ems

[pequnopastel]

❰❰﹒ ems/emmy , she/her

❰❰﹒ 20 y/o ❕ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵﹒

❰❰﹒ this blog contains spoilers for The Pitt, seasons 1 & 2.‼️

❰❰﹒ i mainly reblog my favorite reads, gifs, & whatever else interests me. (weezer ^..^﹒ !!)

❰❰﹒ @minichorrada is my side blog, it’s only for testing so don’t check it out :>

➜ tag directory….

#em speaks ,＞ me yapping #em answers , > asks that have been answered

#reading list , > the works i have read, am going to read, or am rereading

[courteous-otter]

i had another vision

[theorphicangel]

child of divorce yuji forcing you to call your ex!husband sukuna to say goodnight.

you had refused all week to give into yuji's plan that he had stolen from the internet. you were mature, healed and too busy to deal with these little dares. but it was up until one bored evening where you had finally succumbed to his challenge.

Your phone was on speaker, with the line ringing for the contact name of your ex-husband which was simply titled 'sukuna'.

no love hearts, no kisses or nicknames. you were completely over him and have been for years. the only reason you stay in touch with him is for Yuji's sake.

"I don't think he'll pick up yuj' " you murmured to him slightly. "your dad's been busy these past few days.'

and just like the old days, Sukuna always manages to prove you wrong -he always needed to embarrass you, even when he wasn't even here in the flesh.

"hello?" a coarse voice rings out on the other end of the line.

"hello." you respond and immediately you feel your stomach fall in knots. you're nervous. and you don't even know why.

looking up at yuji, his expectant face is watching eagerly as if he enjoys torturing you. he mouths "say it! say it!" and you feel like you have no choice but to continue with your dare.

you swallow down your nerves and attempt to speak as nonchalant as possible. "I just wanted to call and say goodnight."

There's a pause and there's something inside you that just knows how much he's smirking right now.

"Oh really?" he starts putting on a sultry tone, "you haven't done that in a while, is something wrong?"

you pull a face, willing your body to not fall for his tone of voice. no you won't fall like you did all those years ago. absolutely not. "No, I just wanted to say goodnight."

"do you need me to come over and tuck you in as well or....?"

"no! uhm, I mean no I'm fine but y'know I hope you have a good night."

yuji's meanwhile in the corner of the room clenching his stomach and trying his hardest not to let out a laugh.

"hmmm."

"what?"

"cut the crap."

"I'm not-" you start but sukuna manages to cut you off pretty quickly.

"listen, either tell me what you really want or don't bother wasting my time."

you pull a face, "me telling you good night is a waste of your time now?"

"yes."

"what are you even doing right now? it's 11pm and i know you don't have shit to do."

"don't turn this on me, baby, this is all about you."

"don't call me baby." you mutter.

"then don't call me to say good night."

you roll your eyes, you should have known that even the conversation of 'good night' would naturally turn into an argument between the two of you.

"is yuji good? you sure you don't need me to come over to help take care of a pre-teen?" he mocks.

"i don't" you bite, "i was just being kind and saying goodnight, i know how lonely it must get over there. are you sure you're doing alright?" your tone is filled with sarcasm, attempting to play sukuna at his favourite game.

"i dunno', " he starts, "i might need to come over to your bed so you can keep me company.'

you immediately hang up. you're done and finished. whilst yuji's laughing away in the corner all you can do is roll your eyes at the conversation.

but there's a little part.

a little part of you that you won't ever admit to yourself that misses him.

unbeknownst to you, on the other side there's still a smirk on sukuna's face as he sets the phone down, ruminating on the fact that there's also a part of him that misses you.

[tojipie]

frat!jo can't help but hit record every time he comes over

18+, smut, sextape, mirror sex, spanking, doggystyle, prone bone, creampie, def not proofread

the video opens with a shaky, blurred view of your back. you're laid out with your head facing the foot of satoru's bed, perched with your ass up and your face laid sideways against the blankets.

he pulls back slightly, and the camera finally unblurs to reveal the full extent of your shared debauchery. satoru kneels close behind you, cock nestled flush between your lips, rubbing the underside of himself against the length of your slit.

this isn't your first round judging by the moisture that collects on your skin, and the messy gloss that stick to his happy trail. your legs shake as they struggle to support your body, arch deepening with ever slow pass of his cock over your weeping center.

satoru pans his phone up then, high enough to get a quick shot of the mirror that faces the bed before panning the camera back towards where your bodies threaten to meet. the microphone barely picks up the muffled string of words he utters to you.

"gonna be good?" he asks quietly, rubbing his warm palm up and down your back. you turn your head to the side a little further, looking up at him and the camera with a sweet nod.

"yeah?" he mumbles, testing the weight of one of your asscheeks in his hand. he squeezes the soft skin there, kneading you like dough before bringing his hand down to guide his dick where you want it.

he breaches you until he's got the entire tip inside, and you both moan. the camera pans back up then as satoru angles his phone at the mirror with a satisfied look on his face.

he takes the time to admire himself, rucking the bottom hem of his too-tight shirt up to reveal the chisels plain of muscle that lies underneath. the camera catches everything. the sleazy grin on his face, how the dim light bounces off every peak and dip he’s worked so hard to maintain. his hat is pushed backwards against his head, snowy white hair pulled off of his forehead to keep his vision clear.

satoru looks at himself like he just can't help it, feeling his body up like he wants to put on a show. he bites the hem of his shirt to keep it out of the way, bringing his newly freed hand down to stroke himself.

“you like being my pornstar?” he asks you, still ogling his own reflection.

you whine out a “yes”, so soft his phone barely picks up on it. satoru must decide your answer isn’t good enough, because he’s already withdrawing his hips with a tut. his tip slips out of you with a quick, devastating squelch.

“no, please, i love it.” you reason, reaching behind you clumsily for something, anything that’ll satisfy the incessant ache between your legs. he laughs at your little show of affection, shucking his shirt off and onto the floor with a hum.

“yeah she does.” satoru whispers, panning the camera down to capture you once again. he pats your hip appreciatively before snapping his hips forward, sheathing himself completely and making you squeal.

you'l never quite get over that initial feeling of taking him to the hilt on camera. how your toes curl every time him buries himself between your legs and stretches you open. it's a lot to deal with sometimes. the bravado of it all, the overwhelming pleasure that lingers even after you've had your fill.

satoru takes a moment to capture the way your hole flutters around his cock, mumbling praises that you can't quite hear over the ringing in your ears.

"c'mon, squeeze me, say hi to the camera." he muses, thumbing through the milky cum from earlier that night that spills out every time he eases his hips forward. you squeeze around him the best you can, nearly crumbling at the shockwave of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

you don't realize your eyes are closed until you feel his fingers closer around your chin. satoru whispers something unintelligible to you, stroking the soft underside of your face with his thumb before turning your head toward the mirror.

you watch his silhouette through teary eyes, moaning, and writhing, and burning at the knowledge that his phone is picking up all of it. every sweet little noise you try to hide, how hard he's fucking you in nothing but his hat, all of it.

you can feel your heart between your legs now. satoru can too judging by the noise he tries to stifle. you bring two fingers down to our core, keeping your eyes on his in the mirror while you lose yourselves in each other.

“yeah? you like that?” he asks you, whacking his palm against one of your asscheeks. you whine, legs opening. little further at the sting that kindles where he'd spanked you. you can't help but clench around him at the thought of watching the video back and seeing his handprint bloom against your skin.

he gets cocky when the camera's on. harsher, like he's running on borrowed time and wants to take you apart as thoroughly as he can. your mind drifts to the thought of him watching all your videos back the next time he's cooped up in his dorm during midterms. cock in hand while he watches how good he'd fucked you.

you'd be watching too, halfway across campus in your room with a vibrator squished between your legs as you try not to think of all the ways he'd taken you. of the things he calls you when he's balls deep, or how good his hands feel against your body.

you don't know what to do with yourself right now, all you know is that your orgasm is devastatingly close, and the way satoru's angling his hips just might send you to an early grave. your shaky legs finally give out under you almost on cue which takes the both of you by surprise. satoru only chuckles, taking advantage of the new position with a kiss to the nape of your neck.

you're a goner as soon as his thrusts start back up again.

it's all too much, too sudden. the new angle allows his dick to hit something absolutely mind-blowing inside of you which hurdles you that much closer to your end. your fingers are restless against your clit now, applying the perfect amount of pressure now that your hand is trapped between the mattress and your body.

you're loud as can be right now, neighbors be damned. every push and pull of his dick against your walls gets a noise out of you. hushed, shaky little moans that seem to hitch every time his balls press up against your slit.

satoru's faring no better, mumbling nonsense to himself with one hand spreading you, and the other catching everything on camera. he takes the time to enjoy your body, pulling your ass apart to get a good view of how ruined you are. the trail of cum down the backs of your thighs, the way your pussy stretches right at the brim. even your asshole gets a few seconds of camera time, clenching softly under the pad of thumb as he rubs you there.

