#Happy 200 followers!

[poppyclangen]

"Hello Visitor!"

Meet PoppyClan's StarClan Guide, OleanderPaw; brother of FallenStar, PoppyClan's first leader, and judge of the dead.

OleanderPaw was killed by the flood that swept the founders away, and used his power to give FallenStar her nine lives, and grow the first poppies that now populate the moor where PoppyClan lives.

His reddish orange coat can be seen in many of FallenStar's children, proof of his bloodline and strong ties with his sister. He does not often visit the clan medics, though when he does, it is considered a great honor and not to be taken lightly.

Leader of those who live in StarClan, OleanderPaw has let the thrill of spiritual power go to his head a bit. Each time FallenStar visits, he grows more 'holy' in appearance, followed by stars and a glow that most of the other dead do not have. His scent is hidden beneath the flowers growing from his pelt, and he become more eloquent and stiff with each passing day- to be frank, he was very different from the brother FallenStar remembers. She figures that was just what happened, though, as a spirit ages; while he may look rather young, he grows older still.

----

What power does StarClan have over living cats?

"Oh, a good question. I myself have found that I can effect many little things that the living see and touch- though it takes a great deal of energy. When I gave FallenStar her nine lives, I was dormant for many moons after, unable to protect those who walked the earth. While we may not need to eat or sleep, we StarClan cats are powered by... an energy. Perhaps it is belief?"

What was it like, being the first StarClan cat?

"It felt like a betrayal of sort, at first. Throughout my short life, I had been promised a rich afterlife, full of loved ones and an endless paradise. When I awoke, I was alone, in the dark. I built our paradise. I shaped it from the energy I found within my spirit. I am glad to have company now, my sisters kin, though there are times where I fell that emptiness once more. I built this place, yes, but... it has left a part of me hollow."

What about the StarClan of the past?

"I do not know what became of the cats that ruled the StarClan of our ancestors. I do not know if it was destroyed, as the living had been destroyed. I do not doubt there are other afterlives, though; after all, if I could do it, so can any cat who has been remembered and cherished."

Do you dictate the future of PoppyClan?

"Oh, no, goodness no. While I may have dominion over this plane, I cannot influence the actions of the living, outside of the way any cat may influence another. I cannot change the outcome of the seasons, though I find through intense emotion, I can effect the atmosphere of this territory. When I mourn, the clouds grow heavy with rain. When I am angered, the sky is dark and the moon is hidden. When I rejoice, the poppies of the land bloom more quickly. My influence seems to end there; though, the more I try, the more I learn. Recently, I've found the dreams of my Clan's cat's are just out of reach, drifting closer every night. The more who die and come to StarClan, the more I've found I'm able to do. I cant help but be curious...

Back to the question at hand. I know much more than I could have known as a living cat, but I do not know the future. I cannot predict what is coming, though I have my hunches and instincts, as a cat who has lived a long time would. When spirits come to rest here, I am blessed and burdened with their memories; their lives, their deaths. I am a collective of their stories, and at times, I fear I will forget my own, as short as it was.

What's that shadowy place?

"Oh, pay no mind to that. That's just a little project of mine, though I don't think I will finish it. There is no need to worry. I have it contained. It is empty."

[vivrhan]

　　　　　happy 200 followers ♡

hello guys!! thank you so much for 200+ followers 🥹🥹 I appreciate it!! it's been almost a month since I reached 100 and thank you for supporting me! I will try my best to keep posting as much as possible even though I’m kinda busy ;)) I also realize I have grown so fast since the last time I posted an appreciation message was August 29 and it has been almost month.. idk what else to say 😭 but once again, thank you 💕💕

my fav blogs atm, go follow them!! (sorry if I forgot to mention u!)

