#just thinking out loud and hurting my own feelings

[creatingblackcharacters]

i have a question im seeing an influx of elphaba/glinda fanart based on the movie but sometimes im not sure if the artist drew Black hair correctly? i wanna reblog but i dont wanna promote art that doesnt draw Black hair correctly but i also dont want to be overly critical of the art? im using my best judgement but sometimes it feels like none of the way people draw Black hair looks right and i have to lower my standards i feel like im going crazy scrutinizing elphaba’s braids every time i see art on my dash is it supposed to be like that (i am poc but not Black)

It's maddening, isn't it?

You're talking about lowering your standards and being less critical, but the standard is "depicting a Black woman as she looks". That's the bare minimum! Cynthia Erivo said that she intentionally chose microbraids for Black girls to see that style on screen- choosing not to depict that style as is, is tantamount to saying "fuck them Black girls and their rep".

So! This is a CHOICE that you have to make!

Do you choose antiblackness for the sake of your enjoyment? Do you accept that you'd rather be antiblack in order to feel comfortable, to feel included, to feel "more sane"? Because you've said the quiet part out loud- be willing to accept that you'll be letting antiblackness slide for fun! But it's easier!

Or, do you choose to keep your standards, and accept that it is, ultimately, lonely? And yes, it is sad and hurtful and crazy that in order to be included, you have to accept racism (and you're not even a part of the group being demeaned this time). You can choose antiracism, and accept that it means seeing just how normalized racism really is in your spaces, and just how unwelcome being Black really is. And that is hard.

Me personally, I usually choose the latter. It is lonely, and 8/10 I cannot share the art of the "Black" character I love. But I think it was Che Guevara that said "If you tremble with indignation at every injustice then you are a comrade of mine." 👍🏾 My integrity means a lot to me- if they don't respect me, I gotta respect me, and I respect those who own up to the hard choice.

[daryltwdixon]

Know It's For the Better

Was listening to Phoebe Bridger's Waiting Room today and my heart hurt thinking of Daryl pining, longing, and angsty while critical of himself. Never letting himself have you.

There are moments when he thinks it’d be easier to walk away, to stop feeling like this, but the idea of losing even the smallest piece of you feels like a wound he’d never come back from.

The door swings shut behind Daryl with barely a sound—he’d oiled the hinges last week after they started squealing loud enough to wake the dead. Tonight, he steps out onto the porch, pausing when he catches sight of you sitting on the steps, your figure framed by the soft glow of moonlight.

For a second, he hesitates, unsure whether to join you or leave you to the quiet. But his feet don’t carry him back inside. Instead, he leans against the porch railing, his shoulders pressing into the rough wood, watching you from the shadows. He’s always been good at staying silent when he needs to, moving like a ghost, unnoticed until he wants to be seen.

You don’t look up, your attention on the blade of grass you’re twirling between your fingers. Your body is relaxed, at ease in the stillness of the night. There’s something easy about the way you sit there, your body relaxed, your hair catching the faint silver light of the moon. You look at home in this quiet, the same way you do when you’re laughing with the others or tearing through walkers like it’s second nature. He doesn’t know which version of you hits him harder—the one who smiles without hesitation, or the one who stares a little too long at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.

He likes both. That’s the problem.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you at this point—too long, probably. Long enough that every inch of you is burned into his memory, like some kind of cruel brand he’s too far gone to scrape off. And not just tonight, in the moonlight that floods the neighborhood. But always. He's always watching you. He tells himself he’s just keeping watch, keeping you safe, and that is true... But there's more. He knows he'd be lying if he said that was all it was. When it comes to you, he can't stop...watching, looking--admiring.

You shift slightly, leaning back on your hands, your face turned up to the stars like you’re trying to soak them in. It’s so damn effortless—the way you exist, the way you look at the world like it might still have something left to offer you. He wonders what it feels like, that kind of quiet hope. Wonders what it would feel like if you ever looked at him that way.

He’s too old, too broken. Too rough around the edges to be anything you could want. Hell, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he had the chance. Wouldn’t know how to hold you let alone touch you. And definitely, most definitely, wouldn’t know how to tell you just how much space you’ve taken up in his head without scaring you off.

“Something on your mind?” you ask suddenly, not looking back. Your voice is light, teasing, like you already know the answer.

