#ILYYYYYYYYYYYY
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teddybeartoji · 7 months ago
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MAKIN OUT ABOVE TOJIS COCK SO THE DROOL THAT DRIPS OUT DRIPS RIGHT ONTO HIS TIP AND MAKES HIS COCK TWITCH !!!!!
PLEAAASEEEE AND HE GETS TO JUST WATCHHH MMMMMMMMMMMMMM
he would love that soooo fucking muchh cmon we all know how much he loves to get dommed:3333 let's tie his hands too? maybe stuff his mouth with our panties??? so he drools all over himself too?? hehehehehheheee watch him cum all over his tummy bc we're just so hott:((((((
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lilacerull0 · 4 months ago
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i can do it with a broken heart such an admirable sentiment... elena greco core...
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waitingforminjae · 9 months ago
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any hand that rises against doyoung shall fall btw
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thelvkcs · 2 years ago
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HAPPY B-DAY @mxrrorbxall !!!!! 🎉🎂💗
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its-the-ratdawg · 2 years ago
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i don't know i could just, reveal my most vulnerable self to you, succumb to the fear of being known, peer from behind the veil of anonymity, or you could just call me dear ;)
Ah, alright then. dear it is ;););)
question is, when are we going to, yknow, bond over the thrill of the hunt. Our souls connect within the kill as we stand over our prey, eyes locked, the beats of our heart sliding into alignment. The shared rush of God-like power melting us into one.
Cuz like I think that would be cool
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trials-era-sam · 1 year ago
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I LOVE THIS SM FOR US PLEASE ;;;;;_;;;;;; this is all i want but WHENNNNN
when we FINALLY meet can we please please play paramore's first 3 albums and rock out to them. <333
grips your hands tightly. sweetheart we will rock out and slow dance to everything and anything we want. <3333
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goldencuffs · 12 days ago
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Happy holidays Ruby! 🎄✨💛
Thank you so much for *sobbing* coming back and *sobbing* delighting us with ur amazing writing again. We missed u a lot.
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AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i love you so much, you're one of my favourite people thank you for always being so lovely and kind!!!!! 🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️
ngl i think about that au all the time too!!!! i remember it was one of the first prompts i got here on tumblr and it immediately excited me bc of all the potential 😮‍💨
hope you're having a happy holidays and relaxing with all your loved ones!!!! ❤️❤️❤️
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jade-or-smthg · 2 years ago
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ah shit wrong death game
week 2 of @shepscapades's hermit design event! from the game your turn to die (except i took wayyyyyyyy too many creative liberties lmao). some of the people were chosen for actual reasons but i though scar as qtaro was just too funny
reference image under the cut
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hyunpic · 2 years ago
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this is how we are hugging rn 🩷💘💓😻
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vilma being the sweetest human on the planet 😞💗🫶
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rustinged · 1 year ago
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you guys. everyone hold my hands. I love dykes forever
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teddybeartoji · 8 months ago
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i love it so much when you're possesive over me. it gets me so wet😋
YOU'RE MIIIINEEEEEEEE no but..... this is 10000% my red flag🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈 get jealous very easily get possessive very easily smhhhh it's so hard having a gorgeous gf😔😔
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retro-rezz-the-est · 2 years ago
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Color Ask Game: lilac, lava, fern, mint
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teddybeartoji · 1 month ago
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ariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii:33333333333333333
”won’t you pray with me?” a young boy calls, in the visage of your mind — an ever-fluctuating memory. you can hear it, when you close your eyes; a voice far less tailored, dipped in drops of sunshine. the kind of voice that tastes like citrus on your tongue. younger, warmer.  (not yet tainted by the family.)
we're off to a great start i feel like i wanna rip my hair out already (affectionate) "A VOICE FAR LESS TAILORED, DIPPED IN DROPS OF SUNSHINE. THE KIND OF VOICE THAT TASTES LIKE CITRUS ON YOUR TONGUE" RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i think this is so perfect for him. the citrus specifically .
”won’t you pray to me?”
.
sunday tilts his head, in rhythm with the glide of his fingertips along your pulsepoint. he’s smiling, just barely, and you can tell that he’s not asking.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCKKKKKKKKKKKK it's always the throat it's always the throat that gets me okay god it really is the most vulnerable place and now you're pairing that up with "you can tell he's not asking" HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YOU'RE SICK IN THE HEADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD i love you so much
you’ve learned not to question his late night visits. sunday never leaves you alone for long, never has, though when he was a child it didn’t feel anywhere near as suffocating. even when he’s out of sight, you feel his eyes on you — one of them, all five of them. feel the phantom weight of his hands on your shoulders, guiding you in the right direction. 