@v-ean @raeceah @baesol @h-ao @v-ico @eliatopia @v6mpcat @lovelywony101 @haeivn @umiena @k-yujin @i04rei @jenfaery @y-unjins @lorlita @eunaray @y2qi @chaey2k @chaeyve @yeritos @iluvrei @gun-wook @koosuvi @minguukie @od-i @hy4k @w-eons @agsthv @yunjidoll @jeonzio ♡

[chiiyuuvv]

HAPPY 200 FOLLOWERS BESTIE 🎉🎉

-🌵 anon<3

TYYYY 😭😭😭

[prettypinkeel]

damn elita how did you get three boyfriends in one movie

original:

[luvrgreyy]

FRUITS OF THE FLESH.

widow!reader x priest!leon

word count: 3.4k summary: a man reaps what he sows. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. catholicism, religious connotations, no specific time frame but i’d like to say victorian era-ish, alot of allusions to the lord or god, reader’s dead husband idk, inner conflict, denial, guilt, leon asking for forgiveness like a hundred times, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex.

a/n: started this like two months ago, just had the motivation to finally finish. i don’t really know how i feel about my writing on this one… i feel like i’ve lost all my skills after not writing for a few weeks

grief is truly a horrible thing. an all-consuming force that threatens to eat you from the inside out.

it’s a shadow that lingers, a specter that moves silently but persistently, weaving itself into the fabric of every moment. it does not announce its presence with fanfare, nor does it depart when you will it to. instead, it creeps, slow and steady, like the cold wind before a storm, pressing against your chest until breathing feels like a sin.

grief is not a feeling; it is a presence. it is a weight, heavy and suffocating, as if drowning in a dark, endless sea. the surface is so far above, unreachable, and the water presses in from all sides, choking the breath from your lungs. there’s simply no escaping it. eve when you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, it finds you there too.

grief is a thief that takes more than just what you’ve lost—it takes time, peace, and clarity. it takes pieces of you.

and ever since your husband’s death, you’ve been trying to pick those pieces back up. but they slip through your fingers like sand, scattering in the wind, impossible to gather in their entirety. every attempt to rebuild feels futile, as though you’re trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts, the picture never quite forming the way it once did.

the room is relatively empty, save for a few devout attenders who are spread out in their pews. the priest stands on the altar, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his features as he continues the mass. it’s a somewhat traditional ceremony, filled with prayers and rituals that you’d grown accustomed to.

the priest stands before the small congregation, the words of the mass flowing effortlessly from his lips.

you sit near the back, hands folded tightly in your lap. the rhythmic cadence of the priest’s voice, the latin prayers echoing in the cavernous space, should bring you some semblance of peace, but it doesn’t. it feels distant, as though you’re watching the service through a veil, separated from the others.

the priest's voice drones on, a familiar melody that fails to soothe the ragged edges of your heart. you feel like an outsider, a stranger among the devoted faithful. even the rituals that once brought comfort now seem hollow, the prayers falling flat against the weight of your sorrow.

as the mass draws to a close, the priest's eyes meet yours, his gaze piercing and knowing. for a moment, you feel like an animal trapped in his sights, vulnerable and exposed.

the priest's gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary as he processes the end of the mass. the small congregation begins to file out of the pew, murmuring gentle blessings and well-wishes to one another. he watches them go, his eyes lingering on each face, before turning to face you once more.

the nave slowly empties, leaving only a handful of devotees behind, including yourself. he remains at the altar, hands folded in quiet contemplation. the soft rustle of the evening breeze carries the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a melancholy reminder of the passing seasons.

"you stayed behind," leon observes, his voice a gentle whisper.

"is there something on your mind, my child?" he approaches you slowly, his large frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor.

“no, father, everything’s fine," you lie through your teeth, your voice barely a whisper.

"is all well?" there's a pause, and in it, you sense an invitation to share your burdens, to unburden yourself to this man of the cloth. but the words stick in your throat, tangled around the aching void your husband left.

what could you possibly say? what good would it do? the priest's eyes search yours, his face etched with compassion. then, he nods, as if he understands the futility of words.

he accepts your silence, his gaze softening with understanding. in this sacred space, he knows better than to pry, to force confessions or unburdenings. instead, he allows you the solitude you crave, the quiet contemplation you so desperately need.

the silence between you stretches on, a fragile truce that exists solely in this sacred space. it's a comfort, of sorts, to have this shared quiet, a reminder that even in the depths of your grief, there are still moments of solace to be found.