Shit, of course you knew he was there. It was hard to sneak around you, he should've known by now. Daryl clears his throat, pushing the words back down where they belong. “Nah,” he mutters, glancing at the dark horizon instead of you.

You hum softly, like you don’t believe him, and lean back on your hands. The way your shoulders tilt, your neck arching just slightly, still turned to him with your eyes closed, the curve of your cheek catching the moonlight.--it sends an ache through him. The urge to reach out...to feel, to caress, to just touch you.

He wonders if you can feel it too—that pull between you, like some invisible thread tying him to you no matter how far he tries to stay. He wonders if you’ve ever noticed the way his hands shake when you’re close, or the way he looks at you like you’re something he doesn’t know how to hold but can’t bring himself to let go of.

But he’d never tell you. Not ever. He’s too messed up, too worn down and rough from this world and the one before it. It’s better this way—better to stay at a distance, close enough to watch over you but far enough to keep from ruining whatever this is.

Know it’s for the better, he tells himself, over and over, the words circling his mind like a chant, praying one day he'd believe them.

It’s for the better—because you deserve someone who could give you more than silence and scars.

It’s for the better—because he doesn’t know how to hold you without feeling like his hands might break something delicate, like he’s never been made for soft things.

It’s for the better—because every part of him is rough-edged and jagged, and you? You’re all the things he’s spent his life convincing himself he doesn’t deserve.

It’s for the better—because letting himself think otherwise, even for a second, feels like the kind of hope that’d split him wide open.

“You ever think about it?” you ask, breaking his spiraling thoughts, your eyes on him. He's not sure how long since you opened them and had been staring at him, “What life would’ve been like if this hadn’t happened?”

It’s not a sad question, not the way you ask it. Just curious, like you’re thinking about what you’d do with a world full of empty possibilities.

Daryl shrugs, “Ain’t much to think about.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to imagine what life would’ve been like if everything hadn’t gone to hell. Because then he wouldn’t have known you, wouldn’t have found you. And even if he can’t let himself have you, he can’t picture his life without you in it.

You stare up at the sky again then, “No dreams? No big plans?”

He huffs out a breath almost like a laugh, looking down at the worn wood under his boots. “Don’t think I’d be much different. Probably still out there somewhere, bein' a screw up.”

You don't laugh, don't reply right away, and yet when he looks up the look in your eyes still makes his skin rise with goosebumps.

“You really don't see how good you are, do you?” you say casually, like it’s a fact you’d bet your life on.

He freezes, his throat tightening, because how the hell are you supposed to say something like that and then just go back to looking at the stars like it didn’t knock the world off its axis? He shifts his weight, the words crawling up the back of his throat before he can stop them.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he means for it to be. His fingers tighten around the edge of the railing like it might keep him steady.

Despite his dismissiveness, you don’t look away, and for a second, the world narrows to just the two of you, the soft rustle of the wind, the faint hum of crickets in the distance.

“You should too,” you say softly, finally standing and brushing the dust off your hands.

As you turn toward him, you hesitate, like you’re weighing something in your mind. Then you close the small distance between you, stepping up onto the porch until you’re standing in front of him.

Daryl straightens instinctively, unsure what you’re about to do, his hand still gripping the railing. You tilt your head, your gaze searching his face, and then your hand moves. Slowly, deliberately, you reach out and brush a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering just a moment too long against his temple.

His breath hitches, and he feels rooted to the spot, like one wrong move might break whatever quiet spell you’ve cast.

"You didn't answer my question." you say softly, your voice steady but gentle.

He swallows hard, the words tangling in his throat. You’re looking at him expectantly but with a kindness so soft it hurts, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from leaning into your touch.

"I uh--" Daryl clears his throat, "I dunno,"

For a moment, your fingers linger on his face before you let your hand fall, the warmth of your touch still ghosting across his skin. You smile then, small and quiet, but it’s enough to make the knot in his chest loosen, just a little.

“Goodnight, Daryl.” you murmur, your voice soft as you step back.

But you don’t leave right away. Your eyes linger on his for a second longer, your expression open, unguarded, like you’re waiting for him to say something—do something.

He doesn’t. He can’t. It's for the better.

“Night,” he rasps finally, the word uneven and raw, but it’s enough to make you smile one last time before you turn and disappear inside.

Know it's for the better, he chants in his head again. But damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s been left out here with half of himself locked on the other side of that door.

[icarusredwings]

It didn't hurt. Honest, it didn't. But his whimpers and tears would make you think otherwise.

