

¡! ❞ © sstargirln 2024

[lalunanymph]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏: 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: misogyny, talks of ageism, unrequited love, dubious cheating, gaslighting, mentions of a/nal, e/xplicit smut, mentions of w/eed, mentions of a/lcohol, substance a/buse, toxic family dynamics, class differences, sukuna is anti-noveau riche, sukuna is a walking red flag, jin itadori supremacy, hiromi and nanami duke it out in court, exposition, mentions of a m/urder, negligence, court cases, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

Treading the world of marriage as a woman past her prime in a judgemental upper class society was a dance that left you exhausted and skittish; wishing you could put an end to its haunting melody. 

As you were ticking fast past the rotten age of twenty-seven, your family’s empire hung by a thread as nervous investors and stakeholders started to ask the golden question: When will your only daughter get married, Jiro? 

Suitors knocked on your door, only to be turned away by your snobbish mother and your equally weak-kneed father who tried to appease her. None of them good enough for you; handsome enough for you or rich enough to grow your family’s vaults. 

That was until Itadori Jin reached out to your family with an offer your father could not refuse.

His older twin brother, Itadori Sukuna, has just been released from an investigation and needed a bride to save the family name. 

They wanted to paint him in a good light to the press: partying bad boy turned a charming, married man who was now working towards building a family with another girl of his standing.

And, that was when you came into the picture.

The first time you saw Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was a moment you would never forget.

The tattoos swirling around his face should’ve given you pause; made you backtrack on the idea of marriage to the Itadori house the second it left your father’s lips—especially when it came to a man like him.

In his neatly pressed white button-down which strained over his (admittedly) impressive pecs, and pair of expensive Bottega slacks, he would’ve been the picture of sophisticated upper class if it weren’t for the tribal lines on his face and arms—the sight almost making you high tail it out of the cafe you were both seated in.

It was the first time you were meeting him without your parents to chaperone. Bodyguards stood by the doors, stationed close by in case the press got too nosy. 

With this being the first time you were talking to him without your mother lingering in the background, you were free to eye him up and down, unsure of what to make of the disdain setting his mouth into a hard line.

He was different from the men you had encountered before. Tall in an imposing way and with his shock of pink hair, you could spot him from a mile away in the middle of a crowded room. Sukuna carried himself with an air of princely cruelty, often staring down the line of his nose; astride the white stead of his borned privilege and high position in society. 

But, the one thing that stood out were his eyes.

The warmest brown dissolved into a shade of vermillion which shone blood-red under different lights.

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes off them or stare at them for too long, and you sensed rather than knew how much he enjoyed your discomfort. 

He swivels his coffee, spilling some down the pristine white cup. Somewhere behind him, a guard stifles a yawn.

“So… what do you like to do for fun?”

You sit up straighter, practiced to perfection with your reply. “I love watching horse races, Itadori-san. On some days, I prefer pottery and painting. I’ve always wanted to open my own art gallery.”

He glances at his nails, looking almost bored. “And why didn’t you open your own gallery?”

It’s a cordial question at best, but you bristle as if he had just mocked your interests.

“I… don’t have the time,” you mutter meekly. 

He looks up at you, and you think he might finally unleash the scathing remark he’s been holding back for the last few minutes.

“What does a prissy girl like you know about not having time? I thought you thrived on wasting your life away with hot pilates classes and private-jetting to islands?”

You bite back your fuming reply, masking your discomfort with a bright smile. “Itadori-san, you judge me so harshly. I only attend one hot pilates class per week.”

What you hoped was a light-hearted reply dissolves into a sour note when he sighs and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, sweetheart. I know this can’t be easy on you, too, but you don’t know what’s at stake here.” Sukuna leans forward, invading your space with the spicy sweetness of his cologne. “I have a reputation to change and you have daddy’s money to keep. We’re both each other’s salvation from the shit our family put us through so I need you to work with me here.”

You frown, unsure of what he was trying to get at. “But, I am trying to work with you. I’m here on this date, aren’t I?” 

“You gotta look decent,” he doesn’t beat around the bush. Gesturing to your modest midi floral dress and neutral beige Mary Janes, the look of disgust on his face breaks something in your chest. “You’re dressed like a goddamn Mormon college girl. For someone very rich, you sure don’t have taste.”

Offended, you stared at him, unable to fathom what he had just said—how he had just insulted you unprompted and in broad daylight.

But, Sukuna doesn't give you time to revel in his words. He grabs a cigarette from his pocket, ignores your wrinkling nose as he smokes openly in this establishment. The waiters don’t dare to cross him, pretending the smell of tobacco doesn’t faze them.

You, however, were finding it harder to mask your disgust. For the sake of your mother’s excitement at finding you a suitable match, you tried to tame down the anger frothing in your veins, slapping on a sweet, yet sardonic smile.

“And what is your definition of ‘taste’, Itadori-san?”

He peers at you over the veil of smoke, taking his time to piece together his reply. “Plunging necklines. Satin. Bows. Thinner heels. I need a mature woman by my side, not some plain old maid playing dress up as a prepubescent girl.”

His words stung, and you leaned back, suddenly feeling too small. The cafe lights felt like a pair of microscopic lenses studying your every move, highlighting your discomfort and sudden unease. Your skin flashed hot and cold, the anger cresting and ebbing. Whenever you were upset, you didn’t lash out or cry, preferring to fall silent until the storm passed.

Despite a tiny voice in the back of your mind telling you it would be useless to try, you attempted another shot at winning his validation; hoping Sukuna would bestow it unto you readily and without mockery.

“Then, why don’t you come and shop with me? I’m sure a man of your taste would help my image.”

He stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. You’re reminded of a snake—its tongue scenting the air to determine whether to strike, unlidded eyes locking onto its target. 

Sukuna thaws, tapping off the excess ash onto the floor. You try not to cringe at how the poor waiters would have to sweep all of that up once he had left.

“Fine. I’ll help,” he says like it's the biggest feat in his life to perform. “But, on one condition.”

Eager, you nod, not wanting to turn him off or jeopardize a moment with such a handsome man who wouldn’t look twice at you if it weren’t for your last name.

“We push the wedding back by a month.”

Flashback: One week ago

Tensions were running high in the courtroom.

Rows of judges and the impassive jury hollows out in shades of gray, fading into the white buzz of his mind as Sukuna glances at his brother’s ashen face. Outside, the hungry press waits, sharks roaming in deathly waters waiting for the first drop of blood.

Itadori Jin clenches his pen in his white-knuckled grip. Their defense attorney, Hiromi Higuruma leans close to him, whispering something under his breath. 

Sukuna can’t hear him from his vantage point on the testimonial seat, but he can venture a guess when his younger twin nods, pushing his glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose.

“Higuruma-san, please take the floor,” the judge intones, allowing for their docketed defense to play out. 

The ruthless, cold lawyer clears his throat, and stands. 

He turns to face the jury, those soulless eyes sparking with a passion Sukuna has never seen before in all his twenty eight years of knowing the old lawyer.

“Your honor—Judge Itachi. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. How many of us have often mistaken goodwill for evil? We don’t bite the hand that feeds us and yet, we have every right to question when something isn’t as sanctimonious as it seems.” He turns his dark gaze to the rows of people.

“Itadori Sukuna has devoted half of his life to the bolstering of young athletes. Football is one of his biggest passions and he often pays meticulous attention to the facilities that nurture the talent of our future sportsmen. The sole person to be blamed for the murder of young Masamichi Ryota isn’t the man sitting on that podium—it’s to be found in the coach who pushed him beyond his capabilities and forced him to play even with a ruptured spleen—”

“Objection, your honor.” Nanami Kento, an unctuous piece of shit in a neatly-pressed suit who thrives on taking cases pro-bono to bolster his spotless reputation, stands. He adjusts his tie, looking at the plaintiff’s family—the coach’s great mustache trembling as he holds back his anger. 

“The post-mortem report submitted shows that Coach Tanaka has explicitly asked for a leave of rest for the star player. But, the rejection letter—traced from Itadori Sukuna’s hand, I might add—explicitly denied that request on grounds of the millions of yen he has betted on that poor boy’s success.”

The crowd moves, a great sea snake whispering, scales rustling. Unsure of whether to attack or stand down.

“Your Honor, that is a stretch,” Hiromi drones. “The young man was known to have a history of smoking and a regrettable habit of shooting ecstasy. A fact, we found out later on, that was unearthed in the same autopsy reports you had just shared, Nanami-san.” 

This time, the two attorneys stare each other down. 

Sukuna fights back a smirk at the blonde man’s narrowed eyes. Beside him, Tanaka, the coach, hangs his head.

“While his death is very regrettable and a horror to his family and loved ones, Masamichi was not known for reigning in his… impulses. He has a weak will and a fondness for abusing substances.”

“Objection,” Nanami raised his voice. “Defaming the deceased’s name is a violation of—”

“Order, order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel, shaking his jowls as he glares down from the stand. The room quietens. Nanami takes a deep breath while Hiromi glances at his watch. 

“Nanami-san, the Defamation Act 2013 does not apply to this situation as Masamichi is not a minor. A lawyer of your caliber should know this.” Nodding towards Higuruma, he says, “Continue.”

This time, Sukuna can’t help the chuckle slipping from his mouth. 

Hearing him, Jin shakes his head with a glare, hazel eyes drilling Now’s not the time, asshole deep into his skull. 

Higuruma, having heard his slip, also narrows his eyes.

Nanami uses this moment to pounce on Sukuna’s perceived indifference.

“He openly mocks the death of one of Japan’s brightest football stars, and yet, we’re supposed to believe in his goodwill? If you were to speak of my client’s dead prodigy, you should take into account what kind of man Itadori Sukuna truly is.”

Commanding the floor, the sharply-dressed blonde man takes center stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Judge and jury. Itadori Sukuna hails from an affluent family, but do not let that distract you from how he uses his position in society to silence those lower than him.” Looking straight into Sukuna’s eye with that infuriating, righteous stare these bootlickers always had, Kento seethes. 

“He is a drug-addled playboy who spends his time exploiting young talent for his own gain. These young men under his program are little more than betting fodder for him and his other rich friends. Wouldn’t you say that is correct? How many times have we seen him in the news because of his drunk folly? If he were an actor, we would’ve banned him from screens, and yet, because of his standing in society, we commend him for exploiting our sporting talents—and ultimately, playing in the negligence to cause someone’s death.”

Higuruma bristles, not expecting his opponent to pull out his client’s reputation and smear it across the courtroom floors.

“You claim defamation is uncouth, and yet, you’re doing the same thing to my client, Nanami-san—”

“Order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel again, this time looking irritated at how this case had turned.

Sukuna suddenly catches sight of a woman from across the room. She’s glaring at him with unabashed hatred, her dark eyes swollen and red-rimmed, lower lip wobbling. Beside her, the man he assumes is her husband wears a stony mask, his gaze locked on the floor, completely still except for the rapid rising and falling of his erratic breaths.

They were both clad in a dress, shirt and slacks that looked like they belonged to the 90s—neat and clean, but shabby in a way that only these lower class scum could pull off if the dress code given to them was business casual. 

These must be Ryota’s good-for-nothing power hungry parents who threw him into the harsh pits of Japanese football in hopes of improving their standing in society. How plain and old they look. Sukuna fights back the urge to sneer at them, keeping his expression neutral.

It’s like Jin’s voice is in his ear: Do not misbehave. Do not give them more reason to already hate you. Remember—Jin’s infuriatingly kind eyes were unflinching and serious. They’ve just lost their son. Have some compassion and remorse.

“Attorneys, return to your seat. The jury has already made their decision and I, for one, can vouch for it.”

Sukuna feels his palms going clammy, and suddenly, the idea of investing in sports from Ino’s advice was making his stomach turn.

I’m going to kill that bastard once I’m out of here.

Removing the slip of paper from the white envelope of justice, Judge Itachi clears his throat.

Higuruma sits back down, his viper-like eyes locked on the judge’s face. Trying to predict the outcome.

“The court today has deemed the case Itadori v Japan’s Football League a negligence in duty of care concerning Masamichi Ryota’s untimely death.”

No one is breathing, all attention on the judge with his pockmarked face. 

Sukuna is fixated on Jin, whose head is bowed, eyes closed. If this blew up in their faces, a case like this would cause Itadori Enterprises to suffer a major investor fallout.

And once again, the blame of their family’s bad fortune would be on him. 

Sukuna swears the last time he was this nervous, he was waiting for Este’s pregnancy test results to come back negative.

It was one time, ‘Kuna! She had tears in her eyes, the stupid white stick clenched in her hand. Can you lay off of me and take responsibility for once in your goddamn life?

He should call her after this—apologize to her. God knows it would be his last fuck before he has to spend half of his life behind bars for the death of some schmuck kid whose name he had already forgotten.

Judge Itachi speaks again, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Therefore, the jury and I have come to the conclusion. In the case of Itadori Itadori-san, we find him—”

The clock ticks. Every lung is constricted—jury, attorneys, a few press members who had managed to bribe their way in. Sukuna recognizes them with their obnoxious yellow press tags; thinks how many of these leeches would get a raise once they broke the scoop on him.

Oh, the irony, he muses. His downfall being their salvation to fighting back against the rising cost of living.

“—not guilty.”

…

Sukuna is unsure if he’s heard it right.

Not guilty. 

Not guilty. 

Not guilty.

He doesn’t react immediately, blinking slowly like a fish caught out of water. The oldest son of Itadori Wasuke tries to meet his twin’s eye, but Jin is as shocked as he was, frozen with his laser-sharp focus trailed on the stand—trying to digest this turn of events.

Higuruma is the one who finally breaks the ice, standing and bowing to Judge Itachi. On cue, the rest of the room follows suit, getting to their feet and showing the retreating judge their begrudging respect.

Sukuna bows jerkily, unused to such a humble gesture he had almost forgotten how to do it.

In front of him, the brat’s mother starts to bawl, her husband’s arms coming to wrap around her as they both shuffle out of the courtroom, looking older and grayer than when they had entered.

Sukuna doesn’t have much time to force a lick of sympathy for them, not when this farce of a trial was over and he was late for Ino’s party.

He hops down the stand, ambling easily to his younger brother who was whispering in low tones with their lawyer. A few feet away, Nanami Kento reassures the coach and his family, painting a picture of trying to achieve righteous justice for that good name—a feat Sukuna knew he would never achieve.

After all, the Itadori empire wasn’t built on rainbows on sunshine but pure, hard grit. And a little bit of blood and here and there to get what they want.

Jin looks up, frowns. “Let’s catch the sedan and have a smoke. You and I have a lot to discuss about.”

The way he said it made Sukuna feel like a kid again, about to be chastised for peeing the bed or killing off the pet goldfish.

Higuruma packed up his briefcase of documents, and a pack of bodyguards stationed around the different points of the courtroom swarmed to the middle, shielding the two brothers and their lawyers the second the doors opened and the press descended on them. 

Flashing lights went off in a wave of clicks, the vultures with their cameras snapping his humiliation at every angle for their publications; boldly throwing their questions at him without fear now that the great Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was knocked down a peg or two. 

Itadori-san, can you comment about Masamichi-san’s death at length? 

One woman with a silver bob shoved a mic in his face. The guard on his right quickly elbowed her out of the way, throwing his arm up to hide Sukuna’s visage from the bug-like chittering click of these press leeches and their expensive cameras.

Itadori-san, this news must come as a shock. What does this mean for the future of Itadori Enterprise?

Will this affect any future mergers, particularly a rumor circulating about a potential collaboration with Nara Corp? 

Itadori-san, do you ever regret investing in football?

