#YEAHHHH :]]]]

[sticcmann]

THE WAY I SCREAMMEEDDDDDD WHEN SINGED GOT HIS DAUGHTER BACK I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!! HOW DID HE DO IT

I’m hundred percent sure it was Viktor shenanigans she’s too white and the gold metal streaks on her skin

[forwardrussia]

neeeed ghost hunting mockumentary

Now available as a print!

[wolfchans]

BANG CHAN ♡ NYLON JAPAN

[sodawizardo]

Good evening all 5 of you in the Dead Money fandom

[finklrdrawsss]

REGRETEVATOR DRAWINGS!!!

[hopekirby]

3x04 || 3x08

[inkz123]

The way theyd hold me😳

[majunju]

[3/3] control

part 1 | part 2 | nsfw cont

[stsgooo]

Subconscious Reassurance.

✩࿐ summary: even the strongest has dreams he longs to be reality.

warning(s): slight 236 spoilers, shibuya incident spoilers, mentioned death, poor coping mechanisms, lovesick!gojo, girldad!gojo, as usual not proofread (it’s 2 am give me a break). wc; 3.6k

pairing(s): gojo satoru x reader

a/n: keep seeing tiktoks about the lamp story and this came to me. it’s a shortie but i just wanted to get this out. also do we prefer the colorless manga panels or the ones like the above one? i was messing with filters on picsart so lmk :)

divider 1 | previous work | ao3

SATORU ARRIVED HOME EXACTLY 7 PM.

He knew it was true because that’s the time he always arrived. There was no need to glance at the clock or question anyone around him. He knew it was 7PM.

The sun was peeking through the curtains and basking your shared home in a golden hue. Warmth enveloped his very being as he closed the front door behind him. There wasn’t a surface that wasn’t being touched by the sun, that wasn’t feeling the same feelings he did.

The sky outside was illuminated in a mixture of purples, reds, oranges, and pinks. A palate that could be implemented into his very soul and he’d smile in return.

“Daddy!”

The call was familiar and came exactly one minute after Satoru walked through the door.

Again, he didn’t need to glance, he just knew.

A smile blossomed on his lips and he crouched down to catch the little girl that jumped into his arms with a loud squeal. Her nose pressed into her cheek as she happily rambled about how much she missed him. A norm and a routine that he greeted happily with his own reassurances that he missed her infinitely more.

"Daddy," she whined, her tiny chubby fingers reaching up for his blindfold. "Can't see your eyes, daddy."

This happened every night after he arrived home. She would always frown and trace her nails over where his eyes would definitely be. Most of the time it was uncomfortable and, frankly, a little scary, but he always welcomed it with an overly dramatic gasp.

"Oh, sorry, daddy forgot!" He hooked his finger under the fabric and pulled it down to rest against his neck. Her eyes (which were his) met his and brightened considerably. "Is that better, Rie?"

Rie nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!"

Despite the aching behind his right eye, Satoru kept the blindfold off for Rie’s sake. She had always expressed her upmost displeasure for the item since she was a baby. Crying and crying until he finally pulled it off. It’d been a rough first few years trying to get used to pulling the thing off whenever he got home. But he’d grown accustomed to it.

“What’s mama up to?” Satoru asked softly, tracing his finger briefly over the bridge of Rie’s nose as she giggled.

The little girl swayed slightly in his arms. “Mama’s been working in the eating room—“ dining room, Satoru softly corrected with a smile, “—she put on on Yuki for me to watch while she worked.”

“Yuki, huh? Lucky you!” He playfully pinched her cheek which resulted in her swatting his hand with a resounding “daddy!” in protest. Satoru adjusted her on his hip and raised an eyebrow. “Should we go bother mommy?”

Like usual, Rie enthusiastically nodded in response.

Poor you.

True to his routine, he made his way from the front door towards the dining room, loudly. He left no room for you to not hear him coming him and gave you ample opportunity to prepare for his and Rie’s interruption on your precious work (he swore you were almost as bad as Nanam— …. as… as…).

The smile on his lips didn’t falter as his mind trailed away from the forgotten name. What was forgotten obviously wasn’t entirely important. He enthusiastically turned the corner, arm thrown out as Rie squealed happily as his rather jerky movements.

