#and they both felt like home bc i made it my home

[princescar]

Doodle I did for the DR0 anniversary that I never finished or posted, which sucks bc I really like them

Design rambles under cut

I really wanted to keep lil Junko as Ryoko looking as possible. I aslo wanted to keep the trend of her choosing cardigans over blazers by having all her outfits include one. Also wanted to portray how disheveled he became over the years.

Love lil 4yo Junko sm. She definitely came back home with tiny Matsuda in tow like a child bringing home a stray cat. (Considering his age, this should be when his mother's condition started, so now I'm sad thinking about him waiting for his Mom to pick him up, but she never comes bc she forgot, so lil Junko decides that she can take him home.)

Elementary Junko that should look familiar, considering I've drawn her multiple times. Her design is still pretty Ryoko inspired, except the hair, which comes from one of my favorite headcanons. (She begged Matsuda to braid her hair, but he did not know wtf he was doing, and fucked it up so bad it had to get chopped off. (based off a childhood story of mine) He felt SO bad that he made her the halfandhalf bow she wears in her hair, similar to her pre-game one, except its black and white.) Matsuda is still nose deep in manga, same as always.

Middle school Junko is finally in her gyaru era, still with her fav cardigans. Her and Matsuda both have raccoon tails in the hair that frames their face. She had to BEG him to let her touch his hair and he immediately regretted it. The uniforms, unlike the others, are specifically from Giboura Middle School, the middle school from KillerKiller. Because I headcanon that it was Junko's old middle school. Also him having the Junko tie because of another headcanon that she "stole" it from him when he went into Highschool and she wanted to have a piece of him with her.

No highschool designs considering Junko's iconic look IS her highscool design and honesty Matsuda was probably wearing the same shit he wore in DR0, but with a different school logo. Which i actually have an edit of

[everythingmp3]

adult Van being your ex lover and trying to get you back - headcanons 𐙚

some detailed thoughts about the scenario of having dated her "casually" for a while until she broke it off bc it got too intense and romantic - only for her to beg for forgiveness after a while. this is narrative in structure, basically a timeline from the first date to where it ended up eventually <3

warnings: nsfw mentions (minors dni), a good amount of emotional lesbian dating drama.

how it all started:

you met on an app, nothing out of the ordinary, but the thing that was unusual, was the Van asked you to meet up after just one day of texting

with other people, she was often the type to leave them on read for a few days before eventually agreeing to a date, but with you she found herself smiling at all your texts right from the start, which was new for her, so just one day after you first texted, she straight up asked "hey would you wanna go out for dinner this weekend?".

your first date was at a nice yet underrated Italian place downtown that she wanted to show you, it was a dimly lit space that was romantic but not overly so and you felt at ease around each other right from the start - you were both insanely nervous the few hours before you met (she definitely felt very sick at one point) but the moment you hugged hello, it felt so natural that all nerves just fell off, replaced by the giddiness of sensing an instant attraction

the evening was lovely, from start to finish. Van made you laugh way more than you had expected, which delighted her immensely and only made her try even harder to win you over completely - she made you try her meal and insisted on you taking a few more bites when it was clear that you really liked it, she never broke eye contact, she leaned closer and touched your hand about an hour into the date when it was clear that you wanted her to - you talked about everything under the sun and lost track of time, sharing a desert and gazing at each other over the table with sparkling eyes, you making her flush whenever you complimented her or looked at her for too long - so by the time you were ready to leave you both felt a shared sense of disbelief like "wow.. this was so nice. I already like you so much."

she offered to drive you home when you told her that you had walked there and once you were parked in front of your house, you both kind of just sat there in silence, a bit nervous, the good kind, smiling to yourselves in the dark before you looked at each other and you told her "I had a really nice time. can we do this again sometime?", she nodded and leaned over to you and said "yes. please." a pause before she added "can I kiss you?", unsure if you would want her to after just one date but you didnt even answer, you just leaned in and gave her a deep, passionate kiss as a response, feeling her smile into it.

your next date was a few days later at a bar, around 9pm, because you had great chemistry and were clearly dying to get your hands on each other, but didnt just wanna make it a hook-up - so you spent about an hour getting tipsy, touching each other under the table, staring into each others eyes and saying overly sweet things like "you’re so pretty.." and "I thought about you a lot this week" before she finally caved and said "should we go back to my place?".

the main thing that made you both obsess over each other was the intimacy you shared. the first time you fucked, you were both out of breath and frantic with desire but it was heavenly - you giggled when you both almost tripped on the way up to her apartment and tore each others clothes off without much elegance, you spent a good amount of time just dry-humping and making out because you were so deeply into each other and really wanted to savor every part of it - moaning pathetically as you both took turns kissing each others necks while grinding and moving, growing unbearably needy and wet from it before you went down on her for the first time.

Van hadn’t told you this explicitly but the second she had her thighs around your head, you realized that your instinct about her had been right: she wanted to surrender. she wasn’t the kind of older woman who only dreamed of dominating her younger partner, she was the type to get most turned on from the idea of you ruining her, so, you used it to your full advantage: eating her out until she was a shaking mess, addicted to her taste, to her sounds, her sensitivity and reactiveness to your touch, and Van thought "yeah, I am fucked. she got me good. this is perfect."

she definitely returned the favor just as eagerly and took her time jerking you off, feeling how wet you’d gotten from eating her out, praising you and lapping it up and kissing and biting your thighs - which was just the beginning of a long night of you taking turns, losing track of time, tribbing and rubbing up against each other, taking little breaks to just kiss and caress each other and catch your breaths. you took a water break before you looked at her and said "do you wanna sit on my face..", which nearly made her choke on her own spit.

you ended the night with your face entirely covered in her juices, blissed out from the feeling of her using you like that, whining and moaning and uttering things like "fuck you feel so good.." while she held your head and rocked her hips against your mouth, already sore from the fucking before but not too sore to absolutely ride herself into oblivion on your tongue. you definitely needed her to do that again, and again and again...

eventually you both fell asleep naked and exhausted around 4 am and both woke up naturally around 10 the next morning. you both laid in bed for a few minutes, smiling almost a bit shyly at how desperate you’d been for each other, both of you turned on from the sight of little hickeys and love bites youd left on the others body - she made you coffee and lent you some of her clothes and asked if youd wanna come over again in the coming days - of course you did.

from then on, you saw each other more and more. sometimes you went on proper dates, like getting lunch and a coffee after or going for a walk and looking at some book stores or thrift shops together, a few times even driving out of the city a bit to see some pretty nature and get fresh air (maybe messing around in public a bit) but a good amount of the time you just came over to her place after school or work and spent the night together, relaxing together, chatting and drinking or watching a film before you inevitably ended up in her bed.