You would think that he was being put through an intense amount of pain just from the sounds that came from his throat. But he wasn't.

You could assume that he was being held down, forced to experience experimentation that was far too cruel for Dr. Henry McCoy to be doing.

I mean this is the X men. The x men don't hurt people in their secret labs. Did they? No.

His breaths are so uneven.

He's shaking like a hairless cat in the snow.

His body is locked up tight, holding as still as he possibly could. Eyes shut tight.

"Wade? Wade, baby, look at me. Hey, Shhh.. shh, they're just sensors, honey."

But he couldn't. He couldn't bare open his eyes. He was too petrified to move. To breathe. To speak.

"Does he want me to stop?" Hank asks, holding one of the last sensors with the tape already applied to the back.

Wade shakes his head softly before quickly going back to his tense state, a statue who couldn't stop shaking in fear, gobs of tears flowing down his face.

"Subconsciously, he does. But he's just scared. He knows it's for the better but... well you know how he got his powers.." Logan mutters, trying to rub his back, very gently kissing the tears off his face but he flinches away, too terrified to accept the affection.

"And.. you've taken..?"

"Yes, Hank, I took his knives. That dosn't mean he can't hurt you though." Logan says, softly taking his hand, trying to ground him, saying this more to Wade then to the blue guy.

"He could kill you with just the sensors alone.. throw this bed at you.. choke you with the sheets.. he's very smart. Very good with improvision."

Wade is able to take a deep breath from the praise, trying to focus on his air intake.

"Why are you giving him ideas??" Hank questions, taping on the last few of the sensors.

"Trust me, bub. You don't want him to feel helpless or he'll find his own way to not feel that way. And you don't want that. Besides. He's doing such a good job. Staying still, and didn't even hit you yet." Logan says, staring up at wade as he very hesitantly opens his eyes, sniffling as he lets out a whimper.

"Im sorry, he's going to what now?"

"Just shut up and hurry it up. He can't do this long." The man mutters, smiling softly at his boyfriend. "You're doing amazing. Now just breathe. Breathe. That's it. It's alright. No one's holding you down but me. I got you. I'd never hurt you, Wade." He says, holding his wrist ever so slightly so that Hank could retract some blood from his arm.

Wades eyes widden, making a loud whine, closing his eyes tight and looked away.

"Shhh.. shh, it's okay. Just a little bit. Just like when Dotty checks your blood every other Wednesday. Remember? Yeah, Just like that." Logan says, smiling at him as his breathing stablizes, looking at him with thick blurry suns. "D-dotty?"

"Yeah, honey. Just like that. And Hank is going to tell you everything that's happening okay? No suprises. No restraints. Just me, and Your friend Hank. Right?" He tells Wade, who by now was eyeing the blue man as he brought over clips.

"Fear not, my friend, these are only to record results."

Logan puts a hand out, stopping him for a second. "Is that okay?" He asks Wade. He had stopped shaking by now but sniffled, still tense and scared out of his wits.

"A-are they gonna shock me if-if im bad..?"

"What? They better not! Hank!!" It was important for Wade to know someone was on his side.

"N-no! No... I-it does produce a very small and controlled mico electrical pulse, but it's harmless."

Shying away, Wade starts to cry again, breath wavering. "I-it's gonna hurt!" He cries.

"Hey hey hey, shhh we've talked about this remember? You trust me. Right?"

Theres a small hesitant, as if Wade was asking his brain to see what the council had to say before slowly nodding.

"Okay, do you trust me to keep you safe?"

There's another nod, hiccuping as he sniffles.

"Well, I trust Hank not to hurt you. And if it hurts you can tell me and we'll stop okay?"

Swallowing, Wade opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head, tensing again as he looks away, his head toward Logan, trying to ignore what ever Beast was doing to his arm.

"You're being so brave.. what is it you wanted to say? Hm?" His hand comes to his cheek as he thumbs under his eye, smiling ever so sweetly, staring with adoration.

"..T-thats what she said." He giggles, wiping some snot away, only for Logan to roll his eyes, but didn't leave or scold him. He was proud of him for this. Proud that he was trying so hard, proud of him for being able to relax. "You walked right into that one.. huh?"

"Pft..You nut.."

This is your PSA, that medical advocancy is super sexy and is just as important as comfort. If a chaperone can not advocate, they should not be a chaperone.

