#nose pin designs for women

[aqdiamonds]

💫 Add a subtle sparkle to your look with our custom nose rings. Designed to enhance your natural beauty, each piece is tailored to your preferences. Discover the perfect touch of elegance with AQ Diamonds. ✨

[zarameraki]

🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure. 

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen, 

My name is Y/N. 

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),  

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved. 

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand. 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands. 

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers. 

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold. 

“Welcome back to hell.” 

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ‘something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular. 

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes. 

“A day.” 

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?” 

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.” 

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.” 

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.” 

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.” 

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the back dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”  

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?” 

“A letter.” 

“A letter? For me?” 

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked. 

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper. 

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm. 

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.” 

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully. 

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes. 

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched. 

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing. 

Trying to read it. 

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle. 

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath. 

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.” 

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.” 

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking small breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl. 

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body. 

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker. 

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna. 

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned—sending my picture along with a little extra treat. 

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes. 

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead. 

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents. 

He was eighty, said another. 

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present. 

All he wrote was: 

You’re welcome. 

Neutral, 

Sukuna. 

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good. 

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away. 

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth. 

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now. 

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.” 

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.” 

You blushed. “Thank you.” 

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it. 

“You’re handsome and you know it.” 

“I sure do.” 

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.” 

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.” 

He sighed. “I know.” 

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?” 

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did. 

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.” 

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.” 

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back. 

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest. 

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away. 

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf. 

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction. 

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?” 

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?” 

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.” 

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.” 

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.” 

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness. 

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk. 

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.” 

That was the last nail in the coffin. 

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you. 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.” 

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.” 

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?” 

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.” 

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones. 

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help. 

A pair of officers turned the corner. 

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!” 

“Who?” one asked with concern. 

“Satoru Gojo!” 

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down. 

Your heart sank. 

You had no power here. 

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.” 

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!” 

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head. 

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!” 

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.” 

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half if you touch her!” 

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed. 

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you. 

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.” 

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!” 

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—” 

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying. 

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month. 

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn’t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer. 

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all. 

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap. 

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.” 

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again. 

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?” 

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency. 

“Are you gonna talk—” 

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive. 

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door. 

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head. 

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?” 

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. 

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather. 

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side. 

Then he stopped. 

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask. 

“Why?” asked Sukuna. 

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.” 

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew. 

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes. 

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.” 

“Just feel bad.” 

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone. 

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check. 

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.” 

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?” 

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”  

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.” 

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.” 

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”  

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight. 

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—” 

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.” 

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.” 

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection. 

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.” 

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.” 

Suck his what? 

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just make me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.” 

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.  

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked. 

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open. 

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car. 

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him. 

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared. 

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.” 

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.” 

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace. 

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek. 

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth. 

“I love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Genuinely, your wife.”

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I love you most, baby. Genuinely, your husband.” 

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter. 

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while. 

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

Genuinely, by you.

[onelittlespiral]

FML:Relax

From the moment I arrived, I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had come on vacation to kick back for a few days and get some action, but the resort had nearly no women and was instead populated with almost all men. They seemed like nice guys when I talked to them, certainly my kind of guys with how jacked they were. Or at least I thought so.

“Hey cutie, wanna come spend some time with daddy?”

“A newbie! Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle and sweet with you.”

“You looking to top or bottom?”

I realized I must have come on the Gay Days, and the men there were not shy about coming on to me. I tried to politely excuse myself whenever they turned the topic to sex. I spent a lot of time at the pool trying to just relax and have a good time, but it was starting to tick me off.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before.”

A man came and sat next to me. He was a scruffy guy, tanned and huge like most of the rest of them. The scent of sunscreen and BO rolled off him. His arms were wrapped in some nerdy tattoos but their size clearly showed he worked out hard. If he wasn’t here this week I would assume him to be a good pick for a gym bud.

“Yeah, first time. Didn’t realize I booked…uh…this week. Not really my scene.”

Something in his demeanor changed. It was hard to describe, but I felt a lot more at ease. He leaned over and began whisper to me,

“If I’m being honest. It isn’t much for me either. But fuck these gay guys know how to party. They’ve got just about anything you could want to take, and basically just pass the shit around. You ever actually tried poppers? I was fucked up bro.”

Maybe it was finally meeting another straight guy but I began relaxing.

He continued, “I got some stashed if you want to swing by and try some shit out.”

Maybe this vacation wouldn’t be such a wash.

I stopped by his room later that afternoon. He greeted me at the door and invited me in as he promised to show off the goods. The room was trashed. The floor was strewn with dirty shirts, shorts, and jockstraps. Shot glasses and beers were stuck to the tables. The bed was drenched in sweat. I stepped in and took a seat on the couch, cautions to avoid the mess. He sat down next to me.

“So, what have you got?”

“You now babe,” he said, throwing his arm in the air.

“Whaaaa…haaa” I started before my brain was afloat.

I slowly leaned forward, drawn in by the thick musk that radiated from his pit. I tried to resist but soon my nose was pressed against it as his sweat filled my brain. I tried to pull back but he rested his arm against the back of my head, pinning me as my brain shut down on the fumes. It wasn’t long before my tongue lolled out of my mouth.

“There you go. Relax. Good boy.”

Good boy. It echoed in my brain, bouncing till it was the only thought left. I quivered in anticipation as I continued to drink in his scent and let his hair tickle my face.

“Yeah, lap it up big boy. This is right where you belong. It was designed just for you, to trap guys and help them fit in a bit more.”

What did he mean by that? But as he told me to lap it up, it was no longer good enough to just smell. I gave a hesitant lick. It only took one as his sweat swam across my mind. All functionality shut down as I worshipped that pit. As I did, I began to feel a change. Deep within an itch, a need developed. A need to be desired by this man… no. To be desired by men. Any who would have me. I felt a new power flow through me, a revitalized energy and strength. He pulled my dumbstruck face out of his pit and gave my hair a quick tousle. His hand glided down my cheek to my chin, and with a firm flick of his wrist pulled my lips to his. He pressed my face to his in a deep kiss as new memories filled my mind. Memories of long nights dancing and drinking at bars. Days working out getting shredded before hitting the sauna for some fun. Of pride parades and glitter in my beard. The longer he kissed me the more I felt myself grow completely comfortable in his arms. I belonged here, with all the hottest guys living it up for a week at the resort. I had been coming here for years to show off, party hard, and fuck into the early morning. My old self was being flushed away, leaking out of my cock, while the new personality filled in the gaps.

My body began to change where his hands brushed over my body. Arms swelled as biceps grew to mounds on my arms. Pecs hung heavy with muscle. Thighs and legs sent slow rips through my shorts until they had burst through, leaving my swelling cock to fight the jockstrap underneath. Feet inched across the floor as my toes curled from the strain. Every inch writhed beneath his touch. He pulled me back to inspect me.

“Damn you’re turning out well, some of my finest work.”

I mumbled in agreement, still stuck in a state of ecstasy as I felt new power surging through me. “Time to seal the deal.”

He slid his jock down, and the full force of his sweat and musk sent my brain swimming. I couldn’t resist as he slid his cock down my open throat, balls deep, and began face fucking me. As his bush filled my nostrils, pre slid down my throat in a steady stream. I felt warm all over, as a deep tan set in. I had come to this resort for years and loved sunbathing and showing off my muscles. The heat persisted, turning to a sweat, the sweat turning to a deep funk. It was the same smell invading my mind and body as he continued to thrust, deeper as my body adjusted to years of sucking men off. It felt like no surprise as a dusting of hair covered my pecs, then pushed down my stomach before my shaved down bush exploded. My pits filled in to better capture my own smell, and keep me just a little high on my own supply.

“Fuck yeah little bro, you’re gonna be so good out there.”

He slipped a hat over my head, and my mind filled with a new purpose. To kick back at this resort and fucking party. To feel pride in who I was and become one of the community. But, most importantly, to grow the tribe and bring more guys into the fold. I felt his cock tense in my mouth as my mind slowed down to accept my place as a gay god, to worship my bros and be worshiped. As thick ropes shot down my throat, I felt strong. I smelt rank. And I was fucking home.

The next day, a new guy showed up to the resort. Skinny, shy, out of place. I came over to talk with him.

“First time here, bro?”

“Yeah, not quite sure I belong.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. Throwing my arm behind my head. My musk caught his attention as his eyes began glazing over, “Why don’t I show you around?”

“Ye…yeah…yeah.”

“Don’t worry,” his face was soon resting in my pit, and I saw his muscles twitch with anticipation, “you’re gonna fit right in bro.”

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 9.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, mentions of forceful behaviour towards women, bad family dynamics

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n has no idea what is happening. Currently, there are two elder women around her who undressed her, redressed her and now are pulling her hair and painting her face. And by painting her face, it must be clarified that they don't put pretty delicate makeup on her but that they draw bright red lines on her face, arms, and legs. It looks like full-body war paint, y/n thinks.

Also, y/n is not convinced by the outfit they put her in. It's a two-piece. A loose neck holder top ends only a few inches under her boobs. She's also wearing a floor-length skirt. However, she's not sure if the word 'skirt' fits the piece of clothing around her hips. Two long pieces of fabric are strung in multiple hold chains that sit tightly around her hips. One piece covers her backside, the other the front side.

The squishy part of her tummy and her belly button, as well as her arms and legs, remain uncovered. Y/n usually feels comfortable in her body but it's a bit too revealing. At least for this weather. Also, she's a bit scared her butt cheeks can be seen when she's walking.

She tries not to think about it too hard since the two women working on her hair are wearing similar clothes. It seems as if this is normal for women around here, even if they are a gazillion years old.

The women don't speak to her. Also, they don't speak to each other.

When Katsuki left her alone with them, y/n felt a bit relieved since this was the first female company she had in a long while. But now she just feels awkward.

The women braid her hair and pin it up in a lavish updo which y/n finds very pretty. When they're done, they decorate her hair with golden hairpins and put necklaces around her neck that look similar to Katsuki's. They also want to put earrings on her but y/n doesn't have her ears pierced so they leave them as they are.

Absently, y/n massages her earlobes. She wonders if they'd like to pierce them. They have multiple piercings and also Katsuki wears earrings. She's also positive that she saw men with piercings in their noses and other places in their faces yesterday.

She shudders. It's against the beliefs of her people. Her people believe that one is born by nature's divine design and altering your body by piercinging or tattooing it, is a heavy insult to the great being of things. Some even refuse makeup and say it's not how nature wants them to look. Y/n isn't so strict about that but also wouldn't usually wear any form of paint on her body.

All of this feels so very foreign to y/n. Of course, she knew that Katsuki must live a different way of life but when being with him, that rarely became apparent. This outfit makes it painfully aware of just how different their cultures are.

Somewhen, Katsuki reenters the tent again. He wears a similar body paint as her. He lost the cape and more necklaces than usually hang around his neck. He also wears a bunch of bracelets, he usually doesn't wear.

When the ladies are done with y/n, they present her to him. Y/n gets up from where she is seated and gives him an unsure smile.

His eyes run up and down her figure. He has a stern look on his face the entire time, but he gives her an approving nod. Then he steps closer to her and pulls a delicate chain from his pocket. Carefully, he places it on her head.