"i'll leave you be for now," leon says eventually, his voice a gentle murmur that breaks the spell.

"thank you, father." he nods, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he takes his leave, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the hallowed space.

eventually, you rise, stretching your stiff limbs. the cool stone beneath your feet is a jarring contrast to the warmth of the pew. making your way to the front of the church, you light a candle, your fingers brushing against the smooth glass as you set it upon the altar. the flame flickers to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the surrounding statues.

you linger a moment longer, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, before making your way out.

the church is bathed in an eerie, moonlit glow when you return late that night. the candle you lit earlier still burns, its flame a slowly dying down.

you move with a quiet reverence, your footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting as you make your way to the front row of pews. you've come seeking answers, but none present themselves as you approach the altar. the statue of the crucified christ looms above, his suffering face a poignant reminder of the pain that accompanies loss.

the shadows cast by the statues seem to deepen and twist, taking on a life of their own in the dim light. a shiver runs down your spine, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. something feels off, a discordant note that you can't quite place.

you pray, hoping it’ll all go away, but unease persists.

it's subtle at first, a whispered thought on the edge of your consciousness. but the longer you have your back turned, the more you feel as if someone is behind you. but you don’t dare look.

not until it speaks.

“what are you doing here, my child?," you hear him say softly, his voice carrying a note of gentle warning. "you shouldn't be here this late."

his words send a chill down your spine, the softness of his tone at odds with the tension emanating from him. you slowly turn around, your heart pounding in your chest. leon stands just behind your seat, his silhouette large and imposing against the blackness outside. his eyes glint in the candlelight, a predatory keenness that makes your blood run cold.

"father," you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. "i... i just felt the need to pray," he takes a step closer, his footsteps deliberate and heavy.

"at this hour? prayers can wait till morning. you shouldn't be here, not alone, not now.”

“but, why?” you ask, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “does the church not allow visitors at any time?”

guilt pricks at his heart, a sharp pang of conscience that he's not entirely sure he wants to acknowledge. “no, of course not. the church doors are always open. but this is late, and you're alone... it's just not safe,” his tone is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of something else - a hunger he's trying his damnedest to suppress.

“is that really the reason, father?”

guilt gnaws at him, a growing sense of unease that he can't quite shake. "of course, that's the only reason," he lies, his voice wavering slightly. but the truth lingers in the air, a palpable tension that he can't seem to dissipate.

he takes a step closer, drawn to you like a moth to flame despite his better judgment. "perhaps... perhaps i misjudged. the church's doors are always open, for the faithful and the lost alike," his eyes roam over your face, drinking in the curves of your features, the softness of your skin in the candlelight. “especially to you.”

a low groan escapes him, half-desire, half-anguish. "forgive me, child. i should not be saying these things,”

“no, wait—“ you softly reach for his arm.

he freezes at the touch, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers make contact with his arm. the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling like sand beneath the tide.

"don't," he whispers, his voice rough with strain. "please, don't." but even as the words leave his lips, he can't bring himself to pull away, to sever the connection between you.

“but i haven’t done anything, father,”

"you've done plenty, my child," he murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of longing and self-loathing. "just by being here, by existing... you've awakened desires i thought long buried." leon's breathing grows ragged, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

he steps closer still, the heat of his body radiating towards you like a physical manifestation of his turmoil. "i am a man, not a saint," his confession hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his forbidden attraction.

“and…” he shakes his head, a bitter struggle that leaves him weak-kneed and aching. "i should send you home," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cover yours, to hold it in place. "before we both regret this.”