Thinking about Logan taking Wade to Hank's and wade getting all nervous because the last time he tried to get help (and honestly- all of them) it has turned out terrible and the only person he trusts is his female Urologist because thats who gives him his bi monthly sti checks. Him bouncing his leg and being silent. Him staring at the door and the floor, breathing with skips and picking his nails.

Logan gently taking his hand and squeezing it, leaning over to kiss his head. "Don't.. I wouldn't let anything happen to you." He whispers but this isnt the first time someone has failed wade.

"Y-you know what-" he says, changing his mind, standing. "I think I left the curling iron on. We should leave. Like right now."

"Wade... Sit."

He whines, staying standing for a couple more seconds, trying to think of an excuse to leave before sitting, curling up into his arm, clearly scared. Because without his powers what is he? No, really. Take away his neat new powers and who is he? Useless. That's what.

The x men barley wanted to take him now WITH his powers, not even the goverment will want him without them. The wolverine wouldn't want to be with a measly crazy human, Someone so insane that when he formed his own team they all left him too. Everyone left him, so why wouldn't Logan? "D-do I have too?"

"It'll be better for you this way."

"B.. but I dont want too."

"Darlin' I swear you'll be okay. Everything will be fine."

Little does he know that Logan would love him with or without powers.

[onekeii]

'Cause it's Christmas!

Day 8: Touch starved Stray Kids: Lee Know x GN!Reader Warnings/Genre: hurt to comfort, fluff, alcohol consumption, reader drinks irresponsibly, reader wears makeup (lipstick), just a tad depressing but in a good way, not proof read Word count: 1,006 AN: for those of us who don’t want to go home for the holidays, lots of love <3

Read on AO3

Christmas sucks.

Christmas wasn’t about giving presents, eating good food, or smiling with family and friends. For you, it was about faking smiles, navigating shouting matches, and forgetting to breathe.

Well, you’d had enough.

This was your first year spending Christmas alone. All your friends had gone home to their warm and loving families, while you… sat. The white walls of your apartment, barren from fairy lights or tinsel, were your company for tonight. If you squinted, you might believe you weren’t drinking on your own.

Your hand held, rather carelessly, a whisky tumbler. Filled to the brim with the remainder of a nice spirit a friend left you with, the glass’ rim was stained red from how many times you brought it to your lips that night. Why did you even put on lipstick? There was no one to impress, no mistletoe to kiss under - just a burn in your throat, and another dish to scrub at tomorrow. 

One more gulp, one more greasy red stain on the glass, and you downed the rest of the drink. “I should set an alarm for tomorrow,” you’ve started thinking out loud. But you don’t set the alarm. Your phone was- somewhere, and probably dead. “I’ll only check it when Christmas is over,” you promised yourself while still sober. If you received just one message, notification, photo, of someone enjoying their time, you’d break your phone for sure. 

Still, this was better than being at home.

You put the fragile glass down on the floor with a not-so-fragile bang. Then you bundled your blankets around you, over your head and around your shoulders, until you were completely covered. It was definitely warm, but the soft fleece was just a reminder of how utterly cold you felt; no blanket could fix you. 

Knock knock.

Blinking, like an owl, you swivel your head round to face the door. It’s Christmas Eve, what could anyone possibly want? Maybe your neighbours were just being loud, or you were finally starting to hear things. You turn back to face the wall.

Knock knock knock. With more urgency this time.

“Okay! Fine, wait!” You yell. You’re trapped in your prison of blankets, sluggishly fighting your way through the soft mess. Every movement rattles your brain in your skull like a violent child with a snowglobe. It hurts, pounding behind your eyes and pulling your scalp tight. The whisky glass comes into view, in threes, when you finally break free. You curse it.

Your hands find purchase on any nearby surface - the couch, the doorframe, the coat rack (it nearly topples over), and finally, the door handle. With all your strength - a little too much - you yank the door open, “It’s Christmas Eve,” you slur with little pride, “what- Minho?”

It takes two blinks to be sure. At first, you’re not surprised he’s there, you’re just unsure whether it’s actually him. Yes, that’s the stern expression you know so well, cutting through you. Well, now there’s two of him.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas Eve,” he scoffs, inviting himself inside, “so why,” he stops when you wobble and plant your hands on his arm for support, “are you like this?”

“‘Cause it’s Christmas!” you cheer. You’re too dizzy to feel any shame. 