Immediately, the women step closer and pin it into place. Y/n touches it carefully. The chain is thin with strings of golden beads. In the middle of her forehead dangles a drop-shaped pendant in a rubyred shade.

Katsuki puts a hand on her shoulder. The weight from his arm grounds her. She didn't notice how shaky her breath was.

The funny thing is, she doesn't even know what this is all about or what will happen when they leave the tent. Based on the outfits and Katsuki's grim expression, it must be something meaningful, something big.

She wonders if he drags her down an aisle. Figuratively speaking, because her people don't marry in churches where you would have to walk down an aisle. Her people marry in lakes and rivers or creeks. They believe all life comes from water and therefore they tie their lives together in it.

Y/n is pretty sure, she would refuse to step in a lake around here. It's just too cold for swimming on the tip of a mountain. She wonders if she'd walk down an aisle with Katsukin if that's what is going to happen today.

Anxiety chews at the sides of her stomach. Truth is, she doesn't want to get married. She wants to be with Katsuki, yes, but again in her culture that doesn't mean one just immediately marries. Y/n thinks that a challenge or crisis must be overcome first before two people can truly know that they belong together. That hasn't happened so far.

She needs more time and she doesn't know if Katsuki or his people are going to give her more time.

The two women leave the tent and Katsuki and y/n remain alone. Katsuki steps a bit closer and carefully puts his hand on the side of her head. He leans closer and puts his forehead against hers. The pendant presses into the skin of y/n's head and it doesn't feel as reassuring as it probably should feel.

Y/n swallows hard.

Katsuki leans back and stares into her eyes. The red of his eyes looks particularly hard today.

Meanwhile, Katsuki can see the fear in y/n's eyes. He wants to explain to her what they will do today but he knows he can't. It makes him angry he's never been taught the common tongue. His mother was traditional like that.

He is racking his brain for any words or sentences he picked up. Unfortunately, most of the things he learned, he picked up in battle or from captives or the women they took. He doubts however that things like "die", "you bastards" or "please, no" will be reassuring to y/n.

"Okay?", he tries, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. He holds out his hand to her. Y/n stares at his hand, then at him. She takes a deep breath. "Okay", she whispers and takes his hand.

*~*~*~*~

Katsuki takes her to the bonfire square. It's where his mother, her ladies-in-waiting, and the rest of his people wait for them.

He's as anxious as y/n looks like. He has to admit that while y/n looks absolutely stunning in his tribe's clothes and paint, she also looks smaller and weaker than ever. He tells himself that things will be alright. That even if his mother doesn't approve, he can take her on as his mate anyway. He's chief, he makes the decisions.

But deep down, every child wants to please their parents. And Katsuki looks up to his mother. She's fierce, she's strong and the only reason he's chief to begin with is only because she stepped down after the plague. Some people blamed her for it even though everybody knows that it's not something a human being can control. Maybe that is why she feels so strongly about Katsuki taking on a good mate that will produce lots of offspring.

Katsuki shudders even though he's not cold. He looks at y/n who is also shivering. He holds her hand a bit tighter. Y/n looks up to him and gives him a small smile.

At least she doesn't despise me and comes along willingly, he thinks.

The past few presentations since the plague have been anything than pretty and joyful. After raids, men brought women from other places. Women that didn't want to be there. It was either impossible to make them look presentable due to them fighting it or the paint on their faces was ruined by the time they stepped in front of Katsuki.

Usually, his men have to present their future mates in front of the chief and he has to decide whether they are acceptable or not. Since he's chief, it's his mother who will do the presentation. In contrast to Katsuki's decision, his mother's is completely representative and meaningless. He's chief after all. And still, he feels like he needs his mother's approval. Maybe part of him is afraid that his people won't respect him or his mate when she doesn't approve of her.

They approach the square. His people are lined up at the side desperate to get a view of the woman Katsuki brings along. His mother and her ladies-in-waiting are sitting at the other end of the square.

Katsuki can feel y/n stiffen at his side. He gives her a glance and can see how her face is pale beneath the red paint on her face. She's not shaking anymore but her muscles are tightened to a point where they will probably ache tomorrow.

He links her arms with his and proudly struts along the square. He tries not to walk too fast so that she doesn't stumble over her feet. He's seen women stumble and fall on their presentation and it was always humiliating for her and the man. Of course worse are the cases where they have to be dragged or carried into the square while crying and loudly protesting.

Quickly, he tries to shut out these thoughts. This is different, y/n's different. She's coming willingly, she's looking more than just presentable, things will be fine.

He steps in front of his mother who looks at him with a hard stare. She doesn't even spare y/n a glance.

„Mother, I present to you the woman I have chosen as my mate.“, he tells her. His voice sounds hard and determined.

His mother sits up more straightly. Her eyes shift from him to y/n. Katsuki doesn't dare to look at y/n. He just hopes she holds eye contact with his mother. His mother, Mistuki, looks y/n up and down.

Then she stands up and walks up to the couple. Gently, Katsuki lets go off y/n's arm and takes a step to the side.

His mother circles y/n while examining the woman infront of her. She lifts y/n's skirt a bit and peers under it. She touches her hair and the necklaces that dangle around her neck.

„She's skinny.“, Mitsuki comments. Katsuki stays silent. His mother stops infront of y/n and looks her up and down again.

„She has no muscle mass whatsoever. Can she even carry a bucket of water from the creek to your tent?“, his mother continues.

„She arrived yesterday. I'm sure she can build up muscles over time.“, Katsuki answers her calmly.

Mitsuki cocks her head to the side.

„Can she? She looks cold. She might also freeze before she even finds her way back to your tent.“, his mother continues.

„I get her warmer clothes.“, Katsuki argues.

His mother gives him a glance.

„Sure, sure. You can. But what if she catches a cold? Is she sustainable enough to survive that? To survive childbirth?“, his mother asks frowning.

Katsuki steps closer again and pushes y/n's top to the side a bit.

„When we met, she had an arrow stuck in her shoulder. Look, it healed quickly and without infection. I'm sure she can heal well after giving birth.“, he explains.

„Struck by an arrow?“, his mother says with a raised eyebrow and Katsuki instantly regrets mentioning it.

„That means she lost a fight? Are we not a tribe of warriors?“, Mitsuki asks sharply.

„It's a wound of a warrior. I've been struck by arrows before. Are you saying I'm not a warrior?“, he bites back.

His mother gives him a long stare before returning to her seat. She leans her head onto her arm and runs a hand over her face. He knows what comes next.

„I don't approve.“, she says and Katsuki's face twists in anger. Whispers run through the crowd.

Before he can answer her, Mitsuki continues.

„Katsuki, you understand you are our leader, yes? You understand that it is necessary that you have plenty and healthy children, yes?“, she points out angrily.

„Of course, mother. I intend to ensure our tribe's survival in any way I can.“, he tells her calmly.

Mitsuki slams her fist down and stands up.

„Then, why are you intending to bond to this frail excuse of a female? Why do you not wait until one of our own is of age?“, his mother says loudly pointing towards a few girls at the age of 10-12 at the side next to her ladies-in-waiting.

„The longer I wait or any man of this tribe waits, the bigger the gap between the generations will get. This poses a threat to our tribe. You know that. It's why we began bringing in women from other places in the first place.“, he argues back angrily.

„Wrong“, his mother says cooly, „We began bringing other women here because so many of us died that even the next generation of women can't ensure the tribe's survival.“

Katsuki grinds his teeth. She's not wrong.

„Do you know what kind of insult this is to these women? That their leader chooses a foreign, weak female like that over them?“, his mother continues and gives y/n a demeaning gesture.

Katsuki starts to see red.

„They're not women, they're children, mother. Do you intend to make one of them my child bride? Isn't that an insult to their mothers who died? Is that all they're worth?“, he yells at her.

He knows that will hit a sore spot. His mother cares deeply for these young girls and grieves the death of their mothers equally as deeply.

Absolute silence engulfs the square. No one dares to even move a finger. His mother gives him a long, cold stare. Then she sits down again.

„You're chief, Katsuki. Do whatever you want, but I'll warn you. Your example will precede this tribe. If you fail to produce an heir, this tribe will not survive under your reign.“, she tells him.

Katsuki is fuming. He wants to yell at her, maybe even throw a knife at her. But people are watching and he has to be careful what he says next. He must strengthen his position as chief even if that means demeaning his own mother.

„You've brought this fate upon us in the first place. Why do you think you have the answer to how we ensure our survival? Didn't you step down because you don't have the answer?“, he says striking to kill.

His mother's face contorts in anger and shame. He doesn't give her a chance to reply. He turns to his people.

„This woman came here by her own free will. She's proven herself a great healer and skilled hunter to me. You all feasted on her success at yesterday's bonfire. Therefore, I approve her of being worthy as my mate.“, he declares to them.

Without waiting for a reaction from his people or his mother, he turns around grabbing y/n's arm and he leaves the square with his head held high.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n stumbles after Katsuki. Her head spins. The last few minutes have been nothing but bizarre to her. Obviously, she didn't understand a single thing that's been said but y/n isn't stupid. She quickly picked up on the atmosphere of the conversation. Which was not good.

Even before Katsuki and the women started yelling at each other, y/n knew that the conversation was not going well. It's easy to spot when Katsuki gets angry. Really angry, not the normal state of angry he always seems to be in.

Katsuki walks fast and y/n has trouble keeping up with him. He drags her all the way back to his tent. Only when they're inside, does Katsuki let go of her. He doesn't say a word.

He walks over to the table and pushes it over with a loud, angry yell. Y/n flinches at the action.

Katsuki kicks a bucket filled with weapons to the other side of the room and lets out a string of angry words that y/n guesses are insults.

She's never seen him this angry before and it scares her. She wants to get closer to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and comfort him in his frustration. But when Katsuki starts destroying one of the chairs with a battle axe, y/n is sure it's best to not get close to him at this moment.

So, she stands helplessly in the middle of the room flinching and trying to avoid flying splinters of wood.

Suddenly, there's a rustle at the entrance of the tent. A red-haired warrior enters it.

„Yo, Bakugou!“, the man says carefully and steps next to y/n.

„What the fuck do you want, shitty hair?“, Katsuki yells at him, his face contorted in anger.

„Making sure you don't scare the poor thing to death.“, the man says and points towards y/n.

„Fuck off, Kirishima. She's fine.“, Katsuki growls at him

The man named Kirishima sighs and gives y/n a side glance.

„You sure? She doesn't look too happy about this. You still have to mark her, maybe tune it down a bit until then.“, Kirishima tells his chief.

Katsuki drops the bits of wood he is holding and frowns.

„Whatever, shitty hair. What do you want?“, Katsuki asks.

Kirishima pushes his hands into his pockets.

„Looking if you're alright. I mean the presentation went... not well, I guess.“, the red-haired man says carefully.

Katsuki scoffs. „I'm fine. The hag's opinion doesn't matter. I'm chief.“, he declares.

Kirishima nods. „Of course, you are. And your decision stands.“, he reassures his leader.

„And if you ask me, I think you made a good choice.“, Kirishima continues.