“no, please don’t push me away, father,” you plead.

his eyes flicker closed, as if in supplication to some higher power, as the admission spills from his lips: "i'm sorry, child. so very sorry for what i am about to do.”

his body crowds yours, crushing the air from your lungs with the sheer force of his need. his mouth descends, claiming yours in a bruising kiss that sets your very soul ablaze. the world narrows to the taste of him — smoke, spice, and something uniquely his own.

it's overwhelming, consuming, and yet, somehow, it's the most natural thing in the world.

and when you end up pushed up against his office desk, the wood cold and unforgiving against your back, you know things have gone irrevocably awry. his hands, so recently devoted to guiding prayer, now roam the curves of your body with a reverence bordering on the religious.

your lips part on a gasp, allowing him greater access, and he seizes the invitation with a fervor that leaves you breathless. large hands roam your body, mapping the contours of your frame with a desperation that belies his years of discipline. he breaks the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, the rapid beating of your pulse point a siren's call he's powerless to resist.

he's shaking, the tremors starting deep within, spreading outward through his muscles like ripples on a pond's surface.

"forgive me, lord," he whispers to himself, as if seeking divine absolution from the sin that he’s about to commit. but even as the plea leaves his lips, he doesn't let go. instead, he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your knuckles.

then he's on his knees in front of you, hands grasping at the hem of your dress. the fabric rustles as he pushes it upward, baring your thighs to his hungry gaze. his breath is heavy, face mere inches from your center.

"tell me to stop," he pleads, his voice a ragged whisper. "command me to sin no more, and i will obey.”

for a moment, he teeters on the brink, the line between devotion and lust blurring until it's nearly indistinguishable. "please," leon's eyes lock onto yours, searching for the strength to resist, to obey his vows. but what he finds there is surrender, a silent plea that sends his resolve crumbling like the weakest brick.

"father," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips.

he closes his eyes, a silent, anguished prayer issuing forth from his lips. his hands tremble as they part your legs wider, stealing a breath from your chest. slowly, reverently, he leans in, finally dragging you underwear down, exposing you to his gaze.

"you are so beautiful,"

his voice cracks on the words, a mixture of awe, reverence, and raw, animal desire. he can't tear his eyes away from your unveiled flesh, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst.

"pray with me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your slick folds. "ask for forgiveness, for the sins we are about to commit." even as he speaks, he's dragging his tongue along your inner thigh, the sensation making you gasp and shudder.

"our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,”

his hands roam your hips, gripping the soft flesh as if to steady himself against the waves of his own depravity.

“thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,"

each curve of your body yields to his touch as his fingertips traced a path of fire across your skin. desperation and control tangled within his gestures, gripping onto the softness beneath his hands as he strives to anchor himself against the tumultuous waves of desire and decadence that threaten to crash over him.

“glory be to the father, and to the son, and to the holy spirit…”

the words are a broken whisper, a plea for mercy that's drowned out by the urgent throb of his own need.

“amen.”

he brings his mouth to you at last, and with a groan of surrender, he begins to eat you out with a hunger that knows no bounds.

he laves at your clit with a fervor that leaves you panting and weak-kneed. you're a mess of whimpers and moans, your hands fisting in his hair as he works you over. leon's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh as he eats you out with a single-minded determination.

"yes, yes, just like that," you babble, your voice a desperate chant, even as your vision starts to blur at the edges.

one of his hands drifts lower, his fingers seeking out the entrance to your womb. he teases the delicate skin, tracing the outline of your slit before slipping a finger inside. a low groan rumbles in his chest at the slick heat that envelops him, urging him on.he works two fingers in and out of you in a steady rhythm, the lewd squelch of your juices only further fueling his own desire.

"please, father, i need—" the words die on your lips as a particularly intense thrust of his fingers sends you plummeting over the brink.

his eyes blaze with an unholy light as he takes in your ravished expression, his own need reaching a fever pitch. he surges to his feet, shedding his robe and shoving his pants down with a desperate haste. he reaches for you, pulling you forward effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all.

he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself in time with the frantic beat of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice raw with anguish and guilt. "so very sorry."

he hovers over you, his thick length prodding, seeking entrance to the very core of your being. you help guide him in, a hand slowly pushing back on the back if his neck as the thick head of his cock breaching your entrance with a slight burning sensation. he groans, his hips bucking forward as he sheathes himself fully within you.

for a moment, you're both still, letting the intensity of it all wash over you.

and he starts to move forward, inch by inch, the wooden desk creaks in protest beneath you. his eyes squeeze shut as he buries himself to the hilt, your slick walls clenching around him like a vice.