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what the fuck............................................. the weight of his hands on your shoulders................... him guiding you the 'right' way......................
a chartreuse glow in the dim light of your room, glimmering faintly, a crystallized firefly. he fills your cup, then his own. there’s more in one than the other.
i wish i could eat you and this piece . THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE EVERYTHING IS JUST SOO??!="="=!"!="!="!?"=!?="!??!?="?"!=? I NEED TO GET INSIDE YOUR HEADDDD I WANT TO LIVE IN THERE
his fingers wrap around the glass, one after the other, raising it to his pursed lips. taking a sip, dipping his tongue out to catch the droplets, feel them trickle down his throat; the residue paints his lips burgundy. you picture the sweet, weighty wine flowing through his esophagus, intoxication taking root inside his veins, eager to break into his bloodstream. 
jk i need to devour you actually what is this god-like speech you have hm?????????????????? OHH I'M SORRRYYY "THE WINE FLOWING THROUGH HIS ESOPHAGUS, INTOXICATION TAKING ROOT INSIDE HIS VEINS, EAGER TO BREAK INTO HIS BLOODSTREAM" ????????????????????????? HELLO???????????????? you live in another world as everybody else like you're on another level in another dimesion this is beautiful ari. IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD TO READDDDD FUUUUCKKKK MEEEEEEE IT JUST FLOWS SO WELL THE WORDS ARE ALWAYS THE RIGHT ONES EVERYTHING GOES TOGETHER LIKE IT'S JUST ALL A BIG PUZZLE YOU'RE A LITTLE MASTERMIND AREN'T YOU HM my beloved little word genius i really do admire you so fucking much
(overpowering, to know he’s picturing you below him. on your knees, at whatever altar he fancies himself.)
sickening. absolutely fucking sickening
”ask me for guidance,” he implores, demands, and you can tell the words are borrowed, stolen from a lesser man. ”and i will bestow it upon you.”
I'M SHAKING YOU BY YOUR SHOULDERSSSS HE DEMANDSS!!!!!!!!! "THE WORDS ARE BORROWED, STOLEN FROM A LESSER MAN" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
sinners can’t be angels, but gods can’t be saints, so where does that leave him?
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sunday wants you to make him holy.  he wants you to expect nothing less.
+
a promise of rot.
oh why don't you just crack open my ribs and take my heart it wants to be with you anyway WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKKK "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? you two are both genuinely making me want to tear my hair out this is insane i hope you know that i hope you know how fucking good you are . i mean that
moonlight dances on his skin, reflects in the glass of wine he puts to his lips — every single one of his eyes gazing down at you. pools of gold, the same as you remember, but infinitely colder — infinitely sadder. they look like solemn, broken windows, but there’s nothing behind them. what you see is what you get.
i've said it before but you really do paint the most beautiful pictures. every sentence and every paragraph of yours is like a painting, a watercolor one
you, on your knees, at the altar of his sins. feeding into them, picturing them in your mind’s eye; flowing out of his eyes in tender rivulets, down the curve of his lips. dripping, dripping, dripping down his wrist — (soon, the cup will overflow.)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
i loved it. i'm IN love with it. with him with you with this piece. i can taste the wine on my lips and i, too, can feel his hands on my shoulders. everything you write always feels so real, it feels like i'm right there like i'm breathing alongside with the characters. i can taste everything they can and i can smell everything they can. idk i just fucking love it okay i love being here i'm glad i'm alive at this very moment i'm glad i get to experience your writing
you made him so extra tasty too like mmmmmmmmmmmmm i want to gnaw on his bones he's so sick . the cold eyes and the smile. the demanding tone and everything. he still loves you but it's just.. different now. he's sad and he's broken but he's trying to act tough in a way - he wants you to make him holy as if that'll change anything.
ANYWAY . i'm building a shrine for you . this a very fitting comment under this piece but ghsadhgsahgdashgah i mean that. you are so fucking amazing and i adore you and i love you and i wish i could just inject your writing into my veins i know the sun would be brighter the sky would be bluer (???) the birds would sing better (sorry birds) and all in all everything would be more beautiful. thank you for existing thank you for writing thank you for sharing your writing with us and with me THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU<333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333
sunday seems so distant, these days.
”won’t you pray with me?” a young boy calls, in the visage of your mind — an ever-fluctuating memory. you can hear it, when you close your eyes; a voice far less tailored, dipped in drops of sunshine. the kind of voice that tastes like citrus on your tongue.
younger, warmer. 
(not yet tainted by the family.)
you had prayed with him, then. had clasped your hands together and wished for mercy.
for him, for robin, for you. for the three of you.
it feels like centuries ago. mountains of rubble, burning stars, two pairs of hands clinging onto yours for dear life. and then the prayers — endless, relentless, yielding to no one. you don’t know if anything is as enduring as a child’s heart.
that was then, and this is now.