"want it inside?" he asks you, already knowing the answer. you pulse around him like the thought of him humming anywhere but inside devastates you, nodding with a string of pleas and praises.

you beg him from his seed, hurried an unabashed while your fingers work at your clit, satoru's hand leaves your other hole and cracks down against your ass a final time as he spills into you, sending you over the edge as his seed floods your lower half.

your vision blurs, shifting in and out of focus as the weight of your organs comes crashing down on you. you're hyperaware of everything and nothing all at the same time, grasping at the sheets beneath you in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

satoru's just as wrecked, making sure to catch the way his cum spills out of you and down your legs as he pulls out. he's breathless, nearly hyperventilating from exertion, and soon enough, you feel the full weight of him settle down on top of you, phone off and landing somewhere near his feet.

"i'm gonna cum so hard to that later." he mumbles. you giggle underneath him, rolling his lax body off of you to lay your head on his chest.

"three rounds wasn't enough for you?" you ask. satoru scoffs at the jest, pinching your side softly before accepting the kiss you press to his mouth.

[pururin]

[ohfreshlinen]

𓂃✍︎ gojō satoru's daughter loves yūta 

The very second Satoru's daughter can walk is the day that goes down in history for him. There is nothing that the little munchkin can't do once her legs start kicking: waddling like a cute-dumb penguin over the verandas, up the stairs, to the training grounds, and even in the classroom where he holds weekly meetings for his second- and first-year students. 

Yuji often says that she's the one who softens up a week's worth of scolding. Panda and Maki say she's the ticket to a hard-earned rest. Nobara pushes further that with her in the group, they can get an expensive meal out of their sensei. And yes — all those are absolutely true. 

And that's just her figuring out how to use her chubby, little legs. 

Now, imagine his utter dismay, the day on which he has lamented and scorned the world, when she starts babbling a litany of coherent words. Yet, in that absurd dictionary of hers, the word "Dada" is still missing. 

Granted, she can barely say three words, consisting of "Mommy, food," and "poop," Satoru is still very much determined to be number four in her first words. 

"Give it time," you said to your husband once, when he pouted against your shoulders as you cleared up the dishes. "She's trying."

"I wanted her to say my name first," Satoru mumbled. 

You snort, because of course, he always wanted to be first for everything. "Sucks, doesn't it?" 

Needless to say, on one summer morning, when he is supervising all his students' training (at the rare chance that they're all together), you come bounding down the stairs with packed lunches for everyone, and clinging to your waist tightly with a flower grasped in their hands is your daughter.

Satoru quickly unbinds his bandages because if there's one thing he wishes to do every time he sees his daughter, it's to see her as she is. Nothing to obscure his vision of what perfection is. 

"Come here, my sweet potato!" He crouches down and opens his arms for her. His other students stop and greet the new guests, but Satoru's attention is all but pointing to the little bundle of joy running at breakneck speed towards — 

"What!"

His own daughter, his pride and joy, the one he so begged you to have with him, the one he would sing all those crappy songs that make no sense, the little devil who would beg him to eat her vegetables because Mommy didn't make it right, and the one who would cling to his leg as he runs around the room like a lunatic before you stop it — runs straight to the arms of Yūta. 

Yūta, who crouches down and picks her up with so much ease, where her little giggles turn into skittish ones that send more arrows straight to Satoru's heart. 

"You've grown up so well!" Yūta praises, brushing her hair aside. "Look at you!"

Satoru pulls his hair and grits his teeth together because only Satoru gets to spin his daughter around like that, not Yūta. That's only a thing between him and his baby girl, and only the father, as he so emphasizes it, gets to do that. 

His daughter pulls him out of his imagination of flicking Yūta's forehead repeatedly when she squeals and tries to grab the hilt of Yūta's sword. 

With a quick, "Whoa, there!" Yūta methodically spins her around at the same time he tosses his weapon to Maki. 

There is no greater threat to him than his daughter having a crush on one of his students. As he stands, stupefied, watching his daughter give her flower to Yūta, who tucks it behind her ear and calls her beautiful, Satoru feels the world collapse on itself and swallow him whole.

She's not supposed to like anyone but him. And she's not supposed to like anyone until she's old and he's dead. 

And so, is this what death is? Cold and harsh and unforgiving? 

"How cute!" You say beside him, bumping his knee to get him up. 

Satoru would love to get up if Yūta would love to let his daughter go, and if Yūta would love to return to Africa indefinitely. 

"You better not do what I think you're thinking right now." You mutter threateningly. 

"And what is it I'm gonna do, sweetie?" 

"If I find out Yūta goes missing tomorrow, I will hunt you down like I did when you buried my Barney stuffed toy." 

"Pffft," Satoru says, "I did no such thing."

"Satoru, there was a footage camera, and you were in that stupid video, and Nanami saw you. Don't bullshit with me right now. I will literally break your ass again with Nanami's butcher knife."

Satoru deflates. "It's not faiiir! I want time with my daughter, too!"

"She hardly sees them anyway, and you know that Yūta's her favorite." 

"Kid's barely in town, and she chose him of all people?" 

"Yūta's adorable. I'm sure she finds him adorable, too."

Satoru gasps, heartstricken. "Take that back right now!"

"You're being dramatic. Yūta wouldn't even hurt her or let anyone hurt her. You should be glad."

"She's got me, her daddy. Daddy will protect her." Satoru whines. "She didn't even greet me . . . went straight to Yūta instead . . ."

You laugh sympathetically. "That just goes to show you that he's great with kids. You know that kids are naturally drawn to those who are kind-hearted." 

Satoru concedes, "I suppose." 

"Let her be. Yūta's often out on missions, and whenever he's free, it's past her bedtime. Give her this moment, Satoru." 

The two of you watch as your daughter hovers over Yūta while the rest coo and greet her affectionately. In hindsight, if Satoru isn't jealous about it, he would think that it's nice to know his daughter is very well protected by his students. Plus points that she's quite drawn to Yūta — since now, there is absolutely no way any curses would be around your vicinity so long as he's there. 

But, as the sun begins to set and he's about to conclude today's training, Satoru's daughter does one more thing to drive a nail into his father's poor, crumpled heart. 

"Love! Yūta! Love! Love!" 

"Oh, shit." 

Satoru hears you mumble through the ringing in his ears and the cracks of red bleeding through his Six Eyes. 

Yūta is definitely going overseas tonight. 

© ohfreshlinen — all rights reserved. do not modify, edit, steal, feed into ai, or plagiarize my content.

[ohfreshlinen]

𓂃✍︎ "gojō sensei told me not to." 

Satoru stands before you, his gaze ever searching through yours, embedding it in a way you wish he wouldn't. Within his deep-set blue eyes, something feels amiss. They don't look manipulative — no mischief you could have detected right away. There is obviously no trace of the certain way his eyes bring about in him. 

This one watches you softly, almost carefully. Not meekly though; rather, it holds a kind of innocent trait that is nearly impossible for Satoru to possess.

"Don't fuck with me right now . . ." You hear yourself say. There is a hint of a humorless laugh attempting to break away. 

"I —" his voice cracks. It's unlike him. 

"What have you done?" You start. "Hm?"

Satoru remains rigidly quiet. 

"Say something," you push his chest harshly, "you always get the last comment, so say something." 

He closes his eyes. 

You shake your head. There is something you can't quite control trying to flow out of your eyes, yet you force it to stop.

"Satoru," you call with that sweet voice he loves most, "why do you have stitches on your head? Hm? Couldn't you have gone to Shōko for that? Why mar your perfect forehead?" 

Clearing his throat, he says, "I-I had to do it . . ."

"Do what?" Your head tilts, questioningly. "Is there something you didn't tell me?" 

His lips tremble faintly. Anyone might have missed it. But the thing about you is that you know Satoru most. That little quirk of his lip will never go unnoticed by you — even if it's unlike him to do so.

You ram your fist against his chest again. He only takes one step back. 

"Satoru. I am waiting." 