A few sport reporters were also seen trying to push their way through the crowd, recorders in hand to glean some golden nuggets for their pathetic column.

Itadori-san, what does your verdict mean for the future of the Japan Football League?

Itadori-san, did you know that Masamichi-san was about to prepare for his university entrance exams? How does his death make you feel?

“No comment,” Higuruma intones, taking Jin and Sukuna both by the elbow to steer them towards their waiting car like they were teenagers again; back when he had to bring the twins straight into Wasuke’s study to discuss their future inheritance.

A fresh-faced rookie Sukuna had never seen before stumbles in front of their entourage, and he’s mortified to see a pink lipstick print on the front of the intern’s tag.

Royale News' first appearance in such a serious case.

“Itadori-san, you’re already approaching the ripe age of thirty," the dim-wit says. “Do you have your eye on a woman who can domesticate you? Can you ever be tamed?”

Amidst the overlapping voices and chaos, that question sticks to Sukuna like sweat on skin during an unbearable summer heat, unsettling him until he sinks into the sedan with Jin beside him and Higuruma on the opposite seat. 

The door closes shut, bodyguards standing in front of the heavily tinted side windows to keep the press from clamoring after them.

Once the chaos was left behind on the freeway in a cloud of smoke and ashes, did Jin lean forward to raise the privacy screen. With the driver unable to hear them, his younger twin reaches for his packet of Montecristos, lighting three of them up and passing one to each man.

Higuruma accepts his offer with a nod, while Sukuna grabs the nicotine-laced vice from him with a ferocity that takes his brother aback. He inhales deeply, exhaling rings of smoke which fogs up the car, tasting cherries, cedarwood, tobacco and his freedom. 

“Easy, ‘Kuna,” Jin mumbles tersely. Sukuna resists the urge to flip him off.

Instead, he drags his gaze to the lawyer smoking quietly in front of him, smiling sleazily in triumph. “You did a good job, Higuruma. If I were you, I’d ask for a raise.”

The Itadori scion expects his brother to join in the jest meekly, like he always does. Not glare at him with pure vitriol in his eyes, the kind Sukuna had never seen Jin harbor for him.

“You scumbag,” Jin mutters hotly. His brother half expects him to throw a curse word or two with how riled up he was. “You were supposed to dump this stupid hobby. I gave you the money to start a foundation for good press. Not throw it all into some useless human betting ring. Are you an imbecile?”

That was a new insult. Jin rarely ever threw him a good verbal uppercut, and Sukuna must’ve really fucked up to earn this side of his younger twin brother.

He plasters on a sleazy smile, giving his otouto a once over. 

“Well, aren’t you a fucking ray of sunshine? You should be glad Higuruma managed to avert the crisis and get me out of it. Or, are you going to piss in these blessings?”

“I would rather you didn’t embroil yourself in such a shit show in the first place.”

Jin sighs, sags into the seat and massages his temple. “One day, Sukuna, you’re going to give me a heart attack and you’ll have to take over oto-san’s company. Then, you will know true responsibility. True suffering.”

Sukuna hums, staring outside at the scenery flying by.

“Neither the company nor its investors would last a day with me at the helm. So, for your sake and mine, I’m going to ask the doctor to keep the life support machine going even if you’re hanging onto your last breath, dear brother.”

“Good luck with that,” Jin refutes with a slight snarl. “I would explicitly mention it in my will to refute your efforts at reviving me.”

“Then, I will rebuke your will.”

“You can’t because I actually have a son to execute it.”

“Yuuji is two. He can’t even hold a pencil.”

Any insult towards his beloved son would never be tolerated by the famed Itadori family man. Jin puffs out his chest, about to berate his older brother, when Higuruma stops them both with a sigh.

“If only your parents could see the both of you now. How disappointed they would be in you, Sukuna.”

Hiromi sucks in a deep breath of the sweet cigar, turning his head and exhaling lightly out of politeness for smoking in his employer’s car. 

Despite his hulking muscles and blase attitude, Sukuna can’t help but glower in petulance at any mention of Wasuke and Kasumi’s disappointment in him. Growing up as the black sheep has casted a permanent cloud over him—his best efforts were seen as second tier in comparison with his perfect, golden brother. And Sukuna resents any mention of it.

Their family lawyer continues on, as if he hadn’t made two of them heel to an uneasy stop.

“At your age, you should be taking over Jin’s part. But, your brother is too nice. He took up the burden so you could do what, exactly? Party every night? Sleep with models? Get involved in scandals?”

Hiromi sighs, and Sukuna turns his glare outside the window, unwilling to take such a personal beat down. 

“Your mother had hoped you would snap out of your selfish streak. She even thought you would settle down and give her some grandchildren by the time you turned twenty five. But, you had to be pictured… fucking… the mayor’s daughter during a gala. How crude.”

“Stop talking down to me like you’re even at my level, Higuruma.” Sukuna snaps and something in his tone catches the other two men off guard. “You think just because we employ you in our good graces, you have the fucking right—”

“What Hiromi is trying to say is this,” Jin interjects before this could escalate into a full fist fight. “Both of us have come up with the best way for our family to get past this scandal.”

Sukuna has heard this a thousand times before. The Itadori pockets were bottomless when it came to preserving their good name.

“How?” He sneers, dismissive and mildly insulted that the two of them had made a decision for him without his input. “Don’t tell me you’re going to flush out more money to keep the press quiet. We can’t keep using the same strategy over and over again.”

In answer, Hiromi and Jin share a look. Sukuna suddenly feels like the car seat he’s on is about to be pulled from under him.

Wilted ash drips from the tip of his neglected cigar. He tenses, darts his vermillion eyes between his two conspirators and wardens.

“Hiromi and I have come up with a better idea,” Jin begins his pitches like he always does—with a little smile and a sniffle. “The idea is—”

“Marriage,” Hiromi intones, taking one brother aback and the other on a guilt trip. 

Jin grimaces. Sukuna stumbles with the words stuttering out like a reckless oil spill.

So, the only thing he could spout was, “M-marriage?! What kind of trickery is this? Jin—” He looks to his otouto, hoping against hope his ears are just fucked up and he didn’t actually hear Hiromi saying the tragic, forbidden ‘M’ word.

“—this has to be a mistake.”

“No, it’s not,” Hiromi steps in to cover Jin’s ass, placing himself at the front to take the bullets of rage that would no doubt rain down on him once the whole plan was laid bare to the older, hot-headed twin. 

“We believe that with your souring reputation and increasing questions surrounding your perpetual bachelorhood, settling down with someone would be in the interest of the family business. And of course, your inheritance.”

Hiromi makes sure to dangle the most effective carrot in front of him; that sadistic bastard.

Sukuna seethes—confusion, anger, disappointment and fear coalescing to overtake his first instinct to run. Numbing him with his inaction of thoughts and body. 

Hiromi lifts his heavy-bagged eyes, pinning him right to the spot. The knife slices deeper, cutting him from the inside out; hammering in this decision he absolutely had no say in unless he would want to kiss his lavish lifestyle goodbye.

“We need to get you married off by the end of the year.” A death sentence knells right into his chest; Hiromi digs the pain deeper. 

“In fact, the sooner, the better.” 

Sukuna remembers the very first time he had seen you in your wedding dress. 

It was a chance encounter as he passed by a Morinaga boutique in downtown Shibuya; his brother having orchestrated the entire meeting so Sukuna would catch a glance of his future bride trying on her custom-made dress.

With her head bowed, and shoulders bare under the light, the older Itadori twin thought her figure was appeasing and pleasing to the eyes. That is, until she turned around with her naked face and he had to physically stop himself from recoiling.

“Is that her?” he demands, unwilling to believe Jin would sell him out like this. Shades of disgust lines his tone, and he tries not to put his stupid twin in a headlock and break his neck.

Jin notices his reluctance and makes a face. “She’s unlike the girls you whore yourself out to, that’s for sure.”

The more he looks at you, the more Sukuna is starting to think this was a mistake.

“She’s so… boring. Vanilla. Are you sure this is what you think is best for me?”

Since their father passed on and the business went to his younger twin, Sukuna was often painted in their society and by the media as the irresponsible Itadori—the audacious older brother, the partier.

The playboy.

Often having a gaggle of girls at his mercy, he was not exempted from warming beautiful model’s beds, and having flings with other trust fund babes—bad habits his younger brother was desperately trying to get him to shrug off to take on more of the family business mantle. 

“You’re almost thirty, ‘Kuna. It’s time to act like it.” 

Jin sighs, removes his glasses. The action reminds him so much of their father that Sukuna pauses for a second, blinking away the mirage of that senile, old man.

Sukuna hadn’t noticed just how old his younger brother had gotten.

Dressed in a sleek trench coat costing four times more than a McDonald workers’ monthly salary, Itadori Jin was quiet and unassuming, yet only his twin brother knew that still waters ran the deepest.

An inch shorter than him and with a kid from his old, dead wife, Itadori Jin was the antithesis of Sukuna’s recklessness. Where the older twin was all hulking machismo and a massive ego, his brother was soft-spoken and with a sharp mind that was always one step ahead of his, bringing their father’s company back from the brink of bankruptcy and launching it into international waters from his sheer will. 

Sukuna respects the guy, and as much as he wants to rile Jin up and pop a vein on his younger brother’s temple, he tempers down his sarcasm, preferring to roll his eyes.

“Whatever. So, her daddy wants the merger money and you want me to settle down with some ugly chick?”

Jin winces, wishing his brother wasn’t being this curt and lewd. 

“Her father wants an heir. And he wants 40% of our shares. That’s a whole different game.”

“He can’t have those.” Sukuna was irresponsible as they came, but even he understood the basic math of divesting half of your company’s assets to a party other than your stipulated stakeholders. “The Nara family already holds 22% of our board and the Ikina’s are up close with 15%. If those vultures take 40, how’re we gonna break even in the next quarter? We’ll be bleeding red if we give into their whims.”

In answer, the corners of his brother’s mouth twitches. “I see you’ve been doing your homework. Impressive.”

They both have stopped in their tracks, standing a little ways on the sidewalk where prying ears couldn’t hear their discussion.

Jin suddenly turns serious. “L/N-san has struck gold with new fintech models. We need to curry his favor if he wants to reduce the patent price for us to move on with Project Armstrong. I hope you understand the gravity of this situation.”

Usually, Sukuna prefers not talking business with his brother in such broad daylight without a drink in hand. But, seeing as how Jin has left him no choice, he relents to this impromptu exchange, feeling more and more like some wild stock being sold in a farm the longer he speaks to his brother. 

“And she’s nicknamed the Wisteria Woman because her entire family latches onto fame and power like leeches,” he bristles, catching Jin by surprise. 

See? Even a useless ass like him could bother with basic research. And the rumors were nastier than he imagined.

“I already don’t like the sound of that—of her.”

The younger Itadori cocks his head. “Then, I think you should be honest with her if that is how you feel. That this is a business arrangement and nothing else.”

Sukuna flicks a cigarette from his leather coat’s pocket, sticking it between his teeth.

“Say I agree to this plan. What’s in it for me?”

Without a beat of hesitation, Jin replies: 

“110% of the profit.”

Sukuna nearly spits out his stick. 

The amount yawns before him, looming zeros and zeros staring him in the face. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jin teases, though there’s tension crinkling in the corner of his eyes.

Switching gears, Sukuna turns mellow; even slaps on a smile. “I see. Interesting.”

“So. Are you on board with this?” 

In the distance, he sees your silhouette exiting the bridal shop, bags in hand with your maids or girlfriends following behind. The sunlight does little to bring any depth to your expression or features, but he appreciates that you look semi-decent from his vantage point.

“Fine,” he says, clicking open his vintage Dupont to light the tip of his cigarette. “Count me in.”

He supposes that even with such an embarrassing family background that will drag the Itadori name through the mud, the high stakes more than made up for such a lackluster wife.

His favorite whore sighs right into his shoulder, the smell of his cum, sweat and her expensive perfume strong on her skin.

After ejaculating right onto her tits and smearing it everywhere down her belly, Sukuna was exhausted and in a need for something stronger than nicotine. Rolling over, he picks up a joint Ino had passed to him as congratulations for making it out of that nasty as fuck trial, lighting it up and inhaling with a tremendous sigh.

Este’s lips are right on his shoulder, kissing a path from his deltoid to collarbone. Sukuna wraps a hand in her soft, brown hair, holding her firmly in place as he makes a move like he was about to kiss her; her lips parting and smoke pouring into her waiting mouth, her hitched inhale pulling a cruel smile across his own lips. 

She turns her face away, eyes watering and fighting back a coughing fit. “Asshole.”

“An invitation for anal? Gladly, baby.” He turns her onto her belly, peals of laughter muffled by the pillow, strong arms holding her down as he positions her on her hands and knees, joint stuck in between his teeth.

Este turns her face to the side, catching his eye. Mascara smudges around her eyes, her red lipstick feathering at the corners of her impishly smiling mouth.

“What’re you doing, ‘Kuna?” 

“Y’know what I’m doing,” he murmurs, cock stirring at her wiggling hips and devilish grin.

“Are you really going to take my ass?” 

He sucks in another inhale of the joint, feeling the high slowly unlocking his muscles and turning his brain fuzzy. “Scared? Afraid daddy might find out his daughter is going around offering her virgin hole to any rich man who’s on the marriage market?” 

Condescension drips in poisonous tendrils, and she bristles. “Fuck you, ‘Kuna.”

In one swift motion, he’s sheathed inside of her, feeling her walls choke down on his cock. His head tosses back, sweat glistening off the tribal tattoos on his chest, hips drawing back and snapping forward in languid thrusts. 

The moon shines strong. Cheap Southern alcohol pumps in his blood, his sweat soaks through her skin and hair, damp skin illuminated by the ember tip of his joint. 

“Isn’t that what I’m already doing to you?” He drawls, and her body starts to shake. 

“We still—mhm—h-haven’t talked about your m-marriage…” 

Her voice fades; cracks on the reality of him no longer sharing a bed with her.

Jesus. Does everyone know about this? 

Sukuna doesn’t do anything to comfort her, except for slipping a hand between her legs to rub soft circles on her clit as a flimsy apology.

She keens, white-knuckled grip fisting the soft blankets. Her mediterranean mix shows under the weak light, tan skin stretching over defined back muscles, dark roots growing past the brown dye job she gets done once every two weeks.

In another life, Sukuna thinks he could’ve been in love with her.

Este screams his name as she shatters around him. Sukuna tosses the half-smoked joint back on the side table, not caring if it would catch on something and burn her room down. He’d just fuck her through the flames until she asphyxiates and succumbs to both the lack of oxygen and her orgasm.

She clings onto him, a second layer of skin he wants nothing to do with. 

Sukuna pushes her away not so gently, grabbing his joint and snuffing it out with the heel of his palm. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, reaching for his shirt, pants. She watches as he dresses, still dazed and starry-eyed from her release.

“Are you going back to her? To Y/N?” 

Sukuna crinkles his nose, as if the mention of your name was enough to make him lose his appetite. “Don’t be stupid. No. I’m going back to my place for a shower and a nightcap. I’ll see you around.”

Tossing her a nonchalant wave, Sukuna leaves Este’s sheets, knowing that in a few more days, he would be back here again.

That’s the thing he likes about Este Nara—she’s easy. Not just to get in bed, but to get away from. She doesn’t bitch or moan about him being distant and aloof. She takes his cruelty without much flinching, seeing the dangerous man lurking under his tattoos and barely thinking anything of it. 

If she even had half a brain to think.