You were as you always were. Responsible. In your usual space occupying your rightful position.

Despite the loud (dramatic) entrance he made, you did not react in anyway. Your eyes were glued to your screen as you furiously typed away a response to whoever got on your bad side today. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight. In fact, this should’ve been around the time Gakuganji of Ya— someone of higher standing emailed you something that didn’t sit right with you. Even the appearance of your amazing and rambunctious husband didn’t seem to deter you from your mission.

Satoru pouted, huffing as he peacefully placed Rie down (the girl now more interested in the TV returning to her show), and crept closer to you. Still, you did not look away.

He leaned over, his chin hooked over his shoulder as he peeked over the words you were putting out into the world. Oddly, he couldn’t read any of the screen. He tried squinting your eyes and blinking a few times— nothing. It was more reminiscent of gibberish than any Japanese he knew. None of it seemed to stay in one place and it all smashed together to create a blob.

You knew how to read and write, he knew that much. Was it something with his eyes? He doubted it. But something wasn’t—

The laptop clicked close.

“You’ve never been one to take a hint, Satoru,” you turned your head to place a soft kiss against his temple in greeting. He could feel your tiny smile against his skin. The warmth of your lips. The coolness of your silvia left behind. His chest ached. He missed— missed? “Although, I knew that before I married you.”

He pushed away the mud in his mind and turned his head, placing a peck against your lips. Strawberries. You always had remnants of strawberries on your lips. Rie’s favorite fruit.

“I think it’s one of my many charming qualities.” He hummed.

You rolled your eyes, but placed a chaste kiss against his lips once again. “Charming is pushing it.” You patted his cheek. “It’s definitely an interesting characteristic.”

Satoru pouted. “You make it sound so unappealing.”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

He snorted in response, standing to his full height and peeking at you from over his nose. “You know, you’re not innocent either. Thought you said the TV would rot her brain, now you’re putting it on to keep her distracted?” He spared a glance to where Rie was hanging off the couch, upside down, her eyes glued to the television.

You shot him an incredulous look. “Because she’s your daughter and has the self restraint of a puppy. I needed a hour to get some things done.” You pat the top of your laptop. “Sue me.”

Satoru smirked. “I just might for emotional damages.” He gestured towards the laptop with a vague hand. “What exactly had you typing up a storm?”

There was a brief wave of giddiness in his chest when he saw the look in your eyes darken. Passion. Anger. Protectiveness. There were so many things he loved about you. Adored you for. Made him sick to his stomach whenever he thought about it.

“Well, I got an email from —— about some work in Shibuya, but I told him I already checked it out and suffered for it. Well, guess what he said? ——— and ———— suffered too so I can’t complain much. Set me off a bit, had to give him a piece of my mind and remind him what happened.”

Satoru wasn’t sure if he was having a stroke or he was just too awestruck by your beauty; but he swore that your voice simply stopped whenever you spoke names. As if your voice box couldn’t get it out. But you carried on like it was nothing. Your lips had even formed around the words that so desperately wanted to be out there, but were never uttered. You didn’t look panicked or disturbed. If anything, you looked normal. Just sipping from your capri sun that was definitely forced on you by Rie.

It was like he was the only one not hearing it.

It vaguely concerned him, but he was also Gojo Satoru. Sometimes weird things happened that had no explanation.

“But,” you continued once you swallowed down the fruit punch liquid with a twisted face. “I suppose I can’t really blame anyone for what happened. It was Halloween, we were all caught off guard. Some of us suffered for it more than others.”

Satoru, for the life of him, couldn’t recall what happened on Halloween. But he should. He had that overwhelming feeling that he really, really should.

Either way, he gave a nonchalant shrug, “Eh, my motto is that it’s always easier to forgive and forget.” He snatched the remainder of your capri sun and gave a loud slurp.

You grin, resting your chin on your cupped fingers. “I suppose so.” You eyed him warmly, then nodded to the chair next to you. Always warm. Always welcoming. “Now, what did you get up to today?”

Satoru groaned, flopping onto the seat with a creak. He placed the capri sun down to place his hands against his face. “Two specials grades in Iwate, one grade one in Kagawa, then three nasty things leeching off on the playground on the way home.” He knew he should feel exhausted. He usually did. But that day, this day, he did not. If anything, he felt well rested.