Deep down in your heart, you know what is true. This isn't Satoru. This isn't the man who promised you absolution. This, who stands before you, is shaking, even if his eyes refuse to look anywhere else but your presence. 

However, your mind conjures the easiest plausible escape first. 

Denial. 

Denial. Denial. Denial. That's what it is. 

Then this Satoru calls out your name, and that's when you know you can't run away from the truth forever. 

"Gojō Sensei —"

The scream tears through you in the most unthinkable sound to have ever graced your lips, effectively cutting Yūta off. It's the combination of all there never would be anymore: the longing, the love, the loss, the anguish, the teasing, and the knowing of never having to see him again. 

Yūta looks at you through Satoru's eyes — through those eyes that you loved most, that you've watched open and close many, many times — as his fingers shake uncontrollably, not knowing how even to begin rectifying this. 

"I have to —" his voice cracks brokenly, "— please understand, I had to. I'd never wanted this. I'm sorry."

You scream louder, like some sort of possessed being wailing across the souls of those alive. You pull your hair; strands fall on the ground. And you do just about anything to try and withdraw from this horrible pain. 

"I only have a minute left . . . I have to return to my body. But, I couldn't leave him out there . . ." Yūta weeps openly. "I can't leave Gojō Sensei alone. I wanted to bring him back to you. Somehow. Someway. I'm sorry. I should've —" 

Perhaps it's Yūta, being ever the kindest kid you have met, or maybe it's the muscle memory of your lover; whoever took control, they enveloped you into his arms. You can feel the warmth of his body encasing you in its last burst of energy, and you cling onto that, onto him who's nothing but a carcass already. 

And you finally collapse.

"How could you do this to me!" You hear yourself scream. Yūta doesn't let you go. He holds you tighter. You can still smell the faint scent of Satoru. "How could you! This wasn't part of the plan! You told me you'd win! You said you would! How dare you! How could you do this to me! SATORU!"

For that whole minute Yūta gives you, he holds you like how his sensei would've. He whispers things to your ear, deluding you into believing it was Satoru. Until his body convulses, and with one last apology, both from the man you loved and the student you care for most, Yūta finally returns to his own body, and you are left with the real Satoru — hollow and empty and still. 

Your hands fumble up in the air, your mouth hangs wide open for a scream that never comes, your eyes well with so many tears, wide and unblinking, and you look at nowhere else but to your own lover who stares at you. The blues have dimmed to grays. 

"Don't do this to me, please." You beg, shaking his body desperately. "Please. Please, please, please, Satoru, please, please, please, please." 

You continue to shake him. Maybe if you shake him a bit harder, he'd jump start and return. He'd make a teasing remark that he got you good this time. You wouldn't get angry. You wouldn't even smack the hell out of him. In fact, you'd laugh with him. You'd kiss him, and kiss him, and never let go. 

"Please, Satoru. Please. Please." 

Yūta kneels in front of you. "Gojō Sensei has to rest his eyes. Let me . . . p-please." 

You don't remember whether or not you've agreed; all you remember is that Satoru's eyes close for the final time when Yūta's bloodied fingers decide to force them to rest. You are too numb to do it, and he is too selfless to let you. 

Then that's when you begin to bargain. You beg, scream, and demand that there might be some curse technique out there that can bring him back. When the only breathing person in the infirmary tells you that there isn't any curse he knows of, you try another way.

You manage to crawl on your knees towards Yūta, begging him to curse Satoru the way he did to Rika for her.

That you would take care of him, that you would set him free eventually, that it would be okay — just, just, just please, bring him back. 

But Yūta can only force himself to hold your hand, crying with you in hiccups and ragged breathing because he can't, above all else, comply with your wishes. "Gojō Sensei told me not to." 

And you scream again. "That isn't fair! He left me! How could he have done this, when he knows I can't do this without him! I can't do this! Yūta, I can't. Please! Please! Bring him back! To me! Please!" 

Someone tries to enter the room. You throw the nearby thing you can hold onto, which is a chair.

"GET OUT!"

Yūta pushes the other objects away from your grasp, and immediately orders the people outside not to enter under any circumstances. Then, he crouches to your level and holds you tightly. Yūta says nothing, despite your nails digging against his back, despite you pulling the front of his hair and shirt, despite everything you're putting him through. 

Things wouldn't stop moving, breathing, and living. And yet, Yūta continues to hold you.

"Yūta," you beg once more, in a whisper no less broken than the others you've implored, "kill me. Please. I can't do this without him. Please."

"I won't."

"W-Why?"

Yūta sobs. "Because G-Gojō Sensei told me not to."

© ohfreshlinen — all rights reserved. do not modify, edit, steal, or plagiarize my content.

i am not okay after watching s3 ep2 of hotd, so this is my way of trying to move on. but rlly, i'm lying to myself :<

[tojidihcheese]

pregnant with the world’s greediest baby

contains: sukuna x fem! reader. modern au/college setting. pregnancy cravings at three am. super unserious content. hints of chef kuna included.

note: got the idea from watching this video come up (and just had to do it as a tiramisu enthusiast) <3 can be read as a part of fbtdoty or as a stand alone.

you can’t sleep.

you have a midterm for organic chemistry at 10 in the morning, one you’ve spent making countless flashcards and memorizing for the past two weeks and you can’t sleep. all while your baby’s father snores like a damn tractor right next to your ear, blissfully unaware of your dilemma.

the past two hours have been a fruitless struggle of flopping around in bed like a fish, of pulling your blanket up only to end up yanking it off once you start to feel as if you’ve stepped foot into a scorching furnace, and of getting up to five hundred counting sheep before giving up completely. you flip onto your back, letting out a ragged sigh.

sukuna’s groggy voice cuts through the silence, “speak, woman. something wrong with you or the baby?”

“no, she’s just having cravings again,” you speak up, your stomach grumbling at the mere mention of something food related.

“baby’s still hungry after our dinner tonight?” pot calling the kettle black.

he could feel the glare you shot him in the dark, his throat bobbing underneath your deadly gaze. “i am growing a baby inside of me. what excuse do you have for stuffing your face of three plates of steak and dessert?”

fair point. he doesn’t push the topic any further (realizing he’d lose anyways), and instead decides to ask, “what’s the baby craving now?”

“a sandwich,” you’re already getting up from the bed as you speak, sliding onto your house slippers. sukuna doesn’t make an effort to move from the bed, you could make your own sandwich. at least, he wasn’t having to drive out to the grocery store for ice cream and a bag of hot chips at five in the morning.

sukuna came to realize it was not that simple when he stepped foot into your kitchen after you’d been gone for more than ten minutes.

he was expecting to find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cheese sandwich (or three), maybe with a few pickles you had left over from last week’s grocery trip in the mix.

instead, he gets welcomed by about five different plates cluttering up the kitchen counter and the rich scent of espresso being mixed in with egg yolks and milk. “…thought it was just a sandwich.”

you turn around to look at him mid-stir, letting out a quiet sigh at having to explain yourself to the man in front of you. “baby wanted a tiramisu french toast sandwich with a melted chocolate center.” one of the greediest cravings you’ve had as of yet, but one you were hellbent on completing though.

“thought you weren’t supposed to be drinkin’ coffee,” a yawn leaves his lips as he moves further into the kitchen. sukuna props himself against a counter, watching how easily you move around through the kitchen despite being slightly sleep-deprived.

“decaf tiramisu would be a crime against humanity,” you counter with a scoff at the mere idea, “a little bit of coffee won’t hurt.”

you expect sukuna to protest further, bracing yourself for any comment about how your ob-gyn wouldn’t approve or about the baby’s safety. but he doesn’t say anything, moving over to wash his hands at the sink. “you need help with anything?”

“you can start off by making the cream. mascarpone, eggs, heavy cream, and sugar’s on the counter. and just don’t get in my way, please,” you respond, going back to stirring the coffee with your yolk and vanilla extract mix.

“yes chef.” placing a bowl over a boiling plate of water, he cracks three eggs inside and pours in a decent amount of sugar for the base. upon satisfied with how your mixture was coming along, you dipped two pieces of french toast before setting them down on the griddle.

with a click, sukuna turns the stove off and moves the fluffy mixture off the boiling pot of water. now came adding the mascarpone and vanilla until his mixture was nice and smooth. you moved to stand by his side, grabbing the bowl of heavy cream to whip and speed up the process. “you’re doing a good job so far,” you murmur, looking over at his bowl.