He revs the engine of his Ducati Superleggera, hightails it past her condominium with his helmet buckled haphazardly around his neck; not slowing down, wishing he could leave his problems in the dust being kicked up by his tires.

“What do you mean he’s trying to push the marriage to a month later?” your mother seethes over her coffee, glaring at you.

You shrink from her anger, pushing around a soggy banana with your fork tines. “It’s what he told me,” you argue back weakly. “What was I going to say?”

“What about actually standing up for yourself and doing what is best for our agreement?” 

She arches a perfectly groomed brow, waiting for you to respond. You cast a despairing look to your father who picks up his glass of bourbon, sipping on it while he listlessly scrolls through his iPad. 

“Listen to your mother, my little light.”

“I did,” you tried again, willing them both to understand. Bunching your fists over your lap, you take a deep breath, hoping they would listen. “I did everything you asked me to: not interrupt him. Let him talk. Laugh at his jokes. Everything,” you emphasize. “And yet he asked me to consider pushing the marriage back by a few weeks. What else could I say?”

You reiterate your question, growing hotter in the cheeks. Finally understanding why some people could have a heart attack in the middle of dinner when the entire situation was spun around to paint you as a villain when you had tried your best to be as cooperative as you could. 

A grimace stretches across her plastic-filled cheeks. People often said your mother could win a beauty pageant on her worst days; rising above other beautiful women with her wit, charm and charisma. Of course, she was also the daughter of a department store king, so the money graciously ‘donated’ to these glittery showcases put her many steps forward compared to other contestants.

“I don’t know where I went wrong in raising you,” she sighs, dramatic as always. “Jiro, please. Can you speak to Itadori Jin-san and tell him what our daughter told us? There is no way his brother can resist this offer.”

Offer. Like you were a cow to be traded in the market.

“Lia, I told you, Itadori Jin-san has no control over Itadori-san. That’s his nii-san. It would be a perversion of authority if he forces Sukana-san’s hand in any way.”

Her expression sours. “Well, isn’t there some way we can orchestrate a reunion, perhaps? A dinner or getaway to officially welcome them to the family?” 

You blanch at the idea of seeing Sukuna again, stewing in your mortification and humiliation when he had already made it clear how distasteful he finds you.

You’re about to say you don’t mind going with Sukuna’s timeline when he sets his glass down with a pensive look on his face.

Ten years older than your mother and with a brilliant mind born from the best business school in Tokyo, your father was not a man to be played with; his word was law, and that was how he spearheaded the tech scene at the tender age of twenty-five with nothing but a dream and his gritty determination. 

Knowing he had to prove himself to your grandfather—your mother’s father, on his capabilities to build a home and a better life for a woman who already had everything—made you wonder how he did it.

From nobody to somebody. It’s why no matter how he treated you, he would always have your respect.

“A getaway?” Jiro murmurs, an idea darkening his thoughts. “That could be interesting. Very interesting indeed. I’ll make some plans and we’ll play it by ear.”

He went back to scrolling, ignoring his smugly beaming wife.

Pacified that she had gotten what she wanted, your mother turns nurturing once more, cooing and touching your shoulder.

“We should get you a spa treatment and a light makeover before Itadori-san sees you. Do you have something to wear in mind?” 

As if you were a doll whose only purpose was to be dressed up, this was the reality you were living in for the past twenty-seven years of your life. If Itadori-san didn’t want to marry you fast enough and get you out of your childhood home, you were sure a swift bullet to the head would be the best alternative.

Plastering on a smile, you ponder for a second on your choice. 

“I want to try something new,” you decide. A furrow appears in her brow. 

“What do you mean by new, my dear?” 

“Something Itadori-san would like,” you try to curry her approval, feeling lighter and happier when her solemn face breaks into a knowing smile. 

“He says he loves dresses with satin and plunging necklines. Thinner heels. I think Okuta-san would understand.”

Referring to your personal stylist, your mother nods her approval.

“That’s perfect. I’ll get her to do some digging on some of Itadori-san’s past girlfriends and see what they wore.”

Unruffled by how audacious that statement was, you were truly reminded that this marriage was a cruelty of convenience when her smile deepens.

“I’m proud of you for taking this step, my dear,” your mother’s voice warms, though the implications of them make you freeze. 

“You’re finally proving your worth to the L/N family.”

a.n. OKAY WE'RE SO BACK. ive deleted the first chapter due to low interaction and decided to give this series a second chance by starting with y/n's pov !! this series will rely heavily on feedback and reblogs (my adhd ass cant work on something if i and other people dont care for it) or else it'll be scraped and we keep things moving (i sincerely hope u loved this <3)

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms

[milfsloverblog]

Deliver Us From Evil

Part 1 : Gluttony

Lucifer Morningstar x nun!reader

A/N: this has been eating at my brain for weeeeeeks and I just had to write it. Oh to be a nun getting tempted to sin by the one and only Morningstar…This is how I heal from my religious trauma ig. I hope you’ll enjoy this series as much as I do! <3

You remembered the first time you’d seen them as if it had happened yesterday.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” You whispered, hands clasped together and head hung low. 

The church still smelled of incense, a reminiscence of the mass that had just been conducted. The prayer bench was uncomfortably hard under your knees and a strand of hair had escaped from your veil. But still, nothing could have taken your attention away from your prayer. 

Click.

Clack.

“Give us this day our daily bread.” You kept whispering to yourself. 

Click.

Clack. 

Heels, a part of your brain thought as you tried your best to focus on your prayer. Not unusual, they were part of many women’s church outfits. Not yours, though. Never yours. 

Click-clack

Click-clack

The sounds were getting closer and closer by the second. Perhaps a worshipper who wanted to speak with you. They would have to wait. Just another minute. 

“And lead us not into temptation,” You continued. 

Click-clack. 

“But deliver us from evil.” 

The noise had suddenly stopped then. 

You lifted your head and brought your hand to your forehead to perform the sign of the cross, opening your eyes to look at the tall crucifix that was hanging from the wall, when you were met by a sight that made you gasp. 

Someone was standing there, towering over your prayer bench. You could hardly see their face as they stood against the light, the same light that illuminated the top of the stranger’s blonde hair and made it look like a halo. 

“Sister,” You heard them call you, their voice low and velvety. You could have sworn their lips hadn’t moved, but then again they were standing against the light.

“Sister!” Another voice came from behind you, a shrilling one that felt like a nail was being pushed against your eardrums and immediately made you turn around. 

“Mother Superior,” You quickly got up from your knees and lowered your head to look at your feet. 

“The afternoon lecture is about to start, you better hurry up if you don’t want to be late again.” The older woman said sternly. 

“Yes, Mother Superior. I apologise, I simply wanted to pray-“ 

The woman cut you off, waving her hand in front of her in dismissal. 

“You weren’t invited to speak back, sister.” 

You took a deep breath and clenched your jaws before giving a nod, only lifting your head when you heard the woman walk away. 

You quickly turned back around to apologise to the stranger but, to your surprise, they were gone. They hadn’t just walked away though, you would surely have heard that, they had simply vanished. 

You saw them again a few days later, standing at the back of the church during the Penitential Act. You had somehow felt their presence, looking over your shoulder to confirm that someone had been looking at you. No one else seemed to notice them, everyone probably too focused on the priest’s speech. You shook your head and looked back down at your feet. When you looked over your shoulder again a minute later, the space where the stranger had been standing was empty. 

And again, days later as you were doing the dishes after dinner. You had been left alone in the kitchen when you noticed the figure standing behind you in the reflection of the saucepan you were cleaning. You gasped loudly and let go of the pan, letting it clatter on the ground as you spun around. 

“Be not afraid,” the figure spoke, extending one of their arms towards you. Their voice was smooth like silk, the kind of voice that would have anyone believe anything it says. 

“How did you get in here? This part of the church is for the convent only.” You didn’t sound as harsh as you wished you had, but again you never really did. 

“Well, I can certainly go if you wish me to but…” the stranger stayed quiet for a few seconds before resuming. “I doubt you will ever be in the presence of an Angel again.” 

You were glad you hadn’t picked up another pan or plate for it would have surely joined the other one on the floor. 

“An Angel,” you whispered and it all suddenly made sense. The appearing and disappearing, the aura they seemed to carry around themselves. 

“Forgive me,” you quickly said as you dropped to your knees and looked down at the tiled floor. 

“You are forgiven.” The Angel spoke, walking closer to you until the tip of their shoes entered your visual field. “You mustn’t tell anyone about this, do you understand?” They spoke again, bending over the pick up the saucepan you had dropped. 

You got back on your feet and took the pan from their hands, giving a nod to acknowledge what they had just told you. You wanted to ask them so many things, why they were here and why they had chosen you but the sound of footsteps quickly approaching stopped you from doing so. The Angel pressed a finger against their mouth as a reminder for you to keep this encounter a secret, disappearing right as the mother superior stepped into the kitchen to berate you about your slowness. 

You didn’t see the angel again for a few days until one peculiar night. You had already said your prayers and were lying in bed reading a book by the candlelight when you felt the change of energy in the room. Slowly, you lowered your book, taking in the tall figure that was standing in the corner at the foot of your bed. 

“Angel,” you whispered as if scared to wake up the whole church. 

They walked around your bed and sat down as you pulled your legs against your chest. 

“I brought you a present,” the Angel's lips spread in a smile as they handed you something wrapped in golden foil. 

“Chocolate?” You asked as your fingers mindlessly wrapped themselves around the treat. 

“Dark, with a subtle hint of sea salt.” They answered, making you salivate at the thought of it.

Slowly, carefully, you opened the foil and licked your lips at the sight of the chocolate bar. 

Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.

“I shouldn’t,” you said. “I can’t. I should keep it and wait, so I can share it with my sisters.” 

“Don’t be foolish, little one.” The angel tutted, shaking their head a little and making their blonde curls bounce. “This is my gift to you, not the whole convent… You wouldn’t refuse an Angel’s gift, would you?” They said, standing up from your bed. 

“No! No, of course not!” You quickly answered, snapping the chocolate bar in two halves to prove your words. You snapped it again to detach a perfect square from the bar, bringing it to your lips and hesitating for a second before placing it inside your mouth. The chocolate tasted bitter and salty as it melted on your tongue, making you swirl it around to properly enjoy the taste. 

“What do you think?” The angel snapped you out of your thoughts, watching with hungry eyes as you swallowed their present. 

“It’s delicious,” you admitted in a whisper, silently thanking the dim light for hiding your blushing cheeks. 

“Have another piece,” the angel suggested, taking a step closer. 

“I really shouldn’t…” 

“Says who?” They smiled, gently taking the bar from your hands and snapping a piece off before holding it in front of your mouth. 

You knew what to do. You had gone through this dozens of times during the Eucharist. Holding the Angel’s gaze, you opened your lips, slightly sticking your tongue out to allow them to place the piece of chocolate on it. 

They watched your eyes fluttering shut as you savoured your first sin, making them smile proudly. With their thumb and index taking hold of your chin, the Angel made you look up at them once more. 

“Swallow.” They ordered, their eyes glistening with vice as you instantly did as you were told. 

“Thank you,” you said after a moment of silence. 

The Angel pushed a soft smile and let go of your chin. 

“I have to go now,” they said, their long fingers smoothing over their white robes. 

“Will you be back?” You couldn’t help yourself but ask. 

“Of course I will, there are so many things I have to teach you.” They smiled again, wider this time with their teeth on display. 

You wrapped the remaining chocolate pieces in the golden foil and hid them inside your bedside table before turning back to the angel, only to find them gone. But the knowledge that they’d be back helped you fall into a peaceful sleep. 

“Gluttony,” Lucifer whispered to themselves as their fingers danced over the open fire of the throne room. 

One down, they thought. Six to go. 

————————————————————————

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[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

[okiedokrie]

INFERNO

Summary: The witch trials are in full swing, the church ordered for all witches to be burned at the stake. From morning until the night, you pray for those who turned their back against God. But a knock at your door startled you, the church, in desparation, accused you of witchcraft. Only then did you realize that your God has long forsaken you. Now, you make a deal with the Devil.

Characters/Pairing(s): Demon!Joshua X F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror

AUs/Trope info: Demon!AU, Contract Relationship

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: References to witch trials, religious terminologies, literally talking about giving birth to the anti-christ, killing everyone (im being serious), (smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: Dedicated to the ji to my han @nebulousbrainsoup

Smut Warnings: oral (f receiving), slight overstim, taking virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie,

"Halt! You are being seized by the church. You will now confess all your transgressions to the light of the lord." The knights of the holy empire called out to you, that the one day you left the church to purchase food was the day you got accused of dark arts before your peers.

"Wretched witch, pay the price of your sins with blood and tears. Your crimes against our lord will not go unpunished. Come to the break of dawn in a fortnight, you shall burn at the stake as you will in hell."

The metal of the constraints dug into your skin, you aren't sure if the metallic scent in the air was rust, or blood, you couldn't hear the screams of those being tortured over the ringing of your own ears. You pray, this time for your own salvation; but seven days have passed and your god has not come to save you.

Whether it was desperation or disappointment, you couldn't tell. But something pulled you, so magnetic, the darkness that surrounded you was promising vengeance.

The sky grew dark as it was clouded in a tint of red as if the heavens bled for you, but your back is against them now, no god is here to save you.

"A soul most pure, intriguing, very intriguing." A layered voice said, it whispered, screamed, groaned, and moaned. You knew exactly who this was, the lord of darkness himself.

"Tell me, after devoting your life to your God, why have you come to beg for my mercy?" The shadows started to condense, each word was also a step towards you, the shadow now vaguely resembling the figure of a man.

"I beg of you, lord of darkness, spare me mercy for my God has forsaken me, give me salvation, and I will then devote my every hour to you, waking or not." You beg as you fall onto your knees, your skin breaking against the cold stone floor as your nails drag across the dirty floor, the grime building as filth under your nails.

He chuckles, "Let me make one thing clear, you call yourself a devotee, but when you are on the stage that is life, you are first and foremost, an actor." The voice echoed in the chamber you were a prisoner in, and the click of his heeled shoes ticked like a clock, "Good actors hone their craft, to captivate the audience. You may act like a devoted follower of the good lord, but you were promised to be mine. My mother of demons.”

He continued, voices condensing into a sound more fathomable, but still as sinister. “There is a seed of darkness in your purest of souls, feeding on the last of the purity in you. All I have to do is nurture it, and you will be mine.”

The darkness ripples and cracks around you, the air becoming hot, the smell of lightning invades your senses, overbearing, overpowering the reality you were accustomed to.

The voice speaks again, swirling into a deep masculine voice. His voice becoming more palatable to your much too human ears, you mind is no longer straining to comprehend the horror of his diction, “Which is why I will offer you a contract. Give what is most pure of you to me, and I shall protect you, give you the power to burn this earth to the ground, return them to me, and I will promise you a life of bliss by my side."

He steps into the dim red light, you see him now, a man dressed in a black suite that was much too modern for your time, his glowing amber eyes pierced your very heart as the smirk on his plump lips bared his fangs to you. His hand is outstretched to you, black lacquered nails and a glowing purple glyph etched onto the palm of his skin.

"Come now, won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?"

You jump from your place on the floor, grasping his hand, and with a firm shake, you say, "I do, I promise to answer your every beck and call, I will serve you, my lord."

You feel the mark on his palm burn onto yours, the pain was insurmountable, like all the ends of your nerves were burning, pain that you could feel in the very core of your being, but then, bliss.

The contract has been signed, the seal now is to take your purity.

Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper virgini, beato Michaeli archangelo, sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis, quia peccavi nimis.