Van definitely liked you more than she said out loud. she did not go on any other dates after she met you, didn’t even talk to anyone else, she was completely focused on you. at first, she thought "oh this is fun, I have a hot girl that I can just call over and have fun with" but a few weeks into it, she realized just how far from casual it all was. she hadnt planned on it, she had gone onto the apps with the goal of finding a way to get off, not to fall in love, but... things were turning out a bit differently..

she started texting you throughout the day, asking you how you were, making sure you were fine, offering you rides whenever you had to be somewhere far from home or had to be picked up. she held you whenever you fell asleep in her bed and comforted you when you were going through something, she wiped your tears when you were embarrassed about crying in front of her, you confided in her and she often gave you little gifts to cheer you up - in general, she gave you way more than you asked for, she was sweet to a degree that shocked even herself.

she is old-fashioned so rather than texting too much, you often called each other, which turned into a sweet ritual: you having her on speaker when you cleaned your room or folded your laundry, her talking to you while making her coffee in the morning and saying "oh come on, you’ll do great" whenever you complained to her about a nerve-wrecking thing you had to master that day. her promising you "how about this, when you get done, text me, I will pick you up and we can go to your restaurant of choice to celebrate, okay?"

Van acted like your girlfriend, right from the start. she didn’t plan on it, it just happened because she liked you so much that none of her usual attempts at keeping her distance even registered to her: she forgot about them all together. you broke down her defenses without even trying and did it so gently that she had no clue, until she was already kind of in love. maybe not just kind of.

it only dawned on her how deep in she was when she started dreading the weeks where you spent more than a few days apart. it scared her, that feeling of "I need her. I need to see her. I miss her so bad." she had a full on crisis and told herself "I cant depend on someone like this. I just can’t."

she freaked herself out and imagined you leaving eventually, all of her old paranoid. avoidant thoughts came bubbling back up, so she spiraled and fucked it up.

how it ended:

about two months into it, after weeks and weeks of you sleeping over at her place, wearing her clothes, spending entire weekends together, you falling for each other and more each minute you were together, she called you over one afternoon and sat you down to talk.

you couldn’t believe it at first when she said "listen. I have really enjoyed this time with you.." because you were so startled by her sudden shift in tone. just a few days before, you had spent the whole night kissing and laughing and there she was, nervously tapping her foot as she tried to tell you it was over, or at least, on ice.

Van said some vague bullshit about "needing some distance" and "not being in a place where a relationship would work" and worst of all that you "deserved better than that". you couldn’t even cry then because it was so shocking - just the night before you had gushed to someone about how safe and held you felt with her -

she said something about seeing each other less, that she wouldn’t cut you off, but you refused let her have any access to you after saying all that - it seemed insulting to you, degrading even, after everything you’d done, you wouldn’t just be her hookup, her play-thing, without the romance you had shared up until then, so you just said "yeah no I can’t do this, I can’t" and walked out of her apartment before you might have thrown up or cried or collapsed or worse, trying to keep your dignity in tact, fleeing the scene.

Van tried to say something like "hey, stop, no I didn’t mean-" as you stormed out but it was too late, she had hurt you too deeply, had crushed your heart, so the moment you were gone, she fell into a self-hatred that was so dark and awful that she didnt open the store for three days after.

Van knew she fucked up BAD. she knew it was just her stupid old urge to push people away the second they had the ability to hurt her, but in the process she had been the cruel one, she had used her fear of vulnerability to make you deeply regret yours and it killed her. she definitely got drunk out of her mind that night to drown out the voices that told her "you didn’t deserve her anyway. she’s better off like this. you’re an awful fucking person. using a girl like that. you deserve to be alone. to die alone."

you were absolutely broken and wrecked to your core from the sudden break-up, you were shattered, so, when she sent you a text the next day saying "I am so sorry, I handled that so badly, can we talk again sometime?" you just said "no. leave me alone, Van. find someone else to fuck." and blocked her number after because you were so hurt in your pride.

you had opened up to her, in a way you hadn’t to anyone else before, you had given her your heart and soul, you had the most intimate sex of your life with her, you talked to her day and night, fell in love with her - the way she seemingly had for you - only for her to ruin it all for no reason other than vague nonsense about not being suited for a relationship, when youd never even asked her for one! part of you wanted to cave and run back to her but you promised yourself to keep your heart guarded from that point on.

the pain was too much. you were too scared of seeing her again and just breaking apart crying, having to be held by her, losing your dignity. you were so devoted to her for two months, you had been convinced that you had found your future girlfriend, that it was only a matter of time, judging by the way she looked at you and kissed you and held you, and you promised yourself to never ever let her have you again.

for a week it was absolute and utter hell. you completely isolated yourself and slept whenever you weren’t busy because you couldn’t face reality while not being distracted - you lost your appetite, ignored calls and texts, stayed inside on the weekend, neglected your chores and just tried to go more than a few hours without crying (it hardly ever worked. once you broke out in tears in the middle of the street because a song that reminded you of her came on)

after that first week, spite and anger took over. you tried to tell yourself that she was just some middle aged loser and that you could find way better than her (that didn’t help at all) - you watched films with actors she hated as a “fuck you” to her but it didn’t work either, it obviously only made you think of her more - you were irritable and pissed off and almost broke a plate once when you stood in the kitchen and remembered how she’d held you in her sleep, how she’d helped you shower when you were sick once, how she had kissed your back all the way down your spine when you laid on her bed face down, how she’d just sat there after doing all that and told you it was “too much” for her. as if she hadn’t been the one to shower you in affection first. as if you’d ever pushed her to do a thing.

about two weeks later you almost unblocked her because you were so miserable and lonely without her, but you were steadfast and just cried your eyes out each night instead, wishing she hadn’t ruined it, hadn’t pushed you away, the memory of her laugh and her scent and her hands all over you and her voice over the phone haunting you and messing with you so horribly that you cursed yourself for blindly falling for her the way you had.

eventually you managed to regulate your feelings somehow but you still avoided walking down the street where you two had always gone to get coffee. you still flinched whenever you saw a woman with long red hair. you still dreamed of her, all the time, hoping and praying that she was being eaten up by guilt. that she regretted it all. that she hadn’t gotten over you already.

how she got you back:

three months after you broke it off, you were sitting at a cafe, doing some work, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

Van had just gotten her cup of coffee and thought it would be really weird to sit at a table near you without acknowledging you at first, so she got over her absolute panic and tapped you on the shoulder

for a few seconds you stared at her, not smiling, not frowning, just processing, overwhelmed by the thought "fucking hell. I still love her." the moment you laid eyes on her face, her freckles, her hair, a bit messy but pretty as always, her outfit that was one of your favorites of hers, your whole body buzzed with that old need to reach out and touch.

still, you tried to mask it and just said "oh... hi." as coldly and unfeelingly as you could manage. Van was really nervous and a bit awkward as she said "hey. sorry, I really hope I am not disturbing you. uh, would you mind if I-" she gestured at the seat across from you. you crossed your arms and remained somewhat stoic as you said "sure, yeah", trying to act like her voice wasnt burning your whole body up, wasnt forcing the echo "I missed her, I missed her, I missed her" into your mind.

she sat down and drank from her coffee and cleared her throat, while you just sat there watching, waiting for her to talk because you wouldn’t make it easy for her.