“would have to be an idiot to mess up stirring.” that’s what you get for trying extend some sort of kindness to him. but he adds, “thanks.” you let out a quiet hum, the two of you working in silence. only the sound of your whisks hitting the metal bowl. but it feels nice, the two of you working in synchrony until it was time to fold the whipped cream into the mascarpone mix and flip the pieces of bread on the griddle.

sukuna works as if he’s defusing a bomb, fingers steady and careful as he moves about a third of the whipped cream to lower the density of the mascarpone. careful not to deflate the cream all the while. the last thing he wants is to end up with a soupy mixture and a disappointed look on your face. once it’s loosened enough, he adds in the rest of the mix before sweeping a plastic spatula to cut down the center of the mix.

a quiet breath of relief leaves his lips when he brings the mascarpone from the bottom of the bowl to the tom of the cream, managing to fold it over successfully. “thank you chef, it looks great.” your praise goes straight to his ego. he lingers behind you when you slowly begin transferring it over into a piping bag, monitoring that his hard work wasn’t all for naught.

now comes to actually assemble your creation.

mascarpone cream’s evenly applied onto both pieces of bread with cocoa powder sprinkled on top as your base for the chocolate and the biscuit cookies you opted for instead of ladyfingers. you dip four of them into your coffee mixture before placing them over the base, drizzling your melted chocolate over the surface. sukuna could only watch as you assembled your creation with the same precision a surgeon would have during a life or death operation. to top it all off, you crushed a few more biscuits before pouring it over the chocolate.

it looks nothing short of perfection when you finish.

the clock on your microwave reads 4:30 am, giving you approximately three hours to sleep before you begrudgingly had to get up for class. you plop down at the kitchen table, digging into your sandwich with a spoon. chocolate and coffee mix together with the cream in a mostly sweet, slightly bitter delicacy that has a quiet moan leaves your lips at the taste.

definitely worth missing out on a few hours of sleep.

sukuna, being the glutton that he is, takes the spoon from your hand to taste your sandwich himself. a sinful moan leaves him as soon as it hits his tastebuds, his tongue darting out to lick any residue off your spoon. he leaves it sparkling when he hands it back. “baby oughta open up a restaurant, benefit off your cravings.”

“trying to capitalize off our child already?” you raise a brow, scooping up as much as you could onto your spoon before bringing it up to your lips.

he only shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest. “kid’s gotta make back the money we’re gonna be spending on diapers. nothing’s free around here.”

you shake your head, licking away at the melted chocolate clinging onto your spoon. “and what would we call our baby’s restaurant?”

sukuna seems to consider his answer for a moment, fingers tapping against your kitchen table before he speaks up, “baby’s malevolent kitchen.”

a disbelieving laugh bubbles out of you before you can control it, “you seriously think people would step inside of that place?”

“name’s a work in progress,” he retorts, taking your spoon to steal another bite from your plate. “all we need is the baby’s creations anyway.”

the two of you spend the next half hour brainstorming names for your imaginary restaurant (“maybe baby’s five star diner” or “how about gluttonous sandwiches”), before ultimately calling it a night. sukuna took over one side of the sink and you the other to make the job that much quicker, a peaceful silence setting between the two of you. and though you’d probably regret it when your alarm clock blared at 8:00 am, you had the best sleep when you got back into bed.

a/n: if you can tell i don’t cook, my apologies 💔💔 but i hope you enjoyed the read <3 if you have any baby name suggestions/if there any drabbles you’d like to see, don’t hesitate to let me know okay bye

fbtdoty taglist (if you would just like to be tagged for the series please let me know): @true1411 @minadiary07 @fudogh @moonz33 @tsumoorin @0celotmilk @i034sworld @lovley212 @user2swag2care @palletaegoo @dreamydaredevil @cherrymuseum @amaiinoo @love-d-luxe @vvkitty @ambrosiarosesworld @satorustorm @minadiary07 @luvs-angel @nanamisangell @spookyeomgoose @tohru-tales @hannahgz8 @mruizsworld @iheartlinds @keiiiluv @jiyuspassion @shazzer29 @megxmixtm @chosoissohotugh @ejk31 @kingjuliancypher @exepelia-chan @whatsernamekei @domainofmarie @mccookiemonster @konigswifeyforlifey @gonergirll @seellove @vanillaacreams @stupidlyawesomegirl @gojover @iluvmywives

[getokive]

BABY DADDY OF THE WEEK .ᐟ NAME: Hiromi Higuruma JOB: Lawyer

ATTY. HIGURUMA'S DAD LORE:

Hiromi and his wife used to be colleagues at the law firm where he was once a partner

After having Nobara, he decided it would be best to move into corporate law for their family's safety (and his wife's peace of mind)

He's reserved most of the time, only ever stepping out of his comfort zone whenever Nobara wants to do something fun

His growing credentials outside of work include: Father and daughter ballet classes, tea parties every Saturday, and being Dr. Nobara's dying patient, to name a few

Hiromi is firm on having only one child (he says he doesn't know if he can spoil another kid)

HIROMI SAYS: “My wife birthed her mini me. I'm nothing but a host.”

DADA IS UP NEXT! ┈ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist

[aeresha]

making 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Sukuna Ryomen ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ wear hello kitty pajama pants to match with yours .✦ ݁˖

The hum of the sewing machine had finally stopped, but the real challenge was about to begin.

On the bed lay two matching pairs of pajama sets.

They were made of the softest, most obnoxious pastel pink fleece imaginable, completely covered in an all-over print of Hello Kitty’s face, complete with her signature red bow.

One set was a standard size.

The other was custom-altered—clumsily widened in the shoulders, lengthened in the sleeves, and modified to comfortably accommodate an extra pair of muscular arms.

You took a deep breath, scooped up the giant pink bundle, and walked into the living room.

Ryomen was slouched on the couch, the dark fabric of his usual yukata hanging loosely off his frame. Two of his eyes were closed in a state of half-sleep, while the other two lazily tracked you as you approached.

He didn't move a muscle, but the dangerous aura that constantly radiated from him shifted, laced with a sudden prickle of suspicion.

“What,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that could rattle teeth, “is that?”

You didn't say a word.

With a bright, entirely unapologetic smile, you held up the massive pink top. The tiny, innocent face of Hello Kitty stared blankly at the King of Curses.

A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the room. Ryomen's upper eyes snapped open. All four crimson eyes were now locked onto the fuzzy pink monstrosity in your hands.

The markings on his face seemed to twitch.

“Absolutely not,” he said, his voice dropping an octave into a tone that usually made sorcerers drop dead of heart failure. “Burn it. Before I dissect you and use your blood to paint the walls.”

“It's a matching set!” you insisted, completely unfazed by the threat. You had lived with him long enough to know when he was genuinely murderous and when he was just being dramatic because his pride was wounded. Right now, it was entirely the latter. “Look, I already have mine on.”

You gestured down to your own matching pink pants. “We're staying in tonight, eating junk food, and you are going to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” he snarled, a secondary arm gesturing vaguely to his robes. “I am a calamity. I am the pinnacle of cruelty. I do not wear... whatever wretched, round-eared creature that is.”

“Her name is Hello Kitty, she weighs three apples, and she is an icon,” you corrected, stepping closer and dropping the pile of fleece right onto his lap. “Just try it on. If you hate it, you can tear it to shreds. But you have to put it on first.”

Ryomen looked down at the soft pink fabric resting against his lap as if it were a pile of toxic waste.

He poked it with one sharp, black-clawed fingernail.

The fleece sank plushly under his touch.

“You dare command me?” he muttered, looking up at you through a fringe of pinkish-brown hair.

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, but underneath it, a tiny, buried shred of amusement. He loved a challenge, even if the challenge was surviving an onslaught of aggressive domesticity.

“I am highly requesting it,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “Please? Just for tonight.”

Ryomen let out a long, theatrical sigh that sounded like a dying beast. He muttered a string of ancient curses under his breath—words that probably described a thousand different ways to flay a human alive—but he stood up.

“If anyone speaks of this,” he warned, pointing a massive finger at your face, “there will not be enough of this city left to bury.”

“Deal.”

You turned around to give him some privacy, though you could hear the rustle of heavy fabric as he shed his yukata. Then came the sound of furious pulling, a low growl as his extra arms got momentarily tangled, and the soft snaps of the buttons being forced into place.

“This is ridiculous,” his voice grumbled from behind you. “It is entirely too soft. There is no structural integrity. If I were attacked right now, I would look absurd.”