The cathedral bells ring ominously, and a dark red tint paints the sky to warn the people below the heavens that the devil has taken hold of another poor, unfortunate soul.

The choir sang as the church bells rang, another soul lost to the dark hands of the devil. A path of sin paved with blood, sweat, and tears. Solemn was the tone of the town, a young maiden of the nobility embraced the devil himself, lost in his sweet kiss.

You embraced him, your body, mind, and soul now his. In every sense of the word, you gave your life to him. The people mourned and wept for you, their hearts heavy with the weight of this stain, this sin you left for them to bear as you will live forever in the dark bliss of the devil's tongue.

He kissed you passionately, his black heart almost beating for you, cold hands held you delicately, as if the slightest touch would break you, he laid you on the sheet that acted as your bed in this cell.

He trailed his hands slowly, starting from your knees to your thighs, the way his palms ghosted over your skin made goosebumps rise, he hooks his fingers to your draws, pulling the garment from under your skirt and discarding it to an unknown corner of the cell.

He stares down at your heat, golden eyes in a heated stare with your wet pussy, a flower yet to be plucked, dripping with golden honey as the lord of darkness blew the cold air into it.

He placed a delicate kiss to your knee, he was much more delicate than what you’d expect the lord of darkness’s intimate manner would be, trailing equally soft kissed down the length of your thigh to the apex of them, your sex clenching in anticipation.

His forked, long tongue licked a stripe across your heat, collecting your sweet essence on his tongue, he groaned at the contact to your velvet flesh, reveling in the feeling of unbridled lust.

You throw your head back, a coil in your stomach was starting to form was the lord worked his tongue around your folds, stopping occasionally to suckle on your clit, you thread your fingers in his hair, pushing his head closer to your heat in a desperate attempt for more friction.

He continued this gentle but dizzying pace with one goal on his mind, to taste the first and last time this flower tasted so sweet. The coil in your stomach was tightening almost painfully, the pleasure was insurmountable, pressure was building in a way that you never experienced before.

Then the coil snapped.

You throw your head back in a silent scream, your body shivering from the impact of such a powerful orgasm, he continues his ministrations on your heat, only this time avoiding your clit.

He licked your essence off his lips, he discarded his pants somewhere along the time he was between your legs, his firm hands took your legs and threw them over his shoulder, you catch his shoulder,

"Wait!" You plead, "my lord, your name, please give me your name." you say, the dark lord stared at you, but only for a moment.

He stares into your eyes, his amber gaze burning into your memory before he speaks again. "Joshua. Joshua would be more suitable for your human tongue." He said, as he finally entered you.

"Joshua-!" you gasp out, the stretch of his girth deliciously burned, his hard cock dragging into your heat with just friction that it didn't matter how wet you already were.

He rolls his hips in a slow and steady pace, taking in every new expression on your face and sound that you make. He bit his lip, holding back his own noises to savor the sweet sounds falling freely from your lips.

He picks his pace up after he notices you relax more, the force that his hips meet yours made your body rock upwards, shaking from the pressure that was rubbing against your walls.

"I'll breed you, your body, mind, and soul, all mine for the rest of time. I'll plant my seed into you, you'll bare the devil's children, mother of demons. My whore for all eternity." He breathed out, ragged from the force he was thrusting into you, you could only feel the rapid thumping of your heart over the ringing in your ears, your head was pleasantly empty, the only thoughts in your head was the delicious drag of his cock into you.

"Oh- Joshua-! It feels so good, oh- I feel it-!" You moan out, although you aren't sure if that's exactly what you said, for all you know, it could've just been babbling noises.

"Yes, cum around my cock, cream on it and milk it for it for all it's worth." he groans out, clearly also close to his release, his grip on your hips, dark talons digging into the skin and drawing blood.

Another coil snaps in you, this time, much more powerful. You can fill a surge of dark power being absorbed into you at the same time Joshua spills his seed into you, this dark force was hot, it felt like you had the power of a god swirling inside of you.

Out of breathe, Joshua looks at you, "by the break of dawn, you will no longer be human. Let the sleep take you, my dear, for the next time you awaken, your final waking place will be all of the new world. I promise you that."

He said as he placed a searing kiss to your forehead.

By the time the sun rose again, all the strength you had lost from being imprisoned here had not only returned to you, but you were now stronger, the dark flame burning under your skin fueled your anger, and an unholy boiling boils beneath the surface.

The cell, the dungeon, all the king's men, all the king's subjects, and the king himself, will not escape your inferno.

The only throne left standing is the one where Joshua sits, ruling over the sinners of the old world with you by his side.

[celestialtarot11]

Astrology Observations 🤍✨

Hi friends! Welcome back to another post 💅🏻 today we’ll be looking at astro observations! Please like, comment and reblog to help this blog grow ✨

Aries + Taurus pairing as friends/couple are the show stoppers. They draw attention wherever they go, there’s so much fire between them. Although Taurus is an Earth sign, Taurus does enjoy the finer things in life and passion! Aries helps to bring the heat in the connection and the two have a lot in common. Aries is headstrong, Taurus is as well. Both are self starters and independent. Both know what they want (taurus is a fixed sign) and both know what it takes to create + sustain it.

Aquarius sun experienced being the quiet one in group settings, especially if they were with people they didn’t necessarily understand or get along with. Its not that they aren’t smart, or capable of human interaction. They’re actually great at it, they just preserve their energy for better people/interactions.

Gemini’s love to story tell and embellish their stories! They love adding jokes, flare, and drama to their stories. They’re a bit like Leo-great at storytelling and communicating! Both Leo and Gemini love to entertain 🤍✨

Transits in your 4th house-family will require your attention more, and specifically the Mother could be around a lot more. Physically, emotionally and mentally even if you may not have a great connection. She may try to wiggle her way in your life during these 4th house transits. If you work with ancestors, they will be sending you dreams and messages day to day even more than usual. Expect the things that you need to liberate yourself from will come up in dreams, or day to day. Dreaming of your childhood for example can be triggering to some, whether the dream was good or bad.

Sagittarius are often quiet but have a lot to say when in a proper group setting. They think a lot of the world around them, and I notice they like to be in situations where they can mansplain 🤣 but offering advice and mediating conversations is their specialty. They’re blunt, honest, and get to the point.

Leo women often walk with a lot of respect, flare and spirit. Their head is held high.

Cancer women love going out and love staying home! They have their homebody moments too 💅🏻 cancers love a good time! And are not stuck in their shell as ya’ll may think

Cancer women may also be the type to have fairy tattoos, or tattoos that are delicate. They have tattoos that have a whimsical charm to them, even if it may be considered “dark.” There is an ethereal vibe to it!

Virgo women love planning, decorating and getting family together! Or who they consider family. They love setting the mood, setting the atmosphere, environment. They would be great party planners/wedding planners!

Pisces women may be into cars 👀

Scorpio moon women may get into nursing at some point or considered studying that!

Gemini women may love doing their own nails, and being proud of their art! They love to show off anything that expresses their skill.

Gemini Venus women want to speak different languages but may get frustrated at the effort required 😂 as a gemini venus myself yes

Capricorn moon women may enjoy having a minimalistic setup in their room, colors that are light and simple, but with a dash of darkness or vivid color! They love creating balance in their room and have an eye for intensity through detail

Leo rising commands all the attention in the room for themselves. But I’ve noticed if a Leo rising is not feeling confident in themselves, they can come across as arrogant, and self absorbed. It’s because part of them needs their own attention and space, but the native isn’t realizing that. Or the native doesn’t know how to meet their needs.

Thank you all for being here! I really appreciate it 🥹💗 Please enjoy the little observations I put together! Feel free to like comment and reblog ✨

Paid Readings 💗✨

[queenpiranhadon]

Hey hey

I wanted to request a dad aizawa x singer daughter :))

She is his only and biological daughter and wanted since she was little to become a singer and musician but never told Aizawa becase she thought he would told her to become a hero, and one day he finds her singing and playing an dificult instrumen.

Thankss

A/N: HIII IM SORRY THIS MIGHT BE KINDA BAD BC I HAVENT HAD A HEART TO HEART WITH MY DAD IN A WHILE LOLLL Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): reader uses she/her pronouns, slight cursing, inaccurate Japanese translations lol, violin terms bc I'm a violinist :), reader's biological mom is dead, Aizawa became a dad at 19 - he's like 34 in this jsyk, reader's 15-16 yrs old, mentions of being disowned, fluff, mentions of depression and death, Kae makes a really bad pun, hime means princess in Japanese

Pairing(s): Shota Aizawa x daughter f!reader (PLATONIC)

Link to the song in this fic~

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴍᴀᴛꜱᴜʀɪ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

“Goddamnit!” you groan, as you fiddle with your violin. (LMAO PUN!! sorry) 

Your fingers ached, as you tried to nail down the pizzicato run at the top of the page. However, your fingers refused to move with the fluency they used you, and you felt the calluses starting to develop on the surface of your fingertips. 

Self-teaching yourself to play the violin was a pain in the ass, but you were determined to go to a performing arts school once you graduated junior high. 

The only problem? 

Your father was Shota Aizawa, underground pro hero Eraser Head, and was not only a pro, but also a teacher at UA High School- one of the top schools for pro heroes in training. 

You loved your father to the ends of the earth, as he did you, considering your small family only consisted of the two of you, your mother having died during childbirth. Aizawa, only 19 at the time, struggled with the loss of his lover, but you helped him get through it. 

You were his pride and joy, the perfect combination of his love and himself, his precious daughter. 

Nothing you could do could make him hate you. 

And you knew that, but your insecurities were bigger. 

What if he wanted you to become a pro hero like him? 

In all honesty, you didn’t see that future for yourself. It was an honorable job, one that you knew was very important, and a job many children wished to have in the future, and yet, that was never your dream. 

Pro heroes went out every day, fighting with their lives on the line, patrols constantly, dealing with paparazzi, not to mention the

paperwork

. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t ambitionless, no, certainly not, but it wasn’t something you found passion in. 

But to be fair, if you were successful in your career path, there would sure be a lot of paparazzi either way. 

You were set on following a path into the performing arts, but it was always a little disheartening whenever you heard your Uncle Hizashi or Auntie Nemuri go “Awww Y/N! You’re going to be an amazing pro hero when you’re older, so kind and so determined” 

You knew they meant well, but still. 

Sighing you set down your violin, gently setting it down in your case and safely securing you bow in before tucking it underneath your bed. That’s where most of your instrumental arsenal lived, all compact and tucked away, awaiting your every musical whim. 

You worked tirelessly to earn enough money for each of your instruments for the past two years, combing through online marketplaces and sales to find decently priced quality instruments. 

Grabbing your keyboard and setting it up, your fingers find their way to ivory keys that played a sequence you knew well. 

The notes left your fingers immediately, music filling your bedroom walls as a stream of tunes flow like a waterfall, smooth and connected, and yet, somehow still intense in its own way. 

Music is a form of communication, you always thought. The right notes paired together convey moods, thoughts, feelings. It always amazed you how something as simple as sequential pitches could convey something words never could. 

Ai shika kanjitaku mo nai (I don't want to feel anything but love) you sang, letting yourself get lost in the music. 

Mou nan no wakehedate mo na (There's no difference anymore)

Matomete kakatte kinasai (Please call all at once)

Ima nara subete uketomeru kara (I'll accept everything now)

~

You finish the song with a resounding chord, the room eerily quiet without any music flowing through it, until a slow clap breaks the silence. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

You jump in surprise, scrambling away from the keyboard to see your father standing in the doorway of your room, the look on his face unreadable. 

You turn bright red and feel your heart sink. 

You never told your father about your dreams and aspirations for the future- what would be say now? 

You steel yourself, taking in a deep breath. 

Calm down, Y/N. He wouldn’t disown you because you don’t want to be a pro. And plus, it’s my life! I should have a say in what I want to do. You think to yourself. 

“Dad, I don’t want to be a pro hero...” you mumble out, refusing to look at him. “I want to be a musician, or a singer! I really like music and it just...really makes me happy.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you think with a sinking heart that he’s furious, but then a chuckle is heard, almost deafening in the silent room. 

“Oh, thank god.” he exhales in relief, leaving you staring at him, dumbfounded. 

“Y-You’re not mad...?” you ask, extremely confused. 

“Oh no, of course not hime - don't even think that. I'm so sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me anything. ” he says, and you’re put at ease. “Everyday, pro heroes go through pain and hardships to try to save the people of this world.” 

He sighs “Many pros lose their sanity and fall into an abyss of depression and despair because it’s too much for them. “he looks at you, his eyes genuine and sincere. “I don’t want that life for you.” 

You hug him, and his arms wrap around you comfortingly. 

“I love you dad.” 

“I love you too, hime.” 

Then he pulls away with a sly grin on his face. “So, you gonna show me what you’ve been working on?” 

Your face flushes and you shove his arm playfully. 

“Dad!” 

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

------------

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[milswrites]

Irreplaceable

~Azriel X Reader

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, Y/N finds herself captured by the enemy. Will Azriel get to her in time to save her or must Y/N find another way out of this situation.

Warnings: Angst. Graphic descriptions of wounds. Mentions of torture. Violence. Minor character death. Badass MC with a happy ending though :).

Notes: Most definitely should have been two parts I’m sorry for the length <3

Your eyes flickered open slowly, lids struggling to lift fully as your head agonisingly throbbed in pain. Even through your blurred vision you could tell the surroundings were unfamiliar and there wasn’t much information to gain from them other than the fact you were locked in a cell and it was dark. Very dark. The only source of light being the dim flicker of candlelight that squeezed its way through the edges of the door before you, the shadow in your cell dancing in the soft glow that broke through.

Aching, you tried to move, twitching your fingers only to be met with an unsettling numbness that travelled up your arm. Forcing your eyes to open fully, sight becoming less foggy, you glanced to your side. Your eyes drifted from your shoulder and followed the length of your dirty, blood-stained arm to your hand. Your hand, which you had only now noticed was softly trembling, was a picture of horror. A large, rusted nail had found its home in the centre of your palm. Clearly the wound had been there a while as the blood down your arm and on the floor was cracked and dry, congealed around the base of the nail where it met the skin of your hand. Alarmed, your eyes snapped to the other side, head throbbing at the fast movement. Your other hand bore the same wound. Choking back a sob, you stilled your breathing, the anxiety-born shaking your body was doing was only causing you more pain in your hands. You were pinned to the wall like a piece of art. Like you were a trophy.

A sudden wave of panic flooded your system as you recalled how you ended up here in the first place, Azriel was with you on the mission where you had been knocked out and captured. Your wide, alarmed eyes scanned the room, there was no sign of him in here. No traces or makings on the floor that showed any sign of a struggle other than that of your own. Was he safe? Or was he trapped somewhere in this building in another cell? You wondered if he had managed to slip way and if he was looking for you, if he would come save you from entrapment and carry you back to Velaris where you would be safe. Cursing yourself, you shook the thoughts from your mind, you were disposable to him. A young, newly trained spy for the night court. Azriel wouldn’t risk his safety and the safety of his court to ensure your well-being.