„From all the women that we brought here over the last few years, that one is definitely the calmest. Remember when I brought mine? She was a mess, well, actually still is but I don't need to tell you that.“, Kirishima tries to reassure him.

When Katsuki doesn't answer, Kirishima quickly adds: „Also, she's very pretty.“.

Katsuki straightens his posture and looks y/n up and down.

„Yeah, she is.“, he tells his red-haired friend.

Kirishima nods cheerily. „Exactly. So why bother thinking about your mother's words? Why don't you and... uh...?“, Kirishima gestures towards y/n.

„Y/n“, Katsuki tells him.

„Right, why don't you and y/n come and join us at the stables? Denki, Sero, and I are heating up some mead. Have a drink with us.“, Kirishima proposes.

Katsuki shrugs. „I don't know. Y/n might not feel comfortable meeting more people after this.“, Katsuki tries to excuse himself.

Kirishima gives him a toothy grin. „Oh, what a gentleman. You're really smitten, aren't you?“, he teases.

Katsuki shoots him an angry look. „Shut the fuck up, Kirishima. It's just been a lot, ok?“, he mumbles.

Kirishima doesn't fail to notice the pink dust covering his chief's cheeks.

„Alright, what about this. Y/n stays here and can collect herself. You come with us for a drink. Maybe we can come back and catch her later. What do you think?“, Kirishima tries to convince him again.

Katsuki shrugs.

„I guess we can do that.“, Katsuki says reluctantly.

„Great!“; Kirishima says clapping his hands. „Y/n, you stay! We'll come back later.“, he tells the woman next to him who looks at him with wide eyes when he speaks directly to her.

Katsuki steps over the destroyed chair and follows his friend outside without sparing y/n a glance.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n feels like crying. She's standing in the middle of the half-destroyed room all alone. She's so confused.

What on earth happened?

What's going on?

Who is that red-haired man?

Where is Katsuki going?

Her head starts to hurt by the amount of force she uses to suppress her tears. Eventually, she can't hold them back anymore and hot tears run down her face.

She makes sure that no one can hear her sob.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[mightbeimpossiblenotto]

Silver - Oct 14 - @rosekillermicrofic - 871 words - Warnings: none

Barty loved his job at Insidious Ink. He had always loved to draw, but he had no interest in recreating landscapes or detailing a portrait of someone. He liked to draw snakes, and skulls, and unrealistic eyeballs, and all kinds of other things. When he secured an apprenticeship with his local tattoo shop, he had already had several tattoos of his own on his skin. He was thrilled — the only thing that was better than pen and paper was ink and skin, in his opinion.

It was the first thing that he excelled at that he actually wanted to continue to do well. In school, everything came easily enough to him, but he didn’t want the good grades that came with learning if it meant his father only expected more of him. But his father resented tattoos, so it was something into which Barty could throw his whole self. He quickly became the best artist at that little shop, and one of the owners encouraged him to open his own studio.

Insidious Ink was opened only six months later; when Barty put his mind to something, he was determined to finish it. He hired a few of his own artists to work for him, a gorgeous woman named Dorcas whose line work was incredible, and a sullen young man fresh out of school named Regulus who excelled in florals and other plant work. In their free time, Barty taught them everything he learned from his mentors, and they quickly grew an unbreakable bond between the three of them.

The Rosier twins came in on a rainy Monday afternoon. The shop was quiet, only one girl getting tatted from Dorcas in the very back. She had been here a few times before in the past few months. Her name was Marlene, and this time she wanted a single line tattoo of a two women almost kissing. Dorcas seemed a little too interested when she was consulting with Marlene, which is why Barty sent them to the back. He didn’t need to see lesbians flirting while trying to get his work done, as cute as it usually tended to be.

When the two blondes, one man and one woman, entered the building, Barty and Regulus had been sketching out a few designs for clients they were consulting with via email. Regulus didn’t even look up when the bell over the door indicated their arrival, but Barty was trained like a dog to react. He sprung up out of his chair to greet them, but the words died in his throat when he took sight of them.

They were the two most beautiful people he had ever seen, especially the man. The woman was stunning, with long white-blonde wavy hair down to her lower back, braids twisting the face framing pieces back away from her eyes. She had lovely dark skin and bright grey eyes. Her smile was utterly dazzling.

But the sight of the man with her — who had to be her brother with the matching features — had Barty almost falling back onto his stool. He had the same dark skin and gorgeous eyes, the same sharp cheekbones and long nose. But his blond hair was in dreads, with silver cuffs adorning them, glinting in the fluorescent lighting in the tattoo shop. He had a lip piercing, a little silver hoop in his plush lower lip. His ears were pierced, too, with silver safety pins hanging from each of them. He had a hoop in his nose, a hoop sticking off his left eyebrow, studs over right brow.

Barty had never really been interested in piercings before. He certainly never had reason to get any himself, but seeing all of the silver glinting off this man, he was dying to know if he had any other metal anywhere else.

“Barty,” Regulus hissed behind him, bringing him out of his daydream about getting the man pantless in his shop. “They’re talking to you, answer them.”

“Huh?” Barty said rather eloquently, and sure enough, the two blondes had approached the desk, and were waiting for his response. “I mean — Welcome to Insidious Tattoos. What can I help you with?”

The woman just blinked at him, unconcerned with his odd behavior, but the corners of the man’s mouth were twitching as if he were hiding a smile.

“I’m Pandora,” the woman introduced. “This is my brother, Evan. We would each like to get a tattoo today, but they will be different.”

“What exactly are you looking to get done?” Regulus asked for Barty, because he was still staring at Evan’s mouth.

“I would like three red spider lilies,” Pandora said, “to represent those close to me who have passed.”

“The death flower,” Regulus said softly, then he stepped forward to speak to Pandora directly. “My work is mostly florals. Would you like to take a look?”

Regulus led her off to a table used for consultations with clients, leaving Barty alone with Evan.

“And what are you looking for?” Barty asked, trying not to stare at the other man in front of him.

I want a jackal skull,” Evan said. “With plenty of detail.”

Barty grinned then. “That, I can do.”

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

LET'S GET READY TO RUMMMMMBLLLLEEEEE! In the left corner we have the man in blue, the true high king of Skyrim, everyone's favorite man to hate, the bear himself--ULFRICCCCC STORRMMMCLOAAAAK! And in the right corner we have the man in green, a self-proclaimed king in rags, a myth and conspiracy, the jailbroken man himself--MADANAAAACHHHHHHHHH!

Grump old men, start your engines! This is going to be a hell of a face off.

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @umbracirrus @bostoniangirl21 @throughtrialbyfire

@vivifriend @inkysqueed @skyrim-forever @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @archangelsunited

@theoneandonlysemla @hircines-hunter

Ulfric scoffs lightly under his breath—the title is nothing but a joke designed to poke fun at authority with the added bonus of inflating Madanach’s ego. Bloody King in Rags would be much more apt in his eyes; the Forsworn leader’s hands are far from clean.

“It is rather generous of me to even entertain this charade, Bear of Markarth.” Madanach’s may be old, but his wrinkled eyes are as sharp as ever tracking every movement of the tyrant king before him down to the single bead of sweat running down the side of his nose. His cracked lips break to reveal a crooked smile, chipped and yellowed teeth bearing a mocking grin. “Is it too warm for you here?” He waves a hand around almost theatrically, a man accustomed to weaving a long yarn or unwinding someone’s dwindling patience. “Or…perhaps it is that you are out of your element, hm? The last time you were here you bathed in the blood of innocent women and children.”

A chair scrapes back suddenly as Galmar makes to stand, but Ulfric raises a hand abruptly stopping him.

“How can you let that savage to speak to you in that way? I’ll cut out his damned tongue and—”

“Enough, Galmar.”

“I knew better than to think that we could sit down and—”

“I said enough.” Ulfric’s measured tone is strained yet still controlled, leaving no room for his housecarl to argue with him. “I know what game he plays, and that I can testify to just as many atrocities as he can try to pin on me. He’d have us here all day arguing about the past in an attempt to avoid the future.” His lips curve into a wan smile. “It’s well played, Madanach, but you are no martyr just as I am no saint, so let’s cut the bullshit and talk like men.”

Madanach claps once and then twice, a slow staccato. “Do you really believe the hollow words you speak, or are you too so charmed by your own hubris? You almost have me fooled into thinking you truly believe in it.”

[kalisseo]

sorry for the horrible quality i dont feel like exporting the drawing

so recently ive been thinking about the bleacher creatures in the redo au, they still exists and i want them to do more than they do in the show

anyway, vlad is been the hardest to redesign bc i do actually love a lot his canon design! 10/10, but i want him to be different for the au so idk what to do

besides these desings there ae other two

anyway, explaining this desings a little: changed his nose to be accurate, tan skin to be more accurate (i might make him paler tho), beanie and a pin to resemble the original vlad the impaler hat, pearl necklace to resemble the pearls on that hat, longer hair that i want to look like messy wavy hair that he does NOT take care of, thing hes wearing that covers his chest that i do not know the name of so dont ask me pls in the left drawing as a reference to the cape his clonefather wears (i dont want to give him a cape so i gave him that), and the vest on the right drawing to give him a more vampire vibe

i want to make references to his clone father and also keep that vampire vibe, off topic but sometimes its funny how the clones wear the exact same stuff as their clone fathers, but for vlad (and the rest of the bleacher creatures except topher) it makes sense in my opinion, isnt their whole deal to be proud of how evil they are?? and how evil their clone parents were?, specially lizzie and jackee who say that women can be serial killers too

anyway thats all

[thedarkone121]

Behold! Drafts of Anne-Marie’s Biological Parents!

This was meant to be a design study since I already designed Anne-Marie, so I wanted to see how her bio parents would look like. Also I wanted to give a face for these a-holes so we can all hate on them for giving the girl trauma.

However, this also transformed into an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone, so I have decided to make it canon to Anne-Marie’s backstory.

Everyone, meet Anne-Marie’s birth parents: Isabella and Simon Stride…

More undercut to hear my design notes.

In my head, I always had a clear image of what Isabella looked like. Anne-Marie was always meant to take after her in looks so it wasn’t that hard to pin down the face. All I had to do was change her nose.

Now, she originally had a purple color scheme with green eyes — since purple means royalty and Isabella often had visions of living a luxurious life — but I was given a note in Discord that it made her look too much like Rachel and maybe I should warm up the colors, so that’s what I did.

Honestly? I love it. It gives Isabella Mother Gothel vibes and I think it fits her perfectly. Two women who have no right to be mothers.

Now, onto the man of the hour himself.

So, to put it bluntly, I didn’t planned for Simon Stride to be involved in this story. Originally, Anne-Marie’s bio father was meant to a generic rich slime-ball who Jekyll had only seen in passing at parties.

But then my mind played around with the idea of: “What if it was Simon Stride?” Suffice to say, I couldn’t escape that brainworm.

So yeah, this is my Simon Stride design for TGS. Who, as the words of @definatelymrhyde (hey 🤣) described him: “punchable and French”

[mangledscrimp]

HAPPY BUTCH DAYYYY!!! Finished her a while ago but i think it’s a good time to post it now hehe

will contain nonsexual nudityyy in the cut!!