Odd.

You hum softly. “They’re overworking you, Satoru,” your tone is barely there. Your words could be missed if the house had any movement or loud noises. But it was just you and him. The soft background noises of your daughter. Always you and him. “They should recognize that you’re just a man. One day it’ll be too much. One day you’ll snap in half.”

Satoru frowned, finding the sudden shift in tone a little unsettling. “I’m the strongest, no need to worry.” He waved a passive hand in the air between you.

“I’ll always worry. It’s been my job to worry.” Your eyes moved towards Rie almost melancholic. “She’ll worry too, you know. She does worry. More than she should at 10.”

Satoru frowned deeper. “Eh…?” He blinked slowly, eyes sliding to Rie with confusion. 10? Was he crazy? Blind? Since when was the little girl sitting on the couch 10? Last he checked, she was six. It was 2012. Were you losing it on him? Was this your subtle way of telling him you’re spiraling again? “Baby, she is not—“

“I know you worry too. Think you’ve been worried about losing since the moment you got home.”

Losing? He’s never lost. Well, except those few times. But they didn’t count. Those were intentional loses.

Satoru was beginning to feel as though you both were having two different conversations. “Y/N, I’m not following.” He stated softly, eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you have to do tomorrow, Satoru?” You breezed through as if you knew where that was going. A pensive expression on your face now.

Again, he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Tomorrow? I…Well, I’m going to Shinjuku to… to…” To…what…? What was it he had to do? He could feel it deep in his chest. That ache. That unfamiliar emptiness that made him rub over his heart softly. There was something he was missing.

“Tomorrow’s going to be romantic,” You said wistfully, eyes distant as you sighed. “Well, it’s supposed to be.”

December 24th.

December 24th. So I don’t have to remember two different dates.

How romantic.

Satoru felt his gut churn. He wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t explain it but everything felt so tight now.

“I’m not.. I don’t…?”

Why couldn’t he get words out. Why did he stare at you like that? Unmoving, unblinking? Why did his eyes collect with tears.

Why did you look so sad?

You reached out, taking his hand. It’s cold. It feels cold. Not like the usual warmth that envelopes him whenever you held him. Whenever you reached out from him.

You’re cold.

You take his hand. “Satoru, what’s happening tomorrow?”

Seriously, what is with you?

Satoru clenched his jaw. “What are you doing?” He wasn’t sure why but he felt so unnerved. He felt like he’s been disillusioned. As if his world was crumbling. But he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand.

You’re cold.

You looked briefly disappointed in his response. “You’re not well. You’re trying to appear to be, but you’re not. She worries. She’s so worried. And you know it.” Your hand reached out and cupped his cheek. Your cold thumb gently stroked against his bone, against the tears that were flowing— why was he crying?

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.” He didn’t feel tired. “I just need a nap.” He didn’t feel tired.

“Oh, Satoru, I’m so sorry,” you uttered it, barely audible. But it was enough to conjure up an earth shattering sob from his chest. A heartbroken tremble under your touch. “I’m so sorry for leaving you.”

“You’re right here?” Confusion was clear in his tone and his expression as he stared back at you.

You just smiled sadly in response.

He shook his head. “You’re right here.” He prided a finger against your chest. Firm. But cold.

You tilted your head and blinked slowly at him.

Satoru wasn’t sure why, but he took in as deep breath. Like he couldn’t quite catch it in the first place.

“You didn’t— You’re right here!” He desperately clutched onto your hand, pressing your skin against his own. “You’re right here. This-This is real. This-This is you. Please. Please, this is you.”

You only stared sadly in response.

Satoru wasn’t sure what was happening. Why he was so panicked or why he felt so terribly sad— but he knew it was making him quiver and sob. Why? Why? Why did this all have to happen to you? Of all people had you been the one to suffer?

What suffering?

“I…” He felt breathless. Feather light. He felt like he had no control of his lips or his tongue. “Tomorrow I fight… Sukuna…?”

Sukuna? Since when? When did—

“Since before Shibuya. Since before Itadori Yuji.” You answered his thoughts.