”won’t you pray to me?”
sunday tilts his head, in rhythm with the glide of his fingertips along your pulsepoint. he’s smiling, just barely, and you can tell that he’s not asking.
whatever dream you were just in, whatever memory — it’s no more. the boy, the angel, fades away, leaving only a vague imprint on your muddled mind.
and your gaze overlaps with that of a certain halovian.
he still looks the same, fancy clothes aside. the same halo, the same feathers — only clipped, only slightly severed — the same honeyed golden eyes, piercing through the veil of whatever dream you find yourself in. his hair is the same, his bony fingers, his rosy lips.
it’s his smile that’s different. 
the way he speaks to you.
you’ve learned not to question his late night visits. sunday never leaves you alone for long, never has, though when he was a child it didn’t feel anywhere near as suffocating. even when he’s out of sight, you feel his eyes on you — one of them, all five of them. feel the phantom weight of his hands on your shoulders, guiding you in the right direction. 
you can’t tell when the change began. can no longer remember when he started behaving more like a god than an angel, when this distance was born.
his hand slips from your slender neck, slithers down, comes to rest on the bottle of wine he brought with him; a chartreuse glow in the dim light of your room, glimmering faintly, a crystallized firefly. he fills your cup, then his own. there’s more in one than the other.
his fingers wrap around the glass, one after the other, raising it to his pursed lips. taking a sip, dipping his tongue out to catch the droplets, feel them trickle down his throat; the residue paints his lips burgundy. you picture the sweet, weighty wine flowing through his esophagus, intoxication taking root inside his veins, eager to break into his bloodstream. 
you picture sin as a beverage.
it’s not just in the smile, not just in the voice. his whole demeanor has shifted — the elegance he moves with, the calculation, the presence of something that demands reverence even without words. it’s overpowering, to have him so close, yet so out of reach, overpowering to have to sip from your cup and feel the sting in your throat afterwards. 
(overpowering, to know he’s picturing you below him. on your knees, at whatever altar he fancies himself.)
when he parts his lips, it’s with decision. his voice flickers in the shadows of the room; you can almost see them, the words flowing from his lips, can feel them echo through the deepest parts of your soul.
”ask me for guidance,” he implores, demands, and you can tell the words are borrowed, stolen from a lesser man. ”and i will bestow it upon you.”
bestow.
the word rings inside your skull, crawls along your spine. he’s silent, now, unmoving. not even blinking. as if he’s trying to turn into a statue, a pillar of salt. moonlight streams in, illuminates his features, too beautiful to be human. sinners can’t be angels, but gods can’t be saints, so where does that leave him?
when you look into his eyes, you do not see a savior. you do not see your childhood friend. you see an overseer, the man at the end of every dream you have — a man yet to be quenched of his thirst.
you see a bird with its wings ripped off.
(when you flick the light switch of your mind, and squint your eyes — you see a god. your universe.)
the dreamscape outside your window glimmers and gleams, seeps through the translucent fabric of the curtains, licks along the walls; his cheekbones, your fingers. clasping them together comes easy, it’s muscle memory, you’ve done it all your life. it’s the prayer that’s difficult — the lack of a focal point.
you’ve always prayed for his protection, always. but you know that’s not what he wants from you. 
sunday wants you to make him holy. 
he wants you to expect nothing less.
he wants you to ask him for mercy, and he wants to give it to you with his own two hands. that’s all that lies in these late-night rendezvous — a promise of rot. the overseer watches you from across the table, and you know it would hurt less to simply walk away.
but you don’t.
you do exactly as he says.
with elegance, you clasp your hands together, and pray to him for guidance. sunday smiles — a finely tailored, made of silk, barely there kind of smile.
(the smile of a broken bird.)
moonlight dances on his skin, reflects in the glass of wine he puts to his lips — every single one of his eyes gazing down at you. pools of gold, the same as you remember, but infinitely colder — infinitely sadder. they look like solemn, broken windows, but there’s nothing behind them. what you see is what you get.
absolute order. 
gone are the days his slender fingers would search for your own, slipping into the valleys between them, a prayer on his tongue. gone are the days where mercy was the only thing you’d think to wish for. 
this is all there is, all you’ve got. 
you, on your knees, at the altar of his sins. feeding into them, picturing them in your mind’s eye; flowing out of his eyes in tender rivulets, down the curve of his lips. dripping, dripping, dripping down his wrist —
(soon, the cup will overflow.)
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minjv · 8 months ago
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i’m so phenomenally happy ^-^
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leafatlaw · 8 months ago
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hi beloved! I love you /p <333 you are super cool and awesome :3
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themindofachronicdaydreamer · 5 months ago
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Bro Zoned
context: a snippet of typical texts between you and your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo. fem!reader
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lmk if you want more like this they’re kinda fun to make!!! thank you for reading ilyyyyyyyyyyyy
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