“You can turn around now,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing prematurely.

When you turned, you had to physically clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the wheeze that threatened to escape.

Sukuna Ryomen—the undisputed King of Curses, a being of pure malice and terrifying power—was standing in the middle of your living room clad in head-to-toe pastel pink fleece. The trousers clung tightly to his heavily muscled thighs, and the top was practically stretched to its limits across his broad chest, despite your best tailoring efforts. His extra arms were crossed over his torso, thrusting two giant Hello Kitty faces right out at you. The dark, jagged curse markings on his face and body stood out in sharp, hilarious contrast against the sweet, innocent aesthetic of the pajamas.

He looked absolutely ridiculous.

And incredibly, impossibly cozy.

“Say one word,” Ryomen growled, his face flushing a faint, dark color that might have been anger or genuine embarrassment. “Just one, and I will dismantle this entire building.”

“You look...” You took a steps forward, your eyes shining. “You look amazing. And so soft.”

Before he could swat you away, you stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face right into the middle of his chest. The fleece was incredibly warm, trapping his natural, radiating heat like a furnace.

Ryomen froze.

His top two arms hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment, his claws twitching. He let out another deep, rumbling growl, but the tension slowly bled out of his massive frame. One by one, his arms came down. His primary arms wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against him, while his secondary arms settled lower around your waist.

“You are an incredibly annoying creature,” he murmured into your hair, his voice losing its sharp edge.

“But I'm your matching annoying creature,” you mumbled back against the pink fleece.

He huffed, a sound that was suspiciously close to a chuckle. “Hmph... Sit down before I change my mind and rip this off.”

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

[mochaization]

𖦹 you and suguru almost lost a child at the zoo. ⋮ fluff.

♯ finally finished this... lowk buns but enjoy!!! this has been in my draft since april lol

field trips were a daycare teacher's worst nightmare.

the field trip had been going on for thirty minutes. thirty. and somehow, everything had already gone wrong.

"Wait!" a child stopped in the middle of the path, making the entire line stopped with him.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

the boy pointed dramatically toward a squirrel. "Monkey!"

"... that's a squirrel."

before you could continue the explaining, another child started crying because he wanted to see the squirrel too.

beside you, Suguru was trying to untangle two kids who had somehow gotten themselves stuck together through their backpack straps.

"How does this even happen?" he muttered.

a few minutes later, the group arrived at the giraffe enclosure.

"Mr. Sugu," a boy pointed at the giraffe. "That's you!"

the rest of the group immediately agreed.

"... because i'm tall?" he asked slowly.

"Because you're weird!"

you burst out laughing, then quickly composed yourself when Suguru glared at you.

the children moved on too fast before Suguru could even retort. unfortunately.

because this is when you had to do a headcount.

"Count," you ordered.

Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, already knowing where this was going, then began counting.

his gaze moved from child to child. "Eight.. nine.. ten.."

then he paused, you immediately straightened.

"What?"

Suguru ignored you and counted again, slower this time.

"Eleven.. eleven?"

your stomach dropped. there were supposed to be twelve!

"What do you mean eleven?!" you panicked.

"I only count eleven," he said calmly, even though his eyes were already scanning the area.

the giraffe enclosure, the crowd?

nothing.

the children, blissfully unaware of the panic, continued pointing at animals and argued which one is the cutest.

"Okay," you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Nobody move."

"But i wasn't moving!" a little boy protested.

"Good, stay like that."

Suguru was already walking, eyes sharp as he searched nearby exhibits.

you checked behind a tree, nothing. near the information board, also nothing.

your heart stammered against your ribs. "Please don't let me explain to a parent how i lost their child at the zoo," you murmured.

but then..

"Miss! Miss!"

you spun around immediately, a small voice came from behind a statue.

one of your students emerged, grinning from ear to ear. in her hands was a giant, giant maple leaf.

"I found the biggest maple leaf!"

the relief hit you so hard your knees almost gave up. beside you, Suguru let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"You can't just wander off like that," Suguru said, crouching down to her level.

"But it's a big leaf!"

you rubbed a hand over your face. "We were looking for you."

"Oh," the realization seemd to hit, a tiny bit of guilt appeared on her face." "... Sorry."

you exchanged glance with Suguru, neither of you had the energy to stay mad.

"Next time," Suguru said, gently steering her back toward the group. "tell the teacher first, okay?"

"Okay," the little girl nodded eagerly, then she held up the leaf again. "Do you still want to see it?"

a laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "It's a very nice leaf, sweetie."

the little girl immediately brightened. Suguru shook his head, though you caught a hint of amusement in his face.

satisfied, she skipped back to the group.

you let out a breath. "That took atleast five years off my life."

"Only five?"

you shot him a look.

"You weren't exactly calm either."

"I don't know what are you talking about," he shrugged. "I was perfectly calm."

"You counted multiple times."

"Because... why not?"

you rolled your eyes. "You panicked."

"No, i didn't?" he scoffed.

"Oh, you absolutely did."

© mochaization 2026. DO NOT copy, reconstruct, reupload on any other platform, or feed my works to AI.

[torupng]

MUTUALS .ᐟ

゛ ᢉ𐭩 satoru gojo is your #NSFWtwt mutual.

headcanons .ᐟ ⸝⸝ nudes ⸝⸝ masturbation ⸝⸝ sexting ⸝⸝ p in v ⸝⸝ nsfw | mdni | 18+ ⸝⸝ art by @thatsallitchief

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who stumbles across your page one random night before bed and immediately starts fists his cock like his life depends on it.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who knows he’s done for the second he clicks on your videos and pics. finding your account feels like hitting the jackpot and winning the lottery on the same damn day. he strokes himself raw, hips jerking up into his fist, biting back groans that turn into full-on curses and whimpers.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who makes a mess when he finally cums to your content. thick ropes everywhere — on his abs, his chest, even spilling over his knuckles. the mess is so obscene it’s almost embarrassing, even for him.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who gets instantly hard again when he noticed you’ve followed him back. he doesn’t even hesitate. phone still sticky, dick twitching from the aftershocks. he jerks off to your videos a second time like he hadn’t just nutted his brains out, moaning your name—real or fake, he didn’t care—under his breath the whole way through.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who sees your tweet about loving a man’s abs and biceps, and sees this as an opening. he hits you up the next morning with a fresh and total thirst trap — shirt lifted, muscles flexing, captioned with “these are for you.”

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who’s a little hesitant at first, not wanting to push boundaries—not sure what he can and can’t send—but the second you send him a nude he throws all caution to the wind. suddenly you’re getting nut videos with sound, voice notes, pics — everything.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who starts texting you way more than he planned. he learns there’s a whole person behind the body you post and finds himself actually interested, asking about your day, your likes, all that soft shit he didn’t expect. he knows it’s bad… but he doesn’t care.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who rings you one random night asking you to help him cum. voice all hoarse and sleepy because it is the middle of the night after all. “your voice gets me hot. i’ll send you anything you want if you do this for me, I promise,” he’d say as an excuse to convince you. he moans your name, lets you hear every wet stroke, and when he finishes he doesn’t hang up — you two end up talking till morning.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who gets stupidly jealous when he sees you commenting on another guy’s post or vice versa. he knows he has no right, you’re not his—probably never would be—but it still pisses him off.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who teases you in the replies on main posts and tweets but turns into an absolute needy and whimpering mess in your dms, begging for a voice note of you moaning his name.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who’s down any time you need help getting off. he’ll spam you with videos, voice messages telling you exactly how to touch yourself, or even clear any plans to call if you want — nothing gets him harder than hearing you cum for him.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who starts buying toys he thinks you’d like and mailing them to you with a filthy note attached, or even just an envelope of cash, then begs you so sweetly to use them in a video for him. but on one condition—that he be the only one to get the videos. he says it makes him feel ‘special’.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who starts sending you the absolute filthiest voice messages describing exactly how he’d fuck you if you ever met up — how he’d make you cum harder and better than you ever have.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who jokes about flying you out but is actually dead serious. the second you say the word he’ll he buying the tickets, booking the hotel, and sending you all the details with a “can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.”