Van started by saying "so, how have you been?" immediately regretting it after, realizing how weird that was to say to someone whose heart you had broken mere months before. you gave her a puzzled look and just said "well, I’ve been better. but it’s fine, nothing much changed since we last spoke." you wanted her to feel bad and she did. she really did. so she cut the small talk and got to what she had wanted to say to you for weeks.

her voice was quiet and low when she said. "okay. listen. I am really glad I ran into you here, because I wanted to apologize, properly. I know that it won’t change a thing and I know you might not wanna hear it but I need you to know that I regret it horribly. what I did. what I said. how I said it. everything. it was just... yeah I was awful to you." she admitted, looking at her hands, not at you. you could tell she meant it, you could hear the hurt in her voice, you almost teared up but you didnt say a word. you waited for the rest.

she went on "and I need you to know that it had absolutely nothing to do with you." and that made you scoff then, laugh almost, but she shook her head and insisted "no please, I mean that, it was my fucking issues, nothing you did", but you interrupted her and said, "Van you do realize that that is insanely hard to believe right? to be cut off like that out of nowhere, after everything we did together, of course that made me feel like fucking shit. like I went wrong somewhere without knowing. of course I have been wondering about what I did wrong, what else would I be doing?".

that made her feel even worse. her eyes went all soft when she saw it written all over your face and she had to stop herself from reaching out to touch your hand. she sighed and thought for a second before changing strategies.

"okay, this is gonna sound so weird but please bear with me. you have never googled me, have you?" she said next, which confused the hell out of you. you shook your head and she said "yeah I figured, because uh... well. you’d have seen something. go on and look up my name for a second, and add the word "yellowjackets"" she told you. you almost asked her to leave and stop the weird shit but you felt generous so you said "okay." and pulled out your phone, curious enough to see what on earth she was referring to.

Van realized that it would take ages for her to explain all of her trauma and all of the reasons why she is fucked up in regards to trust and feeling dependent on someone, why letting herself be open scared her, on a visceral physical level - she knew she wouldn’t be able to find the right words, she’d tried, she’d drafted letters and texts and had despaired over what to say if she ever saw you again, but sitting there she thought fuck it. might as well try this.

you typed in her full name and added "yellowjackets" after - Van watched your face intently, a bit scared, a bit embarrassed and saw it then: your utter disbelief. the search results flashed in front of your eyes: words like "plane crash", "mysterious case", "true crime", "cannibalism", "cult", "miracle", "rescue". a bunch of links to podcasts discussing the case of the plane that crashed in the 90s with a high school soccer team and sure enough her name "Van Palmer" among a bunch of others, again and again, a blurry picture of a young redhead that was obviously her next to other girls.

you couldn’t process it - you silently scrolled through a few articles and skimmed them as she whispered "yeah.... yeah. and I am not making you look at that to use it as an excuse for how I acted, absolutely not, that was my fault, fully. but maybe this sheds a light on why I am... well. you know" - "fucked up" you finished her thought, which made her laugh in relief, the fact that dark humor was still something you were willing to offer her, "yes. exactly."

you hated to admit it but it did make you see things a bit differently then - she’d told you about her mother, her home life, and that horrible nightmare-ish experience on top of her already less than ideal upbringing seemed like an explanation for how she’d acted, why she might have some issues with closeness. it wasn’t an excuse but you could acknowledge that her trauma was uniquely awful: at age seventeen, all of that.

for second you felt like crying, thinking of her at that age, being that scared and hurt. in a way it impressed you almost, that she wasn’t a completely lost cause, that she was so charming and funny and able to put up a tough front. a lot of conflicting feelings swirled around in you then.

her heart beat out of her chest as she watched you process it all but she was also a bit impressed by the fact that you didnt seem scared or disgusted. she was prepared for you to yell at her that she was a fucking freak for keeping that from you, that she was a disgusting person and should leave you alone for good, that you felt deceived, but you did none of that.

you were quiet and eventually put the phone down, looking at her, and shaking your head, sighing, "god. so you lived in the fucking woods for 19 months as a girl and actually survived all that??" unable to believe it. Van nodded and said "yeah... would have been better for you if I had perished out there, huh", which got the first hint of a smile from you. you tilted your head and said "no. it wouldnt have.", genuine, almost as if to say "you idiot. I love you so fucking much." which didn’t escape her.

Van was bold enough to touch your hand then, to hold it and to say "god I am so sorry. really. I thought of you every day, it killed me." she confessed. "so did I." you told her, which only softened her more. she leaned forward and squeezed your hands, whispering "please. you don’t have to forgive me at all but give me another chance. let me make it up to you."

you really struggled then for a second because you had told yourself again and again that she was dead to you, that she would never be allowed to have you again, but looking at her in that evening light, her hair on fire, her face kind and open - actually seeing her again, hearing her, feeling her touch, it made it impossible to deny it: you wanted her back. you wanted her back more than anything.

she seemed genuinely sorry and you knew you would regret it all your life if youd deny yourself a second chance with her, so you nodded tentatively and said "alright. let’s see what you got", which made her smile as if the sun had just come up for the first time since three months of pitch black. she couldn’t believe that youd actually agreed, so she took both your hands in both of hers and kissed your knuckles briefly, while saying "I missed you... I missed you so much."

in that moment you thought about her past, the fact that the woman youd cried over for weeks had been the subject of many articles and podcasts and crime documentaries, and you hadn’t been aware at all - it made you feel an unexpected rush. a sense of power. that someone who apparently had a past of brutality and cannibalism and feral living, had often been so soft and submissive with you, had let you boss her around and manhandle her, had wanted you to. it made your grin to yourself, and she caught it, that you liked it, having someone with a past like that throwing yourself at your feet while begging for forgiveness.

it turned you on, to think that Van was portrayed as a barbaric monster in some of the discussions about her time out there, when she had often surrendered to you, had never tried to overpower you because she liked being your baby, she liked being all weak in private, while seeming tough out in public. she had missed it terribly, she had missed it to a point of almost going insane, the way she had felt in your arms, when you stroked her hair and kissed her, when you gave her exactly what she needed, when you turned her on with just a simple touch.

"so uh" she said then "do you wanna maybe.. come home with me, like.. right now" you agreed and got up with her to leave the cafe and go to her place which was a few blocks away.

as you walked, you definitely teased her about what you had just found out, asking her things like "so. did you guys all have group lesbian stuff going on out there, or..." which she laughed at and said "oh, no, nothing that fun, we were too busy starving and fighting and having freaky religious ideas to all fuck each other. but who knows, maybe I just don’t remember" she was glad to see that you could laugh with her again, that you let her take your arm, that you were amused by her past instead of disgusted or shocked.

"I really fucking suffered you know" you said as you took off your jacket in her apartment "I couldn’t eat for like three days after, I cried so much it started pissing me off, I couldn’t go anywhere because it all reminded me of you. you did me in good" you were in the mood to rub it in a bit, and it worked, she made a sound of pain and looked at you "no, no, stop", but you went on as you sat down on the couch and said "yeah, I was a wreck, you ruined me."

Van joined you and said "if it makes you feel any better if was close to calling 911 on myself not once but twice because I was convinced you could physically die of heartache, so. there’s that." you could tell she wasnt lying, so you said "yeah it does actually", not meaning it, since you hated the idea of her in pain, even when you were cross with her.

you wouldn’t just let her kiss you. you sat close together and she was clearly very desperate to touch you, so you said "beg me for it. I remember you being quite good at that." your tone stern, your eyes never leaving hers, and that made her weak in the knees then.

she flushed and nodded as she leaned closer to you and whispered "I missed you so much, you have no idea. I dreamed of you all the time, all the fucking time, I havent been with anyone since, I couldn’t, didnt want to. I need you to touch me so bad, please. please..." she kissed your cheek, once, twice, a third time, gently, as she caressed your neck, waiting for you to cave. you closed your eyes and soaked it up, being pleaded with. she gave you more, "I will do whatever you want, I will do anything. you can do whatever you want to me."

that was the way to win you over for good, she knew it, you opened your eyes again and took her face in your hands then. you stared at her lips, then at her eyes and said "I should punish you, you know."

instead of protesting Van sighed "please. yes." which made you lean in and breathe against her lips, smiling "yeah?", her whole body hot with sheer need.