Itadori Yuji. Satoru thought that name sounded familiar. A blank face appeared in his mind, the back of a pink hair head facing him. Itadori Yuji.

He felt like he was living someone else’s life. As if he were placed in some point in space where nothing bad could touch it.

But these feelings, these tears, this ache in his chest wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t safe from the darkness of the world.

“Nanami… Yaga… Nobara…” You uttered the names that made his ears ring. That made his muscles tense and his heart sputter to a catastrophic halt. “But still you dream of Suguru…. of me…. of the lives you desperately want to hold on to.”

Suguru… you…

Satoru’s lips quivered.

Suguru… you….

“Why?” You asked the million dollar question.

Breathless whispers against sweat slick skin. Endless touches of tense muscle. Hair hanging and tickling. Eyes sure and hardened with undoubted honesty.

Why? Satoru thought that question was dumb. Why would the earth dream to reach out for the moon and the sun?

He stared at you, big blue eyes glittering with shimmering tears. “I’m the strongest… I should’ve saved the ones I loved… I should’ve… I’m the strongest.”

To be whole. To be loved. To love.

You sigh softly. Sadly. “Satoru, you can’t save everyone.”

“But I could.”

“Obviously not.”

The words were final. Absolute. No doubt. And he supposed, a deep part of him knew, you were right.

But that other part of himself. The one that hated himself for what happened, for whatever happened, convinced him otherwise.

“You don’t—“

“Get it?” You raised an eyebrow at his blink. “I’m your subconscious. I’m your deepest, most personal thoughts. I get it.”

Satoru stared in return. “…huh?”

You pressed your lips together. “Satoru, you’re the strongest. But you don’t always have to be.” You whispered if. A nefarious secret between the both of you that couldn’t be touched. That couldn’t be shared outside of this setting. You scoot closer in your chair. You’re slotted between his legs. “There’ll come a time where you need to step back. To rest. And let those you’ve guided this far to do their jobs.”

Resting. Stepping back.

No one had ever spoken those words to him before. It was never a guarantee nor was it ever a possibility. He feared, even now, he couldn’t even dream about something like that.

Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?

Years later, Satoru didn’t know what to make of his words. But Suguru had always known him better, he supposed.

Distracted, he didn’t realize you had started to card your fingers through his hair, bringing his head against your shoulder. It was a blissful moment when he came to his senses. When he felt your fingers ghost his scalp. When he felt your lips brush against his temple.

“You should take a nap, you look tired.”

The moment the words left your lips, his eyes felt heavy and he felt exhausted. He hadn’t felt tired before. He would love to sleep. But…

“What about you?” He whispered, eyes unmoving from your face. He studied the bow of your lips. The softness and warmth of your eyes. The faint blush across your cheeks. The little wrinkles on your forehead. “If I close my eyes, you’ll be gone.”

“No,” you shook your head and placed your free hand against his rapidly beating heart. “I’ll be here.”

How cliche. He wanted to say. But he would take it. He’d take and savor any moment with you.

He took in a shuddering breath. “I love you.”

“I love you.” No hesitation. No doubt. How could this be a dream? Something of his own mind? He nuzzled into your neck with a small sigh. “Take care of her.”

Take care of her.

Take care of her.

Satoru woke with a soft gasp.

He was not happy or surprised to find the ceiling of his dark room instead of the dining room.

The clock next to his bed illuminated 2AM in angry red outline. He’d been asleep for approximately 4 hours. And dreamt of you. Again.

His jaw clenched as he tried to push down the tears that threatened to spill over. You, angelic, in your rightful place typing away. That’s what you should be doing.

Instead, you were one of the first to die in Shibuya.

It’d been you, then Nanami, then Nobara, then whoever else.

She got caught up with Noritoshi in the tunnels, that Death Womb Painting kid tried to explain to Satoru when everyone else had been too distraught and nervous to reveal it themselves. She didn’t suffer.

It didn’t bring him comfort. Satoru was pretty sure it was a lie, but it still brought him no comfort.

It gave him all the more reason to make Kenjaku suffer.

December 24th.

Today was the day.

Almost two months since your death. Christmas Eve.

Satoru was pretty sure he was about to do the same. Embrace death for the sake of others.