Minho’s eyebrows snap together at your state. What would have happened to you if he didn’t come? 

“When I told my parents you were spending Christmas alone, they asked for you to come over, but…” he sighed, looking you up and down as you pawed at his jumper, “I can’t bring you over like this.”

One arm wraps around his torso, then another, then he’s being squeezed. Tight. You knock the air out of Minho for a moment, but your face shows no sign of any evil deeds. You’re burrowing your head into the space between his neck and shoulder, the fabric of his red Christmas jumper is horrible and scratchy but he’s warm, in a way much more fulfilling than any blanket or hard liquor. 

“Then don’t,” your voice is muffled into his neck. Minho’s more taken aback by, more than anything else, the fact that you managed to hear what he said, “Huh?”

You shoot your head up to look him in the eyes. It takes a minute, they finally sink into your vision without you seeing doubles, but they’re definitely there - he’s definitely there. His face is so close to yours, you’re sure he can smell the alcohol in your breath. Hot, you think, snapping your mouth shut. “Stay here? For a bit?” you plead, “I don’t wanna be alone for Christmas after all- it’s awful,” your eyes are welling up now, tears separating Minho from your sight once more.

But he wasn’t going to say no - you didn’t even need to start crying for that. “I wasn’t gonna leave you,” there’s the tiniest bit of venom in his voice, as if he were offended you would even think otherwise, “You need to go to bed.”

“No-” your voice catches, a hiccup stops you from finishing your sentence. “Maybe,” you giggle. Minho just shakes his head, but he winds one arm around your shoulders, the other snaking behind your knees. Your stomach drops for a second as he lifts you up without a struggle or grunt of effort. You swing your legs back and forth a little, testing his balance, but he doesn’t falter. 

Then you’re in bed, and he’s pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite sitting on the edge with you, Minho makes no move to get in until you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull, hard. “Okay, okay, fine,” he wraps the blankets around the both of you. He lets you curl into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces. 

His smell, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his shallow breaths against your head, the heat from his palms pressed into your back - finally, you feel warm. Actually warm. 

For the first time ever, Christmas doesn’t suck. 

@12daysofchristmas

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[leighsartworks216]

Self-Destruction

Zayne x gn!Reader

Based on my actual teacher and when I used to sh when I got angry. Please please don't read if you think this could trigger you <333

Warnings: hurt/comfort, swearing, anger, implied/referenced self-harm, self-destructive behavior/tendencies, no real ending

Word Count: 731

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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It takes every ounce of self-restraint you have left in your body not to slam the door shut behind you. It doesn't matter, in any case, because the second the door is closed, everything bursts out of you.

You toss your bag to the floor with an angry groan. Tears burn your eyes. You can feel your lungs shaking with the effort it takes to try breathing normally. It feels awful. You wish this feeling would just go away, but it doesn't. It burrows deeper and deeper into your body, tearing through muscle and bone. You wish you could claw it out. The best you can do is bury your face in your hands and will away the rising need to break something.

"Love?"

Fuck, of course Zayne's home right now. You forgot he was taking a half-day, working at the hospital in the morning and finishing the rest of his work from home.

"What happened?" he asks with that gentle sort of urgency. "Where's your painting?"

Ugh, that fucking painting! "I threw it away," you grit out.

His footsteps are too loud as he approaches you, quicker than his usual steps. He grabs your hands, urging them away from your face. "Why?"

You feel hysterical as the emotions pour out of you. He interlaces your fingers together, holding your hands hostage even as you try to gesture with them.

"Because my teacher fucking sucks! I worked so, so hard on this one! You saw! You know! I just- I put it on the easel to present it and she fucking tore it apart, Zayne! Every little fucking thing! I tried to, you know, explain the fucking thought process behind it, just like everyone else, and you know what she did?! She ignored every single word I said! She said she didn't like it, she didn't understand it, it doesn't make sense, so she just shut down every single explanation I had! She wouldn't listen to anything! It's just-" Zayne tugs gently on you. You give in easily, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. "It's not fair."

He squeezes your hands. They're cold, and you don't know if it's because of his Evol or if you're just running that hot from your outburst. "She only did that to yours?"