Van had always been somewhat of a masochist but with you, right then, it was even more intense because she believed she deserved whatever pain you would make her feel. she craved it. she wanted you to take it out on her. she wanted to repent. you could tell. but you would keep that for another time. in that moment, all you wanted was to have her at your mercy, and you did, so you eventually leaned in and kissed her.

the hours after were a total blur. all of your unspoken feelings bursting out at once, both of you clinging to each other and kissing like you had been separated for years - it was deeply charged and emotional and intense in a way that surpassed everything you’d done before, you almost cried at certain points when you fucked that evening, both of you, because you’d missed it so much. the one upside of all the ache and the hurt over her was that fucking again made you both orgasm in ways that almost scared you in their intensity, similar to your first time of having sex, but so different too, a shared attempt at melting back into each other after your period of almost dying of heart ache over each other.

from that point on Van worshipped the ground you walked on. she had been a sweet lover before but the thrill of you letting her back into your life, opening your heart again, made her feel such a deep sense of gratitude, that she became an even better lover to you, just to prove herself worthy of your grace. she wouldnt lose you again. no way. no way in hell.

the day after getting back together, in the morning, she used a quiet moment to look at you and ask "so. do you want to be my girlfriend." making sure that you knew she was deeply serious about you, that she was not going to back away again, that she wanted you to be hers for good.

you took a second to answer, to make her wait, but then you smiled and said "yes. of course." which made her come over to where you were sitting to tightly wrap her arms around you from behind and kiss your neck, whispering "I love you, I did all along, you know", something neither of you had said before, and she didnt expect you to say it back but you did - you stood up and face her, your hands on her waist "I love you too. so much. it nearly cost my sanity". Van kissed you then and as she felt you give into it and caress her skin under her shirt, she thought of the world "girlfriend" over and over and wondered how she ever convinced herself that that wasn’t exactly what she had wanted all along: you, being hers, all hers.

a bonus, how you had sex after you got back together, including the punishment idea:

you once tied her arms to her bed, to make her watch you as you got off. Van just squirming and whining and growing unbearably wet as she watched you touch yourself - you getting turned on from her gaze burning into your body as you jerked yourself off and gave her a good show, knowing it was killing her that she couldnt touch you or herself - you threw a "you sound pathetic" her way in the middle of it, to try and be mean, but predictably that only turned her on more... you weren’t all that sadistic, so after you finished and untied her, you let her lap up the mess youd made and let her get you off again.

before that though, you pushed your fingers down her throat to make her lick off your cum, but that wasn’t a punishment at all, she sucked your fingers off gladly, and deep down you knew that you were giving her what she needed, that she wasn’t suffering one bit, that she was delighted by your dominance

overstimulation. yeah, god help her... you did that already before but after you got back together, you really got into it: fucking her senseless, leaving her a shaking mess, making her cry from how relentlessly you were pleasuring her - telling her "this is what you wanted, right?" while giving her yet another orgasm, her just taking it and pretending it was too much when it absolutely wasn’t - few things pleased her more than having you manhandle her and get all over her, teasing her, pinning her down, adjusting her position to eat her out from the back while she cried into the pillow and lost her mind.

bruises. you had never been shy with bruising her but after getting back together, you definitely got more aggressive with it, sensing that she wanted it, having a physical reminder of your force - on her inner thighs or her chest or her neck. she loveees it, seeing bruises on her body when she gets dressed, makes her feel claimed <3

on the other hand, when you were on the receiving end, she loved being on her knees, especially during the weeks after you got back together - she loved to have you standing up or at the edge of the bed while she hurt her knees to please you, to eat you out with feverish need, to give you exactly what you needed and to be in a position of repentance. her every touch a way of saying "I love you. I wish I had never hurt you. I will be so good to you from now on. so so good. my baby" and it worked: you were all hers when she got like that, moaning her name and tugging at her hair and letting her take care of you, opening up again, literally.

sometimes you’d sit on the couch and complain about a random ache in your body and she’d immediately be like "I got it" and get you to lay back so she could give you head, whether you were dealing with period cramps or back pain or general discomfort, she would immediately be of service (I think her approach to topping/giving is rather submissive, she just wants to please, that’s it, no need to give orders, she just wants to take them and please, and she does. always.)

you definitely fucked so much during your first week back together that you both got sore from it and had to slow it down... you were starveeeed.

about a month into it, things got settled, you were used to being openly in love by then, being girlfriends - you realized that you had all the time in the world and fell into a comfortable rhythm, both in and outside of the bedroom - you knew each other so well that it came naturally. you also moved into her place eventually <3 and you took a trip together for the first time to get away and have a feeling of a fresh start <3

yeah, thats it 💌

[angelcasendgame]

Okay I do love Bobby's but at least for Dean, he considered the bunker HIS home, as opposed to Bobby's home. He had his own space and decorated it the way he wanted, the Dean cave was full of things he adored, the first thing he did when he got there was making a home cooked meal, and spent a lot of the time just nesting and feeling like it was his own space. I'm not saying Bobby's wasn't a wonderful place for him or that he didn't feel safe, but I think just internally he wasn't able to call it a home the way he does the bunker. And I hear all the arguments that the bunker is underground and doesn't have light but it can still be a home if you feel safe and if you feel like it's your own. It doesn't have to be a permanent home but he still felt like it was his home. Anyways I love the bunker as the first home Dean's ever owned <33

[skitskatdacat63]

"Bring on The Dancing Horses"(x) - Echo and The Bunnymen × Ferrari Drivers

[bunnihearted]

i've also realized that there is no therapy that can fix what's broken inside of me

[yunwooz]

woosang ♡ for @miinsang

[deviousdiesel]

Hey, wanna hear some unnecessary thoughts about Lemon from someone who’s watched Thomas?

Lemon mentions that the Momomon anime airs every Thursday at 9 AM after Thomas airs. But what specific Thomas show and season? I wonder. The short answer? Well, my closest guess is probably Thomas and Friends: Big World Big Adventures (aka “BWBA”) which is the 22nd - 24th seasons of Thomas. But more specifically, it may have been in its 23rd season airing in Japan during 2020.

From what I gather from the film’s adaptation of Lemon, he strikes me as someone who was a fan of the classic series of the model era (early season stuff, series 1-5) and grew up with it.  The CGI era however is complex with its history and he seems more of an on-and-off watcher of it, he still appreciates the Thomas series even if he doesn’t watch the newer series as much as he did as he was younger (and BWBA doesn’t have the same caliber and direction as the previous Thomas series)

In the novel, it’s very clear that Lemon has watched up until s7 of Thomas, which was in its model era in the 2000s. 

I think it tracks because even if it’s the CGI series, which is more modern and has a LOT of differences, I think Lemon would still be interested in watching it to some extent even if the newer stuff doesn’t hit as hard as the classic series he watched.