This is Hershel’s new ref sheet!! the old one was..erm..kinda doodoo LOLLL! Kinda scared to get hate on this waaaa but idgaf I love her hehe

as always, going into detail abt bullet points!!

•Pronouns

Generally, she goes by she/her pronouns. Though with her wife, (post miracle mask/what i’ll call dy miracle mask), she also enjoys going by he/him from time to time..but really only with her wife. She’d rather the public use she/her.

•Sexuality

I like to think she’s bisexual but mainly with a preference for women. In diabolical Yuri’s writing, she dates a lot of the female cast. They enjoy her gentlemanlyness I guess LOL! She hardly involves herself with men but if her wife were a man, she would still love them dearly. She’s very sapphic in my head tho haha..

She’s also a Stone Butch! if you’d like me to go more into that, send me an ask!! :3

With original Hershel, I like to think he’s also bisexual haha yay

•From Barbados & Puerto Rico

Ok this is purely because I projected so heavily onto Hershel that I gave her my ethnicity LOL. Diabolical Yuri au is really to help find joy in myself haha.. Also chose to make her those ethnicities because I hardly see characters from Barbados and wanted to feel represented!

Though, Hershel wasn’t raised in Barbados or Puerto Rico, her biological mother is from Barbados and her biological father is from Puerto Rico. She was raised in a small unnamed village with her sister until she moved to Stansbury alone with her new adoptive parents after an accident involving her father and mother had occurred.

•Facial Features

For dy and in canon, I like to give Hershel a big nose because I find it cute hehe.

For dy, I give Hershel crow feet. No the little lines by her eyes are NOT eyelashes, they are crow feet. Without them, it makes her art just not look like her. She gets them from her (bio)mother.

Another thing that I do is give her a rounder plump face. I think it fits for her and looks great hehe!

I also give her visible facial hair by the sides of her head and by the left side of her face! I give her facial hair because, again, I want to feel represented in my designs. I have facial hair in those areas as well and I think it looks good on other characters too!

Lastly, visible eyebrows. Gave her eyebrows because her hat can’t possibly cover them up, unlike regular Hershel. She’d have to fight with her hair if she wanted her hat to cover her brows! Loll

•Facial Expressions

Hershel has a range of facial expressions that she can do.

When she’s startled, confused, or in a trance she gets little swirly eyes.

When excited, Her eyes dilate like how a rat’s eyes would or gets whale eyes when she’s really excited!

•Hair

She’s got fluffy hair with an exclamation point standing straight up!

•The ring & Wife

The word “wife” is in quotes because she never got legally married. Her “wife” just bought her a ring. She doesn’t like to use the term girlfriend or anything like that for her partner because she has this feeling that their relationship wouldn’t end, no matter what happens to the two of them.

Though, to keep the ring safe, she doesn’t wear it on adventures. Only to special events like staff parties, birthdays, or evenings out with her special somebody. She’s very afraid of losing it.

•Outfit components!

Decided to give hershel a flared out coat, nothing special haha. Her shoulders are quite boxy in her coat compared to her sweater, but she finds the look stylish.

Unlike regular Hershel, she tends to take off her hat inside buildings like a gentleman would. The hat doesn’t contain much sentimental value to her because of her rocky past with Claire.

Underneath the coat she’s got her lovely orange sweater, attached is her clip on tie. Her tie is really just a pin with a cap to hold the string of the other component of her tie. She finds it pretty rude when someone grabs it to pull on it but doesn’t mind all that much when her wife does it.

Green shoes, nothing much to it!

Not really an outfit component but she does have a purse/case mix thingy that she uses to hold items much like Hershel in the original professor layton. She’s also quite the klepto like the original professor haha!

•Pcos and Other things

I gave Hershel pcos to, again, feel represented in the things I create!

(UWAA,, IF I GET ANY OF THIS WRONG PLEASE LET ME KNOW!! I don’t reallyyyy know if i’m autistic myself yet,, so pleaseee let me know if i’m doing anything wrong with thisss )

I also decided to give her Autism/Autistic traits. In some of the art I make of her, her hands shake whenever her wife touches her or in stressful/overwhelming situations in dy’s writing. similar to mine whenever I see stuff that I like or just to relax myself.

In dy’s writing, she tends to go silent/mute when she gets too overwhelmed. During her college years it affected her quite a bit but she tries to manage it as she gets older.

She finds certain textures pleasing. She loves to have her hands in hair, preferably dense hair. And she likes the feeling of facial hair as well!! Besides hair, she hates certain bedsheets that are grainy so she’ll try anything to avoid them at all costs.

That’s ittt!! for this section at least!

Nonsexual nudity under the cut!!

Here is how she looks under everything!!

She wears a regular standard bra and Exclamation point boxers with regular old white socks.

She’s got body hair on her arms along with her legs and a happy trail!

yeaaa not much to it haha!

End of ref!!

[sinsofthefather-kulemi]

Osaka Locations: Cabaret Grand

Majima's Workplace Sotenbori

Cabaret Grand (or The Grand) is a popular cabaret in Sotenbori located on West Sotenbori Street. It's known for its superb staffing: beautiful, usually graceful women, waiters and floor managers that do their best at playing refined men and none other than Sotenbori’s one and only Lord of the Night, manager Goro Majima. Guests come to experience Cabaret Grand’s unique Sotenbori elegance complete with live performances by locally famous musical acts and sometimes even comedians and they stay for the men and women doing what they can to help them forget what’s happening in the outside world. 

The Grand prides itself on being an escape when one is in dire need of it. 

The Grand’s signature is its gorgeous wine red and lustrous gold color scheme. From the door to the ballroom (as well as the runway leading to the dancefloor), the flooring is carpeted in a fine, (imported) saxony then completed with an intricately designed berber carpeting. The dance floor and stage are made of porcelain that has a strict polishing schedule. It is rare to find filth and debris on the floor of The Grand as there is cleaning staff on standby that roam and monitor the ballroom like hawks. Gold lines the runway, strips of it are neatly pinned to the nose of each step leading to the 2nd floor, the red damask seating is topped with gilded accents even the walls aren’t free of that Cabaret Grand gold!

There’s not only a cover charge and request fee that might threaten to drain the average wallet’s er, customer’s pockets. The menu boasts a pretty hefty price tag too! There’s not much way around it. The Grand’s hostesses are some of the most skilled and persuasive salespeople one might meet. This is why, while Cabaret Grand tries to welcome anyone with an open billfold, the intended demographic isn’t quite the average entry level salaryman. 

The Grand prefers their boss’ boss! 

There’s a large dressing room and locker room for the talent downstairs not far from the restrooms. It’s not quite as luxurious as the rest of the cabaret but it was designed to allow the ladies to comfortably get themselves together between clients. There are even communal showers in the locker room for the busy bee who may not have time to get home and do so before or after their shifts. No men are allowed in there. The red patterned walls are lined with vanities that are assigned to a roster of women per vanity. This was recently implemented to aid with narrowing down the culprit when theft happens. It’s not foolproof but the manager of The Grand has heard fewer complaints since implementing this system.

Just upstairs is the main office that also doubles as a breakroom for staff. It’s typically empty as most staff prefer to enjoy their breaks outside of the cabaret. It’s far more unassuming than the ballroom and the ladies’ dressing room combined. There are simple, cheap desks, jamming file cabinets and dusty chalkboards on one side for work and with the help of a partition, the room is divided, allowing a rest area on just the other side. The rest area offers a decent television set, two couches and even a towel warmer to help take the load off. There is a telephone in the office as well that has a secure line unlike the recorded line downstairs at the front desk. This allows people like The Owner to call in to The Lord of the Night and offer some… words of encouragement from time to time. 

Visit Cabaret Grand whenever you’ve got the chance (and money)!

[mahiiimahiiii]

A/n: Hi folks! This is from my late night writing folder- I wanted an excuse to write nobility durgetash. May I present:

Our Lady Of Debauchery...(and other things)

(Durgetash)| DUrge x Lord Enver Gortash | named durge

Our music choice:

+*+

Tyrants palace, known to the locals as a den of debauchery was filled. Carriages of all colors and sizes flocked to the grand staircase, each holding its precious cargo- nobles.

The tyrants right hand wasn't used to this.

Wynne, child of bhaal sat on a dressing room chair attended too excitable human staff attempting to style her recently washed and un-pressed hair.

As a drow, her hair had two settings- unruly and wildly beautiful curls, or silky and pin straight hair (often times recently pressed with a steel comb). She held back tears as they continued to pull her hair into an updo, lining it with pins and sweeping her bangs into waves. She looked like the ads of women she so envied as a child, whatever that was to a drow. They set curls next to her eyes spinning her around to apply makeup... It would've been simpler to using a transforming scroll at this point

Her study as she liked to call it was colored a deep green, the walls embelised with a golden flower pattern, and dark wood paneling. Instead of a bed it held a shelved nook coated in lavender sheets and pillows. A hearth and a lavish blue rug lay to the other side of the bed with a dark wood desk with matching chair, a large plus armchair sat next to the hearth and sat at her vanity, decorated with bottles of cremes and combs.

The girls whispered about the guests, a young elven magistrate with long silver hair was found out to be a bachelor, he gave lord gortash a run for his money. Orin would be making appearance was well as another famous lord from across ferun, sent an invite for the temptations he would bring. She only had one plan and one target, the next in lead for the flaming fist. The dread fours mole has been chosen, a lord named Ravenguard.

This would be the first step in their plan, it should and it must go well.

The dress fit over her shoulders and was pulled down, corset pulled taught by two other women. This was abnormal, she felt uncomfortable in all the layers. .

She had forgone the heels deciding that a nice pair of embroidered flats should suffice.

She must admit this dress was lovely, and she would be it's first tester. The sage green complemented her soft brown skin and silky silver hair, pink florals decorated the base and hems, a delicate embroidery.

Gortash had chosen this dress for her, as often the lording would prefer for the future lady gortash to be at least fashionably adept.

She would just prefer to wear a button down and loose slacks

She sighed clipping in her singular pearl earring, a heavy teardrop shape, another gift from her lover. She made the final adjustments, dusting rouge onto her nose and oiled charcoal onto her lids, her eyes darkened by the deep colors. The assassin sighed with contempt taking a final look in the mirror. She looked decent enough to perhaps pass as a noble.

Wynne cleaned her hands off, the trail of the dress lagging behind. "Is master gortash ready? Our appearance is within ten to twenty minutes."

"He's been ready ma'am, waiting for you in the parlor for a bit now"

She chuffed, lifting up the train of her gown greatly disturbed by the lack of movement. How she hated this, Enver Gortash will never hear the end of this. He was no lord to her, simply an officer of the law seeking out the greater ideal of grand design, something she sought out for purpose. It was lucky- when she suggested to her long time lover about it. It was even luckier when the szarr family had allowed her to use the Library without incident. Or it could be the blessings her father continually blessed her with as the more successful child.

And now, one little dance, one small appearance, one night of suffering- and then it will be back to pants.

"Enver? Darling? Are you ready?"

She called out.

A confirming hum sounded from down the hall, his eyes lit up when he saw her. their warm and rich depths drinking her in . His hair was slicked back, this was not a good look for him.

"You look gorgeous! My beautiful huntress..." He cupped her chin kissing the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. "You look delicious...ugh, what a shame we have an event to attend." His eyes glittered.