You prayed to the mother that Azriel wasn’t in the same situation as you. Locked up in a separate cell. From the moment you met him, when he had saved you from the beating your father was gifting you in Hewn City, you knew you couldn’t just be friends with Azriel. Over the past year of training under him you would be a fool to deny that you had fallen under his spell, those feelings that sparked in you when you first laid eyes on him the day you met only grew and grew until they were a wildfire. The countless hours spent by his side working, training and travelling for your court did nothing but amplify your school-girl crush on the spymaster. But it would be ridiculous for you to assume you ever meant anything more to him than just another person to train. He had never shown much interest in you other than when it came to training and work. In fact most days he struggled to meet your eyes, mumbling the days tasks to you as he busied his gaze elsewhere. There was no way Azriel reciprocated your feelings. But it didn’t matter now. Now you were trapped and this cruel form of punishment bestowed upon you was surely a sign you would not be making it out of here alive.

~~~

Eyes stinging with tears, you brushed all thoughts of your unrequited love aside. Now was not the time to get distracted, all your energy had to be directed into finding a way out of this situation. If Azriel was here you had to make sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid that could end up unintentionally harming him in the process. But if he was here, and wasn’t too heavily injured, you’d both at least have a chance of fighting your way out of this.

If he wasn’t…you would have to attempt this alone and in your injured state. You could wait and see what they wanted from you, see if they kept you alive but the chances of them letting you go were slim to none. You could wait, hope Azriel got back to Velaris and told Rhysand of your capture, hope that they deemed your disposable life worth saving. You didn’t see the likelihood of either option.

No. You would have to try and find a way to discover if Azriel is here and if not it was up to you to ensure your safety. To try and work your way out of this cell in a place you don’t know, guarded by an unknown number of people. The odds were not in your favour.

By this point the tears were freely flowing down your cheeks, despite attempting to hold the sounds in, small sniffles and sorrowful whimpers forced their way out of your mouth. A small part of you wondered if it would be easier to just stay here, anything they were going to do to you already was surely better than what they would unleash upon you if you tried to escape. Head pounding, you awkwardly rested it on your shoulder, the weight of it causing you arm to shift downwards a small amount, your hand seizing with pain as the nail rubbed against the open wound once more.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain. Maybe it would be easy to just shut your eyes and pray for a swift death. Hope that if you close them and sleep you won’t have to open them again. As if replying to your thoughts, you felt a small tug in your chest, an unusual sensation that you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact the lack of sound and light in your cell had made your senses very sensitive to even the smallest change. Hope bloomed in your chest, filling your body and soothing your thoughts of giving up. You would try. If it was fate that you were going to die here then at least you would go out fighting. At least you would die trying to stay alive, trying to get back to Azriel.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there since waking, coming up with scenario after scenario, plan after plan. The new sense of determination that coursed through you, prevented you from getting the rest your body so desperately craved. The pain in your hands had reduced, the unbearable stinging was replaced with a dull numbness, you weren’t sure whether that was because the wounds were actually getting better or because you had grown used to the pain. Certain that you’d have to remove the nails soon for fear of infection, you kept them in. You would play the role of their prisoner as long as you were unsure that Azriel was locked up here as well. Only when you found out he was safe would you risk removing the nails and escaping.

The screeching sound of a metal door opening in the distance broke the silence. It was the first sound you had heard that hadn’t been made by you. Your head raised quickly, ears twitching with anticipation as you tried to listen and gather what information you could. There was no speaking, but definitely the sound of multiple footsteps, gradually getting louder as they moved closer. Two? No, three pairs of feet. You were grateful for Azriel’s intense training that allowed you to come to this conclusion. Taking down one person in this situation would have been easy, even with the nails, but three? No you would bide your time. Their footsteps got louder and louder until they stopped. They had come to a halt outside your cell.

Unsure of how to handle this, you dropped your head to your shoulder again at the sound of rattling keys, softly grunting at the pain that flashed through your skull, your eyes snapped shut, pretending to still be unconscious.

The door slowly creaked open, only one pair of footsteps came into the cell, the other two people staying outside.

“I told you that you hit the bitch too hard”

It was difficult not to flinch at the gruffness of the man’s voice, but you managed to stay still, keep your breaths deep and eyes closed. He huffed, unsatisfied at your believed unconscious state, clearly having come to your cell hoping you’d be awake for him to torture some night court secrets from you. Hoping to stir you, you heard the scrape of his boot against the stone floor before you felt it collide against your ribs. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of you waking for him only so he can undoubtedly prod and poke at you until he felt he had enough information, you lolled your head forward, hands tugging downwards against the nails. You bit back your cry of pain, hoping this action was enough for him to leave you be.

He nudged your leg with his foot a few times, body shaking but you continued to play your part. Until finally he released a disappointed sound and you heard his feet dragging towards the door.

“What did I say? The spymaster would have been the better choice than his pet, shame you let him get away.” And with that he exited your cell, you heard the sound of the lock clicking shut and the low mumble of the man say to his companion, “stay here, send for me when she wakes. Then we can try have some fun.” Muffled steps walked back towards where they originally came from. Two pairs. Only one man had stayed behind to watch the cell.

Now the cell was once again empty and you were in the safety of your own company you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, eyes flicking to the door in realisation you’d have to be quiet now there was a guard outside. Azriel was safe, he hadn’t been captured. Resisting the urge to cry once more you now hardened your emotions. You had to find your opportunity, try and find a way out of this hell before the man came back and realised you were awake. You needed to get out of this cell and get far away from here, you had never learnt to winnow so you’ll have to run, perhaps if you’re lucky you’ll have some idea where you are and where you can go to.

But first you had to sort out the predicament you were in. The nails had to come out. By this point your panic was almost unbearable, this was going to hurt. Your deep shaky breaths doing nothing to quell the rising anxiety in your body. That odd tug you felt earlier in your chest once more showed itself but in your terrified state it just felt like your heart was trying to rip itself out of your body.

~~~

It must have taken an hour or more for you to calm yourself, steady your breathing and prepare yourself for the worse. Ideally you knew you should sleep, gain some energy back that you no doubt were going to need to aid in what you were about to do. However, rest wasn’t an option. You’d already wasted enough time in your panic, sure that if you waited any longer your captor would return.

In fear of being too loud and alerting the man stood outside you moved your head down and bit into the thick collar of the Illyrian leathers you wear for your missions. And you pulled. Starting with your left hand, you pulled it forward, teeth clenching onto the leathers hard. An uncomfortable mixture of sweat and tears streamed down your face as your wound that had healed around the nail broke open, hand flying forward and off of the nail lodged in the wall. One hand was free, now for the other.

Wanting to get it over with you gripped the nail in your right hand with your really released left one, blood streaming down your arm. Once more you pulled only this time you tugged at the nail itself. Mouth falling open in a silent scream, you managed to get it out of the wall and out of your hand. A bitter chuckle slipping from your lips, these idiots locked you in a cell with nails for weapons, even with the knowledge that you were trained by the spymaster himself.

With the wounds in your palms soaked in blood, you used a nail to tear at the bottom of your leathers. Ripping two strips of material from your top, you wrapped them around your hands, pulling the ends tight with your teeth to make sure they were secure. You weren’t sure how hard you would have to fight to make your way out of this.

Once your hands were wrapped you took the nail back into your hands, flipping it from either hand to test its weight and flexing your fingers to make sure that when you needed to use them the ache in your hands wouldn’t be a hindrance.

It was time. There was one man outside and all you needed to do was to get him to open the cell and kill him. Weighing out your options until you settled on the easiest, hoping he would fall for it and so you yelled out.

“Excuse me!…. Can-… can you please help me? I need a drink.”

You made sure to sound as weak and pathetic as you could, which honestly wasn’t hard considering the situation you were in. Listening, you heard him stand to attention, having not expected your voice. You take in his hesitant steps in the direction the rest of his friends went in, clearly wanting to go get them. Desperation spiking in you that this was your only chance, you tried again.

“Please! Just some water, it’s not like I can try anything anyways.”

A string of expletives followed. Then the sound of sloshing water. Standing where the door would open you braced yourself, nail in hand and stance wide. A click of the key turning. A grunt as the heavy metal door is forced open. Light glaring through the gap. And nothing. Your nail finding its home in his throat before he could live to make another sound, body slumping onto the floor of your cell, a pool of blood forming around him.

Checking him for weapons you grabbed his sword, it was too heavy but it was better than the nail so it would have to do, hopefully you wouldn’t need to use it. The last thing you grabbed were his keys to the cell from the door, tucking them into your pocket, unsure whether they will be needed in your escape.

Stepping out into the corridor you glanced around. There was only one way out and that was the way the men from earlier had left from. You steeled yourself and pushed forwards, walking down the cell corridor and opening the door. Met with yet another corridor on the other side, you picked a direction and walked that way, thanking the mother there was no one around and praying to the cauldron that no one would come.

The architecture was unfamiliar, you were definitely in unknown territory. The halls winded on and on, the more you walked the more stressed you became, sure that if you were to go through any more of them you were going to get caught. As if the mother had taken pity on your already situation and heard your silent pleas of despair the next corner you turned had an archway that led outside. Adrenaline coursed through you as you bolted to the arch, eyes squinting in the brightness of the sun.

Now out in the open you wildly scanned your surroundings, choosing the best pathway forward to ensure you had the best chance of escape possible. It was busy outside, stalls full of market goods, with people bustling about them. Afraid of being caught you hid your bloodied arms and sword behind your back but thankfully when you scanned over the crowd you didn’t lay eyes on anyone who looked like a threat.

Hesitating, you were lost on which direction to go in, until out the corner of your eye you caught a merchant’s horse and carriage, a large chest situated on the back. Perfect. Skillfully, you snuck past the crowd of people gathered together, all stretching their necks to look at something you couldn’t see, and you opened the chest. It was empty. At this point you were grinning widely, and you hopped into the chest, hands throbbing as you gripped the edge to haul yourself up into it before pulling the lid to, enclosing yourself in darkness.

You hadn’t been in the chest long when the owners had returned and thankfully they had not opened the chest and found you, bloodied and dirty hiding inside. The carriage pulled away and you have to admit you weren’t the most comfortable, already sore head banging against the wall of the chest with every bump in the road, but it was a whole lot better than being inside of that cell. You didn’t know where this carriage was heading to, but you would catch a lift as long as possible before you had to get out and gather your bearings. Exhaustion overwhelmed you as the adrenaline slowly dripped from your system and despite your best efforts to stay awake, you could stop your eyes drooping as sleep eventually caught up with you.

~~~

You woke up to an overwhelming bright light and a petrified scream. Startling, you sat up in shock and attempted to take in your surroundings, the lid of the chest had been opened and you were staring into the face of a horribly distressed woman who was clearly not expecting to find you inside.

“Shhhh… it’s ok, I’m sorry. I’m leaving” you tried to sooth her as you speedily hopped out of the chest, taking your sword with you. Turning in a circle you took note of the inn before you and the dense forest that surrounded the area.

Unfortunately, the sight of your blood-stained arms and the glint of your sharp edged sword did nothing to calm the merchant lady who was screaming bloody murder. You backed off, arms raised in surrender, eyes travelling to the group of angry men standing outside of an inn, whose attention had been caught by the wailing woman. You cursed, brain trying to come up with excuses you could give to get them off your back so you could be on your way but your stream of thoughts was interrupted by the ringing of bells that had started in the distance, presumably where you had just escaped from. Fuck. The carriage hadn’t taken you as far as you’d have hoped.

“They ringing those for you sweetheart?” One of the men asked, cracking his knuckles together after having seen the panic flash through your eyes over the sound of the bells, “we’d get a pretty penny for bringing you in if that’s the case.”

At this point you weren’t even going to stop and try talk your way out of this. Azriel had always said your tongue would get you killed one day. So you didn’t only thing you could think of. You ran. Bolting towards the forest behind you, you moved as quickly as you could, muscles burning after your limbs had been squeezed together in the chest for a little too long. Shouts broke out behind you and you knew that they had followed. The haunting sound of the bells still carried in the wind, a reminder of the place you had come from. A reminder of where you’ll be stuck at once more if you don’t get yourself out of this. That is if the brutes don’t bring you in dead.

You run and you run, throat squeezing in agony at every breath. But no matter how fast you could run it was no use, you could hear their jeers and taunts getting louder, voices turning gleeful as they realised there was no way you could get away. Adamant you weren’t going to get captured again after putting in all that effort of getting out you didn’t give up, flying through the trees until your feet dragged you to a halt. You were met with the rocky face of a cliff.

Survival instincts still being in control of your body, you grabbed the rocks, trying to pull yourself up the rocky feature in order to scramble to the top to get away from the brutes chasing you, but the flash of agony up that started in your damaged palms and flashed up your arms reminded you that you were injured. Your hands shot open at the burst of pain and you fell off the side of the cliff and onto the floor. Scrambling to your feet, you turned back round to face the forest and gripped your sword as tight as your hands allowed. No more running. You were going to have to fight your way out.

~~~

Snarling at the men as they approached did nothing to deter them, horrible grins plastered on their faces as they rounded in on you. Even if you weren’t as injured and exhausted as you were you were certain you still wouldn’t be able to take them all, not by yourself.

The boldest of the men, the one who had called you out outside of the inn, lunged forward, sword swinging towards you. You jumped backwards, reactions sluggish as the sword caught your arm and your back slammed against the rock face behind, a shout of pain came from your lips. Insistent on the fact you won’t go back to the cell, you clenched your jaw and advanced, raising your sword. You would die here sooner than being a captive of the men who took you again.

Azriel.

The memory of him flashed through your eyes. Tears of frustration falling down your cheeks at the thought of the man you were never able to have. Once more thankful that he hadn’t been captured with you, thankful that you wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face as he realised that even after all his training you were still too weak to fight your way out of this. His name, a final prayer on your lips as you hope that whoever he finds himself stuck with next does better than you had.

Then you fight. The world around a blur of swords, spears and limbs, unsure whether you were actually hitting anyone you swung your sword around you, parrying blows and kicking people back. The holes in your hands cracking open and bleeding once more, blood causing your grip to slip, unable to keep a firm hold on the hilt.

It only took one more move from your attackers and your sword went flying. Instinctively your hands shot to your leathers expecting to find your holsters for your daggers, only to remember they were stripped from you before you woke in your cell. You didn’t even have the nails that were lodged in your hands with you, both left in the cell you escaped from, one in the throat of one of your captors.

The hilt of one of the men’s sword caught you in the back. Weaponless, you fell to your knees in defeat before you closed your eyes. This was it. They would either kill you or take you back and there was nothing more you could do but shut your eyes as to avoid seeing the gleeful smiles of victory on their faces as they enact their final punishments. Your ears rang, their voices all blurred into one mass of yelling. The bells. All you could hear was the bells as you gripped your head, crying out and waiting for the death blow.

But it never came. You were aware of the change in atmosphere around you, maybe even aware of the screams that had began breaking out. But you stayed focussed on holding your head, fingers plunged into your ears as you sat on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards. The haunting sounds of the bells calling for your death lingered. It seemed as if they were getting louder and louder until they stopped altogether at the call of your name.

“Y/N”

Hands grabbed you. Pulling your hands from your head. A crack in their voice that must have been born from the realisation of the state your hands were in.

“Y/N can you hear me?”

It was Azriel. Still unable to open your eyes a you laughed. The mother worked in strange ways but you never could have predicted that death would arrive to you in the form of Azriel. Your final moments met with the soothing tones of his deep voice. And so with limbs like lead, body tired and unmoving you allowed yourself to drift off for the final time, a whisper upon your lips that was met with a cry.