The long answer? If you’re a fuckin nerd and want to read I can indulge you.

A lot of this is just purely from my observation and my own take (and this is just silly so I really hope you know that).

Bullet Train started its production in October of 2020 - which I’m going to assume is when and where the movie takes place in because the majority was shot during that time - and incidentally, that same month Mattel had announced that Thomas was getting a brand new reboot called All Engines Go, which is a 2D animated production.

Thomas has a few distinctive mediums on television and it’s divided into the model series, CGI series and AEG, which is its own thing. Lemon obviously is shown to have grown up watching Thomas so he’s more versed in the model series and its characters.

Fun fact: In the novel, he mentions a few more characters who appear not only in early seasons but also season 7.

[carenrose]

I put a story in the tags but wanted to add this afterwards. It's kind of a summary/breakdown.

19: "Dated" (mostly made out with) a coworker for a couple of weeks, realized I felt nothing special about it. (Story in tags).

20: Realized I definitely did not feel the same way as most people did about the idea of sex. Realized people *weren't* exaggerating when they talked about it.

20-22: At some point in here I learned about asexuality and realized I was ace.

22, maybe 23: A coworker (different job) and I told each other we were ace. She expressed frustration at the difficulty finding someone to date that wasn't put off by it, then asked me if I felt the same way. I suddenly realized I hadn't tried to be in or even actively sought out a relationship since I had a crush on a kid when I was 15. I realized all my thoughts about being ace and being in a relationship were only ever hypothetical relationships and I couldn't actually picture my real life actual self wanting romance. I responded with a half-thought "oh, I guess I just don't really care" but it was on my mind for months.

24: Got myself my first ace ring!

I don't know exactly when I started really learning about aromanticism. It was probably when I was about 25-27? (I think that's what I said in the tags too).

I went through the many stages, like

"I can't be aro, I've had crushes on people"

"I don't know if the things I called 'crushes' were even romantic attraction"

"what IS romantic attraction anyway?"

"I don't think I'm actually aro, I can easily picture myself in a romantic relationship"

"I cannot picture my actual self in a romantic relationship, the 'me' I picture is a fictional construct"

"I think I might have a crush on my friend, that's unexpected"

"oh never mind they did one minor thing that changed my view of them slightly and I've lost interest"

"ok I'm definitely grey-aro, that's what fits best, I'm definitely not 'full' aromantic"

"did I ever actually have a crush (romantic attraction) to anyone or did I just want interesting/pretty people to notice me?"

And eventually "I don't know if what I experience occasionally is romantic attraction or not, I think 'grey-aro' is probably the closest descriptor, but I really identify most with the general 'aromantic' and 'aroace' labels, so that's what I'm going with."

*note: i know not all aro people are ace and vice versa, but the experiences tend to be similar so ive lumped em together (and im aroace)

pls throw your awkward ace experiences in the tags i love them

[the-eng1ne]

good god i am so sick rn

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!

: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)

You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.

“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.

“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.

The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.

Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.

Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.

Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.

"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"

"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.

Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.

Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.

“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.

"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.

"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.

"Yes, sir."

As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.

The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.

In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.

The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.

One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.

Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.

When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.

Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.

Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.

You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.

Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.

Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.

Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.

You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.

Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.

"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.

Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"

You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."

"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"

Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.

How could he not know?

"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.

"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."

Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"

You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 

He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"

“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.

"Come here."

Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"

"Come here."

With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.

An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."

Sukuna responded only with silence.

You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.

The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.

In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.

Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.

"I can't—Uraume—"

"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."

"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.

"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."

Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.

The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.

The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.

You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.

"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.

"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.

"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."

You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.

"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"

With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.

The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.

The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."

You drifted into unconsciousness.

The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.

“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.

With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.

"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."

"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.

Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.

"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.

"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.

He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.

"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.

You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”

"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.

"Did you want . . . a girl?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."

"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."

Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.

“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.

“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”

“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”

Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."

He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.

"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.

He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.

"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.

You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.

"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."

“Did you fire the last one?”

“I fired at her, yes.”

Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"

He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."

Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."

“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”

He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”

Up until the kidnapping.

Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."

Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"

"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"

You . . . nodded. 

“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”

You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"

"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.

"Oh."

All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.

Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.

But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.

Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."

"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."

"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.

"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."

A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.

“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”

Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”

His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.

In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.

The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.

Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"

"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"

Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.

"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"

"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.

Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.

Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"

"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"

"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.

Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.

"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"

"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"

"Not toys. Friends."

Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.

“Papa!”

“Sukuna, come on.”

There wasn’t any winning with his girls.

Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.

Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'

That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.

"She's asleep," you informed him.

"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.

Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.

"I want you," you murmured.

Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."

"It's late."

"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.

"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.

How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?

“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.

“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 

Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.

“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 

Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 

“Hurry, then.” 

Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 

After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.

Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 

“Are you close?” you whispered. 

“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 

You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Please.” 

Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.

Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 

Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 

“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 

You both snapped in unison. 

Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.

[ethxrxalitys]

pumpkin is planning on waking me up fucking me today and im 🥳🥺🤩😍🤤👀🤩

[kisses4reid]

criminally hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get wrongfully accused by a sheriff, and it isn’t you who’s angriest. it’s your boyfriend who has to expose your relationship in order to clear you.

genre - spencer x bau!fem!reader, fluff, slight angst if u squint, angry reid x calm reader

wc - 1.2k

warnings - reader uses she/her pronouns, handcuffs, violence, a weird white man i know id be fucking scared as well, oh swearing as well.

a/n - i love u you’re so awkward i am doing so well bc of ur request, keep requesting things your brain is crazy. ummm anyways this is my first time writing this kinda thing omg how exciting okay start reading it wtf you still doing here?

request - ( from @babyoureahauntedhouse ) omg hii!!! :3 this is my first time requesting, so please excuse the awkwardness 😭😭😭😭 first of all, how are you????? i hope you’re doing amazing!!! absolutely no pressure, but can you do one where reader gets falsely arrested (not a huge thing, maybe in a police station at a small town or something) and spencer absolutely **loses** his shit at how she’s being treated????? like, she’s freezing and the sheriff or somethjng keeps pushing her and then he just bursts into the interrogation room and uncuffs her and it’s just very fluffy???? thank you!

Emily handed you your coffee with a smile, receiving a small thank you in return. It was warm in your hands and created a comforting contrast to the cool chill of the police precinct you were set up in.

Things were going well given that you’d only been in the small town for half a day. The team debriefed on the plane, but Aaron had been on the phone with the leading detective for at least an hour now asking him where he was.

Emily headed off to the restrooms when a slender hand made its way to your waist. You turned and felt your cheeks heat, knowing exactly who is was.

“Hi Spencer.”

“Hi Y/n.” His eyes held sweetness in the chocolate swirls, and you felt like a kid who had been given candy. Spencer and you had been dating for a few months, but somehow in a team of profilers you both kept things under wraps, even with Spencer’s clumsy touches and your lingering stares. “I wish we were home,” he whispered.

You glanced around for anyone who could witness your interaction and get suspicious, but you were mostly alone other than Hotch and some officers who were weirdly taking a lot of attention to you.

“Yeah me too. I’m feeling oddly popular and not in the good way.”

Before you could talk more or offer him a sip of your coffee (even if you know he doesn’t like it), Aaron calls his name and the slim tall boy scurries away with a straight face.