He could look around, tell all of them that he’d win, but there was that growing inkling that this was mounting up against him. That Sukuna— Megumi— knew exactly what to do to get one up on him. He feared the unknown. The possibility this was it.

What would you say?

“Dad?”

Satoru’s eyes dragged from the ceiling and to the spot next to him.

Now 10, Rie was older and less rambunctious. But he blamed that partly on your death and his sudden sealing.

She had clung to him since he returned. Tears streaming down her face as she hugged him, begged him to never go again— she thought she’d lost him just like mama. (It’d been six years since he heard her call you mama.) And she slept in his bed. Said she couldn’t sleep otherwise. She’d curl up against him and he’d run his hands through her hair as he hummed a long forgotten lullaby to guide her to sleep.

Shoko said she needed this. Him.

Satoru knew she needed you.

“Rie, did I wake you?” He asked sympathetically.

“No,” surprisingly, it sounded like the truth. “I’ve been up.”

He frowned, “Why?”

There was a prolonged pause between them. A thick layer of hesitation passed and Satoru tensed up. What could she possibly be up for?

When he heard the small sniffle, his heart ached.

He sat up and drew her into his arms, holding her close as he pressed kisses against her head. “Hey, hey, why are you crying?”

“I don’t want you to die!” Rie sobbed immediately. “I don’t want you to fight stupid Sukuna! I just want you to stay here with me— I can’t lose you too!”

I can’t lose you too.

Satoru pressed his lips together as tears sprung to his eyes. “Rie, I’m not going to die.” Such sure words for a man who was worried over his own mortality only moments ago. Who had to be reassured by his subconscious image of his dead wife that it’s okay to lose.

Rie shook her head frantically. “No! I heard Kusakabe say you will!” She sobbed, clutching onto his night shirt with a vice like hold.

Satoru silently cursed the man as he rubbed Rie’s back. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? What does Kusakabe know anyway, the schmuck?” His poor attempt at joking fell flat, Rie only continued to cry. With a heavy sigh, Satoru pulled back, holding her face in his hands. “What do I always say, hm? I’m the strongest. I’ll get one up on him.”

Rie stared up at him and Satoru was painfully aware of how young she was. “You promise?” She uttered.

Satoru hesitated.

If he were to promise and it didn’t actually work out, who was he? Would she resent him for the rest of her life? Would she try to forget him and spit on his memory? He’d been promised many things in life by people he looked up to and every single one had been broken. Resentment festered. Trust was broken.

What kind of father was he if he—

Take care of her. She worries.

Satoru tucked some of her hair— your hair— behind her ear. “I promise.” He whispered, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. “I promise.”

Rie clutched onto him once again. “I love you.”

No hesitation.

“I love you too.”

The worries of Sukuna and Kenjaku could wait until morning. Satoru had to focus on her now.

Take care of her.

[greedykrab]

Sometimes a hug we need the most is one to ourselves by ourselves

[sweeteastart]

It's you ! :)

Despite everything it's still you.

Despite everything....

it's still you...

My attempt at the Undertale template with my dear Legend ! Took the highway and decided to destroy him. It was based on a talk about how Lege and the Chain meeting his younger self would go I had with @lennsart ! All of that based on a fic idea they had and from there it went downhill for Lege.

Illustrations without the text box under the cut

[fleuraimer]

Threesome with h and his gf but he obviously prefers the reader 🤭🤭 you can make his gf jealous or reverse cuck vibes if that’s something you’d like but just the vibe of him preferring the reader in front of his gf even if he’s trying to hide it (or not)

BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK—

you'd been caught staring (not as if you're known amongst your friend group for subtlety—contrary, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, an open book—but it's nevertheless jarring to be called out on it). sat at the dinning table in a public restaurant, staring at a person, a man—arabella's man.

harry.

it was overt and entirely unintentional (and hard not to when he'd perused you the way he had, the way you had (have) been), and led to your current position.

we like to share, she told you with a reassuring smile, tucked in his side, his arm around her waist, as waiters tentatively came by to clear the table and the others gathered their things and said their goodbyes to one another. but his eyes were still on you.