“I’m ready”

~~~

Your pain had returned. The wounds on your palms so unbearable it drew a whine from your lips. Pain so intense it was clear you had somehow survived. You were in a bed, you could feel the soft sheets against your back and the weight of a blanket above you. The information did nothing to quell the fear inside you. Fear that when you opened your eyes you would be back with your captors. Your heart rate increased, the muscle thudding in your chest and you pressed your eyes together so hard it hurt.

“Hey…hey, don’t do that, it’s ok you’re safe”

Azriel’s voice broke through the silence. Your ever increasing heartbeat stilled. You were safe. You jumped upright, eyes snapping open. Azriel not expecting this fell backwards into his chair in shock before realising what was happening and was then rushing forward to steady you as you swayed from the fogginess that had found its home in your head.

“Woah careful now, it’s alright it’s just me. You’re home” his voice shaky as he moved his hands from where they were gripping either side of your shoulders, running them gently down your arms before they settled over your bandaged hands which were laid in front of you.

Brain frog still present, you just couldn’t put together how you got there. Azriel wasn’t with you when you were captured, “how… how did you-“

Already knowing the question being asked he promptly replied, “the second they took you I went straight back to Rhysand for help. It was hard ignoring the… the need to get you back as quickly as possible but I knew I’d be stupid to do it on my own,” he swallowed hard, as if the subject of your capture was a difficult one for him, “I tried to tell you we were coming, find out where you were I tried to tell you through…well I tried to tell you.”

He took in another deep breath, “ and then we found out where you were, only when we got there the bells were ringing and you were gone. We were too late, you’d gotten out on your own because you thought we weren’t coming,��� at this point pearlescent tears were flowing down his cheeks, “I didn’t give up and I kept searching for you and when I finally found you and you were knelt before all those men covered in blood…I…I.”

Even though you were the one who had been captured and pinned to the wall, and chased down by a hoard of angry men, watching Azriel break down in front of you because he thought he had failed you had to be one of the worst things you’ve ever experienced.

“Azriel,” you croaked, throat dry from lack of water, “the only reason I’m here now is because of you. The thought of you is what kept me alive in that cell and it was your training which was the reason I was able to escape,” it was at this point that you were sobbing along with the spymaster, “and I know for damn certain that I definitely wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t found me in those woods. So thank you Azriel, thank you for saving my life.”

You slowly lifted a shaking, bandaged hand to his cheek, thumb brushing away his tears, pain shooting up your arm at the action but you didn’t care. You only cared that this beautiful man before you hadn’t given up on you. That all the while you were captured he had been searching for you. Trying to get a message to you. That all the time in the cell you had spent thinking of him, he was thinking of you too.

His lips softly brushed over your bandage, right where the hole of your palm was stinging underneath. It was an intimate moment, your wrapped hand against his face was possibly the most you’d ever touched him aside from training.

Perhaps out of fear of that you weren’t worthy of Azriel, that he couldn’t possibly like you as much as you’ve grown to love him over the past year, you drew your hand away from his face, ending the moment. Agonisingly tearing your eyes away from his perfect face to settle them on your ruined hands which were now uncomfortably laid on your lap.

“So, uh. Did you find my replacement?” You asked nervously, dreading what he was going to say in response but knowing you’d rather get the pain of it over with sooner rather than later. Especially since the feel of your hand on his cheek had ignited that odd feeling in your chest.

For the second time since awakening, you had Azriel shocked, “r-replace you?”

“I failed right? I got captured and if it wasn’t for you I’d be dead right now. Surely you can see I wasn’t made for this, that I should just go back to my father-“

His eyes now full of fury, Azriel cut you off, “You Y/N L/N are irreplaceable,” he moved his body so he was sat at the edge of the bed, hands holding onto yours, “you are the strongest woman I know and there is no one, no one else, that I could wish to be at my side more than I wish for it to be you.” The rage in his eyes settled, morphing into an emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on and he continued, “in the past year of being together you have changed me as a person more than I care to admit and I can not, no I will not, carry on living my life without you by my side. You are irreplaceable… because you are mine.”

That was all you had ever dreamed of hearing and you just couldn’t believe it was true. Azriel felt the same way for you as you did for him, and so in fear of it being a cruel dream made up by your conscious, or afraid he would come to his scenes and change his mind, you crashed your lips to his.

Mouths connecting in firey passion, you poured every ounce of love and affection you had locked away in your heart the past year into it, hoping Azriel would understand just how much he was yours as you were his. He groaned into the kiss, deepening it as he gripped your face in his hands. You were unsure what to do with your damaged hands, still placed in your lap, but that didn’t matter, nothing about this kiss was awkward or painful. It was as if his lips were made for you, fitting together with yours like it was the missing piece of a puzzle and every part of you wanted to jump right into whatever this was between you and explore every single part of it.

It was only when the two of you needed to breathe that you broke away from the kiss. Still tangled in a sweet embrace, you gazed into his eyes, now certain that unreadable emotion you had seen swimming in them earlier was love. And it was this realisation of his love that caused the tugging sensation, the one that had been occurring in your chest since you found yourself in that cell, to finally pull free. It dull knot that you hadn’t even known was there, morphed into a beautiful golden thread which linked you to Azriel.

Azriel who’s gorgeous smile bloomed at the sight of you realising you were looking into the eyes of your mate, the person created for you. Your equal. And as he began to litter kisses all over your face and neck he mumbled in your ear the sweetest words you have ever heard, “my beautiful, irreplaceable mate.”

[anguscolorcraft]

A big carnation flower to Mommy

@Etsy

[freyito]

ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴀᴛꜱ

✭ pairing(s): messmer x gn reader

★ 'hearth' /härTH/ ✱ used as a symbol of one's home.

✩ in which: messmer understands the meaning of home. or you had a bad day. (as is common in the lands between)

✧ a/n: messmerrrrrr i missss yewwww (writing this while i stare at my messmer statue)

🗒 cw: gn reader, tarnished reader, comfort, proofread

✎ wc: 1.3k

Comfort is a lost art on Messmer. Long gone are the days of being cradled in his mothers arms when he had a bad dream, or her soft words when he had a bad day. What he was left with now was an emptiness that he never could seem to fill, one that clawed its way through his heart. No matter how many times he had raised his spear, how many times he had repeated those words, over and over, nothing made home there.

Aside from now, at least. He could wallow as much as he wanted to, mourn what he wanted with his mother, and that wouldn’t change the fact that he had a Tarnished curled up on his chest, sobbing. You were the first Tarnished to not raise your weapon when faced with him, and in a moment of weakness, he was compelled to take you in. ‘Like a pet’ he rationalized in his head. He didn’t expect to get so attached, but within you, he saw something more. Stripped of your light, yet still standing. For once, to him, it was honorable. And so, here you were, head pressed against his chest, heaving softly as you tried to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes.

He is so very warm, akin to the warmest blanket you’ve known against the cold that had gradually seeped into your very bones. The cold that persisted within the Lands Between. It was a bitter feeling you were rather intimate with, the way your fingers stung no matter the padding of your armor, your bones weary and tired. You had grown so used to the abuse thrown your way, the way the world piled its own weight against you every step of the way. You were familiar with just how deep the world cut into you, and always prided yourself on just how much you could withstand. The scorn others cast upon you, the reminder that Tarnished were lesser, it was crammed into your head. And yet, you persevered. All you could do was wipe the blood, spit, and rain off your face and continue on.

But it wore you down. The Lands Between could not suffer sensitivity, and all you could ever do was keep walking forward. You could not rest, no, for it felt as if the entire world was against you. All you could do was kill, push forward, and kill again. It has inevitably taken its toll, as all things do. You could care less about the Grace of Marika now, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of something. Preferably your partner. And yet, even as you curled up against Messmer’s chest, his warmth does nothing to dull the biting cold that’s made its home within your very bones. You wanted nothing more than to be swaddled and coddled like a babe, sang to sleep, even. You wanted your cries to be heard, not pushed aside in favor of battle.

And Messmer knew that feeling all too well. To be shunned yet still borderline worshiped, somehow honored despite being such a wretched thing. And yet, he fell short. All he could do was simply breathe, too afraid to do anything with his hands or console you with his words. Despite how much he longed for the same treatment you crave so desperately at this moment, he had never thought of how he would go about it. And yet, he couldn’t just let you wallow alone, he wouldn’t let you suffer another minute, not alone, at least.

You take a deep shuddering breath, unable to quell the uncertainty and fear that ails you. Even the thought of resting was horrifying, all your body had known was strife and to take a break was as if you were asking yourself to die. The creeping dread intertwined with the pain spreading through your chest, which only made for a worse reaction.

Tentatively, Messmer’s fingers stroke through your hair, his nails scratching ever so lightly at your scalp. He is careful not to be too rough, quite aware of his size compared to yours. His other hand is placed firmly on the small of your back, shuffling beneath you, readjusting your body so your ear lay against his chest. His breathing is steady, chest rising and falling calmly as you whine. His heart beats against your ear, even, yet it stutters every now and then. Whether it’s his nerves or just how flustered he is to be so close to you, you are unsure. But it’s a gentle lullaby, something that stills your racing mind, yet doesn’t stop the tears that flow.

His serpents tense ever so slightly, unsure of what to do as is Messmer. Yet, they relax as your sobs slow, resting over your tired limbs. All Messmer can do is offer soft shushes, in the same way his mother had offered when he was a fussy babe. Yet, he feels as if he is lacking, missing something. All he wants is to quell your fears and calm you down, and yet he knows he cannot tell you that everything will be okay. He knows that is a lie. But he does not deny you the catharsis of bawling until your throat is raw. He can do more, he tells himself, but he freezes in his own fluster, unable to act on what he wishes to do. At least for the time being. He simply stares down at you as you sob helplessly against him.

What follows is a painful silence in the hollow chamber, wracked with your sniffles and heaves. Messmer shifts near uncomfortably beneath you, not because he is embarrassed, but simply because he doesn’t know what to do. Or if what he’s about to do would be seen as okay. He feels rather bold, yet anxious as his hands drift to your waist, pushing you up until your face is level with his. Close, so very close, is all he can think as he looks upon your crying face, wet, puffy, and vulnerable. You watch as his face softens quickly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, his eye glossy, as if he, too, is feeling your pain.

He presses his lips to your cheekbone, just under your eye, a gentle kiss to ward away your fear. You can feel his entire body heat up by this simple act, and even in your blurred vision you can tell just how bright his cheeks burned. He had kissed you a million times before, and yet he could never dull the awkwardness or rush he felt. Yet, he presses another kiss to your cheek, and another. He continues to kiss away your tears, and in doing so, turns your harsh shuddering into light laughs. His kisses are ticklish, and while you were almost content to wallow in your misery, you couldn’t help but laugh. Which has Messmer beaming.

A warmth spreads through him that was just once kindling, now a blazing flame. One that is imperceptible to you, but means the world and more to Messmer. It quells the ever-burning flame within, the one he had learned to hate and yet wield as a weapon. Replaced by something that was just simply warm. Like a summers day, one that has long since faded from the Land of Shadow, yet akin nonetheless. He can’t put his finger on it. When he looks at you, however, that warmth grows hotter, and hotter, and then dulls into the comforting embrace of a blanket, or the fur of a kitten underneath his fingers. It is not like the love that he sought and begged for all these years, no, it is something different. He knows it is different. And as he looks upon your tear streaked face, still slightly red, but graced with a smile nonetheless, he himself cannot help but smile. A gentle look that he has not shared in ages.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[dilfl0v3rss]

tatted up

summary: you show connie your first tattoo

cw: slight angst but mostly fluff

word count: 2.2k

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

connie had plenty of tattoos ranging from his neck all the way down to his calves. some of them were sacred to him while others were just for fun. you, on the other hand, had zero. you were raised in a pretty strict household so every time you even thought about getting a tattoo you were given the same old lectures about jobs and marriage. “how will you ever get a job if you decide to mark your skin up like that?” and “no man would want to marry a woman with drawings on her skin” were constant sentences thrown at you by your mother and aunts which led you to never getting one.

that was until you met connie. when you and connie met, the first thing about him that caught your eye were his many tattoos. the way the dark ink would dance around his light brown skin made you ready to make him yours right then and there. as the two of you got to know each other you soon fell in love, causing connie to add many pieces of art to his body in honor of you.

it never really bothered him that you decided not to get any tattoos to represent him. connie let you know many times that he actually rather you get your first tattoo to be something more meaningful since it’s your first. “nah mami have your first tat be for your dukes or a pet you had. you can do sum for me later on.” he was so fine for that honestly. plus he knew about how your family felt about them and he was very confident in your love for him so he alway let you know that you don’t need to show your appreciation for him through a tattoo like he does. “make sure it’s sum you want for real. im happy wit being on your nail and ion want you feelin’ like you need a tat cause i got some.” you were his and he was yours and it always showed. whether it be the many pieces of jewelry he’s bought you or the the beautiful letter “c” that you currently have on your nail. connie new you were his woman, but this was your decision.

you felt that connie was downplaying the impact he had on your life. not only did he make you happy, but he always made it his top priority to protect you which you were highly grateful for. he’s given you everything you can possibly hope for and more, and you wanted your first tattoo to be as sacred to you as his were to him. and nobody was more special to you than your connie. this led you to where you were now. sitting in the chair at mikasa and eren’s tattoo shop, the two of them doing their best to calm you down so eren can get started on you. “y/n you need to relax or this’ll never get done.” eren chuckled while he stared at you, tattoo gun in hand. you were no stranger to pain, having your pretty stomach piercing, that mikasa did, to show for it. “ren’s right hunny. you gotta chill or he won’t be able to work.”

it’s not like you were scared of the pain. you were just scared about how connie will react to you going against what he said. “i know y’all. i just don’t want con to be mad at this.” your nervousness showing all over your face as your two friends rubbed each of your shoulders. they understood how you felt, both feeling bad for going behind connie’s wishes and giving you a piercing and now a tattoo without him there. after you got your stomach done, connie seen how watery your eyes were when you got home. he immediately knew you were crying the whole ride, trying to hide it and appear excited to show him your new piercing.

after that day he asked eren and mikasa personally not to give you any piercings or tattoos without him there because he knew how much of a baby you were about needles. after the both of them witnessed you cry for about an hour when mikasa finished piercing your stomach they had no problem agreeing with his request, feeling so bad seeing you like that. but it’s been almost a year since then and they felt like you’d be able to handle this. and since you agreed to pay both of them even tho eren was the only one doing the tattoo, mikasa couldn’t resist. and if mikasa says yes then eren doesn’t really have a choice but to follow because he’s so scared of her.

“look baby ima be here, holding your hand the entire time. you came to me for your piercing because i’m the best right?” you reply with a nod as you wiped your eyes. “and you’re coming to eren right now because he’s the best right?” you nodded again. it’s true. mikasa and eren were well known in your area for their great tattoos and piercings. eren being widely known for doing tattoos for some rappers and basketball players while mikasa was recognized for her cool piercings on local bands. “then you have absolutely nun to worry ‘bout. i’d never hurt you girl and you know that. plus con would kill me if i did.” eren mumbled his last sentence as he starts up his machine. “just breathe f’me and this’ll be done in no time i promise.” you squeezed mikasa’s hand as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you lied down on the on the chair. “alright go ahead”