You turn to find something to do. To reread a case, to help someone fill out papers, to talk to Morgan or Garcia. You would’ve opted to huddling in your cardigan if a tall man didn’t interrupt.

“Y/n L/n?” He asked in monotone. His arms were at his sides, one hovering above a pair of cuffs that hung from his police belt. Furrowing your eyebrows you answered,

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“You’re under arrest for the robberies of…”

His voice pounded into the background of your head, thoughts attacking your eyes through a sudden headache as the words registered before you could help it. The room was silent except for the man’s voice, yet all you could hear was the furrow of eyebrows and quick approach of your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

“What’s going on here?”

“Your agent has been seen…”

You stood still as another officer came behind you and forced handcuffs onto your arms, gripping your wrists with unnecessary force that would surely leave bruises. You winced and looked between your boss and the officer, and then at Spencer, who was being pulled back by Morgan. He yelled your name in worry, witnessing the hardened grips on your body and rough pushing you were being subject to. Your coffee splattered on the ground, staining your white shoes.

There was only mumbles and white noise, as your eyes met with Spencer’s. The large officer behind you kicked your leg to get you moving, the shock glueing your shoes to the rubbery floor. And you almost didn’t even notice the hand on the back of your neck pushing you towards a dark room with a desk and two chairs.

You were so familiar with these rooms and yet it felt so different.

Of course, you didn’t actually do anything. And of course you attempt to clear that up to the officers who are slamming their hands on the table and screaming as much as they could, in a poor attempt to intimidate you.

Aaron was in the corner with a scolding face and hard hand to his chin, observing the situation with an intensity you barely ever see.

“Last month, you were seen at one of the houses that got robbed over night. You left a few days later, after also being seen at two of the other houses-“

“So she was seen at three of the ten houses robbed and you arrest her?” Aaron spoke up, bringing the men’s attention to your boss instead of you. You took the opportunity to look outside of the window.

Though it wasn’t clear, you could make out the outline of a tall boy you wished would just break into the room and save you.

And he did.

“Your evidence is illogical and childish. She’s an FBI agent for gods sake-“

“Anybody can be a suspect Agent Hotchner, even federal agents.” The tall one replied with a stubborn mumbled.

Suddenly, the door was slammed open and you were met with a disheveled Spencer panting with a red and severe face. He didn’t even bother looking at you before he starting schooling the men in blue, who at that point were glaring at him and attempting to look more intimidating than they actually were.

“I’ve read your files on this case and nothing links to Y/n L/n, not one-“

“There’s no way you read our-“

“I can read more in a minute than you can in a day, dickhead. Y/n was meeting old school friends when she was in town, we went to the Diner Inn afterwards and we met with her parents who have receipts for the meals because they’re-“ he turned his glance at you,” “sorry Y/n- they’re hoarders. You have nothing against her other than some positively reported visits and some photos of her hugging the house owners.” Spencer had slowly pinned the officers to the opposite wall unconsciously. It was hot. “I was there, I’m her receipt. And like her parents, she loves keeping those. So if you want to insist she’s your culprit, go for it. But your going against a man with eidetic memory and a lot of evidence.”

And while he was logical and correct, he was also a little too truthful.

The officers blinked in fear. Spencer definitely didn’t seem the type to yell or swear, so this clear, concise and undermining approach to the situation was somehow even scarier.

“Spencer,” you began, “thank you.”

He looked at you, his expression softening into empathy and care, “Of course.” His hands found a key in his back pocket as he approached you, starting to promptly uncuff you.

As Aaron continued to speak with the officers of their major mistake, Spencer took you outside of the room and into a private office. Your heart was racing, but it seemed Spencer was more stressed than you. He paced as you leaned onto the front of a wooden desk, hands over your chest as your eyes trailed Spencer.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I should’ve reacted faster, then you wouldn’t have been..” He stopped closely in front of you, his breath hot on yours as his gaze scoured over your body for injuries or bruises. “Are you okay?”

You smile calmly, “I’m fine. My leg hurts, and I think my wrists will be bruised, but I’m fine.”

He took your hands and rubbed his thumbs on your wrists carefully, causing butterflies to explode in your stomach.

“Thank you Spencer.” Your eyes dance with each others. “You were really hot. Maybe I need to get arrested more often.” You joke with a lift to your voice and a smirk, causing him to look down with a smile and shake his head.

“If being angry makes me hot maybe you should reevaluate what you-“

Your lips found his, you hand going to his bicep and his going to the back of your neck, before a clearing of the throat took you both out of your trances. It was Hotch.

“I’ve got some paperwork you both need to sign. About the arrest and,” his hand waved between you two, “this.”

Morgan stood behind Aaron with a smirk, leaving quickly to go tell Garcia that she had lost their bet.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[dinogoofymutated]

For the Logan thirst: it’s laundry day. You’ve got nothing to wear but a pair of panties (or maybe that ugly thong you bought just bc it was on sale) and one of Logan’s flannels or shirts. You still end up with nothing to wear because you got side tracked. 👀 Logan totally didn’t go feral seeing you in one of his shirts. He was soo normal about it. 👀💚

NSFW! Wolverine/AFAB!FEM!reader.

This is the most depraved thing I've ever written I stg. I basically combined some tropes from a few different requests I received, so I hope this will satisfy everyone's thirst 😏

TWs: MDNI!!!! scent kink (my god). Nicknames "pretty girl" and "beautiful". Logan being feral. Manhandling. Eating-out. Little bit of edging. Fucking against the wall, PNV sex, biting, creampie.

    You hated doing the laundry. You hated gathering it, folding it, putting it away- it just was so slow. It left you with too much time to think- and you avoided doing it because of that- but this was getting ridiculous. You couldn't find a single clean shirt- you were lucky that you had managed to find underwear, Honestly. All of your pants were dirty too, which left you standing around in the bedroom halfway naked, finally deciding that you had no choice but to do the laundry.

    But you needed a shirt. It didn't matter if it was your own home- you just felt too vulnerable walking around the house basically naked like you were. You debate grabbing the bedcovers to sling over you, but that was going to be annoying to deal with while you're lifting and throwing shit in the laundry machines. A flash of red catches your eye on the top of your dresser. It's Logan's flannel. The one lounged around in yesterday while enjoying his day off.

    Well, it wasn't dirty, because he hadn't gone out in it. At most it just smelled like him. So… why not?

    His flannel is a bit oversized on you, reaching down towards your thighs. The sleeves were a bit awkward to work around, but you made it work. It was almost nice. Domestic even, to be wearing his clothes like this. You're in the laundry room when Logan gets home, still folding and sorting your laundry with both the washer and dryer running.

    “Fuck.” Logan's low grunt from the doorway startles you at first, almost dropping the clothes in your hands. It wears off pretty quickly though, and you give him a sweet smile.

    “Hey Logan! Didn't realize you made it home.” You say. Logan seems to be standing there stunned for a moment, swallowing. He catches you off-guard by rushing you, pulling you in by the hips and smashing his lips against your own. You can only let out a surprised noise, wide-eyed at him. It doesn't take long for you to kiss back, heart pounding from the welcomed surprise. Logan bites your lip, taking his opportunity to lick into your mouth when you gasp. His sharp canines were one of your favorite parts about him, and he sure as hell always made sure to take advantage of that.

    Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as his hands move down, squeezing and fondling your ass and thighs. You let out a yelp as the fondling turns to lifting, and he grabs you by the thighs to plop you onto the washing machine rather roughly.

    “Laundry day?” Logan finally asks, looking at you with lidded eyes before his haze of lust returns. His gaze drifts towards the cleavage exposed from the neckline of his flannel, reaching much lower on you than it does for him. He's buried his face into your cleavage immediately, brushing the ends of his sharp canines on the skin as he nips and sucks a mark onto the top of one of your breasts.

    “Uh- uh-huh.” You stutter out, desperately trying to keep your composure. You bite your lip as Logan works his way back up to your neck, continuing to lick and suck on your most sensitive spots. He nips you a little harder than normal, and you accidentally let out a rather erotic moan. Logan's breath hitches at the sound, before he’s growling into you.

    He pulls away from you rather abruptly as he grabs onto your thighs again, causing your lower back to hit the top of the washing machine as Logan lifts your panty-clad core to his face, throwing your legs over his shoulders. He leans in, dragging his teeth bluntly across the fabric, putting pressure on your clothed clit. He kisses over it afterward, right before he presses his face flush against you and takes a deep breath in through his nose- taking in the scent of your arousal, drowning his senses in it as he makes you writhe.

    “Logan!” You scold, completely embarrassed- and yet still aroused. Wetness pools as Logan lets out a deep chuckle in response, his eyes flickering up to meet yours right before he locks one long stripe up your underwear. You're struggling to keep it together, covering your face in your hands as you let out another moan.

    “The things you do to me, pretty girl.” Logan rumbles, finally pulling off the now-soaked panties. “Fuckin’ love breathing in that scent.” You swear if you could pass away right now, you might. 

    “I-It's- the flannel, right? I -ah- didn’t realize that you'd get so feral over it.” You say, peeking through your fingers as Logan closes in on you again, licking another long stripe up your pussy. It's so much more sensitive now that fabric wasn't in the way, and you can't help but writhe a little more in the uncomfortable position as he stops at your clit, giving you a hard and short suck before he stops, chuckling again.

    “Believe me, beautiful, you haven't seen feral yet.” Logan's words give you goosebumps, and he latches onto your clit again immediately. Fuck, did it feel so, so good. Logan's groans and hums against your clit sound so obscene mixed with the wet noises from your cunt. His rough tongue draws circles around your sensitive clit, every once in a while sliding a bit downward to slide past your lips and enter your plush walls. You have one hand covering your mouth as the other clenches the side of the running washing machine- scrambling for purchase. 

    Logan's rough hands trail up and down the inside of your thighs, letting you whine and whimper for him- begging him to give you just a little more. He teases you, brushing his knuckles just barely above your slit as he continues to eagerly suck and abuse the little nub in his mouth. 

    When he finally slides a single, thick finger inside of you, you can't help but let out a loud whine. He meets no resistance against your soaked walls, slowly stroking it in and out of you. Your walls flutter and cling to the digit, your hips bucking as he curls it inside of you. The action makes Logan laugh, his other arm wrapping around your thigh so he can press down on your hips, keeping them still. 

    He adds a second finger when he feels like it, now easing off your clit every once in a while as he feels you begin to get closer to your peak. He edges you like that only for a minute, letting his fingers scissor and stretch out your plush walls. 

    “P-please. Please please please.” You beg. The knot inside of you is waning, desperately trying to snap- and you're so, so close. Logan continues to suck on your clit, finally bringing you to the precipice of pleasure. 

    Stars dot your eyes as you cum, Logan's fingers and tongue not letting up as he works you through your pleasure. Logan eagerly licks up your cum as you do so, humming and groaning at the taste.

    You're panting when your hips finally stop shaking. Logan is too. His face is covered in your slick, and he curses when he looks up at you. The sight of you disheveled and breathless in his shirt is really getting to him. Logan pulls you down off of the washing machine carefully, kissing your temples as he keeps you steady, just until your legs stop shaking. 

    “ You okay?” Logan asks.

    “Better than okay.”

    “Perfect.” The words are hardly out of his mouth before Logan has you pushed against the wall of the laundry room, tits pressed against the wall as his hand spreads your folds from the back, clearing the way for him as he pulls his cock out of his pants. Like before, it surprises you, but as soon as your brain has caught up with your body you find yourself pushing your ass against him. Logan chuckles at your desperate action, sliding his cock against your soaked folds before he slowly begins to enter you.

    You let out a loud moan at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out. Logan is trying to keep himself still to give you a moment to adjust, cursing again and again as he presses his face into your neck, laying kisses across the skin. He feels so right, pressed against and inside you like this. You're making it so much harder for him by desperately clenching down on him, your hips grinding back and forth as you coax him to move. Logan snarls at the action, one hand gripping your hip and the other wrapping around your waist as he thrusts sharply into you. The movement bumps you into the wall, and he begins to thrust eagerly into you.

    “Fuck, hold on, pretty.” Logan's pace is forceful, but not rough, smoothly gliding in and out of your plush walls as he growls and snarls into your ear. His pace is steady and not overwhelming, hitting that sweet spot inside of you just right every time.

    You're a moaning mess right now, mind fully taken over by the hot man snarling behind you, the fabric of the shirt bunching between his fingers as he holds you by the waist so tightly. Logan's flannel has been rumpled during the action, sliding down to expose your shoulder. His voice in your ear rumbles encouragements, praise, pet names. His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, sharp in comparison to the gentle kisses he places on your shoulder. 

    You can tell Logan is starting to get close when the pace of his hips begins to waver and change, speeding up as he works to reach his pleasure. His hand around your waist slides down to rub your clit, and he pushes himself flat against your back as he presses the two of you flush against the wall. Logan lets out a series of low grunts as he slams into you, his teeth biting into your shoulder sharply as he cums. You yelp at the sensation, hitting your pleasure just a moment after he does. 

    Logan grinds against you a few more times as he catches his breath, kissing the mark he's left on your shoulder when the metallic scent of blood hits his nose.

    “Sorry, sweetheart.” He says remorsefully, hands soothing the bruises on your hips. “I didn't mean to get carried away like that” You turn your head as far as you can, cupping his cheeks in one hand as you pull him forward to kiss you.

    “ s’ okay. It was hot.” You mumble. You turn around when he slips out of you, leaning forward into his chest. Logan smiles at you tiredly, his thumb tracing the mark on your shoulder.

    “Although, if you want me to fully forgive you, you could always finish the laundry!”

[bunnihearted]

🐰🌧️

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 03:12 A.M 」

tw: pregnancy. just a little something based on ask~ gojo annoys you on daily basis, so now you return the favor and he can't refuse it bc you're his baby mama😋

a part of gojo's love entries

“satoru— your baby is hungry,” you pouted, poking his cheek repeatedly. “sa-to-ru!!”

it was 3 in the morning, and ideally, you would have been sleeping... only that suddenly you were awoken by rumbles from your growing belly.

yet your husband was still sound asleep without any care in the world, prompting you to poke him until you succeeded in making him hear you out.

satoru begrudgingly cracked his eyes open, still having his face tucked under the blanket and yawning. “ngh, sweets… what is it?”

his sleepy voice was thick, low and raspy. usually you’d swoon and leave a hickey or two on his neck but not now, as the overwhelming hunger made you almost curl.