"oh, my lord, forgive me," he breathes, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he struggles to still the tremors that rack his frame. "i am a man undone.”

he starts to move, slowly at first, each thrust a testament to the effort it takes him to resist the primal urge to rut into you like an animal in heat. his hips rise and fall in a deliberate rhythm, each stroke drawing a gasp from your lips.

"you feel so good," he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. he pulls nearly all the way out before plunging back in, the slick glide of his thick length a pleasure unlike anything you've ever known.

sweat drips from his brow as he pounds into you with a fervor that borders on religious ecstasy. each thrust is a prayer, a confession, a plea for absolution. his eyes never leave yours, searching for some glimmer of forgiveness in their depths.

"i'm— i’m close," he warns, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

your head rolls back, a silent moan escaping your lips as the pleasure mounts. his hands fly to your face, cradling your cheeks as he forces your gaze to meet his.

"please, please, don't look away." he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "i need to see you," he murmurs, his hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm as he fights for control.

he can feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter within him until he's teetering on the precipice. his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing as if trying to imprint every curve and valley onto his very being.

he's a hairsbreadth from the edge, the tension coiled so tightly within him that he's not sure he can contain it much longer. but for you, he'll try.

he'll endure the sweet agony of restraint. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers a final plea.

"dear god, i'm so very sorry." the words are a prayer, a plea for forgiveness not just from the divine, but from you. he knows that what he's doing is wrong, that he's violating the sacred trust that he's been entrusted with as a man of the cloth. but in this moment, caught up in the maelstrom of his own desire, he can't bring himself to care.

he hooks an arm beneath your knees, pulling you higher up on the desk. the new angle allows him to drive even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your body responds, arching up to meet him as a keening wail tears from your throat. he watches, entranced, as ecstasy washes over you in waves, your face a mask of rapturous bliss.

you finally feel his heat as it floods your innermost depths just moments later.

he collapses onto you, his weight crushing in its intimacy as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his heart pounds against your ribcage, a frantic with regret and release.

he stays there, draped over you, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tries to regain some semblance of control. his body is slick with sweat, his muscles trembling with the aftershocks. slowly, he pulls back, his hands still cradling your face as he looks deep into your eyes.

his breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to regain some semblance of control, to quiet the chaos that rages within him.

"forgive me," he whispers, the plea hanging heavy in the air between you.

he knows it's not enough. he's broken the trust, violated the sacred vows he's taken. there's no going back from this, no easy path to redemption. the knowledge that he's failed, that he's fallen so very far from the path of righteousness, fills him with a deep, abiding shame. but for now, in this moment, he can only cling to the thin thread of your forgiveness and hope that it's enough.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[vexsucks]

[0-cloud-puff-0]

[riaki]

after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[eobe]

Folks 🫶 You drive me crazy in the best way, I can‘t believe it but…

200 FOLLOWER Celebration 🎉 

Whattttt!? 🤩 Where do you beautiful people suddenly come from? You amazing crowd, we‘re a more than a clone trooper COMPANY now! Do I need to design armor for us now? I may do this, beware! 🤩

Now prepare for an appreciation post full of buzzing light flash!

I‘m a fuzzy floof ball again! 🦉 Chirping, fluting and hooting in my caf corner! I blissfully crosshatched myself through this artwork for you and now I‘m drunken from dopamining ✨ I‘m sending out big Wrecker hugs to thank youuuu 🫶♥️

All started on 3rd September 2024 with a timidly frist drawing of this underrated gorgeous clone – Captain Keeli! I thought myself, for this one there’s too few fan art, but why? He is a hero and the most stylish clone and I still headcanon, that he shove the creative pattern on his head himself without a plan, just going how it feels good, because he would make art in his few free time. I mean – look at his armor! 