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who loses it (in the best way) when you tell him you want to film your first collab video together. he handles everything and makes it happen fast.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who’s weirdly and uncharacteristically nervous picking you up from the airport, but the second you slide into his car and start talking, all the nerves melt. he’s never felt this comfortable with anyone this quick.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who helps you settle into the hotel room, hands you cash for whatever you want, then gets pulled back by you asking him to stay and fuck you before any filming.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who’s instantly on you the moment you say yes. hands everywhere, kissing down your body, whispering “fuck, you’re so much prettier in person” as he finally gets to touch what he’s only seen on screen.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who makes your first time together unforgettable. he starts slow and gentle, then loses control when you beg him for more in that sweet voice of yours. he fucks you deep, groaning against your neck, living out every fantasy he’s had since finding your account.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who takes care of you after, cleaning you up, kissing you softly, ordering room service. later when you’re both just lying in the aftermath of the night, he snaps a pic of your sweaty bodies tangled together—his glistening abs and your pink bra—and posts it tagging you with the caption “stay tuned ;)”

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who wakes up the next morning with you still asleep in his arms and can’t stop grinning. he pulls you closer, lazy morning kisses turning into slow, deep sex where he takes his time savoring every sound you make.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who films your first collab later that day. he’s playful on camera but absolutely gone for you behind it — manhandling you, talking filthy in your ear, making sure the video is so hot it that it gets attention the second it drops.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who literally just can’t keep his hands off you the entire trip. whether you’re out exploring the city or back in the hotel, he’s always touching you, kissing you, pulling you into his lap like he’s making up for all the months of just watching and talking to you through a screen.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who gets even more addicted to you after you leave. the distance hits much, much harder now that he’s had a taste of you in person, so he’s constantly calling, sending voice notes and pictures, and begging you to visit again soon.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who takes matters into his own hands and flies out to you once you give him the okay because he’s impatient and misses you too much. he shows up at your door with that signature grin and is immediately pushing you against the wall the second the door shuts.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who starts catching real feelings and knows he’s in deep shit. the late night talks aren’t just dirty anymore — he’s telling you about his day, his thoughts, things he doesn’t share with anyone else. you’ve become his favorite person, online and off.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who takes you out to a fancy, nice and expensive dinner during his stay in your city. halfway through the night he gets a little serious and asks if you’d be his girl — making sure you know that you don’t have to stop posting, change anything, or hide who you are. he wants you just as you are.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who lights up when you say yes. he takes you home and makes love to you. it’s slower, deeper, and more intense than ever before as he whispers how he’s all yours now between every thrust and kiss.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who, right after, goes on his twitter and unfollows every other nsfw mutual he had. you’re the only one left in his following because he’s a taken man now and he needs to make sure everyone knows it.

nsfw twt mutual!gojo satoru who starts calling you his girlfriend along with all sorts of petnames in voice notes and texts, getting all soft and loving in the sweetest way now that it’s official.

can you guys tell I got carried away… this was supposed to be like a total of max 10 hcs…

[hidingwhere]

★ Nanami gets hit with a hybrid curse

synopsis: Your husband gets hit with a hybrid curse and comes home with some unusual features. Brown fuzzy ears, little tail, and some new characteristics…

When the familiar sound of the front door opening touched your ears at its usual time, 6pm, you hear heavy footsteps echo through the hallway and the jangling of keys as you prepare dinner.

“Hey, Kento! How was your mission?” You merrily call out, tightening the apron around your waist as you step away from the hob and exit the kitchen to greet him. However, you freeze in your steps when you see Nanami, pulling off his shoes and placing them on the rack, looking up at you with embarrassment covering his face… and a pair of brown, fuzzy ears atop his head, peaking out from his golden locks.

He straightens to his full height which you’re certain is taller than usual and speaks before you get the chance to ask any questions.

“It’s just a hybrid curse, I’ll be fine. It wears off after a day or two.”

You release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, a heavy weight lifting from your chest as he quickly reassures you of the situation. Although, you still can’t get over his new appearance. As he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips, you notice just how much bigger he is. He smells different as well, like a mix of wood and grass.

Heavy footsteps enter the kitchen, and he pauses in front of the hob, looking down at the pot of food. “Hm, looks good, sweetheart. Make my portion big, yeah?” He presses one final kiss to the side of your head before retreating to the bedroom to shower and change from his work clothes.

For the rest of cooking and serving dinner, you try to rack the confusion from your brain that for the next ‘day or two’ your husband is going to be half bear. So many questions rattled through your brain as you scooped out the food (and gave Nanami extra). As he reappeared from the bedroom, wet hair sticking to his forehead, beefy arms stretching above his head and exposing his happy trail, you presented dinner to him as he perched down on the chair.

“Thank you, darling.” A beat. “Is there any fish in here?”

“Um… no, there isn’t.”

“Oh.”

There was another moment of silence as he ate.

“Have you got any fish?” He asks.

You blink in confusion. “Yeah, I can cook some if you’d like.”

He nods eagerly mid-bite, scoffing down the plate in front of him without sparing you a glance. “That would be amazing, sweetheart. Thank you.”

So, as you eat your dinner, you also (somehow) manage to cook a nice large piece of fish for your half-bear husband, your multi-tasking skills coming to good use. As you slide the fresh piece of fish over to a new plate, two hands slide around your waist and pull you back against a firm chest, warm breath fanning against your neck.

“Hm, baby,” Kento mumbles. “That was amazing, thank you.” He presses a lazy kiss against your exposed shoulder and mumbles into it. This new, loose version of Kento had caught you off your guard. You’d been living with his stoic and professional ways for years, unknowing of this relaxed side of him.

You try and peel away from his grasp but he only grips tighter. Even as you try and reason, he keeps your back remained flush to his chest. “Ken, the fish is done. Don’t you wanna eat it?”

He finally lifts his head from your shoulder, peering at the freshly cooked piece of meat and reaching for the plate. Thankfully, that manages to pull him away as he takes big bites from the food. No knife or fork, just tearing the fish with his teeth.

You stare in shock, yet at the same time realise it’s incredibly attractive to watch. He’s grunting and making low growling sounds from his chest as he devours the poor animal, licking his lips and lewdly sucking on his fingers as he stands from his chair again and pads over to the living room.

You join him a few minutes later, curling up beside him on the sofa as he hooks an arm around you. There’s a moment of peace in which you release a little sigh of relaxation. Then, he pulls you down suddenly on top of him, landing with an oof against his chest as he rests down against the sofa, one hand resting on your lower back and keeping you hostage.

“Ken?” You rest your chin on his chest and glance up at him. “Did you-“ His little ears flap against his head and you trail off as you watch them move on their own accord. Slowly, one hand moves up to touch them and as your fingertips brush up against the fur, they flutter again and he grunts in acknowledgment. His chest vibrates beneath you as he emits low growls when you stroke his ears and scratch behind them.

“Aww, Kenny. These are so cute! I’m going to miss them when they’re gone.”

A pink hue coats his cheeks at your words, and he glances down at you. “Love, don’t say things like that.”

“Why?” You tease with a grin.

“You know I can’t handle it when you say things like that.”

You playfully pout, hands dropping from his ears to cup his face and placing a few kisses across his cheeks and lips.

“So, do you feel any different? Any bear instincts apart from eating all the fish?”

His ears turn pink. “Apologies for that, dear. My hunger got the better of me.”

“Hm… or maybe it was your bear side fuelling up for the winter.”

“I hardly think so, darling. I was just hungry after a tiring work day.”

You lean forward so your nose is pressed against his. “I definitely think it was your bear side. It is winter after all.”

As night approaches and the sun sinks beneath the horizon, you find yourself still trapped in Nanami’s firm hold, his chest slowly rising and falling. Then, the snoring comes. Loud, rattling the house and threatening to deafen you. You tap his chest, give it a few hits, call out his name multiple times, all which earns you silence in response. You accept your fate and soon fall into a slumber of your own, trying to ignore the loud rumbles right next to your ear.

The night is disturbed again when you wake, sleep in your eyes, laying on an empty sofa with no Nanami in sight. You sit up, hearing soft clinks and rattles come from the kitchen. As you pad into the kitchen to investigate the noise, you see Nanami snacking on a box of blueberries, messily shoving multiple in his mouth at once.

“Ken?” You ask curiously, standing beside him, blue juice stained on his fingers.

With only a huff of acknowledgment, one hand wraps around your waist and pulls you flush against his side, his free hand dipping into the tray of berries again.

“Hungry again?” You tease lightly, watching his half closed eyelids flutter in the darkness. He stalks around the house like an animal, one hand gripping onto the fabric of your baggy t-shirt and pulling you around with him, into the bedroom, onto the mattress. He crawls atop you, low growls coming from his half-awake body, and… collapses.