“baby is craving mochi,” you said, eyes shining up to him ever so innocently. “get it for me, satoruuu.”

“oh?” if he wasn’t awake before, now he was after hearing your nagging tone drawling his name. he faced you and drew you closer. “what do you want again, hmm?”

“ice cream mochi!!”

“oooh that.” satoru scratched his head at the memory of him eating the last of it yesterday. “but we ran out of them, sweetheart… wait till morning, yeah? i’ll go to market to get some.”

“but...”

“can’t baby wait a few more hours, hmm?”

“no! want it— now!”

satoru blinked at your insistence. you looked positively adorable while sulking at him too.

“why mochi all of sudden, huh?” he decided to humor you. “you used to say they taste bland.”

“that’s because of your sperm infecting me,” you sullenly accused. “and don’t pretend you haven’t been feeding me mochi for weeks. baby likes it more than i thought.”

“hey! don’t bash my sperm! they did no wrong and completed the deed splendidly!”

“you’re just a one-time donor, don’t be smug.”

he whined and you huffed, before suddenly your stomach grumbled loudly and you curled up. “mmhm.”

“hey… what’s wrong?” satoru quickly sat up and placed his hand on your baby bump. “really hungry? wait, i’ll get you something to nibble on first.”

he rummaged through his work uniform and found several bite-sized chocolate bars he brought around, and unwrapped the foil. “here.”

you immediately devoured the treat to sate your hunger, but still, your baby longed for more—

“mochi…” you mumbled despondently, your expression turning heartbroken. and one second later satoru realized how much he wanted to squeeze your cheeks, and relented.

“okay, okay, sweets~” he gave your head several comforting pats, making you look up. “i’ll go and get the mochi, yeah? you stay put and wait for me, 'kay?”

“yay.” a little smile bloomed in your face and satoru chuckled, finding you so unbearably endearing.

and so, for you, he ventured out to the closest 24-hour convenience store, picking up some ice cream mochi along with other treats to replenish your stock, before teleporting back home.

he was expecting that you'd still be all sulky while waiting for him, but instead, he found you peacefully asleep, hogging his pillow.

each breath that caused your chest to rise and fall made you appear all the more vulnerable and soft in his eyes.

you looked so irrevocably precious to him. his sweet little wife... in that moment, satoru felt like he was the luckiest man alive, getting to have you as his.

“you naughty girl.” he let out an amused laugh before reclaiming his spot next to you. the hold you had over him— you made him go through the cold night air, and now you were monopolizing his pillow and he had to resume sleeping without one at all.

and yet all he could feel was love. for you and your baby, as he pulled you close to his chest.

“both of you sure love teaming up against me, huh?”

[dutybcrne]

v; i keep my ideals alive ( .bnha verse; kaeya. )

         Kaeya was born in the nation of Khaenri'ah, an island off the coast of Sumeru, possessing an Ice Quirk he inherited from his mother’s family. With Khaenri’ah being a nation without official Pro-heroes, the law enforcement was mostly taken care of by volunteers, Quirkless and Quirked, known as the Black Serpents. The crime rate was minimal if at all and all was peaceful, until a group of people amid those who helped govern the nation became seduced by AFO's promises of power in the world he would rule. This group would become the Abyss Order and their dealings with AFO through the years as well as their actions in his name after he was arrested by All Might would eventually bring the attention of the Teyvat Union as a whole and thus the Seven would be dispatched to dispose of them. Due to miscommunication, the Seven would end up combating the Black Serpents and allow the Abyss Order more time to complete their devices, but in the end, the ensuing battle would destroy them anyway, along with horrifically devastating the nation in the process as each of the highly volatile energy cores ruptured.

         Kaeya and his father were lucky enough to flee before the worst of the calamity occurred, and journeyed across the nations of the Teyvat Union, ultimately coming to rest in Mondstadt, far from their home. Because his father had been a prominent leading member in Khaenri’ah, the man decided that Kaeya was to be left on his own in Mond, to grant him the opportunity at a better life in being taken in by one of the families there. The man’s parting words to his on were a plea to never let himself forget his identity as Khaenri’ahn and where he came from, though Kaeya would come to misinterpret and tie it to the Abyss Order, considering many of the leadership–and many of Kaeya’s other family members–happened to be aligned to the Abyss Order’s dealings, as well as rumors circulating the nation he ended up internalizing. 

          Was he meant to be their spy? Here, in his new home? Was that his true purpose? This would remain a constant thought looming in Kaeya’s mind, even living an otherwise idyllic life in Mondstadt.

         Being taken in by the Ragnvindrs and raised alongside the prominent, promising young lad who aspired to be the nation’s top hero, Kaeya let himself be molded into the boy’s support. He would take every lesson and training seriously, enough to catch up and be admitted to the same academy as Diluc. To take each rigorous class right alongside him and excel, using his Ice Quirk to ensure the boy’s fire never burned out or too far. Always being Diluc’s second, his right hand, the other half to the dynamic team they would form and aspire to maintain into their official careers. And Kaeya so desperately wanted that future. So desperately wanted to keep this home and life he had made here.

          But how could he rest easy, with the ever-lurking shadow of his supposed purpose warring with his growing attachment for the people and nation he came to love? The answer came sooner than later, as his inner turmoil ultimately came to a head at Crepus’s death due to a deadly support device manufactured by the Fatui organization. Betrayed that even the ever-righteous man he looked up and begun to consider like a father to would have stooped so low and be swayed by such sinister powers, Kaeya would admit his family ties to the Abyss Order to Diluc. To force him to make the choice for him, staying in Mondstadt or going home and rejoin his family, ideally cutting the strongest attachment he had at the very least, as he himself would never have the will nor strength to do so personally. 

         The rest is history.

         Kaeya’s purpose within the Favonian Hero Organization does involve to typical PR and heroism, but he also took it upon himself to have an additional purpose–to be the sort of hero unafraid of dirtying and bloodying their hands in the name of the people’s safety. All behind the Organization’s back ( though some do suspect what he gets up to ), and well-hidden from the eyes of the media, of course.

         Due to his Khaenri’ahn upbringing and hearing his father’s say through his most impressionable years, he’d long since held ill regard for heroes and the Commissions running them, only indulging Diluc’s admiration for them without mockery nor disdain out of attachment to the boy. Their rules and regulations were always far too restricting, much too inefficient to do their beloved nation any good. Always letting villains slip through the cracks in their defenses and hurt people many heroes wouldn’t even care to give a second glance. Now that Kaeya was freer of and his purpose wrenched asunder by his confrontation with Diluc, he would give himself the indispensable role of personally seeing to getting rid of villains, vigilantes, and even those of the Favonian Commission he noted were corrupt. Anyone deemed a threat to Mondstadt’s safety would fall at his hand, dealt with swiftly and quietly, with no loose ends to spare. He cares not what he has to do to ensure Mond’s safety, never worried of what consequences he would face if caught. Not that he ever worried he would be, but that is a bridge he’ll cross when he comes to it. Never one to give anything but his all, he fully intends to protect the place he’s called home.

          Even if certain fears still linger in mind. Still, he can hope his dedication would be enough to tide him through them all. It’s always been one of his strongest, most defining traits, after all.