And today I mark this date red in my calendar, because I’d never imagine how I‘d be able to improve my skills from there until today and additionally receiving so much support and love here on Tumblr ♥️🫣✨

For this occasion I made my very first Jedi artwork ever to your honor! 🏅It’s Captain Keeli’s General Ima-Gun Di and I needed to show you this badass scene of these two heroes!

Have a closer look for the intensity:

I'm not sure how correct those lighting shadows are, but I love Keeli's cheekbone 🙈

This glare is deadly 👀

Have a close up for Keeli's golden eyes (I know it's a thing with me and shiny eyes 🤩 ):

Like a drrrrrragon!!! 🐉 ✨ a bit proud just a bit

My personal ALT-Text mission (at least 1 additional ALT-Text for a previous artwork with each new art posting!):

The mentioned first Captain Keeli drawing and

the full armored Captain Keeli (for the previous 100 Follower celebration!)

Taglist: @eclec-tech @lonewolflupe @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit

[ohmytyong]

nsfw! / inspired by mark's golden hour

"you taste so sweet for me, baby" your boyfriend!mark mumbled with a raspy voice against your exposed core, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive clit as he dragged his tongue along your folds, sending shivers of pleasure in your entire body.

mark woke up extremely needy this morning. you had barely prepared breakfast and he couldn't keep his hands off you. that's how you ended up sitting on top of your kitchen counter, with mark's head right between your thighs, his hands holding your legs apart as he hungrily licked and sucked on your pussy.

you left out a breathy moan in an attempt to speak properly. "baby, let's have breakfast, the eggs are gonna get cold" you managed to say in a broken voice. "but i'm eating breakfast right now" mark mumbled again with his mouth still attached to your core.

he clearly knew the effect that this has on you, as you tried to find something, anything to hold on to as mark suddenly sucked on your most sensitive spot, your fingers gripping his hair with violence which made him hiss in pleasure.

"you're freaky aren't you, pretty girl?" mark groaned and slid two fingers inside you, hitting your g-spot with ease, eventually getting to you to your second climax of the day. and it was only breakfast time.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Hello hello, just found your blog and I’m loving it. Can I get a medium mocha with our dear sweet angel Matthew Murdock?

Thank you for the follow, and of course you can!! One medium mocha, coming right up!! :)

You and Matt stood on opposite sides of your shared bed. The grey, silk sheets were currently covered in the laundry the two of you were folding. Light banter passed between you every now and then. The occasional joke about your socks, the returned jab about Matt not even being able to see color, the play-bickering that would follow.

Your attention would often stray from the wrinkled laundry in your hands to Matt standing in front of you. Soft t-shirt draped over his broad shoulders, black sweatpants hanging on his sharp hips, dark hair mussed from you running your fingers through it earlier. He was the spitting image of Husband Material.

"You're staring again," he mused, folding a pair of your jeans and placing them on their pile. A cocky grin was spread across his full lips.

"So what if I am?" you replied while tucking a hanger into one of Matt's dress shirts. Your wandering gaze met his empty stare, his dark eyes directed somewhere near your chin. You stuck your tongue out at him, then said, "You shouldn't even be able to tell. You're blind."

"Ouch. Low blow, Mrs.Murdock," he said, hands cradling his supposed broken heart against his chest. You scoffed and chucked a pair of socks at him. He snapped a hand out and caught the projectile easily.

A mischievous thought passed your mind. Before Matt could question your suddenly suspicious silence, a cluster of sock pairs were hurled in his direction from your side of the bed. Soaring through the lamplit bedroom and rearing up over Matt like a cluster of missiles.

Knowing a losing battle when he (usually) senses one, Matt dodged out of the way as the socks pelted the hardwood floor.

Silence. Tense, charged, playful grins growing on both your faces.

You took the lead as you ducked behind the bed and grabbed fistfuls of laundry. Whether they be underwear, shirts, socks, or pillowcases, all were formed into cloth balls and lobbed over the bed at your husband. And he returned his fair share of projectiles, matched socks and balled t-shirts plopping to the ground around you.