"I hate this." She frowned "I hate your hair that way. I hate heels, I hate dresses, I hate people, I want to go lay under my blanket and have a large glass of wine and dwarf meat pies."

"Come now, don't be a downer. Does your blade not hunger for a cull? You'll be getting a sweet bloody treat later on- I'll let you keep the flesh."

She paused, thoughtful. "I do like flesh....."

"That's the spirit darling. Come now, we should be announced soon." He shook out his hair, no longer slicked back but slightly long and unruly. She liked it that way- as wild as his dark eyes.

From the parlor the manor house changed, dark flooring to beautiful creme tile, matching creme walls and chestnut panneling. Gold, and blue accents and paintings of nymphs and sleepy goats lined the walls.

One portrait was new, a woman with brown skin, deep burgundy eyes with a sad expression, her lips held a solum pout. Her hair was silvery blue, almost ethereal- she wore a simple blue dress and held items of selune.

"My heart- is that portrait new?" she admired the details as they passed. They walked arm in arm one of his hand petting her hand attached.

"It is indeed" he rumbled "I asked for your likeness- is it to your expectations?"

"Do I always look that sad then." She tilted her head, attempting to force a smile. Her lips found it hard to mold around.

He shrugged "I suppose, perhaps that's what the artist saw in your face. Asked them to use the portrait you gave me."

"ha! My father's portrait of me hm? I do look sad in that photo, mainly because I was hungry ."

"Perhaps we shall take more photos. Maybe we will capture your beautiful smile-" he plants a gentle kiss on her lips, his stubble gently scratching against her smooth skin.

They exhaled, contented, and anticipated the rush of noise following their announcement

"Enver, I am never doing this again. "

"I don't expect you too my darling"

The doors opened up and their names were announced

*Lady Wynne, paladin of selune and Lord Gortash of Wyrmere*

She shifted, uncomfortable at the attention. "I would much rather a discreet entrance but if this is the... Tradition. I shall do it."

She waved to the eyes and turned her way a cheesed smile plastered on her face.

"Think of it as any other scenario where I ask you to blend, remember you can be out of the dress after the first dance. Then our goal is to take out the target." He hummed, one hand on her waist. "Now because we are hosting this gala we must sit at the head of the table.

"Ugh just say I'm sick for that- Ill with the plague or some shit."

"Of course my darling." He helped her down the grand staircase, wary of her footing in the dress. She managed to look like she was floating down the stairs, she had an impression to make, this was her first noble circle appearance after all

The hall was loud, filled with a symphony voices each as distinct as a snowflake. Temples and churches sent their representatives, a contented looking, tall teifling escorted you to your seats. Her smile bright and her hands warm. Karlach her name was. One of Gortash's best.

Karlach was it? Beautiful creature she was. Would be a joy to see her innards.

Unfortunately within the realms of polite company such actions or thoughts are shamed.

Wynne smiled and introduced herself to the swarming hive of chatter, hands shook, flesh on flesh. Her ears rang with sound much louder than before: string instruments.

A dance had begun a good sign to keep her eyes peeled. A slight ping from her earring sent her catching Envers eye, he nodded toward the floor, before stopped by a shorter man dressed in a brilliant green frock.

They shook hands and fondly discussed things like old friends. The tyrant waved her over a tired "hold-it-together" smile on his face.

"Here's the lady of the hour!" He hummed taking her hand "lady Wynne, this is ... Lord? Astarion"

"Please - it's just Astarion, Astarion Anuncinn. At you and the lord's service." He paused "I am.. unfamiliar with the custom of meeting drow - is there a specific greeting?"

Her ears wiggled in odd excitement, "while I find it imensly charmed that you would ask, a handshake is fine. Our culture is no different than the norm."

The magistrate paused for a second, his eyes were gentle and thoughtful. "I'm sorry I hadn't meant to offend you" curls framed his face, silvery like spider silk, or a fine Iron. His milky white face bloomed with a faint pink in his cheeks, beautiful streaks of watercolor. How he'd make a pretty corpse.

"I can assure you none was taken. Now, astarion was it? What do you do for work?"

She hadn't expected to become this social. Hadn't expected someone charming such as the magistrate. His voice sung of an un-quenchable desire for something. Knowledge? Hunger? Power? Men and their secrets.

"hm? Me?" His hand was gloved "my lady, we have been hardly introduced- and you're already prying! How naughty." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles delicately. "Charmed. would you like to go somewhere quiet to discuss then?"

"Oh no!" She hummed "I'd like to leave period."

He raised his brow, something sparkling in his eye. "why does a sweet treat like you want to leave? I'm sure you'd be the belle of the ball"

"That's the point- I do not like the attention." His hand covered hers in a comforting way, his hands were cool, a low thrumming pulse emminating from them, though not sure from whom it was.

He hummed slowly, almost quizzical. His long lashes lowered and looking through them, "then why are you here."

She had never expected a question so personal. "I suppose.. it is my duty ultimately, as is every noble. Though I do not consider myself amongst their *ilk*"

He adjusted his ruffle collar "neither do I, I appear for my father often. He's less inclined to show up to parties like this." He paused for a moment "would you like to dance? Or perhaps we can find another quiet area to experience each other's company... Completely."

She hummed rocking back on her heels. "I am unsure how these parties work. Would you be willing to teach me?"

His smile was wide, cupids lip pulled taught and ready to fire. "I would quite like too."

*Don't get too carried away love. Remember to have a job to do*

He held out his hand, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. Wynne gingerly set her hand in his.

A string quartet played a slow and alluring rhythm as he spun her about. Careful and mindful of her feet- soft padded heels clicking against the floor

Perhaps this was the last time in her life she would have fun. Perhaps she should savor it.

Who knew.

[cornix-the-void-crow]

Here is updated colour design for RHD au Alastor. He became very purple

And here are notes on his design!

The reason why he became more purple is because contracts cause demons to shift their forms under influence of owner of their soul. Therefore Velvette's purple affected/infected Alastor's red and magenta (?) of his hair.

I am of the opinion that powerful demons and overlords can afford to wear less practical for their demonic traits clothing because they can defend themselves just fine without using everything in their arsenal. Other demographic that would wear impractical clothes are those under protection of powerful demons and expectation to look specific way, like actors and models. Average demon cannot afford that luxury, and so have to adapt their clothes to their demonic traits. Therefore, no shoes for Alastor, because he is no longer an overlord and has to use more things to his advantage. He has leg wrap things though.

Alastor, without his intimidation, is really pretty and cute, let's be honest. In fact, this prettiness and cuteness is what caused Velvette to essentially snatch him under Vox's non-existent nose. Because of that, Alastor can't hide his more cute aspects of his appearance, like his tail.

Even worse, under contract's influence, new cute traits started to appear, like fawn spot-like freckles.

The hair was cause of a lot of yelling, after Velvette learned that he has been straightening it almost every day for over 80 years.

High-waisted swing pants and bishop sleeves on Alastor is my favourite type of look, that would be the truth. In lore though, there is some gender fuckery that's going on with Alastor, because he quite literally wears what women wore (if they were to wear pants that were not workwear) in 1920s and 1930s.

The bowtie is actually ascot tie, tied in what is called a strawberry knot. It also has a little deer head tie pin.

Cane is a fashion accessory, but microphone is a conduit of power that is no longer Alastor's. So his microphone was morphed into a cane.

His eyesight was actually aided by his powers, and now, with most of the powers gone, he actually needs prescription glasses. They sit on his nose and have beaded chain looping around his neck, as to not lose them.

Make up is part of being a model, and while the make up stylist that works with Alastor on set is fine with being occasionally eaten, Alastor kinda developed a habit of doing some of make up himself, just to avoid unnecessary touches from others. (And here is where the vintage vanity compacts rabbit hole started)

The ponytail is stylish, and hair bow is cute, that's just it

You would ask, how can Alastor be a model if he cannot appear on camera? Well, he probably can appear on film photographs, shown by that photo with Vox. Therefore the modelling photoshoot would be made initially using early 20th century film cameras, which would be then digitised and posted on the Internet. Polaroids work too, weirdly enough, but not the modern ones that are more digitised

[ann-writes-universes]

Athaza (Lucien x Reader) Pt. 1/3

A/N: Inspired by the lack of Lucien content and sad ass Lana songs.

Warnings: None.

W/C: 4,342

“Athazagoraphobia(Noun): The fear of forgetting someone or something, as well as a fear of being forgotten.”

~

You had been young when the wildest son of Autumn had become a lover of Spring. You remembered his first appearance as Tamlin’s emissary, a ball had been thrown in his honor. Scratch that, a ball had been thrown in order for Tamlin to announce his new emissary and conduct business with the men of his court while the women danced and gossiped with one another. 

“You’d be insolent if you were not excited for this.” Seena, your eldest sister spoke. She was perched at her vanity, running a pearlescent brush through her fine hair. Her bright gaze was trained on you through the mirror, studying your form. 

From your position on her bed, you caught her gaze. You were splayed across the light pink duvet, admiring your sister as she began getting ready to flounce her beauty before the Spring court. 

“She’s right Lamb, this is your first real outing as an eligible Elrod girl.” Naida quipped, she was situated before a full length mirror, wincing as a maid violently yanked the strings of her corset. Her dark hair was twisted on the top of her head and littered in flowers made of brightly colored jewels. 

“Yes but that's a horrifying thought. What if the suitor Father picks for me isn't as lovely as your Kaius? Or as dotting as Espin?” You replied, turning your gaze to the intricately painted ceiling. Seena laughed, a melodic noise that lilted through the room and brought a smile to your face.

“He has yet to make a bad decision regarding us little Lamb, I doubt he makes one tonight.”

“Especially one involving you.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Naida?” You sat up, pearing at your second eldest sister. She twisted around to face you, breathtaking in the red silk gown she now donned. One side of her painted lips turned up in a smile. Tugging on the elbow length white gloves she held, she floated towards you. Gently, she placed a hand on your knee and brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear with the other. 

“What that means is, Father is incredibly protective over you, how you feel. He isnt going to let you be married off to some brute.” She tapped your nose with a finger before patting your knees and urging you to get up. “Now get dressed, I am dying to see you in that pearl number Syera designed for you.”

–

“You look stunning.”

“How grown up you look, my little lamb.” 

“Thank you both.” You blushed, accepting the hands of your father, and a kiss on the cheek from your mother. It was half past six and your four siblings, your parents, and you were all gathered in the entryway of your hillside manor. Seena was clad in gold, her hair pin straight as always, Naida in red and your brothers Laurent and Emir clad in complementing shades of sage and powdery blue. 

“I think she looks like a Clam.” Emir chuckled, winking playfully. His jest was quickly ended by a terse slap on the arm from your mother and a disapproving grunt from Laurent. “I was only kidding!” He shrieked, rubbing his arm dramatically. 

Seena rolled her eyes and made for the door, clearly ready to be on the way. Your siblings and mother followed, your father staying behind to escort you as your brothers had escorted your mother (one on either of her arms). 

“Emir seems to find it difficult that his younger sister is growing up.” He chuckled softly. The summer air warmed your skin as the two of you made your way to the carriage. The horses whinnied softly and fireflies glowed in the forest beyond. Roses and honeysuckle permeated the air and calmed your heart slightly.