<<<time skip>>>

as you were driving home you decided to stop and get some gifts for your man just incase. you bought him some tech suits and, tank tops, and his favorite snacks from the corner store. as you pulled in your driveway you seen your phone ping with eren’s name on the screen. ‘please don’t tell con i did that shit. he gon try to murder me fr’ you giggle when you read the message, getting out your car before preparing to go inside. as you approached your shared home you took a shaky breath and made a silent prayer that this goes well. you walk into the door and instantly see your man on the couch, arms leaning on the top as he manspreaded while watching tv. “hey mami where you been at?” you thought it’d be better to just cut to the chase so you walked up to him, standing in between his legs before giving him the gifts. “what’s all this?” he smirked up at you as he leaned up, opening each bag in front of you.

as he looked at each gift connie couldn’t help but think there was something going on. he noticed that you haven’t spoken to him since you got home and you’ve been shifting from one foot to the other which was something you only did when you were nervous. “c’mere give papi a kiss.” you felt connie softly grab your wrist, pulled you closer to sit you on his lap. he placed his hand on your neck as he began tonguing you down, his tongue dancing with yours as they fought for dominance. when it came to that he always won, distracting you by giving you a squeeze to your neck. connie stops to move his lips towards your ear, turning your head to the side so he can whisper something to you. “what’d you do?” how the fuck did he know that you did something?

you hated how well he read you, but you couldn’t even dwell on that because you felt him begin to grip your neck tighter. you turned you head towards him, staring into his eyes as you contemplated how you were going to show him your tattoo. “uhh i just wanna let you know first that i-…i love you.” connie stared at you with attentive eyes, letting go of your neck as he grew worried at how nervous you were. “what happened? somebody been fuckin’ wit you because all you gotta do is show me where they at and ima-” you put your hand on connie’s mouth “no no no. nun like that baby just lemme finish okay?” connie nods his head, giving you the floor. “okay so we been together for a long time and i love you more than anything. you mean the world to me and i hope that i mean the same to you.” you begin to take off your hoodie, revealing your wrapped up chest to your boyfriend. connie’s eyes immediately start to water as he noticed the familiar name on your chest.

“mami you didn’t.” he whispered he started inspecting your inked skin. right above your left tiddy sat your lovers name in cursive with a small heart as the dot on the “i”. “i did pa and i don’t want you to be mad about it either. you told me to get something meaningful and nobody on this earth mean more to me than you. and i put that on everything i love.” connie was never much of a crier, but seeing how much you loved him always made him a little soft. since he never fucked with his dad and his mom wasn’t in his life as much as he wanted her to be, connie never really knew what it felt like to feel unconditional love. he was basically raised by his brothers on the streets and never was taught about things like how to properly love a woman and how to receive that same love back. luckily he was able to teach himself and came out just fine but, he couldn’t help but to get a little emotional when he sees the the love he’s been yearning for since he was a kid finally being administered to him. “i love you more than fucking anything y/n. i swear to god i got you forever.”

you began to rub the nape of his neck as he continued to stare at your chest, wiping his tears from his cheeks with your other hand. you were so happy that he loved the tattoo and seeing him so emotional brought you to tears as well, sighing as you tried to blink them away. “i-im just happy you l-like it f’real.” you sniffle as you try to catch your breath. the two of you were a mess. connie wiped your tears as you cried on his lap. he softly smiled at how emotional you get when it comes to him. all he did was shed a few tears and here you are full on sobbing on his lap. “i love it mami. who did it for you?”

not paying attention, you immediately tell him how you asked eren to do your tattoo since he was a trusted friend and how mikasa was also there for moral support. connie folded his lips, jaw tightening at your sentence. “ima kill his ass, but for now let’s put these gifts away.” you agreed and helped put all the stuff in your room, changing your clothes before sitting at your vanity to remove your makeup. you seen connie staring at you from his spot on the bed, licking his lips as he looked at your chest. you had one of his t shirts on and those damn near covered your whole body so you knew he was thinking about your new tat. “c’mere hermosa we gotta take that wrapping off.”

you walked up to him as he slid to the edge of the bed, legs open for you to stand in between them. connie removed your shirt and lightly rubbed his hands across your breasts. you weren’t wearing a bra since you slept more comfortably without one.“you got aquaphor and shit for it?” he says while nodding towards your chest. you let him know that you had everything you needed since you’ve watched him take care of his new tats plenty of times. he nodded his head, letting you know he was listening. after he finished unwrapping your chest you handed connie the ointment and let him rub it on your chest. it hurt a little but he was very delicate and took his time. as he finished you can tell he was getting hard from seeing your bare chest for so long, grabbing himself to readjust in his pants.

“all done. now lemme suck em” you couldn’t help but laugh as you put your shirt back on. “let’s take a nap first boo” you said as you made your way to your side of the bed. connie crawled towards you after you lied down in your back, lying his head on your stomach with the rest of his body in between your legs. “i really do got you forever ma. you my whole world.” you rubbed his head as you replied. “i know pa and i got you forever too. we locked in twin.” you cross your fingers in connie’s face, making you you giggle as he lightly pinched your side. “don’t play wit me lil girl. i already let you off the hook for goin’ without me and i’m still mad eren went behind my back. ima kill that muthafucka” connie mumbled as he closed his eyes. you immediately hushed up and said a silent prayer for eren as the both of you drifted off to sleep. you and connie were gonna be together forever and now you had the tattoo to show for it.

[aloesarchives]

Father's Day Special(JJK Oneshot)

Tags/Warning: AFAB/Female Reader, Family life, Domesticity, Fluff, Unhinged Crack(Especially near the End), Mention of Balls but not Smut(I promise), JJK OC(but not main X Reader)

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Toji x Fem!Reader

Reader Pronouns/Usage: (She/Her), Mama, Mom, Doll, Baby

So I know I'm three days late for Father's Day but I couldn't help but write this out. It's been busy and absolute hell with getting ready for Uni. But by July, things will slow down and I can focus more on getting shit down and stop procrastinating. I hella miss writing, I needa get back into the grove of it.

Also, forgot to mention, this fic was based on a true event. Dramatization was an all time high but loosely based on an interaction I had with my own mom lol

“What do you think Dad wants, Megumi?”

“Honestly, I have no clue. I thought Mom was hard but it’s actually Dad.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because he never buys anything new. Even if he does, it’s either meant for the house or us. Dad still wears the same black t-shirt since we were kids. He doesn’t have expensive taste either. No cologne, no wrist watch, no shoes, nothing.”

Tsumiki and Megumi feel more empathetic to Toji than either right now. Father’s Day is tomorrow and the two are out trying to get their dad a gift. But just like Toji, they feel stuck on what to get him. With you, their mother, it’s more subtle and personalized. Tailored to your taste and personality, seems hard at first but gets easier once getting the smaller details. Is it more on the pricier side? Yes, but you are their mother and do so much for them that you deserve anything and everything good to come your way.

But Toji, he’s a different story.

Growing up, the two saw how laidback their dad was. No putting much effort into keeping appearance or staying with the latest trends. They learned early on that Toji only dresses decently, or at least looks presentable, because of you. Outfit coordination was all on you, you always picked out Toji’s outfit or had the final say on what he’s wearing. Obviously over time, he’s learned the art of dressing himself up but he always asks you for the final say.

Anyhow, clothes are out because Megumi and Tsumiki know Toji wears them until they are rags. He still wears the same basketball shorts around the house since they were babies.

They’re teenagers in high school now.

Toji’s old shirts and shorts just get converted to loungewear and home clothes. Some of them have holes but Toji seems to care less about them. Toji also has no expensive taste or an interest in creating one. He believes you pay for the quality but that’s on certain things like a wrench or drill. He never understood the whole throwing your money to look high class. Pointing out that things can stick out like a nail and look out of place. He grew up in a family with money, he knows.

Then Toji literally has everything he needs. That’s what the kids always hear.

“I have (Y/N), my kids, a nice house with space to work, food, and my equipment. The hell I need anything else when it’s all right ‘ere.”

People’s dreams and aspirations are different. Having a family is a common one many have. But Megumi and Tsumiki could clearly see the fond and tender nature their dad somehow exhibits, and it’s only exclusive to the family. They didn’t think much of it until they asked you. Upon explaining Toji's life up until meeting you, Tsumiki and Megumi finally let it sit why their dad acts the way he does.

“Your Papa…didn’t expect to have this type of life—To have a home, a wife and kids. He’d never imagine himself to get this because he didn’t think it'd happen to him, especially how he grew up. But it did and he never took it for granted since. Your Papa has treated me beyond the means of well over the years, it’s only fair I do the same for him. I’m not forcing you two to follow suit. But at the very least, try to understand your Dad and his circumstances. That’s all I ask of you two.”

With that, no wonder they’ve never met anyone from Toji’s side besides Maki and Mai. That and an explanation to your fierce protectiveness towards Toji at the mention of his “family”. So here Megumi and Tsumiki are, along with their litter sister Mayumi, concocting an idea on what to get Toji. They were going to call you but ditched the idea to not inconvenience you as you were busy yourself. Currently in Shibuya walking in one of the shopping districts, they searched high and low for anything that would make a decent Father’s Day gift.

Tsumiki threw up some ideas but Megumi shot them down because it’s not practical for their Dad.

“Megumi, at this point, we can’t get Papa anything! What do you have in mind that Papa will actually use?”

Megumi thought for a second before shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ve got nothing, Tsumiki. I’m drawing a blank here.”

Tsumiki sighs before looking around again. Meanwhile, Mayumi’s curiosity was becoming impulsive. She wanted to look at anything and everything as long as her pretty little eyes laid on it. Holding onto Megumi’s hand, she tries to keep pace with her older siblings in the busy street. However, after walking for a few minutes, Mayumi came to a stop as she stared at one of the stores. Feeling his arm be pulled back, Megumi looks down to see Mayumi staring off.

“Mayumi, what are you looking at?”

Tsumiki also stopped when she noticed her two younger siblings weren’t behind her. Crouching down, she wanted to see what had caught her baby sister’s attention.

“Is there something you want to look at, Mayumi-chan?”

Mayumi looks at Tsumiki before nodding and pointing to the store that has captured her attention. Megumi and Tsumiki look to see that the store that has captured her attention was Uniqlo. Surprisingly enough, this was a clothing store that mostly made up Megumi AND Toji’s wardrobes. Tugging Megumi along, Mayumi walks into the store with a mission. The two look at each other with curiosity, wondering what their little sister was so dead set on finding. They watched as Mayumi’s eyes scanned the racks and shelves, head darting up, down, left, and right. Megumi makes a decision to let go of her hand to see what she’ll do. Upon feeling her hand’s release, Mayumi speed walks away to the Men’s side. Megumi and Tsumiki made haste to not lose sight of her. Now it’s their turn in trying to keep up with her as she continuously searches for what she’s looking for.

Megumi starts to panic when Mayumi seemingly vanishes before him. He swore he only took his eyes off of her for a split second, and now she’s gone. He was close to going into search party mode when he spotted Mayumi standing before one of the shelving displays. Letting himself breath again, he walks over to where she was before picking her up.

“Mayumi, you can’t run off like that! You know you’ll get lost and separated from Tsumiki and I. You have to make sure you can see us close behind before going on your own.” Megumi lightly chastised her. Though, he never could get mad at her no matter what she did.

Mayumi pouts slightly at Megumi, understanding what she did was dangerous.

“Sorry, Gumi-Nii. Didn’t mean to do it to you and Miki-Nee…But! I found Papa’s Father’s Day gift!” Mayumi excitedly exclaims, pointing to the rack.

Megumi looks to see what she means and by then Tsumiki caught up to the two. Tsumiki also follows to see what the two were staring at. The section she was pointing at was the Men’s section for underwear and socks. Tsumiki chuckles while Megumi becomes both confused and a little embarrassed. Mayumi squirms in Megumi’s arms, signaling him to let her down. Once safely on the ground, Mayumi grabs a packet and holds it up to her siblings.

“Mayumi-chan, why do you think this can be a gift for Papa? You think Papa would need this?” Tsumiki gently asks her, hoping to understand what she meant.

Mayumi nods quickly, continuing to hold up the boxer packet.

“Yes! Because Papa needs new ones!”

Tsumiki and Megumi looked at each other surprised before Tsumiki looked back at Mayumi.

“How do you know, Mayumi-chan?”

“Mama said it when she was folding the clothes after drying them! This was when Papa was out with Uncle Shui! She said why does Papa keep wearing his underwear even though they have holes in them. I saw what she was talking about because Papa does have holes in his underwear! So, why not get Papa new underwear?”

Tsumiki found this amusing and a bit funny at Mayumi’s enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Megumi had a furious blush painted across his face. He didn’t expect their shopping trip to go this way. Let alone, the deciding gift was the most plain and not so well-thought out of. Though Megumi felt his embarrassment burn his entire being, he’s not complaining about the gift choice. He knew it was a practical gift for their dad, especially knowing Toji’s track record when it came to clothing.

As strange as it is to admit, Megumi couldn’t deny that a go-to gift to give to any guy is a pack of brand new underwear paired with a fresh pack of socks. He knew there’s nothing you could do wrong with that combination. He even witnessed it firsthand when Yuuji was way too excited when he got a box filled with pairs of socks and boxer briefs for his birthday. And knowing how lax Toji is, Toji probably would like this more than anything. So Megumi stays quiet and lets the girls handle it.

“I think that’s a great idea, Mayumi-chan. We should get some of these for Papa so he doesn’t have to keep wearing his old ones.”

“But I don’t know Papa’s size…Maybe Mama knows! We should call Mama, Miki-Nee!”

Tsumiki nods while pulling out her phone, hitting your contact. The phone buzzed once before your voice was heard on the phone. Mayumi decides to talk on everyone’s behalf and ask for Toji’s underwear size. After a bit, Mayumi hands the phone back to Tsumiki and the two of you talk. Once hanging up, it was settled.

“Gumi-Nee, Mama said Papa only wears black and dark blue boxers! And also said Papa is a size large!”

Since he didn’t want his sisters to look awkward, Megumi took it upon himself to take the three packs of boxers and one pack of socks to check out. The socks were a last minute decision but again, practical for someone like Toji. After Tsumiki gave her half of the total to Megumi, he bought them and left with his sisters. After getting home, Megumi decided it would be best if he kept the gift in his room to not raise any suspicions if Toji had any.

“So, did you three buy your Dad his gift?”

Mayumi runs up to you and fervently nods while pointing at the Uniqlo bag Megumi’s holding. Megumi gives you the receipt for tax purposes and so Toji doesn’t see the price for it as he’ll definitely take it. You grinned while looking at the receipt, something Megumi and Tsumiki believe would be akin to playful or mischievous.

“Nice job, you three. Now, go change and clean up a bit for dinner. Your dad will be home soon.”

Speak of the devil, not even five minutes later, the front door is opened and a gruff “I’m home!” can be heard. Toji was already home. Hearing his voice, Mayumi dashed to where he was and was immediately picked up by him. His iconic DILF chuckle and the giggles of your youngest child can be heard getting closer to the kitchen. Something you never get tired of hearing and hope to hear more of every time.

“Glad to hear you had a good day, Princess. Now go with your sister to change and freshen up.”

Mayumi nods before being put down, dashing towards Tsumiki who then holds her hand as she takes her upstairs.

You were finishing cleaning up the dirty dishes when you felt a warm presence on your back.

“How are you doing, Doll? Looks like you got dinner all figured out, didn’t I tell you my food prep made things easier?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at the feeling of your husband wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Toji wants to be all over you no matter the hour.

“Yeah yeah, don’t let that ego get higher than it already is…But thank you though, Hon. It cuts down cooking time by a lot. I appreciate it.” You tenderly answered before giving him a simple kiss on the cheek.

Wearing a victor’s smile, Toji pulls away. Crossing his arms with his chest all puffed out as his pride builds up.

“If that’s all that takes for some of your kisses, I’ll keep on doing it. Only for you, Doll. Glad it makes things easier for ya.”