You nod against him, curling your nails toward his skin, before easing them flat against the scars on the back of his hands. He rubs his thumb against the meat of yours in small, soothing circles. "She actually critiqued everyone else's. But everything she said about mine? That wasn't fucking constructive criticism, it was just her own grievances. And I don't know if it's just me-"

"Whether she has something against you or not, that does not excuse the blatant unprofessionalism and disrespect she showed you," he interjects. "If you would like, I can help you file a complaint against her."

"Yes, please," you agree immediately.

He huffs a slight laugh. "Let's calm down first, alright?"

He lets go of your hands to hold your wrists. He guides them to sit on his chest, over his heart and lungs. Each breath he takes pushes against them, raising and falling in slow, even breaths. By your ear, you can hear those same slow breaths. You follow along.

Inhale for four seconds.

Hold for two.

Exhale for four.

The pattern continues for a couple minutes, until the anger simmers down. If you really needed to, Zayne would let you stay there for hours. It was better than the alternative.

When you got really angry like this, when it feels like breaking something is the only way to get it out of you, you'd turn it back on yourself. Destroying your art supplies may sound like an instant soother, but you're all too cognizant of how expensive and important it all is. But skin can heal.

Zayne, for obvious reasons, immediately worked to find solutions to help. Namely, holding your hands to keep them off of your arms or legs, and putting himself into position to take the pain. Not that you ever were able to dig your nails into him, even at your most desperate. The guilt of hurting him was too strong to even consider it. So, this way, no one got hurt.

"Better?"

(After this, he would help you file the report and retrieve your painting from the trash <333)

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[writersblocksucksbutisuckmore]

odd request but… sfw pyromaniac reader x Dabi from Mha?? Idk my sister told me about it and I thought it was interesting 🤷‍♀️

Dabi x Pyromaniac!Gn!Reader — (headcanons and oneshot)

♡ wc ; Hcs is 492, Oneshot is 1,012. Total is 1,504.

♢ synopsis ; pyromaniac x pyromaniac, it's just about as sweet as it can get, not that much (this is Dabi we're talking about), bittersweet fluff.

♤ a/n ; nothing of note

♧ warnings ; none

Headcanons

I. To start, there would be a clear bond over fire, Dabi would find himself a bit drawn at the fact someone shares an obsession with flames, as it aligns with his own tendencies. Sucker might even find himself feeling a dark sensation or twisted camaraderie in their shared attraction.

II. You guys wouldn't always talk about fires though, not like you're gonna sit there and talk about the marveling flames swallowing everything it associates with, every time. however, these talks aren't out of the question, speaking of the shared destructive nature brings a thrill into their conversations.

llI. Despite their mutual interest in fire, Dabi would remain emotionally distant. While he might appreciate the connection, his traumatic past and the darkness of his goals would make him detached from forming a deep bond. He would only keep his partners at arm's length, emotionally speaking, not like he'd ever open up that way nonetheless.

lV. However, what he will do is encourage these inclinations if they align with his own goals of descent and vengeance. He could see their mutual love for fire as an opportunity to act together. You have fun, he enacts his ideals or lashes out at society, win-win.

V. Regardless of how well-versed you are in handling fire, if he feels that his partner's recklessness could jeopardize their safety or interfere with his own plans, he would step in to rein them back. whilst at times in a blunt and possibly harsh manner.

Vl. Despite his otherwise often complex demeanor, Dabi might show a twisted form of support or understanding, especially when his partner struggles with their own battles or frustrations related to their pyromania. He would offer encouragement in his own blunt way, perhaps reminding them of their strength or how society never understood people like them, and not to care.

Vll. It would be far from conventional affection, but it would be genuine in its own right, coming from a place of shared pain and bitterness. Sometimes his ways are hard to identify, the best method you can tell that he cares is by the way he annihilates things that hurt you or have hurt you.

Vlll. He would encourage his partner to embrace their darker side and take pride in it, pushing them to pursue their goals just as relentlessly as he does. The league is the best at doing whatever they want, and you can be sure he'll expect you to adopt the same mindset, with complete disregard for any consequences.

IX. training with you is a must, not all the time sure, but every now and again to bring a little spark. Challenging each other and pushing one another, the charge of the rushing flames coursing through you while you have to think fast on your feet. The pure addictive adrenaline that you feel, you know he wouldn't actually hurt you like that, but it's so fun.

X. Destructive fire dates are a must, he wouldn't really out loud call it a date, and if he did he'd make it sound so laid back. Those dates where all you do is indulge your urges together are the best. The sounds of laughter and swooshes of the inferno are topped off with the two colored captivating sight, such a beautiful hue your flames make together.