“Emir finds everything difficult.” You whispered with a smile, squeezing your fathers arm gently before climbing into the carriage with your family who had already settled into playful banter with one another. 

The ride was long and by the time you arrived at Tamlin’s estate your nerves had been replaced with excitement. Servants helped you out of the carriage and the music from within the home beckoned you all. Kaius and Espen awaited your sisters atop the stairs, and they wasted no time sashaying to their awaiting beaus. 

You wondered how it was so easy for them, that level of grace and beauty. So easily they floated about, and so easily they had always been to compliment and fuss over. 

“Come, I’ll walk you in.” It was Laurent offering his arm. The eldest Elrod child, Laurent, had always been your protector. His gray eyes had always been soft, wise, just like your father’s. Smiling, you took his arm and looked to your father and mother who were standing arm in arm a few steps up, awaiting to be announced to those inside. 

“Lord Elrod and his wife Lady Lyria.” 

And with that you followed your mother’s swishing skirts and father’s clicking boots into a world entirely new to you.

—

You had attended events at Tamlin’s estate before. Your father was a high ranking member of his court, your mother a distant relative of the High Lord’s own mother somewhere down the line. As a babe you had played in these gardens while your parents conducted business (your father economically and your mother socially). Laurent and Tamlin were close in age, friends since boyhood and thicker than thieves, a fact that was apparent as the High Lord greeted your father cordially and dropped all principle to grasp the dark haired male beside you in a hug. 

“And dearest Lamb, you look ravishing.” He spoke, turning that wolfish gaze on you. The blush that overtook your body was far from subtle, your eyes jerking to the various people who roamed the halls. 

“Thank you, High Lord.” You replied, careful to address him as you had been instructed before you arrived. 

“Remember that he is and has been high lord. There will be many people there tonight. Forget for a moment that he is your friend.” 

Those had been your mother’s words. Spoken to all of you in the carriage. You had all known this, of course, never would you have dotted on the High Lord of spring with nicknames and playful gestures at an event such as tonight. 

“I much prefer it when you call me Tam, (y/n).”

“Not tonight.” Laurent grunted, smiling widely at his old friend. The two males shared a look, turning his attention away from your brother Tamlin gestured for your group to follow him. Falling in step quickly beside your father the blonde began to discuss the emissary you all were to meet, the conversation hushed to prevent others from hearing. 

Your attention was grabbed now, however, by the scene in the ballroom before you. Food littered long tables along the wall, servants weaved between guests serving fae wine and a band filled the room with music, swift and beautiful. 

Couples danced and swayed magically, giggling and laughter filled the room and mingled with varying conversations. 

“You look like a river nymph in a school of fish.” Laurent joked, elbowing your side gently. And you did. Your eyes had lit up at the sight before you and your body was nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“Oh Laurie, I want to dance!” You gleamed, making to pull your brother into the thick of it all. He stood ramrod straight and smiled thinly. 

“Not with me little Lamb, I am to attend the High Lord’s meeting. Perhaps one of them may better suit you.” 

His gaze traveled to the side of the room where several young men had already taken notice of you. You swallowed thickly and released your hold on Laurent’s arm. 

With a kiss on the head he dismissed himself to Tamlin’s office where you presumed he and your father had slipped away. Your sisters were already dancing with their respective lovers and Emir was dutifully escorting your Mother. 

“Not incredibly smart to leave a pretty thing like you to the wolves.” A strong voice spoke from beside you. With a slight start, you turned your attention to the male. 

And oh gods was he something.

Auburn hair was tucked neatly behind his ears. And his almond gaze was trained on you. Tanned skin that seemed to glow, and a face strong and beautiful that was mapped with constellations of freckles. 

“Pardon?” You replied, much to the dismay of those watching, you turned your body to the flame haired stranger. You took note of his attire, not outwardly spring court like so many of the males around you. He simply wore dark trousers and an emerald tunic embellished with gold. 

“Your fiancé. Not very wise of him to leave you here alone.” 

You blanched and couldn’t help but laugh, much to the male’s confusion. Covering your mouth with a gloved hand you blushed, clearing your throat, you couldn’t help but smile at his bafflement. 

“I apologize. Laurent is not my fiancé, rather, my eldest brother.” 

“Oh gods, I am so sorry.” He sputtered, running a nervous hand through those silken locks. You waved a hand in dismissal and looked towards the dance floor once more. The music had built and the dancers were lively as ever. Your body thrummed and itched with the need to join in their revelry. 

“No it’s quite alright.” And then, you had an idea “Would you like to dance with me-“

“Lucien.” 

“Lucien. Would you like to dance with me?” You found his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and swore a blush tinged his cheeks. From embarrassment due to his previous assumption or shock at a woman asking him to dance you did not know. 

“I’d be honored lady-“

“(Y/N), but most people call me Lamb.” 

—

Lucien was skilled in dancing, and by the end of the third song you were both breathless and giggly. Fae wine had been consumed copiously and the two of you had been whispering about the couples around you, making up fanciful stories about their lives that were entirely untrue. 

“And I believe Lady Erondale secretly walks her husband around their home on a leash when no one is looking.” Lucien chuckled, nodding his head in the direction of the dark haired woman. She was older and her balding husband beside her looked absolutely miserable as he downed another chalice and pretended to listen to his wife’s complaints.

You giggled and looked away, hiding your face in your glass. The two of you were leaned against a wall, when Tamlin entered the room. Your father, Laurent, and several other men and their sons filed in after, dispersing to their respective families as the music died down and the room’s attention turned to its High Lord. 

“I can’t wait to see what poor soul has to do Tam’s bidding for the rest of eternity.” You whispered, not letting your eyes leave the front of the room as Tamlin stepped onto his Dias and cleared his throat.

“It is with great pleasure that I introduce my court to her newest emmissary.” A soft chatter fell amongst the crowd as they searched for Nobles’ sons who might fit the bill. Your own eyes fell to your brother who was closer to the front of the crowd, wondering silently if Tamlin would pick his oldest friend to do his bidding politically. 

“May the mother bless you with good conversation and quick Witt, Lucien Vanserra.” 

The room fell quiet and you nearly dropped your glass. Shoulders rigged you realized suddenly that your partner was no stranger from the court you had yet to meet. 

He was Berron Vanserra’s son, and one of the highest ranking officials in Tamlin’s court.

“That pour soul would be me.” Lucien whispered from beside you with a smile before pushing off of the wall and making his way towards the front of the room. A hushed whisper permeated the crowd and then someone began to clap. 

As the auburn haired male made his way through the high fae around you, men clapped him on the back and women offered congratulations. Several even went as far as to leave lingering touches and offer seductive grins. But when the Vanserra son took his place beside Tamlin his gaze found yours in the back of the room, and to the horror of your father and mother watching, he winked. 

— 

“A Vanserra?” Seena whispered over her glass, her eyes cutting across the room to where Tamlin, Laurent, and Lucien were laughing and talking. The music had picked back up long ago and after four different dance partners your feet were hurting and you were ready to go home. 

“I don’t get it either, they’re historically brutes.” Naida replied, twirling the stem of a cherry she had just popped between her blood red lips. 

Your head was resting on a gloved hand, the tulle scratching your cheek irritatingly. They had looked at you, awaiting a reply. 

“Well what do you think, Lamb. We saw you talking with him earlier.” Seena pressed, leaning forward in her seat. 

“I thought he was nice?” You replied, unsure of the answer they sought. Your sisters huffed in unison and fell back into their chairs and the gossip they had gotten into prior. 

“I’m going to get some fresh air.” You spoke, though they were too enraptured with the conversation at hand to notice you leaving. 

Finding the gardens was the least challenging task of the night. They were lit with strings of golden lights that ran from the eaves of the manor to trees lining the wood. A few couples dotted the paths, quietly conversing with one another or simply admiring the flowers and plants that were so neatly kept by Tamlin’s gardeners. 

They paid you no mind as you strolled, arms crossed over your chest. Despite it being summer, the night had brought with her a breeze that was just nipping enough to chill your bare arms. The straps of your dress, strung with pearls, were cool against your skin only adding to the breeze’s effects. 

You chose the fountain to reside by momentarily, worried that you would interrupt a couple who were deep in conversation further up the path you had been taking. The water trickled slowly and you fastened your eyes to the bronze crane whose face was upturned towards the stars above. 

Gravel crunched with the promise of a visitor and you sat straighter on the bench you had claimed. 

“You disappeared.” Lucien noted, strolling to a stop not far from your bench. His body was turned towards the fountain, admiring it just as you were. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers and the tunic you now knew was Autumn court green was unbuttoned at the top revealing a sliver of tanned muscle. 

“My sisters were stifling me with conversation about men.” You replied, leaning against the back of the bench, arms still crossed over your chest. Never once did your eyes wane from that crane, nor did his as he spoke. 

“Do you not find that sort of talk intriguing?” 

“Not particularly when I have nothing to add.” 

He hummed in reply and turned to you, gesturing to the open spot beside you. Nodding, you scooched over to offer the large male room. He settled beside you and braced his elbows on his knees. Even hunched over as he was, he still looked downward at you. 

“Surely a female as pretty as you would have something to add about doting males.” He purred, russet eyes roving over your figure. 

Your cheeks heated and you looked away. He chuckled slightly and leaned backwards against the bench, sighing softly. 

Truthfully you supposed you did look quite pretty. The maids at your home had curled your hair  and littered it with pearls of varying sizes and hues. And your dress, it was the first womanly dress you had truly worn. Gone was the lace and ribbon of girlhood, this was the silk and boning and figure of a woman. It was pale white and the corset top accentuated your chest. The straps were made of pearls and strings of them were draped intricately across the breast, back, and sides of the gown itself. 

“White symbolizes your status as eligible for courtship.” Seena had whispered as the maids fussed about you fitfully. 

“What it means is that you havent been fucked.” Naida giggled. Her laughter had been met with gasps from the servants and a punch in the arm from Seena. “What? Its the truth.” 

You frowned slightly and lifted a gloved hand to brush a hair from your face. Even the gloves were a delicate white tulle. 

“The only males I have ever held conversation with for more than five minutes are my brothers and Tam- the High Lord.” You corrected yourself. Unsure now how you should (or if you should for that matter) be speaking to the male beside you. 

“Im quite aware of your family’s friendship with the high lord and his late parents. I too am close with Tamlin.” 

“So why have I never seen you around?”

“Perhaps you're never here when I am.” 

You nodded, that theory did check out. You had not been to Tamlin’s estate with your father since you were old enough to be seen lustfully by boys your age. It was deemed “inappropriate” behavior and now you simply visited for events such as these. 

“Perhaps I will be seeing more of you now that I am to stay and conduct political business. Your father and brother seem to be important spearheads for such conversations.” He hummed, turning his gaze towards you. Your eyes met his own and a saddened smile turned your lips. He was stunning, and the conversation was much easier and relaxed than it had been with the boys your father had forced upon you to dance with earlier. 

“You will be seeing a lot of Laurent and Father. It would be entirely inappropriate for me to join them on business trips.” 

He hummed in understanding and a wicked smirk turned the left side of his lips up. Leaning forward he captured your chin in his hand and gently turned your head to face him. 