All of his body weight sprawled out on top of you, rumbling softly against your ear. Nanami wraps both muscular arms around you and once again holds you tight. You’re captured beneath his large stature, and he doesn’t intend on moving anytime soon.

a/n: sorry for not posting much, I’m going to try and post at least three times today (hopefully) to fuel you all. Thank you so much for 250 followers !! I love you all mwah mwah <: 🫶🏻

[hidingwhere]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Thinking about Nanami being adored by all the old ladies at your reading club

warning: more sweet, sappy content. Extremely secure relationship between reader and Kento. sigh i missed writing fluff

“What about you, dear?” One of the ladies asks, Dorothea, setting her book down on her lap. “Do you have a partner?”

A soft pink hue coats your cheeks. “Yes, I have a husband. We’ve been married for almost two years.”

From then on, you’d been accepted as an official and permanent member of their little book club, always fawning over the pictures you’d show them of Nanami doing mundane activities. One week, you held out a new picture on your phone of your husband feeding a baby goat, taken at a farm you’d recently visited.

The ladies all started chatting at once.

“Oh, you lucky woman. He looks like a lovely gentlemen.”

“My, my. My husband hates animals, miserable old git.”

Even more so, they started cooking for him. Nanami, a man they’d never seen before, treating you as a delivery woman as you went home each week with a bagful of different breads, cookies and pastries. You were a little flustered as he gently removed each item when you got home, lying and saying the ladies made them for the both of you, not just him.

The truth came out one week however when Kento kindly offered you a ride to the book club, walking you into the house of the owner of the club. As the two of you entered the living room, chaos erupted.

“Oh, darling, is this Mr Nanami? Oh, he’s even more handsome in real life.”

They all swarmed around him, one wrapping her hand around his forearm and dragging him further into the room. “Sit and have some tea, dear.”

“Did you enjoy the banana bread?”

He stammers a little as he tries to answer all of their questions and requests at once, being forced to sit down on the sofa next to your usual spot.

“How were the blueberry muffins?” Another lady asks him.

“They were lovely, thank you,” he replies politely, accepting a teacup and saucer from one of the other members. You eventually perch down next to him, trying to hold back your embarrassment.

“So, dear, do tell me. What do you do for work?” Brenda, the owner of the club, pipes up.

“I work in finance.”

“That’s a good job when you decide to have children. I heard they are very lenient with paternity leave.”

Both of your faces went red.

A beat.

“You are thinking of having children, yes? You’d make beautiful babies.”

Kento chokes on his tea.

“Um… we haven’t talked much about it,” you quickly say, trying to change the topic of conversation. “Anyways, about chapter 8-“

“Mr Nanami, do tell me, how do you maintain such an exquisite physique? My husband never had such firm muscles like yours.”

“The secret is frequent weightlifting and having such a wonderful wife that cooks very nutritional meals,” he replies with a teasing tone, watching how you bury your face in your hands next to him.

“Oh, you are so grateful, young sir. So compassionate towards your wife. How I wish my husband was like that, he only complains when I cook.”

You wanted to melt into the ground and dissapear forever. Was this just a complain-about-your-husband club now?

Before you knew it, plates of food were shoved into yours and Nanami’s hands, muffins and biscuits galore. “You need to make sure you’re eating well if you plan on carrying a child,” one woman adds. “You and your husband. It’s important for the stamina.”

You fight back an embarrassed groan.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Nanami interjects, light smirk on his face.

The two of you are held hostage on the couch for the next hour, Kento taking the brunt of most questions that were thrown towards the two of you. And when you stand to leave, it takes three times as long due to Nanami helping them all up from their seats and walking them to their cars. They weren’t subtle about it either, holding onto his forearm and fawning over him, asking more questions about his muscles and what food he likes so they can cook it for him next week.

As the two of you settle down in his car, there’s prolonged silence.

“So-“ he begins.

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say anything.”

[torupng]

❝ COMFORT SEX ❞ .ᐟ

゛★ lawyer ! hiromi higuruma helps you get over your divorce.

drabble .ᐟ ⋆ #modern hiromi ⋆ comfort sex ⋆ gentle praise ⋆ p in v ⋆ hiromi is your divorce attorney ⋆ forbidden relationship ⋆ 18+ nsfw mdni art by @hunnismokah

the trial was a brutal mess.

hours of mark’s—your soon to be ex husband—lawyer twisting every piece of evidence, sneering implications about your “overreactions,” and the judge’s neutral face making it all feel hopeless. like all the money you spent was just going into the ‘losses’ pile along with the house, the car, and everything else.

by the time the gavel adjourned for the day, you felt like absolute shit: drained, hopeless, and doubting if any of this fight was worth it. hiromi higuruma had been a rock in court, he was calm and precise with his arguments, effortlessly cutting through all the bullshit mark’s lawyer was spewing, but even he looked more exhausted than usual as you both stepped out into the late night air.

“you did well,” he said quietly, sunflower pin still perfectly in place on his suit. his voice was steady, but his eyes—those perpetually tired eyes that made you think ‘yep that’s a lawyer’—softened when they met yours. “this one’s dragging on everyone. come on. let me drive you home… or if you’re up for it, my apartment’s closer. dinner. a drink. nothing fancy. you shouldn’t be alone with all this spinning in your head. i need you sharp for the final trial.”

you knew it was a bad idea. he knew it too—you could see the flicker of hesitation before he offered like maybe if it wasn’t too late to take it back he would’ve. but the thought of your empty place, of replaying mark’s smug face, made you nod. “yeah… okay. thanks.”

his apartment was pretty modest for a lawyer but warm in a lived-in way with books everywhere, a simple kitchen, dim lighting that suited his whole weary vibe. he shed his jacket and tie almost immediately, rolling up his sleeves as he poured you a glass of red wine and started pulling ingredients for a quick stir-fry. conversation flowed—case details at first, then veering into personal territory. he listened as you vented, nodding with quiet empathy. “people are weak,” he murmured at one point, handing you a plate. “ugly in how they justify hurting others. you didn’t deserve any of it.”

one glass turned into two. plates were set aside. you were both on the couch, closer than professional, when the tension snapped. his hand brushed your knee, then lingered where it shouldn’t have. you leaned in first this time, and he met you halfway—kissing you like he had in the office before backpedaling and muttering “we can’t”—but it was slower, deeper, like he’d been replaying it too. “we shouldn’t,” he breathed against your lips, even as his fingers threaded into your hair. he’s too far gone now. “fuck, this could end my license if anyone knew.”

but he didn’t stop and you didn’t want him to.

clothes came off in a haze of hands and murmurs, trailing from couch to bedroom. by the time he laid you down on his bed, you were bare under his gaze, heart racing mile a minute. hiromi hovered over you, still in his trousers, his body lean and solid from what must’ve been stress-fueled late nights and an occasional workout. his expression was reverent, almost pained with want, those tired eyes tracing every inch of you like he was committing it to memory in case this all went to shit somehow.

“look at you,” he whispered, voice low and rough with restraint. he kissed down your neck, slow and deliberate, hands mapping your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “so beautiful. he never saw it, did he? never appreciated this.” his mouth closed over one nipple, tongue swirling gently as he sucked, drawing a gasp from you. “i could treat you so much better. every day, if you’d let me.”

you arched into him, fingers digging into his messy hair. “hiromi… please. i need you.”

the sound of his name—his first name, not his last—on your tongue made something in him loosen. it rolled off your tongue so sweetly. made him wonder what it would be like to live that sound every day. he groaned softly, shifting to push his pants and boxers low enough. his cock was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip from the makeout earlier as it slapped against his stomach. he settled between your thighs, not rushing, instead running his hands over your hips, your stomach, worshipping the soft curves and dips. if he was going to finally do this—he’d take his time and do it right. last thing he wants is for you to think he’s using you for a quick fuck.