as they are now, sharp, unwavering—you can't see them but you don't need to, its heat searing into the curve of your back. despite her apologia, this doesn't feel like sharing. it feels intimate, private, something to be shared between lovers.

not lovers and the girl that couldn't stop eye-fucking arabella's boyfriend since the second they stepped, hand-in-hand, into the establishment.

no matter (it matters, deeply—because you’ve known bella for years and this has never happened. she has a type—brunette men with inked skin and thick, eyesore muscles—that you’d like to think is the exact opposite of yours. and he fits into it, could probably serve as the poster child for her desired man and this has never fucking happened before but it’s happening now).

it's heady—bella's sweaty back pressed against your chest, your ass perched above hers, thighs spread over her, toes brushing her calves; arms, shaking, over her bunched shoulder, hands weakly keeping the brunt of your weight from collapsing onto her. her nose is in the sheets and yours is in her hair, notes of lavender and tea tree sprouting from the roots, as harry bullies his cock into his girlfriend's pussy.

she yelps, fisting the sheets he's splayed her—on all fours with you, ready and waiting, placed whorishly on top—over, when the force of his strokes shifts you both over the mattress, the ruddy tip of his cock no doubt pressing gratingly at the spot inside her that makes her thighs shake underneath yours.

you can't stop the moan that tears from your throat.

and harry smirks. "like it?" he taunts—rubbly, coated, thick, in a condescending, oddly affectionate lilt that you know—just know—is meant for you. it makes you shiver; heat licks down the knobs of your bent spine and your chapped lips part to respond but—

“fu-uck yes, har, love it,” arabella sounds from beneath you, tongue clearly weighted to the bed of her mouth with the way her words slur, or perhaps it’s the muffle of silken sheets caught between her teeth, soaked with spit, chewing.

he grunts, and you don’t know him.

you don’t know him because arabella brought him to dinner with your friends as an introduction to her boyfriend of three months, harry styles. you don’t know him, because the way he smiled, soft but not timid, and shook hands with naill and daniel was in that stereotypical, brotherly way that says don’t break her heart on one end and don’t plan on it on the other. you don’t know him because the way he let sara and brithany come to him first for a hug, and kept his hands respectfully above the small of their backs proved he didn’t plan on breaking sweet arabella’s heart.

you don’t know him.

…but.

he grunts and you swear it’s one of annoyance and not satisfaction. annoyance at the fact his girlfriend—your close, i’ve-known-you-since-freshman-year-of-uni friend—had responded instead of you.

you’re not getting fucked but you may as well be, with the way your head seems to swim in fog and your thoughts clot together into one big mess of consonants and vowels. you may as well have his cock, harry’s pretty, pink cock, stuffed up inside your guts with how you tremble over bella’s frame (could be blamed on the way she’s shaking beneath you, but there’s truly no point in lying to yourself). he’s holding you—he’s fucking her but he’s holding you—hands fit just over the swell of your presented ass, nails biting into the soft of your hips. you may as well be getting fucked, with the way—

“you’re dripping,” harry murmurs, absentminded-like, and his right hand moves from it’s station at juncture between the small of your back and the slope of your bum to fit itself between your legs. brushes calloused, firm fingers to your puffed up clit and it’s dirty. it’s dirty because he just barely grazes your clit with the rough pads of his fingers before he’s swiping them up and down to collect your wetness until it’s practically pooling in his palm and then pulling out of his girlfriend with an audible pop to smear said wetness over the length of he’s already soaked cock.

you still can’t see him, you’re still thrown on all fours over your very close friend who’s also on all fours but hearing him—hearing it, the slick push and pull of his tight fist working the remnants of your arousal from his hand into his stiff cock—is enough to make you fucking come.

you’re not getting fucked but you may as well be.

you may as well be, and you are when he rises slightly up on his toes to press his fat cockhead to the seam of your pussy. you are getting fucked when he pushes inside of you instead of going back down to his panting, edged girlfriend just beneath you, her holes pretty and presented the same as yours.

you are getting fucked, fucked by harry—by bella’s man—and you could fucking cry with delight.

god, you need to talk to your therapist about the significance of what this means, but that’s a thought for a later time—a time when your cunt isn’t being completely filled by the cock of a man who doesn’t belong to you, the cock of a man that belongs to one of your very best friends.