He was so close.

The shadow of his lips brushed against your nose and his breath fanned across your lips. You had forgotten how to breathe. Your eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and back to his lips again. 

“And what if I request your presence at every meeting they attend?”

“Why would you do that?” You whispered, swallowing thickly. 

“So you’ll have something to talk about next time your sisters bring up boys.” That wicked grin was so enticing. Your heart was racing in your chest, this was not what your parents would want. Not what was expected of a lady in high standing with the court, and you knew that Tamlin would not be pleased either. 

“LUCIEN?” A voice, strong and steady, called from somewhere in the garden. 

“And so I am summoned.” He whispered, running a thumb over your parted lips before standing from the bench. Bowing, he kissed the top of a gloved hand and let his lips linger there for a moment. “I expect to see you very soon…Lamb.” 

And with that, the Vanserra son had disappeared into the night leaving you with nothing but a full body blush and the soft trickling of the fountain before you. 

–

“Did he kiss you?” Naida whispered, clutching a pillow to her chest. Seena raised her brows in question, shifting beneath the blankets you all shared. 

The minute your family had arrived home and parted ways for the night your sisters had barged into your room and toppled into your bed, begging for details of your night. 

“No. Well, almost I think? Tam called him to the house before anything could happen.” You murmured, picking at the edges of your duvet. You had long since changed for bed and the gown was hanging by your mirror. The sight of it made you yearn to return to that garden, finish that conversation. 

“Do you think father will really let you go with him and Laurent if Lucien requests you come?”

Seena questioned, she was just as puzzled as you. Her pale brows were pulled tight and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, deep in thought. 

“He’ll have no choice. If Tam approves and Lucien wants it, Father really can't turn down that courtship. Its a perfect political and economic move for him.” Naida replied, her voice lilted with concern. 

Your eyes shot to hers, wide and worried now. Lucien had been kind, intriguing, but you didn't want to court him. He was at his core a Vanserra and the stories of that family haunted you. Of course, you presumed if Tamlin was willing to take him in that surely meant he wasn't so bad?

“Well Lamb, he certainly wasn't ugly. And you were laughing the entire night. He can't be that bad?” Seena softened, resting a hand on your slumped shoulder. 

“No. But you both got to pick didnt you?”

“Yes, but we also picked courtships that would benefit our father.” Seena spoke. 

“If he requests your presence, get to know him. The worst that happens is you dislike him and you tell father. He would risk offending an emissary if it meant you got to be happy.” Naida whispered. You nodded and agreed, bidding your sisters goodnight as they slid from your bed and made their way to their respective rooms. 

–

And oh did you go.

That entire summer was spent traversing through the forest and back to your home to accompany Laurent and your father to Tamlin’s estate. To his friend’s benefit Tamlin would dismiss Lucien from meetings early and the two of you would trampede across the grounds, giggling and talking until the sun dipped below the horizon and your father announced it time for you to leave. 

Lucien would tell you about the courts he visited, what they were like and how interesting (or dull) their High Lord was. He filled your head with fanciful images of oceans in Summer court, snow capped mountains in the Winter lands, and the mystery of the feared Night court. 

“So he really is that extra?” You spoke one day, enjoying the way the summer sun warmed your skin. You were stretched across a blanket, admiring the clouds. Beside you, Lucien chuckled, tracing idle patterns into the skin of your arm. 

“Oh yes, Helion is all about a good show.” He murmured sleepily, freckled lids growing heavy. You turned your head slightly, admiring the way his hair shone copper in the light and his skin tanned deeper. His hand had grown still on your arm and his chest had fallen into a steady rhythm of rise and fall. How peaceful he looked, how utterly serene. 

Your heart lurched in your chest.

Smiling softly you inched closer to him, resting your head on his strong chest and relishing in the feeling of him wrapping his arms around your frame. 

“I will be going away for awhile soon.” He murmured into your hair, running a hand through it as he spoke. 

“How long?” 

“Im unsure. I have dealings with a court below the mountain.” 

Your spine stiffened, and Lucien’s hand stilled. You pushed up against his chest and stared down at him. He had an eye open, struggling to remain open with the brightness of the sun.

“That false court?” You had heard the whispers amongst the women, how brutal and unkempt this new “court” was. How they were more barbaric than even the Night Court’s people. You had heard how they resided deep beneath a once holy mountain and fucked and killed one another like animals. 

“False as they may be, its my job to make sure they are on good terms with Spring Court.” He threaded a finger through your hanging hair, twirling it around. Deflecting. He was deflecting. You sat out of his reach, turning your gaze to the rolling hills. 

A storm was rolling in, how fitting. 

“Who cares if they are? It shouldnt even exist Lucien.” You spat, crossing your arms over your chest. Much to your dismay, Lucien began to chuckle, a noise that built deep within his chest and bubbled out of his throat. 

Strong arms wrapped around your midsection and drug your pouting form between his legs to rest against that rumbling chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. 

“You let me worry about the logistics. Now, let me get to my point Lamb.” 

“Im listening.” You huffed, watching the clouds darken and the sun dip lower and lower. Father would be calling soon…

“When I come back…” He was dragging a hand down your left arm, toying with your hand. “I want to take you as my bride.” It was a whispered thought, spoken into your ear. 

You bristled pleasantly and couldn't help the smile that formed as you twisted to face him. You cupped his own smiling face between your hands. 

“Youre serious?” You questioned, brows pulled together tightly. 

“Serious as I will ever be.” He laughed, placing his hands over your own. “Ive spoken with your father about it, Tam too. They think its a great idea… If youll have me.” 

Marriage. 

Lucien Vanserra wanted to marry you. 

Three months in and he wanted to marry you. 

It had begun to pour. Lucien gripped your hands, pulling your wandering mind back to him. 

“When I return I will propose properly if you still feel the same.” 

Over the pouring rain you laughed and pulled him closely to you, relishing in the sped up beating of his heart thrumming against your conjoined chests. 

“I dont think I will ever feel differently for you Lucien.”

[beardedmrbean]

Okay you can criticize both but this remind of something funny

https://x.com/updatingonrome/status/1779261250528055645?s=46

So when Assassin Creed Odyssey came out, the devs wanted to flex the fact that the Ancient Greece was very colorful so they gave a lot of buildings and clothing colorful designs

Wait did I ever see a classic Greek Chiton in it? Maybe once, but the Greek clothing was very detail and such

(Also they have the Father of Medicine his balding curse you can see in that marble statue of him. Yet Herodotus was a okay….)

Also in case your wondering about the statues, well it varies

Some was pure whites, some seem to be wip, and others was fully colored they probably wanted to be careful with that as most people only know the pure marble ones so plenty of gamers probably went “huh?”

Also they did a thing where you can find a giant snake skeleton near where the oracle was at. Actually I think origins and Odyessy went with the idea that a lot of creatures such as Apophis and the Orochi are actually Ancients humans not able to understand prehistoric or dinosaur bones so they became myth and legends. At there was a fun fact in the loading screen saying that where a lot of mythos monsters came from due to fossils

Sure hope Orochi in red was that…giving the amount of drugs I did in origins and Valhalla…

Oh FUCK he probably going to be the boss fight to get that special sword.

Actually one time for women day, you reblog a post that used ACO model for Aspria in it

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/962574120331865240/

But seriously what with the muted colors schemes in media? Curse you GOT!

Ubisoft Quebec team who did Odyssey and is the main studio on red. Please remember a good color plate for Japan please!

Based

So when Assassin Creed Odyssey came out, the devs wanted to flex the fact that the Ancient Greece was very colorful so they gave a lot of buildings and clothing colorful designs

There was lots of colour all over all through history, not sure where people got the idea is was bland. Sure some dyes were expensive and reserved for royalty but not all.

Also in case your wondering about the statues, well it varies Some was pure whites, some seem to be wip, and others was fully colored they probably wanted to be careful with that as most people only know the pure marble ones so plenty of gamers probably went “huh?”

I did know that one, also the noses are one of the weakest parts and fall off on their own.

Also they did a thing where you can find a giant snake skeleton near where the oracle was at. Actually I think origins and Odyessy went with the idea that a lot of creatures such as Apophis and the Orochi are actually Ancients humans not able to understand prehistoric or dinosaur bones so they became myth and legends. At there was a fun fact in the loading screen saying that where a lot of mythos monsters came from due to fossils

You could say that

Sure hope Orochi in red was that…giving the amount of drugs I did in origins and Valhalla… Oh FUCK he probably going to be the boss fight to get that special sword. Actually one time for women day, you reblog a post that used ACO model for Aspria in it

I vaguely recall that,

But seriously what with the muted colors schemes in media? Curse you GOT! Ubisoft Quebec team who did Odyssey and is the main studio on red. Please remember a good color plate for Japan please!

We get it, it's dark and gritty, but can you turn the lights up some so we can see that please.

That's a thing we're all annoyed about I think.

[levi-llama]

Space, Time, and the Psyche (5)

⛧_-_-_-_*_-_-_-_☾_-_-_-_*_-_-_-_⛧

Series Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Chapter Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Drugging, Brief Mentions of Panic Attacks

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist / Taglist

(A/N: I've been trying to lengthen the word counts on each chapter so bare with me)

⛧_-_-_-_*_-_-_-_☾_-_-_-_*_-_-_-_⛧

I continued to walk until I got to the thicket of trees, I couldn’t be around anyone right now. I needed a breather. Though, I suppose ‘breather’ isn't the best term, seeing how my chest still feels constricted. Breathing still came difficult, yet was getting easier as moments passed. 

As focus came back to me, shame and suffocating embarrassment sank into me.I crouched into the grass, hugging my knees to my chest as I composed myself. 

I heard a shuffle behind me making me flinch. A long sigh escaped me as I heard the presence shuffle forward. I could feel him hovering over my back. 

“I’m sorry, Doctor.” I didn't pull my head up to face him; the guilt was still too heavy in my mind, weighing me down. 

“Hush, Child.” A cultivated melody of syllables flew through my ears. The presence, though strange and unfamiliar, drew calm through my bones. Like a comforting shiver brushed through my brain and down to my nerves, My body relaxed. 

“Doctor?” I murmured, out of breath, yet for a completely different reason than earlier. I was all foggy.

The Doctor, hands bound with plant cordage, was shoved to the ground in front of me. A gorgeous puff of pink pollen blanketed around us from his impact.

“Doctor?!” I wheezed from the thickened air. The shock let me breakthrough the befuddlement if only for a little. 

“Eddie! Don’t breathe!” He scrambled for purchase, dragging himself into a sitting position with just his legs due to the restraints on his hands. Though, the effort it took to become eye level with me kicked up more of the perfumed particles coming from the flora on the ground.

“What? No, Doctor, are you alright?!” I panicked and moved my hands up to hold onto his shoulders to steady him. 

The very next moment, my head was pushed to the ground, and my arms were pinned to the ground. Turning my head against the brush, I finally got a look of our captors. 