“if anyone found out about this—about me fucking my client in my own bed…” he shook his head, a dry, self-deprecating huff escaping him even now. “bar hearing. disbarment. everything i’ve built, gone because i couldn’t keep my hands off you.” his fingers dipped between your legs, stroking your slick folds and circling your clit with practiced, gentle pressure until you were whimpering. “but god, i hate to say you’re worth the risk. worth everything i’ve worked so hard for. so wet for me already. let me make you feel good.”

he lined himself up, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance teasingly before pushing in—slow and inch by inch, stretching you open with a groan that vibrated against your collarbone where his lips pressed open mouthed kisses. “fuck… so warm.” fully seated, buried deep, he stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in. his hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “he doesn’t deserve you. never did. a woman like you—strong, resilient, beautiful—should be cherished. not cheated on.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking lightly down his back. “hiromi…” you whined, your back arching as your hips canted slightly. the sound paired with your movement resulted in a desperate twitch of his cock. “help me forget—please.”

he started moving—long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, ones your husband could never reach in a million years if he tried—gentle but relentless in a way that showed just how much he’s wanted this. not pounding, but rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that built heat like a slow burn. “yeah… like this?” he murmured, kissing your jaw, your throat, down to your breasts again. he lavished attention on them, sucking marks into the soft flesh while one hand kneaded the other. “every part of you is perfect. these…” he dragged his tongue over one of your breasts, fingers teasing the budding nipple on the other. “the way you’re pulling me in… fuck, you’re a terrible influence on me.”

you moaned his name—the sound doing unspeakable things to him— your hips rising to meet his, the wet slap of skin filling the room alongside your shared groans and breaths. he worshipped as he fucked you—hands gliding over your thighs, lifting one higher for a better angle, lips trailing praises between sloppy kisses and thrusts. “you’re so good for me, aren’t you? taking me so deep. you’re glowing like this, all spread out in my bed.” his pace quickened just a fraction a drop of sweat beading on his brow. you could tell he wanted to go harder, be rougher—but he held himself back. “i could do this every night. come home to you, bury myself in you, remind you how you should be treated. no more tears over that bastard.”

“hih…hiromi—, right there,” you gasped, clenching around his cock as pleasure coiled tight. your hands explored him too—tracing the lines of his shoulders, the faint scars of an overworked life, down to where he disappeared inside you then back up to slide your fingers into the darkness of his hair as he leaned down to make it easier for you.

he shuddered at your touch, thrusting deeper, grinding against your clit with each roll. “that’s a sweet girl... don’t be shy—let go. i want to feel you come around me.” one hand slipped between you, thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit while he maintained that devastating rhythm. “come for me, sweetheart. show me how much better i can make you finish.”

the orgasm hit you hard, waves crashing through you as you cried out, pulsing around his thick length. he groaned your name like a prayer, fucking you through it with gentle persistence, drawing it out until you were trembling. only then did he let himself chase his own release—burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as the pleasure built. but at the last moment he pulled out with a strained curse, stroking himself fast over your stomach. thick ropes of cum painted your skin as he shuddered, breathing hard. “reckless… too fucking reckless to finish inside you,” he panted, voice wrecked as he let out a hoarse sigh. “can’t risk that on top of everything else.”

he didn’t collapse right away. instead, he stayed close, holding you against him, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips. grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he gently cleaned you up with careful touches. “this was reckless,” he admitted quietly, voice husky and completely sated beyond belief, a hint of that dry humor returning. “beyond reckless. but feeling you like this… worth every potential consequence.” his hands continued their gentle exploration, stroking your sides, your hair, as if he couldn’t stop worshipping your gorgeous frame. “stay tonight. let me take care of you properly since he clearly never could.”

you curled into him, the stress from the trial fading under the warmth of his body and words, knowing full well this complicated everything that would come in the future—but for now you had to just rely on both your abilities to keep a secret.

© torupng | all rights reserved.

[konseur]

dada sukuna’s oral hygiene

modern au . sfw . fluff . drabble . fem reader . forced proximity . uraume as your biological kid . final form sukuna . banter . slice of life . dad bod sukuna

► masterlist

a/n: inspired by these images (˶>⩊<˶) !! credits to @不二马大叔 / Bu2ma

The bathroom was choked with the comforting scent of sweet lavender baby powder and the minty tang of toothpaste.

It was two in the morning and you were completely exhausted, your eyelids feeling as though they were weighed down by lead. You were sitting squarely on Sukuna’s lap, feeling the immense, radiating heat of his body beneath you.

His frame was colossal, easily filling the bathroom, and his torso possessed that heavy, solid thickness—a formidable dad bod that was surprisingly soft and squishy to lean against.

One of his massive, tattooed hands rested heavily on your waist, his thumb lazily stroking your side in a slow, possessive circle that made your heart do a tiny, fluttering skip.

Sukuna had four arms, and currently, every single one of them was occupied. His upper pair of arms was cradling an infant Uraume, who had finally stopped screaming bloody murder and was now fast asleep.

From the center of the tiny, white-haired bundle came a series of ridiculously loud, high-pitched snores: “Pshhh-oooo... pshhh-oooo...”

The tiny baby snores echoed off the bathroom tiles. Sukuna looked utterly ridiculous rocking the infant against his broad chest, his sharp claws meticulously avoiding the fluffy blanket.

With his third hand, Sukuna was aggressively scrubbing his upper teeth, minty foam bubbling cute little bubbles at the corners of his lips.

That left the lower mouth as the jagged maw spanning across his abdomen stretched open with a wide, exhausted yawn, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

You leaned forward, a toothbrush gripped loosely in your hand, and carefully began brushing the lower mouth’s teeth. “Don’t bite me,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you carefully navigated the bristles around his sharp canines.

The mouth on his stomach scoffed, the sound deep and echoing against your thighs. “As if I’d waste my energy chewing on a fragile thing like you at two in the morning, brat,” the lower mouth rumbled.

Above, Sukuna paused his own brushing, his four red eyes narrowing down at you through the gloom of the dim light. He spat into the sink with a disgruntled huff, looking down at the snoring bundle in his arms, then back at you.

He poked the baby’s chubby cheek with a sharp claw, causing Uraume to let out a particularly wet, whistling snore. “Pshhh-KKKKRRrroo-ooo...”

“Look at it,” Sukuna sneered, his upper mouth twisting in disgust. “It’s making those wretched noises. It looks ugly when it sleeps.”

You paused the toothbrush, staring up at him with a disapproving pout. “‘Kuna! Don’t call our baby an ‘it’! And they do not look ugly, that’s our baby. Apologize right now!”

Sukuna’s upper eyebrows twitched. He looked at you like you had lost your mind. “No.”

“Sukuna, say sorry.”

“I am the King of Curses. I do not apologize to infants, especially when it looks like a… deflated dumpling,” he grumbled, casting another mean look down at the snoring baby. “And you’ve missed a spot on the left, woman. Are you blind as well as incompetent?”

“I’m tired, ‘kuna,” you whispered, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your small smile as your fingers brushed against the warm, marked skin of his stomach before you adjusted your grip.

His skin felt like heated velvet. There was a thick, unspoken weight that always hung between you two—a lingering tension born from late nights and the domesticity he allowed only you to see.

“Tch. Excuses,” Sukuna muttered, though his upper hand gently squeezed your waist, securing you against him as he shifted his weight.

He went back to rocking Uraume, his movements surprisingly gentle for a man who claimed to know nothing but malice. “If you ruin my teeth, I’ll make you handle the brat’s next diaper blowout entirely on your own.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you shot back with a weak smile, your eyes meeting his lower mouth as it formed a smug, jagged smirk.

“Try me,” the stomach mouth taunted, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating through his core, perfectly harmonizing with Uraume’s rhythmic, whistling snores as you rinsed the brush under the trickling faucet, the cool splash of water a stark contrast to his overwhelming warmth.

As you leaned back in to finish, your face was mere inches from his torso. You could hear the steady, heavy thud of his heart.

For all his biting words and mean banter, his touch was entirely safe as you caught him staring down at you, his upper eyes softened by sheer fatigue, holding a look that made your breath catch in your throat.

For a second, the banter died away, leaving only the sound of the rain, the tiny baby snores, and the heavy pull between you. Sukuna cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he looked away quickly, a faint scowl crossing his face.

“Hurry up,” he grumbled, his tone dropping to a low, sleepy murmur. “... You’re warm, and I want to go back to bed before heading to work.”

© konseur — DON’T copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do NOT use/feed my works to AI.

[segamascott]

[fuckaspunk]

For context, this is Jewish actor Miriam Margolyes. A self-identified dyke,she was professor sprout in the harry potter movies but she's been extremely prolific over five decades. She's pro trans and pro Palestinian.

[wolfsteax]

Never forget how she went and spoke to trans women / trans fems and when she said something that was ignorant (she mentioned the expectation for them to shave), she listened when they corrected her and apologized immediately. Then, when the group explained how they express gender, she went "I understand" and continued to listen and learn.

She's always one of my favorite examples of someone with celebrity status retaining humanity and speaking up for minorities.

I didn't know she was pro Palestine until now, so that makes me even happier to hear.