“harryharryharry,” you keen into bella’s scalp, strands glistening with a mixture of sweat and your drool, and dig your nails into the bedding beneath your palms to claw at the fabric.

he grunts, cock fully sheathed inside of you and you can feel the way his cock kicks and twitches against your soft, gummy walls and how he shivers at the feel of you wrapped snug around him and the way he grips your waist, nails biting, to keep you locked onto him and rolls his hips into yours, somehow trying to reach deeper even though there’s nowhere else to go, no more room, full—full—and—

you don’t know him.

but you know he wants you, more than he should.

and maybe you do, too.

——

a/n: couldn't explain it 👍🏽

not edited/proofread!!

[10yrratiolover]

guys I'm THRILLED over new Ratio crumbs omg!!!

So much to unpack! I'll go paragraph by paragraph.

He received a gift from the Nightingale family? Was it a gift to him personally or to the Guild? I'm assuming it was to him personally, as it's with him in the bathtub, but then from who?

I'm not surprised that he's so uninterested in the fall of The Propagation after the end of the Herta Station quest, but again, was the book a gift or did he just borrow it from the Guild?

And the IPC gifting him a book about Dr. Primitive. That's more interesting to me because not only does he refer to it as a 'street tabloid' (which is the first time he's shown any kind of disrespect towards a member of the Genius Society) but also, and again, why did the IPC give this to him? Are they also interested in finding more info on Dr. Primitive and so they're tossing articles down to the Intelligentsia Guild to try and find answers?

I love how he 'relaxes' by doing more thinking instead of less, like in his daily message where he asks TB for something to stimulate his brain.

Also, doing some reading and most epsom salts can be effective for up to an hour, which (unsurprisingly) confirms he takes very long baths. I've seen people asking who would be calling him professor while in the bath, but I think it's likely not an actual person given it's a dream.

I also just really enjoy the last little line of dialog as well, it's really easy to forget that Ratio is just some guy under all his intelligence and achievements. He, too, wonders what he's going to have for dinner tonight just as anyone else.

[ovaryacted]

you know. i really think Leon’s favorite thing is also fingering.

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

Oh absolutely. It goes hand in hand with him being a munch but I also think it's a symbolic thing on his end.

Leon is a man who is constantly questioning his own humanity, wondering if he is just as rotten as the rest of the world he's trying so hard to save. He hates that he sees so much carnage and gore despite being desensitized to it. Deep down he loathes being part of this bigger system with limited control, always holding a weapon in his hand or his fingers clenching together in a fist as he throws a punch. He's a man-made machine despite not wanting to be, and he thinks his hands are only meant for destruction.

Except it's different when he gets to touch you when his fingers lightly graze your body and run lines over your back and thighs. It's so easy for him to just slip his fingers inside your waiting body, feeling your walls clench around his digits with every pump he gives you.

He can't help himself as he watches the way his fingers grow slick between your lower lips, eyeing the clear fluid that stains his skin with every push and pull. Leon would rest his head against one of your thighs and keep the other lifted onto his shoulder, never moving his gaze from your pussy. He groans to himself when your fingers come to tug at his hair, mumbling praises that count as words of affirmation under his breath, mixing in with your moans that fill the room.

"So pretty and wet. You can hear it can't you?"

"Such a pretty pussy, all for me"

"That feel good? Yeah, she's just crying for more"

"That's the spot, right baby? You want it right there?"

In a way, being able to feel you like this and the warmth between your legs grants him a sense of solace, knowing that his hands are much more capable of hurting the enemy or causing injury. He finds himself having another purpose, curling into that textured spot inside you that makes you whine out his name the way he likes.

Knowing that he can bring you pleasure with just a stroke of his hand is enough to give him the motivation to push you over the edge over and over again. He won't stop until he gets his fill, until he's ripping orgasm after orgasm from your shaking body.

Your slick making a mess on his hand feels so much better than the familiar crimson he usually sees. If he'd have it any other way, this is what he'll be doing for the rest of his life.

[bepoucorp]

MERRY BATJOKES!! (art I made for @sabaldax 's 2nd christmas chapter)

[starrypawu]

EMO SCENE DARK💥💥💥💥