Even though it said because of his pride, there was an undeniable softness on his features many would believe was impossible for him to make. But here he was, doing exactly that like it was any normal day at the Fushiguro household. The fondness he exhibits to you is both a blessing and a honor because you knew you were a part of the few people that bring it out of him.

Smiling back, you mirrored your loving softness on your face as well.

“It does, Toji. Now, go change and shower. I don’t know what Shui and you did today but you smell like outside. I don’t want that in our bed so go upstairs and shower, Hon.”

Toji smirks but nods at your command. Taking himself upstairs to wash away the smell. Dinner goes on as normal. Silent but pleasant as it lets everyone decompress from the day. Toji does the dishes since you cooked dinner and the kiddos clean up the kitchen table. Everyone retires into the night without issue and Toji has his arms wrapped around you as you sleep on top of him.

It was 7:30 A.M. when you heard voices coming from downstairs and the slight clanging of metal. You groggily blinked the sleep from your eyes while feeling the sun brightening up your room. Hearing Toji’s faint and calm breathing, you knew he wasn’t waking up anytime soon. After successfully slipping away from Toji’s grasp, you were able to change into your home clothes before going downstairs. Upon reaching the kitchen, the sight before you was a pleasant surprise.

There was Tsumiki and Megumi, wearing aprons, and using the kitchen while Mayumi was drinking her juice from her sippy cup. Albeit very sleepy but that changes when she hears footsteps and sees you walking in with a warm smile on your face.

“Mama! Gumi-Nii and Miki-Nee are making Papa breakfast! I’m here for moral support!” She excitedly whispers to you as you hold her up.

You look over to see your two eldest working away prepping their Father’s Day breakfast. You hum while inspecting their handy work, peering over their shoulder to see.

“It smells good, you two. Though, I’m surprised you’re able to get up at this time, Megumi. Normally, you would sleep in until another two hours or so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the rice balls he’s making, but his tone is less irritated and tense compared to most mornings.

“Well, I feel bad for letting Tsumiki do all the work in cooking. So I woke up earlier than normal to help out. Plus, Mayumi woke me up and asked me to help Tsumiki make breakfast because she couldn’t.”

Mayumi’s soft giggles were paired with your own. Softly patting his hair, you offer Megumi a grateful smile.

“I’m happy to know you helped out, Dear. Good to back up your sisters.”

You pat Tsumiki's shoulder comfortingly to not let her lose focus on her cooking.

“Call for me if you two need any help.”

The two nod before you make your way upstairs with Mayumi, making your way to your shared bedroom where your husband is sleeping. Mayumi writhes and squirms in your hold, begging to be let down to wake up her Papa. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she quietly and firmly opens the bedroom door. B-lining towards the bed with you following suit. She climbs up onto the bed and crawls to where Toji was sleeping peacefully. Your youngest stares for a few moments at her Papa before gently pounding his chest.

“Papa…Papa…Wake up!”

After a few tries, Toji stirs a bit before blinking slowly. Toji motions his head to face the culprit that woke him up from his restful sleep. Seeing Toji waking up, Mayumi beams down at him along with you softly smiling at the side of the bed.

“G’morning, Papa! Happy Papa Day!”

“Morning to you too, Little Lady~.”

He takes Mayumi in his arms while steadily sitting up. Her sweet sequels and giggles echo throughout the bedroom as Toji kisses all over her face and tickles her sides. Grinning down at his youngest daughter, he carries it when his eyes meet yours.

“Morning, Beautiful~.”

The morning rasp and gruffness in his voice made you want to scream at the sky while death-gripping the ground below. You desperately thanked any and all divine pantheons for blessing you with such a man. But alas, you couldn’t allow yourself to fold so easily. Especially in front of Toji, knowing you’ll never see the end of his teasing and salacious, but consensual, advances. You just light-heartedly roll your eyes while shaking your head, but your smile never ceases.

“Good Morning to you too, Handsome~. Happy Father’s Day. Breakfast is ready downstairs.”

Toji temporarily sets down Mayumi as you pass him a shirt to wear since he was wearing his gray sweat shorts. He picks up Mayumi again before making his way out and into the kitchen to satiate his morning hunger. Just like you, he reacted with surprise seeing a fully set table before him. But this is Toji we’re talking about. So the most we’ll get out of his reaction is his eyes which went wide.

He was about to ask if you made all the food as you passed by but you tilt your head to the side and he sees Megumi and Tsumiki cleaning up the kitchen.

“They helped you with making breakfast, Doll?”

You shake your head while taking Mayumi in your arms to place her in her chair.

“I didn’t even touch the kitchen this morning. They were in here this whole time.”

Sitting down, it finally clicked with Toji. He just grinned as he took his usual seat at the edge of the table. Once everyone was seated and began eating, so did he. Toji never thought of himself as the sentimental type. But he couldn’t help himself in allowing this particular feeling to wash over him. If he went back in time to tell his younger-self that he’d become a husband and a father of three kids, he most certainly knew his past-self would scoff and think he’s a liar. Toji won’t lie because he has a hard time believing it himself sometimes. Even after almost two decades of being married to you and 15 years of being a father, he’s in awe of how his life ended up to the present day.

Sneaking glance as he eats, he sees his two oldest kids having their usual sibling conversation. 16 and 15 years old, first and second years in high school. It would only be a few years until they would graduate high school.

‘Geez, they’ll be legal adults in less than five years…Fucking shit, man…’

Toji then sneaks glances at you, which he sometimes catches your gaze as well. There was a certain feeling of your smile every time you sent it his way. But it was not until he reminded himself that your particular smile you always gave him was of contentment. But not in a sense of bare minimum, no. Toji knew it came from utter satisfaction and gratification in this domestic life you two shared.

No, the life you two created together for each other.

Watching you interact with your children just fills him with life’s satisfaction. He thought it was impossible for someone like him to experience something like this. But here he is, sitting down eating breakfast with his family in their home on a Sunday morning. Damn, he didn’t blame you for giving him that smile because he gets it.

After eating and cleaning up the table, Megumi said he forgot something in his room and went upstairs to get it. Meanwhile, Toji was reading the morning paper while simultaneously listening to the news that was live on the tv. Mayumi was chilling in Toji’s lap with her Cinnamoroll plushie because she had nothing better to do. Meanwhile, you were teaching Tsumiki how to use the coffee machine and the set up for Toji’s usual.

Once Megumi came back with the familiar Uniqlo bag, everyone shifted their attention to Toji and gathered around him. He looked confused by the sudden change in behavior. Placing his paper down, he suspiciously eyes everyone.

“Okay, something’s up. Did I do something I don't know about?”

You shake your head at him, making it clear he wasn’t in trouble. Mayumi jumps off Toji’s lap, pattering over to Megumi who hands over the bag. She races back to her papa with an eager smile on her face, holding the bag up to him.

“Oh, what’s this, Princess?”

“It’s from Me, Gumi-Nii, and Miki-Nee! We got you a present for Papa Day!”

Feeling both astounded and touched, he takes the bag from her before ruffling her hair. Mayumi lets out a little squeal before running towards Tsumiki who picks her up. The bag was small, specifically eight inches by six inches. But what’s inside filled the bag up to its capacity so Toji was intrigued to see what his kiddos got him. He shakes the bag for good measure, causing Megumi to become impatient.

“Dad, just open it up. I promise you we didn’t put a spider or a cockroach in there. This is your real gift from us.”

The man chuckles out loud, shooting a grin his son’s way which made his impatient grow.

“Alright alright, I hear you, Megs. I was seeing if I could guess what you bought for me. Nothing wrong with checking things out. Reel yourself in kid.”

Megumi groans out causing his sisters and you to giggle at this usual interaction. Eventually, Toji opens the gift and reaches inside. His eyebrows furrowed and pushed themselves together, trying to figure out what he was touching. Suddenly, his brows released themselves from being tensed as he pulled out the three packs of boxers and one pack of socks. It was silent, a little too silent. For a second, Megumi and Tsumiki held their breaths while you anticipated his reaction.

Then, out of nowhere, a hearty laughter filled the kitchen as Toji held them in his hand. Amusement was all he felt looking at the packs in front of him. He let out a content huff, holding up one of the boxer packs.

“Wow, this is how you give gifts. You guys are just like your mama, you all have gifting skills people dream of.”

“Wait, you actually like it, Papa?”

Toji let a bemused look pass over him before it went back to amuse.

“Oh yeah, I sure as hell love it. I keep forgetting to buy some and your mother has been on me for God knows how long about getting new ones. You rascals killed two birds with one stone for me. And socks too? Now that’s being generous to your old man.”

The two were finally able to breathe since they second guessed themselves.

“Happy Father’s Day, Papa!”

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

Toji gets up to give Megumi and Tsumiki his love squeezes. Tsumiki giggled while Megumi begrudgingly accepted his dad’s affection. Though, he doesn’t resist or push away when his dad hugs him.

As this was happening, you wore a grin that stretched wide with eyes that shone with mischief. Toji catches your expression, fully knowing something is brewing inside.

“Babe, you’re making that face. Spill it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hon~.”

Oh, there’s definitely something now and Toji’s gonna get it out of you.

“Don’t be so coy, (Y/N). You got that grin plastered on your face and eyeing me like that, you got something to say. I see those little gears in your pretty head of yours moving.”

You were trying to hold in your laughter. Key word was try though. The moment you made your thoughts be known will cause endless oxygen-depriving laughter from you. But you needed to say it in full. No stutters, no mistakes, no slang, dead set on getting those words out. You can’t fumble yourself right now.

“I’m just saying, I have been telling you to get new ones for years! Some of your underwear have holes in them! You have to get new ones every five to seven years, Hon!”

He playfully scoffs.

“Doll, just because they’re old doesn’t mean I need to throw them away after a few years. If they can still do their job in covering up my junk, I don’t see why I need to get new ones. I only needed to know one because of you.”

Sighing exasperatedly, you still held your grin and waited for the right moment to strike.

“Hon, you don’t understand. I’m not saying you need to buy new ones after a while! I’m saying some, as in most, of your underwear are worn down to the bone! You have to put them down, Toji!”

“Babe, again, if it still works, it still works. Yeah, some of my underwear have holes in them but they’re still wearable. Not my fault they have holes in them! Plus, I never wear tight-fitted pants, so I don’t get how my underwear chafes when I wear joggers, sweats, and cargo pants!”

Bingo, everything is in position and there’s a clear pathway. You can’t mess this up when you have a clear shot. Crossing your arms still grinning, you stare down your husband.

“Oh but it is, Toji! The reason why you got holes in your underwear is because your balls are rough! If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be breathing down your neck about them. Don’t you even notice when you fold the laundry?”

For a few moments, the silence fell over the Fushiguro house. Toji was bewildered, taken aback by what you said. You were one to never be crass in front of the kids or in general. Thus, this was the closest thing to you being vulgar.

For the teens, they stood still and frozen in place. However, for different reasons. For Tsumiki, she was stunned. Heavily skilled in the art of not being or feeling awkward. She’s not bothered or offended by your words. Rather, she didn't expect you to say something like that when they’re around. She knew it was bound to happen, just not with this conversation and those words. For Megumi, he was straight up flabbergasted. Never in a million years would he hear something like come out of you. Given, you’re known to have sufficient self-control when it comes to speaking in such a manner. Reserving that language for anyone 18 and over, and their dad. Right now, he’s growing frustrated because now he knows what people mean with you and Toji’s marriage has top tier chemistry. Megumi slowly realizes that both his parents are rat bastards and of equal humor. Noting that you were better at keeping it under wraps while his dad bore no filter at all. Meanwhile, Mayumi was just existing and cuddling her plushie. Becoming oblivious to the whole matter as her toddler brain couldn’t comprehend the words being used. But it was a good thing, much to both Megumi and Tsumiki relief.

“Did Mom just—?”

“Say what I think she said…?”

With their minds broken, the two were trying to process what just happened. You said it, made it be known. Something that probably should be said when they’re not present or only with their dad. Thinking about how you said them too: saying them with your chest, locked-in, hyper-focused, 10 toes down on the ground, no stuttering whatsoever. It looked like you were thinking about this for a long time and needed to get it off your chest.

To which you did, and successfully as well.

Just when the teens thought they were in the clear, they were thrown another curb ball. This time, it was from Toji.

“Doll, why are you complaining about them now? You never did beforehand, how do you think I gave you Tsumiki, Megumi, and Mayumi? You took them and everything else. I’m not letting you throw me under the bus like this.”

Silence came back as soon as it left. If the two thought your words were absurd, their dad’s beat it and took your place with his own. Now Megumi’s petrified because he didn’t know what else would come out of either his mom or dad’s mouth. Fearing the embarrassment and possible vulgarity to over take what the two of you said prior. He didn’t want to hear nor wanted to know anymore. Just when he was about to drag his sisters away to leave you and Toji to your own devices, he sensed something that made him stay.

All at once, the silence was broken by you and Toji bursting out in laughter. You were holding onto his shoulders, gasping for more air to put in body but it was futile as you continued laughing even harder. Toji has his arms crossed but his sturdy broad frame shakes as he can’t restrain his uncontrollable laughter. The kids watch on, once again thinking this was finally done.

But the next thing they knew, they felt a gust of air pass by them followed with another. In a turn of events, you were being chased by Toji throughout the Fushiguro Estate. Yet, your laughter and squeals that were accompanied by your husband’s playful threats made it known this was all fun and games for you.

It went on like this for several minutes. Your two teens would’ve cringed but let it pass over when they noticed Toji carrying you over his shoulder from the house towards the large Saucer Magnolia tree in the garden. Plopping himself on the grass with you in his lap, arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“Now, Doll, where’s your present for me? I don’t see it.” Toji says, feigning hurt as he whines fakingly.

You roll your eyes at his performance. Though, instead of a grin, a smile was all that was left. Highlighting the blissful expression you wore.

“I know you, Toji. You just want me to baby and give you all my attention.” You huffed lightly.

“Yeah yeah, but you’re still gonna give it to me. You won’t deny me, Baby.”

Shaking your head, you let yourself be at your husband’s mercy. Indulging himself in your warmth in presence. It was a peaceful moment until you heard a little giggling coming closer. Both of you look up to see Mayumi running this way followed by Megumi and Tsumiki who held a blanket to be laid on.

Toji unravels one arm to catch his youngest and sits her on his free thigh across from you. You never noticed until now how beautiful and relaxed Toji is. While he was known for his laid back personality, you knew it’s from not wasting his energy on matters that don’t concern him. The reality was, Toji used to be tense and rigid. Forcing to stay on guard whilst putting on that lax facade. It wasn’t until he met and married you was when his stiffness and strained body began to disappear from his body. He was relaxing, loosening himself up because of you.

Although your shared life with him wasn’t easy and had its share of hardships, you felt honored Toji allowed himself to rest and find comfort in you. To see him finally have a sense of peacefulness after knowing what he’s been through, you only wish to love, care. and protect him for as long as you’re on this plane of existence.

Seeing how much contentment he has in interacting with his children and you, he was undeniably beautiful and sublime both physically and mentally. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you immerse in the loving family atmosphere you’re grateful to be a part of. Mayumi rambling and talking Toji’s ear off while your husband entertains her. Meanwhile, you watch your two older children talk and spill the gossip in their school lives to each other.

You wallowed in this domestic bliss, savoring it as there will be nothing else like it. You’re not the only one as Toji joins in basking in this domestic bliss as well. He would never say this out loud, but he didn’t think he’d live this long. He thought he’d died young due to his reckless and careless behavior, getting himself into deep shit that would ultimately be his grave. The voice in his mind reminds him that this may be a one time thing, that he’ll never get this in the next life. But he pushes that thought away to deal with it later. For now, he’ll be present here with you as you both happily entertain your little Mayumi and her current interest.

As for Megumi and Tsumiki, they can rest easy knowing they won’t have to hear you or Toji saying those appalling words again anytime soon.

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