Oneshot

Sometimes, your boyfriend stumbles upon abandoned buildings for the League to lay low in, and other times, he finds them by chance while scouting for new recruits. Whenever the two of you want some time alone, he brings you to these places—just the two of you, talking about anything and everything.

Today, you’re walking side by side through a dark withered forest, where the path has been so worn down by countless footsteps that it seems to be sinking into the earth, with tufts of grass and dirt poking back through. The sound of your footsteps, rhythmic and steady, has a comforting familiarity.

Right now, neither of you is speaking. It’s not uncommon for moments like this—sometimes, words aren’t necessary. After all the endless conversations Dabi has with the League, silence can be a welcome relief.

As you walk, a building comes into view, growing larger as you approach. It looks more than just abandoned—practically rotting before your eyes. You wonder if it’s even safe to step inside.

“That’s not a very reassuring look, are you sure it’s okay to go in there? It looks like I won't be able to come back out again,” you ask, throwing a quick glance at him.

“I thought the same,” he replies. “But after the others went in and came out alive, I’m sure it’s fine.”

"Whatever, if I feel any nausea I'll burn it, do the same if you feel that way too."

A small smile appeared on his face, and you shared your own, you both knew deep down the place was gonna burn at the end of the night anyways. It’s just what you do—you walk, talk, hang out in the buildings, and then set it ablaze together, your flames together as one devouring what’s left.

"That reminds me, I haven’t told you about the 'recruits' I had to deal with today. Tried to bring a few in, but they didn’t make the cut,” he says with a frustrated sigh, his tone turning into a low hum. “Feels like we’re hitting a wall. Nothing but dead ends lately."

You hum in response, already familiar with their recent struggles, endless complaints about the same issues, coming from both him and the others. The frustration is starting to wear them down. As you continue walking, the entrance of the building becomes clearer, and the halfway-opened door's rust on its edges becomes more visible with each step.

"..Their loss, I'm sure they know that now, their last moments were filled with regret I bet, should've gone along." you looked off to the side.

"yeah, but they'd only agree because they're afraid, better getting a no than figuring it out ourselves they aren't the real deal. Saves time." He manages to get in front to move the door for you, a loud creak yelped from the rotten door. When you went back to look at him you felt that feeling you were looking forward to all day, wildly infatuated.

a gentle smile appeared on your face as your eyes softened, walking past him and continuing the ongoing conversation, "I suppose you're right. Anyways you get to burn people so win-win." as you entered he followed, hearing a satisfied hum from him.

Dead center of the building there was a hole, like you used a circle cookie cuter and cut the middle of the building, through the floors and all. The moonlight was vibrant tonight, gently shining its light in the gap. You stepped into the center, gazing upward, while Dabi paused just before entering the light.

"Sometimes, the fire's radiance isn't the only light I look forward to. The moons can be nice too, second to fires of course."

"..great minds think alike or whatever that stupid line is, but yeaah," Dabi replies, sounding like he's mid-stretch— "The moon's light ain't so bad itself." he huffs out the last bit.

"Sometimes, I wonder how the moon, a cold, lifeless rock, can appear more beautiful than the sun, a blazing ball of fire. Flames are mesmerizing, yet the moon's glow seems to rival the sun's brilliance. Isn't it strange how the soft light of the moon, merely a reflection of the sun, can feel so captivating? Does that make sense?"

You feel yourself run out of breath for the rest of your sentence, and you can feel the stare of judgment coming from Dabi, despite not being able to see his face in the dark.

The silence grows thicker before it shrinks once more "Okay crazy, I get what you mean." he chuckles "I wouldn't say it as poetically as you did, but your right." You can hear it in his voice that he's tired, he probably doesn't wanna think too much right now and you're definitely heading the conversation to deeper thoughts territory. So you stop and ask a simpler question instead. "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"I love you too." you hear his boots step closer, finally seeing him, blaze adorning his body. His smile, a mixture of a smirk, "didn't think you'd say something so corny to tell me you care."

You can feel a slight burn of embarrassment under your face but you brush it off with a puff. "Yeah, that was stupid whatever, I should've known that's not our style."

"It never was, but I’ll give you credit for giving something new a shot—now you know it ain't right." He forms fire on the palm of his hand, raising it up to you, filling the gap between you and him. "how about we do it right? This place is dull, could use some light."