"Vive la France!" you shouted over the top of the bed.

Matt paused mid throw, curled sweatpants clutched in his fist. He looked incredulously at you.

"Seriously? Les Mis?" he asked.

His question was answered by a balled sweatshirt smacking him square in the face.

The two of you squinted your eyes at each other.

This meant war.

[shaibonbon]

@hand-haver Thank you sir<33 for joining the bunny crew. As a gift for being the 200 member, here is your gift (it's chocolate, very precious gift if you ask me considering it's coming from a chocolate blackhole).

THANK YOU FOR THE 200 FOLLOWERS FOLKS<333 💜💜💜❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️. IDK WHAT TO DRAW WUAGYDEFUYTSW. Honestly, it's has been a big journey here. To the people who ofc haven't accompany me here since the start. I joined tumblr back in July last year. literally at the time I started drawing digitally for serious for the first time lol. And hey, I couldn't had been happier by making that decision. I love it here. Tumblr got such a bad reputation but it's honestly so unfair. After learning how to use tumblr, it's such an incredible social media website (I don't think I need to go into details). Plus, I got to be a mutual for some of the most amazing, wholesome, talent people I have seen. Got to make such fenomenal friendships too, friendships that I thought I couldn't make anymore. It's a bit hard to thank you folks for your interactions with me xD and liking my silly art. SO THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT<33 ❤️💜💜💜❤️❤️❤️💜❤️😭🥹🥹 YOU ARE ALL CUTIE BUNS.

[isamiracle]

     everything  is  temporary

     MINIONS  IS  FOREVER

🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖🍌👖

[chiiyuuvv]

200!👏 congrats to my favorite author!!🙌❣️

STOP FAVORITE AUTHOR?! EEERRRRR IMMA CRY

[y-unrei]

　 　 　♡　 　˚　　 ☒ 　 　 200+ FOLLOWERS?? I'm literally so happy like stop its not even been that long since i reached a 100 and now 200 sum??? i have no words to express how happy and thankful i am you guys are amazing im so happy and i love each and everyone of you i srsly about to eat yall up how dare you be so kind 😭😭 And those idiots that made my day by commenting on my posts have my entire heart just walk all over me i would let you srsly you guys are the best and so cute and sweet one of these days im gonna print all of my fav posts and hang them all over my walls cause im inlove, to all my tumblr moots you guys are the frinkin best tysm for motivating me to post, sending hugs to everyone of you 😭😭💗

♡ fav blogs :

@iluvrei @p-oisn @p-osse @fairytopea @wonjuii @yeritos @yrminji @aeraras @yeossemble @j-eongs @khroem @chaeneuu @y-ves @koosuvi @chaetopia @gigittamic @chuwerii @aericita @i-kyujin @aiirene @nayeist @thsv @minslune @anqllic @wnhee @sahittofu @mietteone @miuhyein @pink-horizon @keketopia @y-ujin @y-verse @yuzchaes @dollurei + sm more

[animalsalvationassociation]

Hap Borth To Meeeeeee 🥳

Oh hi, yes hello. I is borthday girl and yes I am posting this literally five minutes before my birthday (Sept 14th) is about to end (midnight duh), why you ask? I literally haven’t been home all day.

I planned (and usually plan to) to do literally nothing except maybe go to lunch with my family and go to work shortly after. But somehow I literally spent most of the day with my family and then was spoiled rotten by my adorable coworkers who almost made me cry. Not joking.

Anyways, figured I’d just throw this up here just as another excuse as to why I haven’t posted. It’s been a busy week and I’m super tired. I’m hoping that this next week coming up will give me a chance to finally put together that 200 follower appreciation post I’ve been hoping to make.

Again I just wanted to say I’m super honored to have you all here, thank you for making my life just a little bit brighter! Okay, I’m going to bed because I’ve been running on the last 20hrs on 4hrs of sleep (can you do the math??)

Anywaysssss goodnightttttavavxjdnskMmanx 😴