They were all women - no, goddesses was more of an accurate term - Dressed in white cloth togas, revealing yet appropriate for the climate. Towering over us, the beings must be at least seven foot tall. Skin differing shades of pink, peach, blush, like the plume of a slender flamingo, but they were not slender. The muscles flexing under their flesh made them appear as strong as a tree trunk, which may be a good description in more ways than one. Their lips like soft, velvet petals, and their hair was made of a variety of leaves, vines, flowers, dangling down their backs, or put into an elegant updo. An angular face, with a dainty jaw was juxtaposition to the sharp, strong bodies that it connected to. 

The strongest of all was the taller, most imposing one of the group. She moved to the front of the tribe, eyes covered with a golden cloth blindfold, and her toga embroidered with golden leaf designs. Her hair was a bush of lovely purple blooms, shaped into a puffy high ponytail and held up with a vine of gold. You could tell she was the one in charge.

“We are the priestesses of Florielle!” her voice boomed in announcement. “You are to be tried by the matriarchal council for the crime of Murder!”  

“Murder?!” I screamed in confusion.

Another priestess blew another load of the pink pollen into my face. The sweet smell of lavender was the last thing I sensed before going under.

–

The strong smell of burning herbs entered my senses. It’s warm smoke tingling my nose as I rose from my drug induced sleep. 

“Doctor..?” I groaned as I tried to rub my eyes, only to find my hands bound behind my back. 

“Oh, you’re finally awake. How are you feeling?” The doctor inquired with a soft voice, keeping him from being heard by the priestesses sitting around the fire in the middle of the room. 

“Groggy, but I’ll be okay. Where are we?” I groaned. A distracting pounding headache growing behind my temples.

“We’re at the temple, we found the priestesses we were looking for. Or, rather, they found us.”

A booming voice echoed along the stone temple’s walls, making the very ground vibrate with energy. “ What have you say, for the crime you are to be tried?”

The Doctor scrambled to push himself to his knees, hoping to look more imposing in front of the council. “Not Guilty! What proof do you have of us committing murder, because I can assure you that we did not harm anybody.” 

“You may not have, yet the woman has a different story.” The lead Priestess kneeled in front of the doctor, still being a good few feet taller than him, and reached in his hair to pull out a dainty flower. “The victim! Slaughtered by the hands of,” She snapped her head towards me, through her eyes covered in a golden blindfold, I could feel her eyes bare into my very being. “You, Edith Turner!” 

“The flower?!” I exclaimed, exacerbated. 

“Yes, the flower! She was a respected and protected occupant of this planet! Your vile disregard of our world and her flora children has shown a callous view of our natural order. This act of the utmost disrespect can only be rectified by Execution!”

The ruling made me feel faint; The Florielle Priestesses Fluttered around me in a blur.

“At least let us plead our case!” the doctor declared, “It was not our intention to disrespect your kind. We had no prior knowledge that we were harming the flower.”

“The motive does not matter, for the crime has been done nonetheless.” The head priestess gestured her fellow followers towards me. “She shall be thrown into the Florapod pit.”

They gripped my arms with an unwavering strength, I could feel the bruises already forming. My heart raced as I thrashed. The sound of the friction of jean fabric against rough stone grated on my ears. My shoes scraped against the flooring as I tried to stop them from dragging me back against the wall towards a dark chute embedded in the masonry of the temple.

Chanting voices echoed around the stone temple walls; they echoed around the bone of my skull. My fingertips were tingling from the strong grip of the alien women slowing my blood supply like little needles pricking up to my palms. 

“Wait!” The resounding voice of my companion commanded everyone's attention. He shattered the unnerving atmosphere, causing everything to fall to immediate silence. “At least let me join her.” He reasoned.

“What, No, Doctor!” My voice cracked as I retorted, yet was cut off by the enchanting voice of our executioner before I could continue.

“Very well,” and with another flick of her wrist, two more of her followers came and grabbed the doctor up by his arms.

The chanting began again.

“With death, may Mother Nature be nourished!” The Florielle high priestess proclaimed.

The next thing I felt was the whooshing of air whipping my hair around my face, and that terrifying sinking sensation of falling in my gut.

I brace for the hard ground, but it never came. Instead I heard an “oomph” and felt a soft grip. My eyes still screwed shut, scared of what I’d see and whether it was safe yet.

“Oi, open your eyes.” The Doctor whispered with mirth, and I did as told. My face was inches from his and that’s when I noticed he somehow caught me. This lanky man caught me of all people. I was baffled. 

“Oh! Doctor, put me down. I’m too heavy! I wriggled in his arms, blushing and feeling way too aware of my presence being so close to his. 

“Oh no, you are not,” he rolled his eyes, the air of gaiety never leaving him, “You forget I’m a Time Lord, not a human.” Nonetheless he let me down. Sadly, shortly after the reprieve from stress started, it shattered with the haunting sound of scurrying.

The darkened cave became illuminated by the entrance of a colossal, bioluminescent spider. Its tall arms were spindly and glowing mushrooms grew off its back. Goopy, mossy vines twisted around its abdomen and a glistening, acid-like substance oozed from its fanged mouth.

“Doctor, i-is that the florapod.” My eyes reflected the light as the creature’s eyes locked with mine.

“Yes, Eddie, I suppose it is.” He stated, matter of fact. He started to move.

“Wait! Don’t. Move.” I whispered to him. “Most spiders have poor distance sight.” 

“How do you know-?” 

“I don’t know how, I just do. Trust me.” I side eyed him, confusing myself in the process. I had never done any sort of research on spiders before, but my gut just knew.

“We need to find a way out.” 

“I know, but we have to do it slowly. Don’t let it catch your movement.” We start to move against the back of the cave, looking for any loose rocks, or give in the wall, but nothing seems to work. After a few clambering struggles to try and find a way to knock part of the wall down.

I wasn’t paying attention to my footing, so I slipped. Falling to my knees kept the spider web that launched right at me, lost aim and instead shot right above my head. TheDoctor grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. 

“Doctor! Wait!” I wailed as my shins skidded and skinned on the ground. He was moving too fast; I couldn’t regain my footing.

“We have to move! Now!” He scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder. Running fluidly across the rocks, all the while scanning the area with his sonic screwdriver. Trying to find a weak point in the rocks in which he could exploit. 

“Doctor!” I tried to get his attention, but he didn’t respond. “Doctor!” I howled again, now hitting his back with my fists. “Doctor! Look!” and as he finally looked over his shoulder to find the icky, fungus covered spider crawling towards them. Before the doctor could move out of the way, webbing shot out at me and dragged me off his shoulder. 

The air whipped my shoulder length hair around my face as the florapod threw me through the cave until I landed in a harsh sliding stop. A rotten case of road rash blossomed with red blood on the right side of my body. As I got my bearings, I could hear my companion shouts echo across the cave walls. 

“Eddie!” He shouted as I got to my feet, “Run in a Circle!”

“What?!”

“Run! Run around it in a circle!” his hands cupped his mouth as he projected his plan.

Realizing the webbing was still attached to my back, I understood what he was telling me. I started running, gnawing on my inner cheek to distract from the pain. As I ran, the spider’s own web wound around its legs, ruining its balance. 

As it toppled, I tried my best to get out of its way, and barely managed as I leaped towards the Doctor on the other side of the cave. 

All I could hear was the beating of my own heart, and the pants pushing out of my lungs.

“Eddie?” The sensation of a warm hand rubbing my back between my shoulder blades brought me back to the present. “Don’t worry, hold still.” He held me still by pushing down on my shoulder, squeezing me against the rock below.

“Wait, Hold on! What’re you-!” My eyes widened when I saw a sharp, blade-like, rock come down towards the middle of my spine. I awaited the impact, but didn’t feel much.

“Oh, stop being a baby,” He held out his hands in a disarming manner after he set down the, now web-covered, rock. “I was just getting this nasty webbing off of ya.”

I sighed with relief. 

⛧_-_-_-_*_-_-_-_☾_-_-_-_*_-_-_-_⛧

[jotun-design-party]

Hey I was wondering, by your example of the harmful design does what if! Loki sort of follow this harmful trope? I know this is based on aos loki but just as an example that kind of thing.

And also I’ve seen a lot of jotnar portrayed with minimal clothing and mostly only armor in like canon media not just fanon and I thought that was purely because they are more immune to the cold and don’t need to try and get warm but I may be mistaken. Are you saying that is also harmful or just if it is sexualized?

These questions are purely just to understand your meaning and not to be critical or anything! Thanks so much! This event looks super fun!

hi, yes! good [timezone.] no worries, i'm very happy to answer questions & please forgive if my syntax is weird today, i have a chronic disability which causes some brain fog during flare-ups so my sentence structure might not be the most elegant. i WAS given a superpower to counter this (a disability which, for our purposes here, i will sum up as "it makes my vocabulary big") but for the sake of clarity i'll be responding with a bit of a shortened version of all of my thoughts so that it makes a little bit more sense. i can go more in-depth at a later time if needed

under the cut, summary:

What If jötnar are not nearly AS bad as a lot of the jötun art i've seen in fanon and canon so it gets a very hesitant green-light from me. and also the issue with putting jötnar in minimal clothes is that artists still tend to choose to dress them in clothing items that are associated with racist and offensive depictions of real-life people

+ some of my personal ideas about what jötnar might wear

the jötnar in What If do rely on some of the same antiblack and anti-american indigenous stereotypes that we see in the comics but their designs aren't NEARLY as caricature-y as the comic book designs are and they do a better job at making it look like something an alien would wear. still bad, but not NEARLY as bad as the comics, i'd give it a very hesitant green light

the main issue with jötnar being depicted in minimal clothing is that oftentimes, the artists choose clothing specifically related to these racist stereotypes to evoke imagery of the Assumed lifestyle of both the jötnar and the real life people who are affected by the stereotypes. this is an obviously satirical example because my brain isn't working well enough to think of a more genuine one, but it wouldn't be a problem if someone drew their jötnar to be running around in heart-print boxers pin-up posing, you know? the issue is largely that people make the choice to draw them in long sheer skirts draped with gold like orientalist stereotypes of women, or in loincloths and furs and bone piercings in their noses.

basically there are all sorts of ways to visually get across their cold immunity, and have them dressed minimally, without putting them in skirts and loincloths and stuff

----- the stuff down here ⬇️ are just my personal thoughts and dont have any bearing on the actual contest, just some of my ideas that you can read for fun if you so desire

and this is definitely more of a personal thing, but i don't Personally think it makes much sense to have jötnar dressed in minimal clothing even if they are immune to the cold. this is just because, snow still melts haha. so i don't think it makes too much logical sense to have them barefoot and without any sort of cloak to protect them from the weather. plus, light reflects off of snow and is known to give people sunburns, ao i like to cover up their skin too <- this however is all optional. it's fiction and it doesn't need to be really very practical it's just the sort of thing i enjoy thinking about so i wanted to share my thoughts

i defo do not have the spoons to bust out a thor mini so you're just going to have to use your imagination but this outfit i drew them in is also like all kinds of impractical for a human or an asgardian to wear in the snow :') i mean can you imagine going out into a blizzard wearing latex and an underboob window? i imagine that thor would be wearing fur-lined leather coats and thick pants and three layers of socks and heavy duty boots next to this bitch ⬇️

this isn't my definitive loki design though. i have a lot of thoughts bumping around in my head and art that i havent posted (and probably won't post) and this ⬆️ was just a quick example i busted out to give a visual difference