You smile, "It sure does, but I think my flame color fits it better than yours." you challenge him. "Nah, mines better." he smiles.

You read him like a book and beat him to something he's done plenty of times before during these kinds of situations. Blasting fire at the wall, holding his gaze as the flames spread through the space.

"doesn't that look—"

"Wrong? yeah."

He answers as he repeats your actions, instead of the wall he sets the ground ablaze, roughly shoving a flare to the other half of the building behind him in flames. A lot more than yours, and quicker. You smiled.

"Let's see who wins this time. Before the colors share as one."

"You won't stand a chance. But let's see you try anyways."

[boxfullaturtles]

Thinking about how Rise turtles were created specifically to be warriors, to be fighters, to be lethal weapons of destruction on a massive scale.

Thinking about how Hamato Yoshi was supposed to be a defender, a sacrifice, to do his duty because that's what he was born to do.

Thinking about how Lou Jitsu ran away from everything he was supposed to be, how he fled his family name and tried to leave it behind him.

Thinking about how Splinter stole the turtles because he saw his family's legacy in their fate if they stayed with Draxum, how they were innocents who would be subjected to war in someone else's name.

Thinking about how even though Splinter and the turtles, actively and passively, attempted to avoid the path to battle, they ended up there anyway.

Thinking about how the Rise turtles did exactly what they were supposed to do, what they were designed to do. They did the very thing they were built for. They went to war, they destroyed, they defended, they sacrificed.

Thinking about how the Hamato family will always end up fighting, no matter how far they run, no matter how deep they hide. That their bloodline carries the fate of the world in it, whether they want it or not.

[moonchild-in-blue]

Why are box braids so damn hard to do it yourself. I have a renewed and greater respect for my DIY people 💙

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, ��Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

All I can do until we see what happens with this election is hope, distract myself, and try to get others to vote, because if I think too hard about it my anxiety and depression gets worse and the voice in the back of my head that tells me to hurt myself and go hide in the woods or something gets louder

[cuteniarose]

It’s almost 6 a.m and I can’t sleep because I’m being plagued by thoughts of The Latest OC

[bookshelfpassageway]

can something actually be meaningfully about transmasculine people in a positive fashion or even just not telling transmasculine people they're doing something wrong by existing for five minutes.

[depresseddepot]

I am once again ridiculously fucking early for my movie (which is confusing to me bc I've been to this theater before and you ALWAYS need to get there early) but I got alcohol this time so I am very excited to chill and rewatch alien romulus and take notes and read subtitles

[featherymainffins]

I thought I would walk some additional 14 km today and thus burn my accidental lunch (caved into peer pressure and went to a restaurant and had a salad instead of eating my perfectly counted can of tuna) and as such I agreed to go have breakfast with some friends tomorrow to celebrate the end of the excursion.

But I did not walk those 14 km because I wasn't able to get water + I just finished 12 hours of lectures + my arches were killing me + it was raining + I wanted to shower + I wanted to study + I was fucking freezing.

Which means I have to punish myself for my lack of discipline and I also have to make up for the food and that means I CANNOT have that breakfast. In fact I cannot have anything. For 2 days. Just to be sure.

So now I'm trying to figure out what lie I can make up. Currently thinking about saying that I just started to feel really nauseous all of a sudden and as such I unfortunately cannot eat breakfast oopsie. It feels really random and not really believable though.

[neverendingford]

.

[theorphicangel]

mdni, 18+

thinking about size difference with toji

it’s almost laughable really, the way his big beefy thighs smack into yours creating filthy vibrations across the room. he’s loud and unashamedly so, grunting in your ear as he ruts into you.

sweat drips from his brow and his hands are imprinted on your waist keeping you in place with your back arched. with just one hand, he can keep you down, his hand abnormally larger than your own.

“god, you’re just so fucking precious aren’t ya ?” he grunts, keeping up his relentless pace. with every thrust little gasps escape from your throat. “my pretty little thing, n’ it’s all mine right?”

you nod dramatically, “s’all yours I swear.”

“good.” he merely huffs out before bottoming out, his balls smacking against your cunt.

“oh god!”

he’s just so big, it feels like he could break you but Toji makes sure to be gentle or at least attempt to be. when your thighs ache and a litter of hickeys are found across your skin, he’s sure enough to place kisses over your sore spots, his tongue licking over where it hurts the most.